Remember My Name (15 page)

Jack and Neale were at opposite ends of the spectrum, and were both brilliant people to have around. Jack could take a strategic global overview of my digital presence—and could explain what the hell that meant, as well. And Neale could make me laugh and make me relax and make me look gorgeous while he did it. But I still felt a bit discombobulated, as Nan used to say—and the only other person I could think of talking to was Vogue.

I’d tried calling her, using the number I’d sneakily filched from Jack’s phone the night of the first gig, but something really weird happened when I did. I dialled the number, and she immediately answered, saying, ‘Well, hello there, sexy,’ in an amazingly sultry voice.

Now, not to do myself a disservice or anything, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t expecting that call to be from me, and equally sure she didn’t find me that sexy. Not unless she was hiding a very big secret indeed. So I just spluttered something along the lines of, ‘Erm, um, aaagh, this is Jess?’, in an apologetic tone.

There was a long pause, and eventually, Vogue’s voice, saying, ‘Oh! Hi, Jess … sorry about that, babe. I thought it was someone else.’

‘Yeah. I guessed that. Have I called at a bad time?’

‘Nah, don’t worry about it—how’s things?’

‘I … I just wanted to thank you. For the other night. And to see if you’re okay.’

‘Doing good, kiddo. All is well in the land of Vogue’s arse, you’ll be relieved to hear. Look, I’ve got to go—stuff going on, you know how it is—but we’ll catch up soon, okay? You’re coming in to do some vocals with me next week, aren’t you?’

Ah, yes. That was the other thing I’d wanted to discuss with her. The fact that the Starmaker team had decided that the best way to capitalise on my new-found fame was for me to be featured on Vogue’s new single—adding in some vocals, and filming some new scenes for her video. I’d still be very much the ‘featuring’, rather than the star, but I’d be there. And I had been a bit worried about how she’d respond to that—the Vogue I’d always known in person was kind and funny and down to earth, but the Vogue I’d read about in the papers was a legendary diva who might get pissed off at the new kid on the block necking in on her fame.

‘Think so, yes,’ I answered, nervously. ‘As long as that’s all right with you?’

‘The more the merrier, babe,’ she replied. ‘No worries. It’ll be all fun and games. See you next week—try not to get snapped in your PJs between now and then.’

I’d been disappointed that I’d not been able to arrange to see her—but that was hugely presumptuous of me, anyway. She’d been good to me, and we were going to work together, but that didn’t automatically make her my new BFF. Plus, she was clearly busy enough without having to listen to me bleating on.

But at the very least, she’d sounded genuinely all right about the single, and me essentially hitching a ride on the back of all her hard work. She was a superstar but, instead of being
resentful, she seemed happy to share her time in the spotlight. I could only hope I’d be that nice if I ever got to her level.

As in that moment I was determined that I would. I was just going to have to toughen up if I was planning on making this my lifestyle permanently.

Especially as there were so many benefits. Like dreams coming true. Like cash. Like my new pad, which I was sure I’d get used to. Like fame and recording and touring and finally, finally making it in the life I’d always wanted. I just needed to relax and take it all in, to enjoy finally getting everything I’ve been working for.

I was sending my parents selfies of my new lifestyle partly to make up for the fact that I hadn’t called them—and partly because, well, let’s face it, this was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

After I’d sent them the one of me on the balcony, with the river lit up beneath me, I’d added Daniel’s number on a whim and sent it to him as well. Yet another person I’d not managed to catch up with—and we had years’ worth of catching up to do.

He’d texted me straight back, which meant that he must have been up at four in the morning as well.

‘Welcome to the crazy train,’ he said. ‘Just remember you can stop it if you want to get off.’

Two kisses at the end. Nice.

‘T
he selfies are all well and good, Jessy,’ said Mum, ‘but we already know what you look like.’

She might have been hundreds of miles away in Liverpool, but I could picture her perfectly: she’d be sitting at the kitchen table, wearing her work uniform, and already be getting the family dinner ready to cook later. She would also, I knew, be frowning—because I could hear the irritation in her words.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I said, trying to sound more sincere than I felt. ‘But I’ve just been so busy.’

There was a pause, and the sound of saucepans clattering—something going onto the stove, while she held the phone in the crook of her neck. It was such a familiar sound, such a familiar image, but it felt like one that belonged to a different life. A different world.

