To the Moon and Back (28 page)

‘We've been trying to think of ways to raise money for St Mark's Hospice,' said Yasmin. ‘They looked after my auntie before she died last year. It's the most amazing place, but they're desperate for more cash. If they can't reach their target by Christmas they might have to close.'

Roo said, ‘That's terrible.
Ow
.' Yasmin was good at leg waxes but not that good. It still hurt.

‘Sorry! So anyway, we've decided to have a raffle here at the salon. And seeing as you're one of our celebrity clients, we wondered if you'd donate a prize.'

More pain. Roo flinched. ‘Of course I will, but I'm not a celebrity.'

‘I know, but you used to be. Maybe you could give us a signed photo or something. Or one of your old stage outfits. Anything really.' Yasmin carried on ripping merrily away at the little hairs on Roo's legs. ‘It's just to raise as much money as possible. The last time we held a raffle we raised two hundred and eighty pounds!'

Roo felt bad. She didn't have any stage outfits she could donate. Nobody would want a signed photograph of her. Wasn't there any other way she could help?
Ow.

‘Who else are you asking?'

‘Gosh, pretty much everyone! We're offering prizes of sessions here at the salon, obviously. And quite a few of the clients have offered to bring in boxes of chocolates, homemade cakes, that kind of thing. Everyone's being great,' said Yasmin. ‘They all want to chip in.'

Which was all very lovely but it wasn't going to save a hospice on the brink of closure. Roo said, ‘Who are your other celebrity clients?'

‘Well…' Yasmin pulled a face, ‘we're not really the kind of salon that gets celebrities.'

Jackie, ever the optimist, said, ‘Gary Barlow walked past our window the other week.'

‘That doesn't really count though,' said Yasmin.

‘Ooh, and there was that woman who used to be a weathergirl on TV. Thingywhatsit.' Jackie made twirly can't-remember-the-name gestures with her pen. ‘Remember? She got huge. Came in for a body wrap and we ran out of wrap.'

‘Funnily enough,' Yasmin carried on waxing, ‘she never came back after that.'

Jackie thought for a moment. ‘How about that actress who always used to play mad women? Thelma someone. Knobbly elbows and funny teeth. Oh, I've just remembered, she moved to Canada.'

Yasmin rolled her eyes. ‘Is it any wonder our celebrity clients emigrate?'

‘Whoops, sorry! But we've still got Ceecee Milton!'

Another blast from the past. Roo had met Ceecee Milton a couple of times, back in the day when they had both been experiencing success. Like herself, Ceecee had briefly risen and enjoyed her moment in the celebrity spotlight before fading back again into sepia-toned obscurity. This had largely been down to the fact that her husband, a sleazy operator who doubled as her manager, had managed to alienate most of the big guns in the business. You couldn't fault Ceecee's powerful voice, but when each booking had to be made through someone who created difficulties and complained nonstop about every last detail, it became easier to book someone else for the job. And so another promising career had bitten the dust.

‘Who else is there?' said Roo.

‘Um, that's it, really.' Yasmin looked apologetic.

‘Just me and Ceecee?' Oh dear. Talk about scraping the bottom of the celebrity barrel. ‘A couple of old has-beens.'

‘She's really nice, though. She'll definitely give us something good for the raffle.'

Paranoid, Roo wondered what that meant. Was Yasmin implying that Ceecee was nicer than her?

‘I'll give you something too. I just don't know what yet.'
Ow
. ‘Is she still married?'

‘Not to that awful one. She dumped him a while back. Got herself a lovely new husband now.' Yasmin broke into a smile. ‘See? It can happen. There's hope for us all.'

***

The rain was hammering down as Roo emerged from the tube station. Within seconds her hair was plastered to her head and her T-shirt had turned transparent. People in the street were actually recoiling at the sight of her, which possibly meant she looked a bit deranged, but Roo didn't care. Her body was exhausted but her heart was singing, her brain fizzy with excitement. It was ten to nine in the morning, she'd had no sleep whatsoever, and this was something she had never experienced before. At least, not without the aid of alcohol or other mind-altering substances.

‘Oh my goodness.' Yasmin, arriving to open up the salon, discovered her waiting in the doorway. ‘What's happened? Are you OK?'

‘I'm great.' Roo wiped her sodden hair away from her face and followed her inside. ‘I've been up all night. Writing.'

Yasmin passed her a towel. ‘Here, dry yourself off. I didn't know you were doing that now. What is it, an autobiography?'

