The Bex Factor (4 page)

‘Let’s try it again, shall we? But how about you start unaccompanied, build gradually to a climax in the B flat section and then do a slow diminuendo through to the end?’

‘OK,’ I say, pretending to understand exactly what he’s talking about. ‘Let’s do it.’

I may not know much about B flats and diminu . . . what he just said, but this time it’s perfect – just like I imagined it. No, better. Wherever I go with the tune, he follows. And
when we get to the chorus it’s kind of like the music takes over.

‘Wow,’ he says, slowly stroking the neck of the guitar with his thumb. ‘I can’t believe you sing like that. You just don’t look big enough.’

I
so
have to ask him.

‘And that’s it?’ he says. ‘All you wanted was to sing with me?’

‘Well, yeah . . . I mean . . . no, not quite. You see, what I . . .’

And I’m just about to spill when I hear knocking. The door opens and in bounces Dad. At least he’s got his trousers on. ‘Sweetheart, that was a different class.
‘’Course I’m a musical theatre man myself, but I’ll tell you something, kiddo, you’re going to knock ’em dead.’

‘Dad,’ I say, trying to shut him up before he gives the game away. ‘What do you want?’

‘It’s still chucking it down outside. I thought your friend here might need a lift.’

Matthew practically bites his hand off. ‘Yeah, thanks, Mr McCrory. That would be great.’

‘Where do you live, matey?’

‘Parkside. Just opposite the tennis courts.’

Dad whistles. ‘Very nice too. We’ve done a couple of extensions up your way.’

Matthew grabs his rucksack.

It’s now or never. ‘Sorry, Dad, could you give us a minute, please? We’ll be down in a sec.’

‘Oh yeah, right,’ says Dad, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I’ll go and clear out the van.’

‘Well, come on,’ says Matthew. ‘What’s the big secret?’

Just spit it out
,
you silly mare!
‘I’ve got an audition . . . for
The Tingle Factor
. . . in London . . . this Saturday.’

‘Great,’ he says, still looking a bit confused. ‘My sister loves that show. But I don’t see what all the fuss is about.’

I’ve practised this a thousand times in my head, but it still comes out all wrong. ‘I want you to come with me, yeah? To play your guitar, I mean.’

‘Why?’

‘You said yourself it sounded pretty amazing.’

‘You don’t need me. You’ve got a really good voice.’

I’ve practised begging too. ‘Please. I need something to make me stand out from the crowd. Otherwise the judges won’t even look at me.’

‘I’m not sure,’ he says, fiddling with his school tie. ‘It could be . . . difficult.’

‘It won’t cost you anything. Mum says she’ll get Dad to drive us all in the van.’

‘I don’t know, I . . .’

This must be what it feels like – that terrible silence, at the end of the results show, just before they announce who’s going through to the next week. Matthew sticks a handful of
hair into his mouth, and it feels like about ten double geography lessons before he opens it again to speak.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ he says, edging towards the door. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘You don’t understand, Matthew. This is my
dream
.’

‘Look, I’d like to, honest. I just can’t, OK?’

‘But why? It’s one lousy day out of your life. Why won’t you help me?’

He frowns and reaches for the door. ‘It’s complicated.’

Dad thinks he’s doing me a favour, making me tag along for the ride. He whistles ‘Love Changes Everything’ and keeps grinning at Matthew and me, squashed up
together on the front seat.

‘What’s the matter with you two?’ he says, digging me in the ribs. ‘Not shy are you?’

‘Shut up, Dad.’

Matthew stares into the pouring rain. But I’m the one who should be pulling miserable faces here. I’m the one who’s had her dreams crapped on from a great height. And all
because that self-centred idiot can’t think of anyone but himself.

He wouldn’t understand. I’ve lived for this since I was ten years old. It’s not just about the money. It’s not even about the fame – who doesn’t want to be
famous, anyway? It’s because I really, really love
The Tingle Factor
. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a student in the Celebrity Conservatoire. All I’ve ever wanted is to be
mentored by Justin or Brenda – or even that new judge they haven’t announced yet. If I only got as far as Basic Training it would still be the happiest time of my life.

Like that’s ever going to happen now. My mood gets even blacker when we turn into Parkview and Dad starts pointing out the flash cars. ‘You know what you two ought to call
yourselves?’ he says, pulling up outside a huge house with a row of trees in the front garden. ‘Posh and Bex!’

‘Thanks a lot, Mr McCrory,’ says Matthew jumping out and starting the cross country run up the driveway. When he gets to the front door he freezes for a moment before turning and
giving me a stupid wave.

I’m much too proud to wave back, but not so proud that I don’t wind down the window and shout at him, ‘Call me if you change your mind.’

What was I thinking, anyway? Kids like me don’t get famous. This was my one chance. With Matthew backing me, I could have been something really special. I mean, I’ve got an OK voice
and everything –
better
than OK. But let’s face the facts: without his guitar playing, I’m just another wannabe.

Matthew

I know how furious she is when I walk in and find my sister Emily painting an angel on the gruesome cardboard thing that sits permanently on the dining-room table. Mum bought
it off the internet just before Dad left. She always gets the paints out when she wants to make me feel guilty. No wonder I don’t bring friends home any more.

‘Where is she?’ I say, hoping to avoid the inevitable post-mortem until supper’s ready.

‘Went upstairs for a lie down,’ says Emily, adding a halo and a pair of sunglasses. ‘Hey, Matthew, look what Dad got me.’ She points at a miniature badger in a sailor
suit. ‘Isn’t he cute?’