It was ten a.m. I was sitting in the rehearsal studio getting ready to rehearse some steps with Vogue and the other dancers for a scene we were adding to the video for ‘Midnight’. The main video was not only already made, but had been playing on the music channels and streamed on Vogue’s own YouTube account for weeks. Just like the song, the original
recording had nothing to do with me. But the vocals had now been added—at least to the download version—and we’d be filming a few moody scenes of me in some moonlit back alley to cut into the vid. It was yet another thing I needed to get very, very right.

I hadn’t even made it back to the flat at all the night before—I’d been at an album launch for Beckett, one of the other Starmaker signings, and had ended up crashing at Jack’s, partially tipsy and completely exhausted. I’d thought my old schedule was tiring—but at least it usually ended up with me in bed by eleven. These days I was lucky if I saw sunlight at all. I was living life at a breakneck speed, and sometimes I barely had the energy to put one foot in front of the other.

None of which my mother knew, of course. Because I hadn’t told her. I’d hoped the pictures and texts would keep them happy, reassure them—keep them off my back, if I’m entirely honest, which made me cringe a bit inside, but was true. I had a lot going on—and I just didn’t need the extra pressure. I was trying to be a perfect pop star—and apparently failing spectacularly at being the perfect daughter while I did it.

‘Yes, well,’ she replied, banging a pan lid on with way too much force. ‘We’re all busy. I’m working and looking after your nan and your dad and your brother. Your dad’s doing all hours. Becky’s got enough on her plate. But how long does it take for a quick phone call?’

Oh God, I thought. Too bloody long, that’s what. I could see Vogue warming up in the corner, and the dance teacher looking expectantly at the big clock that was hanging on the
white wall over the door. I could see myself, reflected in the full length mirror, my face all scrunched up, biting my lips.

‘Okay. I said I’m sorry. I’ll try harder, all right? But I’ve got to go now. People are waiting for me—important people.’

Again, there was a pause, which gave me the chance to reflect on what I’d just said—no matter how unintentionally—and take a deep breath while I waited for what would come next.

‘So we’re
not
important?’ she asked. ‘We don’t matter, then, now you’ve got your new showbiz friends?’

‘Of course you are, Mum! All of you! But … I’m doing my best. You don’t understand …’

‘No!’ she snapped back, in her very best you-are-in-such-deep-shit-my-girl voice. ‘I don’t understand, because you don’t tell me anything. All I know is what I read in the magazines, and what Luke finds online, and whatever daft photo you choose to send us to try and replace actually bothering to call. But what I do know is that you are still my daughter, Jessica, whether you like it or not—you might have changed the way you spell your name, but you can’t dump us as easily. I’m sorry if we’re pains in the backside, but we love you, and we won’t be shutting up any time soon. Are you even listening?’

No. I wasn’t really. I was looking at Vogue, and Dale, the choreographer, and wondering when I’d next be able to sleep, and wondering where Tilly had got to with the chilled water I’d asked for, and wondering when my mother would just
shut
up
…

‘Yeah. Message received and understood, Mum. Now, I’ve really got to go.’

I didn’t give her the chance to reply—I just hung up. I’d
never hung up on my mother in my life, and I didn’t quite believe I was doing it then. But, somehow, she was much harder to handle now my own life was so hectic. The sensible part of me knew that it was the flip side of how much she cared—that she and my dad had been there for me through all the tough times, supporting me and believing in me and funding me in my crazy escapades. They’d even paid the deposit on Yusuf’s flat, for goodness’ sake. If it wasn’t for them, I’d have had to have given up on this dream yonks ago.

But now it was all happening, I couldn’t quite figure out what to do with all that concern—somehow it felt less like love, and more like an added burden. I’d already repaid them the money for the flat deposit, and was saving more to send home to them. I hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth—I’d stayed in touch the best way I knew how. But asking me for more felt like too much—it seemed impossible to be both Jessika and Jessy at the same time, and I was sick of tearing myself into pieces trying to clone myself. Something had to give—and just then it felt like it might be my sanity.

By the time Tilly finally arrived, bearing bottles of water, I was too annoyed and stressed to even say thank you. I just grabbed them from her, gave her a nod, and drank half a litre down as I walked over to Vogue and Dale.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, screwing the lid back on the water and lobbing it onto the floor in the corner. ‘I didn’t mean to keep you waiting …’

‘Trouble in paradise, babe?’ asked Vogue, taking in my bitten lips and pale skin. I looked like boiled shite—which was appropriate, as that was exactly how I felt.

