Star Struck (16 page)

‘You’re going nowhere,’ Jo said firmly. ‘You’re staying there and you’re getting as far as you can. Then, and only then, are you coming home. Don’t worry about Dad, I’ll sort him.’

‘No, I can’t, Jo, I should be there.’

‘Catherine, if you come home I’ll tell everyone that Dad has cancer.’

‘You wouldn’t …’

‘I won’t have to because you’re staying there and you’re
going
to just see how you get on, OK? If you get through to the finals then we’ll talk about what to do, but only then. Yes? Look, I know you think I’m still twelve and you need to mother me but you don’t. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself and misery-arse Dad too.’

Catherine wound the telephone cord around her fingers, fighting back the hot tears that had sprung to her eyes.

‘I know what you gave up for us when Mum left …’

‘I didn’t give up anything really …’ Catherine cut in.

‘Yes you did. You could have had a life and then you didn’t.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Sorry,’ Jo backtracked. ‘You know what I mean.’

Catherine was trying to hold back her emotions but found herself sobbing. She didn’t want her younger sister to think that she’d ever given anything up to look after the family but it must be obvious to everyone that she had. That was why she had never pursued any of her own interests. Why she had hidden her love of music and just settled into a job that was easy and meant that she was near home. That way she could be home each evening to make tea and help Jo with her homework or their dad with whatever harebrained project he had taken up to prevent him from pining over their mum.

‘Yes?’ Jo asked again. Catherine wasn’t used to people doing things for her, especially her little sister.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

‘Right, go and put Flixton on the map. Preferably somewhere good, like next to Monaco.’

Catherine laughed despite her tears, ‘Thanks Jo.’

‘And I won’t say anything until you come back, OK?’

‘OK, bye.’ Catherine hung the phone on the hook and wiped her eyes. What she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sob her eyes out but she couldn’t do that. Star would probably be hovering over her giving her advice on how best to cry.

‘Are you OK?’ a voice behind Catherine asked. For a split second she thought it was Jesse; he was the only person that knew she used this phone. When she turned around she saw that it was Andy.

‘Yes, fine,’ Catherine said, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

Andy looked at her curiously and then looked at his feet; they both knew she wasn’t all right.

‘Just stuff at home, you know.’

‘How’s everything going with your group?’ Andy changed the subject.

‘Good, they all seem … nice.’

‘Star still being charming?’ Andy asked as he smiled. His eyes twinkled and little dimples appeared at the corner of his mouth. Cute, Catherine thought.

‘She should contact the UN, they could do with someone like her as an ambassador,’ Catherine said.

‘They should send her in with the troops,’ Andy warmed to the theme. ‘She’d be brilliant on peace-keeping missions.’

‘I can just see her in Sierra Leone,’ Catherine agreed with a smile, ‘telling everyone that if they just stopped squabbling and just talked about
her
then things would naturally sort themselves out.’

Andy laughed out loud. Catherine shyly looked at her hands, not sure what to say next.

‘So, you’re down to the last forty-eight? Good going.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’ve got a great voice. And a really great chance of doing well.’

‘Do you think?’ Catherine looked at him. She wondered if he knew something she didn’t, but the earnest look on his face suggested that he was just being kind. ‘We’ll see.’

Catherine decided that she needed to stop talking about herself and turn the conversation to Andy. He was probably sick to death of listening to people talking about themselves, about their ambition, their talent, their ‘journey’. Everyone seemed extremely keen to be on a ‘journey’. Even the woman with the Roy Orbison song had said that she felt that learning the dance to ‘Penny Arcade’ had been part of her ‘journey’. Catherine thought that it was a bit grand to be calling it a journey after being booted out at the first hurdle. It was more of a trip, surely, or a little outing maybe.

