Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen (40 page)

There’s a crackle on the line. ‘I just lost you. Did you say something about meat?’

‘No,’ he blusters, ‘what do you mean? What about meat?’

I wince into the phone.

‘Gotta go,’ he says hurriedly. ‘See you Friday!’

And he hangs up, leaving me somewhat flustered and feeling decidedly worse than I did five minutes ago.

I’m frantic in the bar that night, Alison trailing me round firing endless questions on how I feel about the show ending, about Nick, about my friendship with Lou, about Jaz and Simon and Andre and Alex – all of which I answer as diplomatically and as tersely as possible – when a text comes in from Mum.

I duck behind the bar and pull it from my back pocket.

Hello darling! Great news – we are coming home a week early!!! Back on Sat. Can’t wait to see everyone. We know you’ve been brilliant – we’ve missed you & the club like you wouldn’t believe. Looking forward to normality! Much love, Mum & Dad xx

Oh Jesus.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be
fine
.

I practise my smile in the mirror and it wobbles a bit before falling off.

‘I look like I’m crapping myself … don’t I?’ I turn to Simon, who’s on his hands and knees poking about in Mum and Dad’s drinks cabinet. He unearths a bottle of vodka, examines the label and then pours a measure into a waiting glass.

‘Nah, you look fine,’ he tells me, necking it. Then he pours another.

‘You have to at least
look
at me, Si.’

He looks at me. ‘You’re fine.’

‘I am?’

‘Aside from the haunted blank stare of a woman confronted with the black moment of apocalypse, yes.’ He holds the bottle out. ‘Want one?’

I flump down on the sofa, not caring if I crumple the seat of my new stripy French Connection dress. ‘No, thanks. I’ve hardly eaten anything all day; it’ll go straight to my head.’

Simon makes a face. ‘That’s kind of the idea. Have you seen how many people are down there?’ He shudders. ‘It’s a full-on mob.’

I groan.

‘They were fighting earlier.’

‘
Fighting?
What’s there to fight about in a karaoke bar? Someone wanted Dead or Alive and they ended up with Def Leppard?’

‘No,’ he takes a final shot before replacing the bottle, ‘on the streets. It’s like
28 Days Later
. They’re clawing each other’s eyes out to get past security. Toby sorted a ticket system but they’re all getting touted.’

I get up and peer out the window at the writhing masses below. It’s the exact spot I was standing in with Jaz and Andre eight weeks back, waiting for the show to begin and having no clue what to expect. But I see now that those nerves were the fluttering kind; these are full-on kicking. What concerns me more? The fact that live broadcast starts in less than an hour; the fact Evan Bergman might be about to take Pineapple – and me – down for good; or the fact that Mum and Dad are coming home first thing tomorrow morning? My heart’s
banging in my chest like a drum; it feels like it’s about to burst right out.

‘Pete Burns showed up,’ observes Simon, a little slurred. ‘And that wine taster guy who does
Saturday Morning Kitchen
.’

I turn away from the window. ‘What’s
he
doing here?’

‘Search me. One of Evan’s cronies?’

‘They have got similar hair.’

‘Why are you so obsessed with Evan’s hair?’

‘I’m not obsessed with Evan’s hair.’ I fasten my own locks into a pony. ‘It is weird hair, though, don’t you think?’

‘If you say so.’

‘Davinia’s going to be in her element,’ I joke, seeking a subject that will take my mind off the fact I should’ve been downstairs an hour ago.

Simon nods. ‘Last seen schmoozing with Chester Bendwell. I keep telling her it’ll never happen. She’s got more chance of going to bed with … I don’t know, Jaz’s guinea pig.’

‘That’s a nice thought. Does Andre get a say in that?’

‘Any guinea pig in his right mind who walks about wearing tight leather slacks and showing off a hairy chest is hardly one to deny the ladies.’

‘He isn’t?’

Simon cocks his head, like I’m being dumb. ‘Does the Pope shit in the woods?’

‘Search me. Does a bear wear a white robe and head up the Vatican City State?’

‘Ignore me,’ he grimaces. ‘I’m drunk.’

The door bursts open. Jaz, clad in an outrahgeous
Grease-
inspired catsuit with gargantuan silver belt and hoop earrings,
shoots into the room and slams the door behind her. She backs against the wood, rigid as bamboo.

‘Maddie, ohmygod thank
god
you’re here … I think I just’ –
pant-pant-pant
– ‘I just saw … ohmygod … you won’t believe—’

‘
What
?’ Simon and I cry in unison.

Her eyes meet mine. ‘I just saw Carl.’

‘No way.’ I clamp a hand over my mouth. ‘Where?’

‘You know I told you he was over here? And that he called me the day that …’ She looks guiltily at Simon.