‘Oh, no, you know—it was my mum. I always seem to be in trouble these days.’

She nodded, and gave me a sympathetic smile.

‘Yeah. I know. It’s hard fitting it all in—everyone wants a piece of you. There aren’t enough hours in the day. I’ve been there. Just remember who you are, and where you came from—believe me, I learned the hard way how much you have to give up to make it in this business, and I’m still not convinced it was a good deal.’

I stared at her—looking majestic even without make-up, and dressed in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt—and wondered how she could possibly even say that. She’d sold millions of records all over the world; toured to sell-out crowds in arenas in every corner of the globe, and presumably made enough money to make her own future and her family’s future completely secure and comfortable. She was a megastar—and one who never seemed down about it, either. I didn’t know her that well, but I knew enough to admire her and respect her, and basically want to be her. She seemed to have it all sorted—but hey, maybe I was wrong. It had happened before.

Dale broke our bonding moment by clapping his hands and switching on the music. There was no more time for chatting, or thinking, or doing anything at all but sweat and work. And bearing in mind the conversation I’d just had with one of my nearest and dearest, that was more than welcome.

T
wo weeks later, I was seeing my nearest and dearest in the flesh again for the first time in months. They’d all come down on the train—and this time it was me shelling out for the First Class tickets—and arrived at Starmaker in a tumble of noise, Scouse accents, and confusion. Not to mention the ever-present camcorder that Dad had been using since we were kids. It wasn’t even digital, and he hefted it around like he was a bald Scouse Steven Spielberg.

Luke was excited beyond himself; Becky looked large and uncomfortable, and Mum and Dad, well … they just looked out of their depth. It’s hard to explain how much of a shock to the system that was. My parents had always seemed so big, so solid—completely larger than life, always full of energy, and always totally at home in their own skins. If they’d ever suffered from nerves or self-doubt, I’d certainly never seen it—and it was one of the things that made our home life so secure when we were growing up. They always greeted the world with complete conviction that they held a place in it, and it rubbed off.

But I realised, as I watched them shaking hands with strangers
in a world they didn’t understand, that I’d only ever seen them in environments that were natural to them—at home in Liverpool, or on family holidays where we were always surrounded by other people just like us: working class folk blowing off a bit of steam and downing a few beers around the pool in the Costa Whatever.

As I saw my dad tugging at the too-tight collar of his new shirt, bright lights reflecting off the sweat of his bald head, and my mum tucking her freshly dyed hair behind her ears nervously, I knew that they were both off balance, both having a wobble. They were here, in a glitzy office in London, surrounded by Bright Young Things with what, to them, were posh accents—and they looked about as at ease as a pair of extra-terrestrials being invited into a government laboratory.

Unfortunately, Dad tried to cover up his nerves by being as loud and outrageous as possible. He made a few jokes that nobody got, and asked one of the male backing dancers where he got his tights, and constantly had the video camera on the go—he even took it into the toilets with him, as though he’d never seen a loo before in his life.

I was giving them the guided tour, much as I had with Becky when she came down—but this time, everything was different. Everywhere I went in the building, people reacted—they said hi, looked eager to talk to me, asked if there was anything they could do for me. This time round, I was doing the Starmaker tour as one of their big names—not one of their tiny interns. And that sprinkling of magic stardust was reflected in the way they greeted my parents, treating them
like royalty—or at least the family of royalty. If anything, that seemed to freak Mum and Dad out even more.

Mum was quieter than usual, having the opposite reaction to Dad, and she seemed to shrivel into herself. The only time she really came to life was in the break room—where she insisted on doing all the dishes that had been left by the sink, and gave all the surfaces a good going over with some Jif.

I’d hoped they’d be proud of me—and I’m sure they were—but they also looked stiff and tense and uncertain, and no amount of chatter on my part seemed able to put them at their ease. I know it was a different world to theirs—and maybe I’d felt exactly the same when I was first plunged in at the deep end—but by the end of the walkabout I was starting to feel stiff and tense myself.

Which—a day before our single launch party—was exactly what I didn’t need.

Part of the bad atmos was totally my fault. I can only confess to this, hold my hands up, and admit I was wrong—but I had missed Nan’s birthday meal. I had no real excuse; Becky had reminded me the week before and, even as I read her message, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go. It was the same day we were filming the new sections of the
Midnight
video, and there was just no way I could miss that.

