Remember My Name (25 page)

‘W
hat did you say, love?’ my nan asked, peering at me over her bifocals, her little face wrinkled up like a pickled walnut.

‘I said,’ I repeated for the third time, ‘I’m SORRY I MISSED YOUR BIRTHDAY!’

‘Oh, that’s all right, girl,’ she answered, settling back into her wheelchair. ‘I’ve got plenty more in me, don’t you worry. I’m planning quite a do for my ninetieth.’

I leaned down and kissed the skin of her papery cheek, and tucked her tartan blanket more firmly around her skinny legs. She really was great, my nan.

She was also very much enjoying herself, being out and about, and getting lots of fuss made of her in the auditorium of my old college. I suspected she’d had a couple of paper cups of sherry, and she had a death grip on her plate of sandwiches, gnarled old knuckles holding on for dear life.

My mum was sitting next to her, at the end of a row that also contained my dad, Luke, and Becky, who was taking up two seats and glaring at anyone who dared ask her to move up.

It was the first week in January and I’d been home for three days. Three days of apologising and explaining and listening. Which wasn’t as bad as it sounds—the listening part, especially. Once I was out of my London bubble, away from the insane pressures of Starmaker, away from my infatuation with Jack and my obsession with chasing fame at the cost of all else, life made much more sense.

I’d sat in our living room, nursing mug after mug of tea, talking things through with my family. Listening to how worried they’d been—about my schedule, about my lifestyle, about my weight loss, about the types of people I’d been mixing with.

Everything I’d mistaken for an attempt to control me, as judging me, was nothing of the sort—it was worry for me, worry that they didn’t know quite how to deal with. And I’d thrown their concern back in their faces, time after time, eventually almost cutting myself off from them completely—the lack of phone calls, not coming home for Nan or for Christmas, snubbing them when they’d come all the way to London and were making every effort to spend time with me. Fobbing them off on Tilly. Storming out on the single launch. Even hanging up on my mum on the phone, which still made me cringe.

‘You see, you daft cow,’ Becky had said, throwing a cushion at my head. I batted it away before it made contact—years of experience. ‘You were getting a cob on with us, and it was just because everyone loves you so much.’

‘I know,’ I replied, chucking the cushion back at her, but gently, as she was a baby mama the size of Jabba the Hut.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, to all of them. Apart from Luke—he’d got fed up with the girl family drama after about half an hour and was playing
Call of Duty
in his bedroom instead.

‘It’s hard to describe,’ I continued. ‘The way everything changed. It wasn’t just the fame, it was the time before it—when I was an intern, as well. I was so embarrassed at how badly everything was going. I felt humiliated by the fact that I felt like I was failing, letting you all down when you’d believed in me. When you came down to visit, Becky, and it was all so crap—I was obviously nothing there, and Patty was, well …’

‘Patty was a bitch to both of us,’ Becky finished for me. ‘I can’t believe you’re thinking of asking that woman to join you and Vogue at the new label.’

‘She’s excellent at her job,’ I said, grinning. ‘And we’ve made it part of the deal that she has to use her real accent. She’s a Geordie. Anyway … I was low. So once things started to pick up, once it all started to happen, I kind of lost my balance I suppose. I was so desperate for it all to work out. I had all these ideas and plans—and I wanted to pay your mortgage off, Mum and Dad, and make life easier for you.’

‘Oh, love,’ said my dad, squeezing me into a giant Bald Eagle-sized hug. ‘You daft mare. We paid our mortgage off about five years ago!’

‘What!’ I spluttered. ‘Why do you both still work so hard then?’

‘We like work, Jessy,’ answered Mum, smiling gently at me. ‘It’s just part of who we are. Neither of us is ready to retire just yet but believe me, when we do, we have a few bob tucked
away so we can afford the odd cruise or a hip replacement. We’re your parents—it’s our job to look after you, not the other way round. At least until we’re as old as Nan, and you lot can be on wheelchair duty.’

I shook my head in amazement. I’d been such an idiot. I mean, I hadn’t been chasing fame just for them—I wanted it myself, badly. I still did. I still wanted to sing in front of packed crowds, and record music that affected people’s lives, and be able to use any talent I had to live a full, rich life. But at least part of my motivation had always been them—and I’d been self-obsessed and arrogant enough to think that if I made it I’d be able to swoop in like the big hero, and solve all their problems. I was starting to realise, the more we talked, that the main problem they’d had recently was
me.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said again, shaking my head. ‘I’ve been a tit. I hope you can forgive me.’

‘Course we can,’ said Becky, grimacing as she lumbered to her feet. ‘You’re our Jessy whether you want to be or not. You’re stuck with us. Now, I’m off for my hundredth pee of the day. Is Daniel coming to this thing tomorrow night?’

She’d paused in the doorway, waiting for my answer.

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, feeling my heart sink a few inches. ‘I suppose we’ll see.’