‘So how are you finding working on
Star Maker
?’ she asked. She really didn’t know how other people managed to flirt. She was utterly hopeless at it. In all other aspects of her life – home, work, dealing with door-to-door salesmen – she knew where she was. But when it came to members of the opposite sex she had chosen to bow out early, aged seventeen, when she had been first let down by her one and only boyfriend, Darren Gleeson. Darren had made a big play for Catherine; asking her out after they had been partnered together on the lighting rig at the annual school play. Darren had taken her to the cinema and to Frankie and Benny’s (the height of sophistication at the time). He also informed Catherine that he was an expert at removing a girl’s bra with one hand because he’d
practised
on his sister – which was so wrong that warning bells should have rung, she realised with hindsight.

Darren had been intensely interested in Catherine for the four weeks they were together; writing her poems, buying her fluffy toys and then as quickly as he had become interested, he became wholly uninterested and moved on to a girl called Jenny Addison, leaving Catherine feeling silly and rejected. She hadn’t bothered since then. She knew this probably seemed harsh to other people, that she would cloister herself in this way, but she didn’t want to be hurt and so didn’t put herself in situations where the chance might arise. She always marvelled at girls who could just get off with someone and then get up next morning and think nothing of it. She wasn’t wired that way. Anyway she knew that boys fancied girls like Jo and Maria who had confidence in spades, not girls like her and besides she had too much on her plate with her dad and now with singing to be thinking about romance. She had decided to leave the relationship stuff to the big girls and getting on with what she was good at, namely staying in the background and looking out for other people.

‘It’s good, yeah. Bit weird, doesn’t feel quite the same as pulling pints …’ Andy saw the look of confusion on Catherine’s face. ‘Crap job I had a while ago,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘But it’s good.’

Catherine and Andy began to walk along the corridor. Andy took a sideways glance at Catherine. She paused, sensing that he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Then he did it again, Catherine looked at him. He took a deep breath. ‘Listen, tell me to sod off if you want but
you
looked really upset when you were on the phone and I know what it’s like here: you don’t know anyone, there’s no one you feel like you can speak to, it’s a bit of a weird environment …’ Andy stopped, he looked like he was regretting ever opening his mouth. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that if you need to talk about anything then I’m good at listening,’ he said with a small shrug.

Normally Catherine would have clammed up and nodded her appreciation but she was so stressed about her father and her role at home that she did need to speak to someone and Andy seemed so kind and willing to listen that it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to open up to him. ‘My dad’s got cancer.’

Andy’s hands fell to his side helplessly. ‘Oh God, Catherine … I’m really sorry.’

‘So not only is he mad and inappropriate,’ she said referring to the one and only time Andy had met her father, ‘he’s really poorly,’ she said, her voice cracking.

Andy put his hand on her arm. Catherine began to cry in earnest now. She didn’t want to dissolve into floods of tears but it seemed she had no choice. She needed to get this out and poor Andy, who she barely knew, was getting the brunt of it. He stepped closer to her, she hung her head; she didn’t want this poor guy to have to see her like this. He put his free hand on her other arm. ‘I’m so sorry, that must be awful.’

‘It is because I look after him and I’ve come here … but I don’t look after him because of the cancer, that’s a newish thing, I just look after him because he’s got depression and I’m sort of the only one at home, except Jo, she’s good, she tries but she’s only young and she’s got her own
life.’
Catherine sniffed back her snotty tears and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She looked up at Andy. ‘Why am I telling you all this? I’m sorry. I just … I just needed to say something I suppose,’ Catherine said. She didn’t really know what else to say.

‘Right,’ Andy said awkwardly, ‘I’m rubbish at this sort of thing, so I’m just going to come straight out with it. Would you like a hug?’

‘Would I what?’ Catherine asked, making sure he hadn’t just asked her if she’d like a mug or a jug before she threw her arms around him.

‘Oh God, sorry, I just thought you looked like you could do with a hug.’

‘That would be really lovely,’ Catherine said sheepishly.

Andy moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. They stood there, motionless for a few moments as she felt his warmth and basked in the comfort of this small intimacy. Then Andy pulled away. ‘You OK?’

Catherine nodded, ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Do you need another one?’

Right now Catherine wanted to curl up in Andy’s arms for the rest of her life, he was so kind and lovely and seemed to know what to say and when to say it. She was just about to say ‘yes please’ when Jesse rounded the corner.