‘Not that kind of writing. I've done a song. It's really good.' Roo shook her head and tried again. ‘Actually it's not, it's better than that. It's brilliant.'

‘Ooh, how fab! Sing it to me, then!'

At the best of times Roo's singing voice resembled a cat in a vet's waiting room. ‘I can't. I need Ceecee to do it. Can you give me her number?'

Yasmin was clearly puzzled. ‘Ceecee Milton? Why?'

‘Because this is the best song I've ever written. I can't quite believe I've done it, but I have. And I want us to put it out as a charity single,' said Roo. ‘For your hospice. If we do this properly, we can make it happen. In a big way.'

‘Really? Seriously? Oh my God, how?'

‘Scam. Beg. Use every contact we have.' Roo's head was positively bursting with possibilities. ‘And get a buzz going.'

‘How do we do that?'

‘Well, I think mainly we want to use a mixture of rumor and gossip and technology.' Were her eyes shining? Roo thought they probably were. ‘And some truly massive lies.'

***

Ellie had never seen anything like it. Summoned to a townhouse in St John's Wood, it was eight in the evening by the time she arrived. The huge extension at the back of the house had been turned into a recording studio, there were technical types doing technical things at the mixing desks, and the buzz in the air was tangible. Roo was there at the center of things, running on Diet Coke and adrenaline. Having pulled every string she could conceivably lay her hands on, she had brought together a team of experts to weave their magic. Musicians, music producers, and backing singers were milling around the studio, listening and contributing and contacting others who might be able to help their cause. And there was Yasmin with her baby son on her hip, chatting to statuesque Ceecee Milton, who was black and beautiful and balancing her own baby daughter on hers.

‘Hello!' Spotting her and beckoning Ellie over, Yasmin said, ‘Can you believe all this is happening? This is Ceecee, by the way.'

‘Hi there.' Ceecee had a wonderful smile. ‘You must be the one with the invisible baby.'

‘Sorry about that.' Ellie glanced at Yasmin. ‘The good thing is, the nappies are invisible too.' She paused to listen as someone flicked a switch and the opening bars of music filled the room. ‘This is just amazing.'

‘Wait till you hear the whole thing.' The music stopped. ‘Ceecee's voice is fantastic. I can't get over how they've done it all in one day. And the track itself…'

Someone raised their hand for silence, the music began again, and everyone listened intently. Within thirty seconds Ellie knew just how special it was. Ceecee's heartbreaking vocals were making the little hairs on her arms stand on end. As the song continued, the backing singers joined in and Ceecee's own voice began to soar. ‘You're the light in my life… you're everything… when it's dark you're my light, you're my world, all I believe in…'

Oh God, there was such emotion in the words, Ellie had to turn away. She was going to cry, how embarrassing. Fumbling in her bag, she surreptitiously pulled out a mini pack of Kleenex. The next moment Yasmin was in need of a tissue as well. Gazing around, Ellie saw they weren't the only ones. The music, haunting and powerful and emotive, was impossible to resist; it gripped you by the throat and didn't let go. Grown men were standing there with tears in their eyes. Yasmin's son Ben, blithely indifferent, wriggled and pulled her hair and kicked one of his booties off. The skinny man with the goatee who had been at the recording desk put his arm around Roo's shoulders and gave her a squeeze as the song reached its crescendo…

Ellie only knew that such an extreme reaction to a song you were hearing for the first time was a rare thing. When the final notes had died away, there was absolute silence for a couple of seconds. Then Ceecee dabbed her eyes and said huskily, ‘Damn, I'm good,' and the studio erupted with whoops and cheers and wild applause.

In a daze, Roo said, ‘We've done it. Have we? I think we've done it.' She sank down on to a conker-brown leather sofa and buried her face in her hands.

All around her, people continued to celebrate. Within thirty seconds Roo was fast asleep.

By eleven o'clock the video had been completed. It hadn't taken long at all. Quite simply, someone was dispatched to the local Chinese takeaway for a pile of brown paper bags. A camcorder then recorded the process of the track being laid down while everyone wore bags over their heads with just eye holes cut in them to avert unfortunate accidents. Ceecee and the backing singers wore them too. Every last member of the team would be anonymous.

By midnight the video had been edited together and posted on YouTube. Next, the whispering campaign began. Everyone posted links on websites, Twitter, Myspace and Facebook, dropping hints as to who might be involved: Bono, Jay-Z, Elton John, Beyoncé… Next, they called in favors from journalists, TV people, other music contacts, anyone they could possibly think of. Each person contacted was asked to listen to the song just once, then spread the word that it was a) for charity and b) the track of the year.