To be fair to Daniel, I’d organised this event all by myself—no Tilly, no Patty—at the very last minute. A special appearance at the college, where I’d sing a few songs, talk about my time there and how it had started me out on this path, and answer questions. I’d donated some prizes for a big raffle—signed pictures, merchandise, some autographed albums that Vogue
had given me—and all the funds were going to the college’s Performing Arts department.

I suppose it was part of my attempt to make up for being such an idiot—getting back to my roots and all. I’d even called Ruby and invited her. I think she was more embarrassed about the story in the papers than I had been, plus she’d broken up with Keith, which had to be a good thing.

I wanted Daniel to be there—he was part of my past, and I desperately hoped he’d be a permanent part of my future—but all he’d said was he’d try and make it. It was short notice, and he was busy being an internationally renowned music producer. Our relationship was still completely undefined, and neither of us had made any promises. I knew I had no right to expect him to come—just a whole lot of hope.

*

And now we were here, and my nan was half cut, and the place was absolutely packed and completely buzzing. As the head teacher introduced me, and I walked up into the stage, I felt more nervous than I had at my own single launch, or on a live TV broadcast on Christmas Day. I felt nervous because this was home—this was where the heart was, and this was what mattered.

I didn’t have Neale with me—he was serving out his notice with Starmaker, and would be coming with me and Vogue as well—and had done my own hair and make-up. There were no backing dancers. No clever lighting. No dry ice. It was just me, and some video from my end-of-term show from all
those years ago. Just me, a microphone, and my voice—and that would have to be enough.

In the end I really shouldn’t have worried. The reception was mental—like those scenes on
The X Factor
when the contestants go home in the last week. There was screaming and shouting and so much applause I thought the roof might come in, and then I’d have to do another concert to raise funds to replace it. I was asked questions I expected, and questions I didn’t, and I was as honest as I could possibly be. At the end, after doing ‘Midnight’, I sang the final song from Daniel’s school show—the one where our triumphant cheerleader heroine saves the day, and saves the planet.

By the time I finished, the place was in uproar. It was so strange, standing there, listening to the applause and the cheers, all those years later. I was older, and wiser, and there was a whole ocean of experience under the bridge—but in some ways, I felt exactly the same. Blinded by the dazzling glow of the lights, deafened by the response, sweating from the effort. Gazing out at those bopping blobs and knowing I’d entertained them, knowing they were cheering for me. It still felt worth it—especially with my family back in my life, waving and shouting with the best of them.

Eventually, after several minutes of insanity, the curtains closed, just as they had done back when I was a teenager. I could hear the head teacher out front, urging everyone to get more raffle tickets and get their refreshments and to believe in their dreams (in that order), and smiled. I’d done it—and it had felt better than any of my other appearances so far.

I glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings—the
wooden floorboards and the faded red velvet curtains and the clunky lighting suspended from the ceiling. The clutter in the wings, the electrical wires held down with duct tape, the random props from previous shows stacked in the corners. The same smell of sweat and dust and organised chaos.

‘It’s hardly changed at all, has it?’ said a voice from the shadows. A voice I knew. A voice I loved.

‘No,’ I said, waiting for him to emerge from his traditional hiding place backstage. ‘Unlike us.’

Daniel walked forward, tall and broad and lean, hair perfectly clean and not a spot in sight, unlike his seventeen-year-old self. He’d definitely changed—and not just in the way he looked. He was still private; he still protected himself from what he perceived as showbiz insanity. His farmhouse was now his version of hiding in the sound booth back when we were teenagers. But these days, he did it because he wanted to, not because he was shy—he was confident enough, successful enough, to survive in that world. He just chose not to, and I had to respect that. He’d always been better at seeing through bullshit than I was.

And me? Had I changed that much? God, yes. Beyond recognition. I’d been on a heck of a journey, as they always say on reality TV shows. And now I was hoping, as Daniel approached me, that this particular stretch of the journey was about to have a happy ending.

He closed the distance between us, and I reached out to hold both his hands. He was smiling down at me, and the look on his face gave me more of an adrenalin rush than a number one single and playing Wembley combined. It was that very
special look he had—the one that made me feel so treasured, so cherished, so very, very wanted.

He stroked the side of my face, and I leaned into his palm, kissing it gently with my lips. He was here. He was holding me.

It was real.

‘I’m glad you came,’ I said, looking up to meet his eyes, thrilled at what I saw there. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come.’

‘And miss this?’ he replied, tugging me closer so our hips touched. ‘The famous Jessika, reprising her very best role? That cheerleader song is still awesome.’

‘I still have the outfit somewhere at my mum and dad’s, you know.’

‘Really? Maybe we’ll have to crack that open sometime. Although I might turn into a hormonal, crush-ridden teenager again, and be too tongue-tied to tell you what I need to tell you.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist so tightly I thought I might never let go. ‘And before you answer that question, I have sorted things out. I’ve untied the knots in my brain, and I know what I want now.’