‘Yeah . . . nice. What did he want anyway?’

Emily’s smile turns down at the edges. ‘They sent me to my room so they could have a “little chat”, but I couldn’t make out exactly what they were shouting
about.’

‘Guess what?’ I say, trying to cheer her up. ‘This . . . friend of mine’s going on
The Tingle Factor
.’

‘I think she’s getting a migraine,’ whispers Emily, glancing up at the ceiling and gnawing on her thumb.

So I run out to the kitchen, put some water on to boil and chuck some organic vegetables into the wok. I’m just adding black pepper when I hear an ominous humming sound followed by the
click, click, squeak
that’s like a stiletto to my heart.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ she says, hovering over the Aga like one of those spiders that eat their young.

‘Sorry, Mum. Something came up.’

‘You expect me to believe that, do you?’

I tear off a sprig of fresh basil and try not to lose it. ‘Sorry, should have texted you. I went home with this girl from school.’

Mum laughs like a pack of hyenas. ‘Now I know you’re lying.’

‘It’s true. She wanted me to play the guitar for her.’

‘Yeah, right. And where does she live? This imaginary girlfriend of yours?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Not really,’ says Mum, clicking over to the table and lowering herself onto a chair, ‘considering she doesn’t exist. Look, I’m not stupid or something. I know you
were just avoiding your father.’

‘So what?’

Mum collapses in a heap on the kitchen table. I reach for the kettle.

‘I needed you here, Matthew. Was that really so much to ask?’

‘Sorry. What did he want, anyway?’

‘The thing is,’ says Mum, balancing a kiwi on top of the fruit bowl, ‘we need to start cutting back.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘But Dad’s got shed loads of money.’ It’s true, he has. You might not have heard of his company (Instant Graffixication) but I bet you’ve seen the graphics they did
for that new leisure channel where the barbecues turn into shopping trolleys that turn into giant robots playing Frisbee with a satellite dish. He got 250k for that.

‘Why does he hate us so much, Mum?’

‘Of course he doesn’t hate us. And he’s not lying either. There just isn’t the work out there. They’ve already had to move out of those offices.’

‘What does “cutting back” mean, anyway?’

Mum tugs at her short brown hair. ‘Well, we won’t be able to renew your phone contract for a start.’

‘No way,’ I say, tipping some wholewheat pasta into the boiling water. ‘I get unlimited internet. And what am I going to do without my apps?’

‘Look, we’re all going to have to make sacrifices, Matthew. I’ll be giving up my acupuncture and Emily certainly won’t be riding any more.’

‘What was that about riding lessons?’ says Emily, walking into the kitchen with yellow splodges and a look of complete horror on her face.

‘Not you as well,’ groans Mum. ‘Bloody kids. It’s me, me, me the whole time.’

I’m getting worried now. ‘And what happens if this cost-cutting thing doesn’t work? He’s not going to sell the house and make us live on the Dogshit Estate, is
he?’

‘Hardly,’ says Mum, almost smiling for the first time tonight. ‘But we might have to do some serious downsizing.’

‘It’s not fair,’ whines Emily. ‘Mrs Potter says I ride like an angel.’

‘For God’s sake,’ screams Mum. ‘Anyone would think it was
my
fault. Do you honestly believe I enjoy all this? Do you? Do you?’

‘Kettle’s boiled,’ I say, pretending not to notice that her eye’s gone wonky. ‘How about a nice cup of camomile tea?’

Mum slips into super-mad level Xtreme. I know she can’t help it, but I really hate it when she’s like this. ‘I’d give anything to go back to how it was before. But
that’s not going to happen, is it? So you’d better get used to it. And I’ll tell you what’s unfair:
me
being like this. I just feel so . . .
useless
.’

Emily cowers by the dishwasher. ‘Mummy, don’t.’

But I’m too slow to stop Mum sweeping the fruit bowl off the table. A mountain of organic kiwis tumbles onto the kitchen floor.

After I’ve wrapped the splinters of shattered glass in
The Financial Times
, cleared away the supper things, dragged the wheelie bin to the bottom of the driveway
and helped Emily with her evacuee’s diary, we all sit on the sofa and watch
EastEnders
.

‘God, their lives are so miserable.’ says Mum, sipping her second cup of camomile tea.

Emily is clutching the stuffed rabbit thing that she still insists on sleeping with. ‘Are you all right now, Mum?’

‘I’m fine,’ says Mum, stroking Emily’s hair. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, guys. I get so angry sometimes.’

‘It’s OK, Mum,’ says Emily, kissing her on the cheek. ‘We know you don’t mean it, don’t we, Matthew?’

‘Eh . . . what?’ I’m miles away. Well, about a mile and a half as the crow flies, but right now, Bex’s bedroom seems like another universe.

Mum just smiles. ‘The trick is to stay positive. Not to behave like a victim. Which reminds me, you haven’t forgotten about Saturday have you, Matthew?’

‘Forgotten what?’

‘We’re collecting outside Sainsbury’s.’

It’s the only time she ever leaves the house. I’ve done my best to forget about it, but the thought of another wet weekend in Sainsbury’s car park is suddenly more than I can
bear.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I won’t be able make it this time.’

‘What do you mean you won’t be able to make it?’

‘Look, don’t worry, I’ll be back in time for tea.’

‘Back from where?’

Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. ‘From London. I’m going to audition for
The Tingle Factor
with my imaginary girlfriend.’

Matthew