I could, I knew, have asked for it to be rescheduled. I could have explained the situation to Jack, and hoped he would understand. I could even have talked to Vogue about it, after her comments relating to family.

But in reality, I did none of those things. It was like a train crash heading in my direction—and I was so frozen in its
headlights, I couldn’t get myself off the tracks. I just didn’t feel confident enough to rock the boat—I had to make a choice, and I made the one I felt was right at the time. I’d had many birthday meals with my nan, and would be able to make it up to her—but this was my first and best shot at making it in the music industry.

So in the end I’d asked my mum if they could reschedule the meal instead—which I genuinely didn’t think was that big a deal. I was working hard, I was trying to make them proud, and I was earning what felt like a ton of money, by my standards. Literally every hour of my day felt boxed in and accounted for, with Tilly and Patty managing my schedule like sergeant majors, and Jack managing my time off in ways I couldn’t complain about.

From the moment I woke up—usually after three hours of patchy sleep following the latest party I was shown at, like a prize dog at Crufts—until the moment I got back into bed, I was busy: the rehearsals, the recording, the interviews, the parties.

I knew things were slipping—despite my mum’s sharp words, I hadn’t been calling them. I hadn’t been to see Yusuf, or even written him a note. I hadn’t found the intern who’d boxed all my stuff up and thanked them, like I’d vowed I would do. I hadn’t even found time to speak to Daniel again—which I desperately wanted to do.

Everything was so hectic, so frenzied—and every time I remembered something else I was supposed to do, I put it off as to be handled ‘After the Launch’. In fact, my whole life started to be put off until ‘After the Launch’—in the end, I
was so busy, I even started reducing it to ATL. I didn’t even have time to say three whole words.

Build bridges with worried family? ATL. Catch up with much-missed childhood friend? ATL. Show basic human decency to the little people—and yes, I was starting to think in terms like that—who’d helped me on the way up? ATL. Get some sleep and drink something other than Red Bull? ATL.

Another one I had now added to the ATL list was contacting Ruby—who had left me about a gazillion messages since all this began. I know we hadn’t exactly been living together harmoniously for those last few weeks, due to the arrival of the lovely Keith, but I’d known her since I was four—I’d built a business with her, moved in with her, shared boxes of tampons with her, and spent countless nights both in and out with her. And yet, I still hadn’t found the time to get in touch—Ruby was very much ATL.

And, as we emerged from the Starmaker offices and out onto the bustling London streets, looking at their faces in the late autumn sunshine, I was really starting to wish that seeing my family again had also been put off until ATL.

Except that was the whole reason my family was there. To come to the launch, to see me perform, to find a place in my new life. To understand what my days looked like. To show their support. I knew all of that—but I still didn’t, in my heart of hearts, want them there. I owed them a lot—but I didn’t have time to start repaying that debt just then. In fact, I didn’t even have time to spend with them—and instead was handing them off to Tilly, who was going to take them on the London
Eye and show them the sights. It should have been me doing that—I wasn’t so far up my own backside that I didn’t realise.

I realised, but I didn’t care enough to make things change. There were dozens of last minute things to check, to practise, to get my head around. So I said my goodbyes, gave them all hugs, and slipped Tilly a bundle of cash so she could look after them for the day.

As I watched them all trundle off towards the Tube station, Luke waving over his shoulder, my mum and dad grasping each other’s hands, the only thing I really felt was relief.

I walked back into the building and immediately put them out of my mind because I had things to do. It shouldn’t have been that easy—but I’m ashamed to say it was.

I didn’t see them again until the evening, when Jack had organised a dinner for us all at a restaurant near to their hotel. They hadn’t wanted to stay at a hotel; despite the fact that my flat only had one bedroom, they offered to bring sleeping bags and the inflatable mattresses we used when we went camping, and ‘make do’. But, I’d reasoned with them, what was the point of me working so hard to make money, to build a better life for us all, if we just ended up ‘making do’? I wanted them to stay in a nice hotel, with room service and champagne in the mini-bar and fresh flowers in the windows—I wanted them to have the best, and I was now in a position to give them the best. At least for a couple of nights. I just wasn’t in a position to give them my time—which is what they seemed to want most of all.