‘And what do you want, Little Miss Sorted?’

‘I want you,’ I answered simply.

‘That,’ said Daniel, ‘is very lucky. Because I need to tell you that I love you. That I’ve always loved you. That I want you so badly it’s borderline embarrassing. And that I was hoping you felt the same way. I always knew you’d be a star, Jess—but I could only ever hope that you’d be mine.’

He traced his fingers around my jaw, and turned my face up to his, before leaning down for the kind of kiss that any girl—cheerleader, fake Disney Princess, intern, or pop star—would quite happily die for.

W
e were all crammed into one tiny room at the maternity hospital, breaking all the visitor rules, making way too much noise, and generally being a nuisance.

Me and my mum were perched on the edge of Becky’s bed, and the menfolk—Dad, Luke, and Daniel—stood around the edges, all holding cigars that only my dad would enjoy.

Becky herself was propped up on pillows, looking grey and drawn and exhausted, and somehow managing to appear vibrantly happy at the same time. Both the exhaustion and the happiness probably had a lot to do with the tiny bundle of humanity currently curled up on her lap—Oliver Sean Philip, who had entered the world five hours earlier, at the ridiculously healthy weight of ten pounds nine ounces.

His bright red face was so chubby his eyes disappeared in the folds of his flesh, and he had a shock of eye-piercingly red hair tufting from the top of his big, round head.

‘He looks like a fat matchstick,’ said Luke, peering at him cautiously. He’d been traumatised by the fact that Becky had her boobs out when we first arrived, and was playing it safe now.

‘Thanks, shithead,’ said Becky, obviously wishing she could move, but too sore and too laden down to manage. She raised one eyebrow at me, and I got up and gave Luke a slap round the head on her behalf, hard enough to make him yelp.

‘How are you feeling, love?’ asked my mum, stroking the baby’s head and gazing at him in absolute wonder. Dad had burst into tears the moment he’d walked into the room, and now Mum looked like she might follow suit. Becoming a grandparent, it seemed, had been a very emotional experience for them.

‘I’m all right,’ she replied, giving her a little smile. ‘Just knackered. Happy, but knackered, you know?’

‘I do,’ my mum said. ‘That’s the way it stays for the next twenty years, hon.’

I reached out to touch Ollie—he was bound to end up as Ollie, or even Ol, as everyone in Liverpool has their name abbreviated—and his tiny, super-soft fingers wrapped around one of mine. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and decided that becoming an aunty was a very emotional experience too.

I glanced up to look at Daniel, and he gave me one of those gentle half-smiles that always made me feel weak at the knees, even when I was sitting down. One of those smiles that said he knew me, inside out and back to front and upside down, and he loved me anyway. One of those smiles that said he knew exactly what I needed, emotionally and physically, and that he’d always be there to provide it. One of those smiles that made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, and also made me wonder what it would be like to have one of these tiny, gooey little baby creatures of my own one day.

One of the nurses bustled into the room and cast a quick glance around at the assembled Malone and Co. masses. There were only supposed to be two visitors at a time—there were signs all over the place; we’d just chosen to ignore them—and I suspected she was about to tell us off.

Instead, her eyes drifted to me, and widened slightly in a way that told me she’d recognised me—and not as Ollie’s aunty.

‘Hi,’ she said, ‘you’re Jessika, aren’t you? My daughter is obsessed with you! It made her day when she saw you on telly at Christmas, knowing you were from round here.’

She picked up Becky’s chart and checked it over, while I uttered my thanks. Sincere ones, as well—that was a nice thing to hear. After taking Becky’s blood pressure and cooing a little over the baby, she turned back to me.

‘I know you’re here with your family,’ she said, ‘and I completely understand if you say no. But we have a lot of young mums in here, and a lot of kids visiting their new baby brothers and sisters—is there any way you could take a few minutes to visit some of the other rooms? Honestly, it’d be brilliant—they’d be so made up to meet Jessika on the day their babies were born!’

I grinned at her, and cast a glance around the crowded room. At my haggard-yet-radiant sister and the ginger genius attracting all the attention; at my mum, who looked so proud of all of us; at my dad, who I suspected was itching to get outside and start on that cigar. At Luke, who seemed to have grown a foot since I was last home and was, predictably enough, on his phone texting someone. And finally, at Daniel. At the
tall, gorgeous, totally yummy, utterly supportive, majestically talented man that I’d somehow been lucky enough to get a second chance with.

Life as I knew it really couldn’t be much better.

‘I’d be happy to,’ I said to the nurse. ‘But please—don’t call me Jessika. I’m just Jessy.’

Jessy was good enough for my family. Jessy was good enough for Daniel. And finally, I knew, Jessy was good enough for me.