‘Yeah …’

‘Well after that he just kept ringing’ – she attempts to catch her breath – ‘and obviously I kept ignoring it, because it’s not like I want to speak to him ever again in my whole life but he just wouldn’t leave me alone. And now he’s here. Downstairs! At the bar! This guy ordered a Malibu and Coke and I could have sworn it was him. Except he’s got shorter hair!’ She throws her hands up to her cheeks, eyes wild. ‘What the hell am I going to do, Maddie?
He’s here
. What the fuck do I
do
?’

‘Don’t panic,’ I tell her, taking her hands and leading her to the sofa. Having a new focus, a problem to sort out, spurs me to action. I don’t have to be a passive spectator in this. It’s my club and the people in it are here because I, in however roundabout a fashion, invited them. Deep breaths – I’m in control. It’s my party. And I’ll cry if I want to.

‘Who’s Carl?’ enquires Simon, baffled. ‘And why’s he drinking Malibu and Coke?’

‘We’ll explain later. Just get Jaz a drink, will you?’

Jaz descends on the couch, then immediately gets up again. ‘What’s he doing here? What does he want?’

‘He wants to see you,’ I tell her, as Simon shoves a tumbler into her shaking hands. ‘But you don’t have to speak to him – I’ll ask security to take him out.’

Jaz shakes her head fiercely. ‘No, don’t. It’ll only make things worse.’

‘Don’t worry, it’ll be discreet.’

‘Discreet?! It’s live TV!’

I take her hands. ‘Trust me.’

‘I’m scared, Maddie.’ She shivers. In her eyes is genuine fear. Whatever this guy did to her back in LA, I’m willing to bet I only know the half of it.

Simon looks between us. ‘Will someone please tell me who Carl is?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I say, just as Jaz bursts into tears.

‘Hey, hey, don’t cry!’ Taking her drink, I manoeuvre her into a seat at the table. Instantly Simon’s crouching down next to her, rubbing her arms, telling her it’s OK. We both hug her and wait till she’s able to speak.

‘Do you want me to go?’ Simon asks. ‘I don’t mind.’

I can see he does, in fact, mind – at the end of the day Jaz is his friend and she’s upset. So I’m relieved when she shakes her head.

‘No,’ she says, and with the movement a tear plops out on to her hand, ‘you should probably hear this.’

So she tells Simon about Carl, and he listens.

Downstairs I can barely make my way through the throng to the bar, where Ruby and Alex are rushed off their feet serving drinks. I’ve only seen a photo of Carl once but I’d never forget
his face: the slicked dark hair, sleek as an otter’s back; the coal-black eyes and thin, reedy lips. I’m making him sound like a monster, at least in appearance, but he’s actually quite good-looking – in a Robert-de-Niro-in-
Cape-Fear
, think-about-moving-and-I’ll-saw-your-head-off-type way. I scan the bar, knowing Jaz is following behind, but I don’t see him.

Despite the jumping beans in my tummy, I experience a stab of pride as I take in my surroundings. We did it. At the end of the series run, Pineapple looks nothing short of amazing.

Pink strobes illuminate my path across the main dance floor, white light glinting off shimmering glass surfaces, candelabra and giant mirrors. Music bleeds through the space, master to the chatting, dancing throng of revellers – neon make-up and extreme hairstyles; tiny skirts and sharp suits; long legs and raised arms; painted faces turned to the giant spinning cube, a solid mass moving to the thump of bruised beats spilling from the system. Karaoke hasn’t got started yet – Toby and Nathan hired a DJ to take care of the first part of the night. I suppose they wanted to guarantee a note of credibility, before the squealers are let loose. Literally Let Loose? There’s always hope – I was quite fond of ‘Crazy For You’.

And tonight they’re being let loose on a brand-spanking-new built-up stage. It’s even got steps going up to it and a massive screen behind, so if listening to the warbles isn’t quite enough you can get a hundred per cent zoom on their crooning features as well. Two elegant silver microphones stand tall on each side, stoically awaiting their time – though the shade of sophistication is somewhat tempered by an adjacent buffet of hot dogs and candyfloss trailing down one full side of the
club, pressed up against the reflective wall so that a good half looks like it’s covered in party food.

Wide-eyed cameras swoop like vultures over the crowd, broadcasting its subjects on to the huge screen behind, much to the squealing delight of those filmed. Is that Jordan’s best mate being interviewed? I think I saw her on
Celebrity Come Dine with Me
last year – she’s alarmingly orange with chunky knees and looks in danger of melting under the heat of the spotlight. Next to her is that Italian one from Blue – they’re not dating, are they? Lou would know. I experience a pang of longing and wish she were here. She’d know what to do about Carl, about Evan, about Nick. Even if she didn’t, she’d make me feel better.

‘Maddie!’ A flustered, stressed-out Alison tugs on my arm, her face screwed up in annoyance. ‘Have you seen Evan? I’ve been searching for him all bloody night.’