‘Your nan sent you this,’ said Mum after we were all shown to our seats. Jack was talking to my dad—playing the role of
Starmaker main man, rather than my boyfriend—and Luke was busy snapping photos of the place on his phone, which I fully expected to show up on his Facebook timeline within minutes. Becky was staring at the menu, practically salivating, and Neale had also come along. I wanted them to meet Neale—he was playing a big part in my life, and I knew they’d like him. Plus, the uncomfortable truth was I wanted him there as an extra buffer zone between me and the demands of my own family.

‘What is it?’ I asked, taking the envelope from her hands.

‘Try opening it and looking, Jessy—or do you need Tilly to do that for you?’

I bit down the sharp retort I could feel brewing, and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a note from my eighty-five-year-old grandmother: ‘Treat yourself to something special, girl—lots of love your Nan xxx.’ Wrapped up in the paper was a twenty-pound Matalan gift card.

It was silly, but I immediately felt tears start to sting the back of my eyes, and clenched them down before they could mess up my make-up. This was a popular restaurant, and there was always the chance I could get photographed—there was no room for crying in public any more. Or for being anything less than perfect in public any more.

The flip side of that pressure was that the days when I needed a Matalan gift card were hopefully well and truly behind me—but God, it was so sweet of Nan to think of me, especially after me knocking her birthday party back. I promised myself that I would go up to Liverpool and pay her a visit—ATL, of course.

‘Looks like she’s forgiven me at least, Mum,’ I said, tucking the gift card and the note away in the very swish handbag I’d been sent for free.

‘Well, she’s eighty-five and lived through the war, love—I’m sure worse things have happened to her. But you just remember that she won’t live forever, and you’ll regret it if don’t come home and see her soon.’

‘I know,’ I said, pouring us both a glass of wine; I suddenly felt like I was going to need it, and wished I’d sat between Neale and Luke instead. That was definitely the easiest part of the table. ‘And I will—it’s all crazy at the moment, but good crazy.’

‘Good crazy?’ piped in Becky, staring at my wine with the undisguised envy of the pregnant woman. ‘Just crazy, I’d say. I mean, Tilly’s a lovely girl—but we didn’t come all the way down to London just to see her, you know? Or for Dad to talk to
him
…’

She cast a glare in the direction of Jack—for some reason, she’d always taken against him. I’d always denied there was anything going on between us but I think she secretly suspected, despite that. Plus, he was the man who ultimately took me away from home … something I think my family were starting to see as a bad thing now, no matter how successful I was.

I could feel the mood declining, and just didn’t have the energy to get into a debate with them—from their point of view, they were right. From my point of view, I was right—I was a big girl living my own life, and doing the very best I could. I had a hugely stressful and important night ahead of me
in twenty-four hours’ time, and I needed to put off the showdown I could feel was brewing. ATL, I told myself—ATL.

Luckily, Neale chose that exact same moment to screech like a banshee at something undoubtedly hilarious Luke had just whispered in his ear—and the whole table turned to them instead. For once, I was grateful not to be the centre of attention—and didn’t even object to the fact that my darling brother was now entertaining everyone with a story about the time he waited under my bed on Halloween night, then climbed on top of me wearing a Scream mask while I was asleep. Even I had to laugh—and it had been pretty funny, right up until the point where I tried to stab him with my nail scissors.

After that, everything seemed to relax down a notch or two—Jack chipped in with some funny anecdotes about his early career; my dad told some stories that all started with ‘One night, I had this fella in the back of my cab …’, and my mum and Becky focused on eating, drinking, and, in Becky’s case, repeatedly going to the loo.

I caught Jack’s eye at the end of the meal, when we were all on coffee and our final dregs of alcohol. He gave me a smile so wide, so charming, so outright gorgeous, that I thought I might actually melt and slide off my chair, landing on the floor where Becky could kick me in the ribs.

He stood up, and held his glass high as everyone looked at him.

‘And now, ladies, gents, Neale, a toast. To Jessika—one of the most talented women I’ve ever met, and one of the nicest people I’ve been privileged to work with. Jessika!’

As the others joined in, raising their glasses and chinking
them against each other so hard the waiters looked a bit worried, my dad stood up next to Jack.

He still looked a bit uncomfortable in yet another new shirt, and was wearing a tie—which I’d only ever seen at weddings, christenings, and funerals before. His bald head was shining with sweat under the lights, and he clinked the side of his spoon against the glass before he spoke.

‘To our Jessy,’ he said. ‘My favourite ever middle child.’

Everyone started laughing, and I rolled my eyes—that’s my dad for you. Some things never change.