‘What are you two up to round here? Sneaking around?’

‘No, we’re not doing anything.’ Andy protested a little too much.

Catherine stood, her arms by her side, staring at her feet as if she’d just been caught behind the bike sheds by a teacher.

‘I was just using the phone and then Andy came round
and
I—’ Catherine broke off, as Jesse stood there, his eyebrow arched.

‘Anyways, I’m just looking for you to tell you that you’re needed in your room. Richard Forster’s planning a visit and he wants you, Kim and Star to see him.’

‘God, really?’ Catherine asked. She was going to have to pull herself together.

‘Yep. Come on,’ Jesse said, spinning on his heel and marching ahead.

‘Go on, good luck,’ Andy said, winking at Catherine. Catherine smiled gratefully and headed off to her room.

Since when do I wink? Andy felt a stab of mortification as he walked back to his and Jesse’s cupboard. Since when do I volunteer to hug people? There it was, that stab again. It was all right for people like Jesse, he could get away with stuff like that. He was smooth, women liked him; he looked like a hunk of manhood. Andy looked more like a clothes prop with a wig on and he knew that that look didn’t lend itself to great sweeping Lemar-type love gestures. He couldn’t tell if Catherine thought he was an idiot. She seemed quite pleased that he had intervened. But then again maybe he’d just caught her at a very low moment and she was back in her room wondering why she’d just let that beanpole of a runner touch her.

Will approached Andy. ‘Just the guy. How’s it going?’

‘Erm, OK. You?’

‘Great.’

‘Can I catch you for a few minutes about …’ Will threw his wrist out and looked at his white Chanel J12 watch, ‘… nine? Richard should have finished with the girls by then.’

‘Oh yeah, Jesse said he was going in to speak to them.’

‘Yeah, he likes all of them, but he just needs to have a word, you know, see what else they have to offer, other than their voices.’

Andy nodded. ‘OK, where are we meeting?’

‘Production room. Don’t let any of the contestants see you. We’re deciding the final twenty-four.’

‘Cool, I’ll be there.’ Andy said, still marvelling at the fact that he was being allowed into the inner sanctum.

Andy let himself into his box room. If only the Great British Public knew that this was how their favourite show was decided. All of the heart-wrenching knife-edge auditions were just a con – from what Andy could gather, who was worthy of a place in the show was decided on sob story, controversy, personality and voice, in that order. And he was going to help.

‘So Star, tell me your story,’ Richard Forster said, shooting his cuffs and holding his head to one side. A very tanned head at that, Catherine observed. It had been bugging Catherine for a bit. In real life Richard didn’t really look like
himself
, or at least how he appeared on TV. He looked like someone else, and then it occurred to her, he didn’t look like someone else, he looked like
something
else: a magician. If he ever fell on hard times – not likely with the universal success of
Star Maker
– he could always ply his trade sawing someone in two or producing a dove from behind their ear.

‘I went to the Sylvia Young School,’ Star said with such gravitas that it seemed she thought that this information should see Richard roll over and start salivating.

He obviously sensed this. ‘Who hasn’t?’ he retorted.

‘OK …’ Star said, gathering herself. ‘Well, I told one of your researchers this but I haven’t heard it mentioned since and I think it is key to who I am,’ Star said, clutching her hand to her chest dramatically.

Kim sighed and lay down on her bed. She had stopped even pretending to humour Star. Richard looked over at Kim. His eye flickered, he spotted something. Catherine couldn’t work out what, but she could tell that the cogs were whirring.

‘Well, I was put though Silvia Young by my uncle …’

So far, so ordinary, Catherine thought. A family benefactor, this must happen a lot to people like Star; it was no biggy. But Catherine could tell from the look on Star’s face that she was holding something back, something she evidently thought was solid TV gold.

Star took a deep breath and bit her bottom lip, looking out of the window as if trying to compose herself. ‘… because I went to live with him when my mum and dad died in a car crash when I was nine.’ She delivered this news like someone who knew the answer to the million-pound question on
Who Wants to be a Millionaire
, not like someone who had suffered a terrible family tragedy at an early age.