By one o'clock the word was already spreading like wildfire, the YouTube clip had been viewed almost half a million times, and speculation as to who could be behind it was rife. Goatee man had to contact Bono, Jay-Z, Elton, and Beyoncé and ask them to remain enigmatic, neither confirming nor denying involvement in order to promote the cause.

Ceecee took her soundly sleeping daughter home at one thirty. Yasmin had left before midnight with Ben. At two o'clock Ellie put a hand on Roo's shoulder and gently shook her awake.

‘Hey, there's a taxi outside if you want to come home. Or Denny says you can stay here if you like.'

Roo blinked up at her, momentarily confused. Then she swung her legs off the sofa and hauled herself upright. ‘No, it's OK, I'll come back with you.' She rubbed her eyes and peered at her watch. ‘I'm working in the shop tomorrow morning. Mustn't be late.'

Had it only been ten days? Roo was incredulous; was it actually possible that it could all have happened so fast? Eleven days ago the song hadn't existed, not even in her own head, yet now it was known to millions, maybe even billions of people all over the world. Talk about surreal.

Roo was in the green room waiting to be called out on set. Live TV was always scary. Well, it hadn't been years ago because she'd generally been off her head and it had all been a laugh, but doing it sober now was in another league altogether. How could you ever be completely sure what might come out of your mouth next?

Logically you knew it wouldn't happen, but there was always that deep-down niggling fear that you might gaze into the camera and start shouting, ‘Fuck, fuck, bastard-bollocks-fuck!'

‘Everything OK?' One of the friendly runners came up to her. ‘Are you sure you wouldn't like a glass of wine?'

‘No thanks.' This was an enormous lie, obviously; she'd love a glass of wine. She just wasn't going to have one. Especially since she'd already broken one vow; trying to explain earlier to the bewildered makeup girl that she didn't wear makeup had been a waste of breath.

‘Oh no, you have to let me do your face! This is TV!' The girl had stood firm. ‘You don't want to look like something that's just been dug up, do you? We can't let you do that—you'd scare the viewers!'

Vanity had vied with exhaustion. Aware that she was promoting a worthy cause and should be making a good impression, Roo had caved in. Just this once wouldn't hurt, would it?

And now that her heinous crime had been committed, it was nice, she was able to admit, to feel pretty again.

The door opened and Ceecee, with no such qualms, came back from the makeup department. In her crimson velvet dress and glossy lipstick to match, she was looking glorious. Batting her shimmering gold eyelids and extravagant false eyelashes at Roo, she did a show-off twirl and said, ‘Look at us. For a couple of old rejects, I think we've scrubbed up pretty good.'

‘Well, I have,' said Roo. ‘You're still looking a bit ropey, if you ask me.'

‘Girl, will you look at these eyelashes? I'm smoking hot and you know it!' Blissfully happy in her second marriage, Ceecee shimmied her generous hips. ‘I'm telling you, my Nathan isn't going to know what's hit him when I get home tonight.'

In five minutes they were due on. Tomorrow they were booked, along with Yasmin, to do a series of newspaper and magazine interviews. So much for the idea that everyone involved would remain anonymous; that had lasted all of four days. But that length of time had been enough to serve its purpose, piquing the interest of millions and instigating a torrent of speculation. By the time they'd been unmasked—OK, debagged—their work had been done. ‘The Light In My Life' had shot to the top of the download chart. The YouTube clip had been viewed seven million times and the song itself was being ranked up there alongside some of the all-time greats. When it became apparent that it hadn't been written and performed by superstars, the general public decided they loved it all the more. This week it was at number one, outselling all other singles many times over.

Already Roo and Ceecee were under pressure to fly to the US to appear over there on the major chat shows. The last few days had been a complete whirlwind. Roo had no idea what would happen next; all she knew was that when the news of her involvement had broken, nobody had been able to get in or out of the charity shop on account of the vast number of paparazzi milling around outside. Nor had the situation improved when the staff discovered she was raising money for a rival charity and not their own. Then people started cramming into the shop, taking photos on their mobiles, and asking Roo for her autograph, and the manageress had lost her temper. This level of disruption simply couldn't be tolerated.

And that was it, she was ordered to collect her things and leave. Sacked on the spot.

From a charity shop. That was the thanks you got for trying to be a good person.

As always, despite her best efforts, Roo found her thoughts drawn back to Todd. What was he doing? Who was he with? Were he and Lisa curled up together on a sofa right now, watching the TV? When she appeared on the screen, would Todd mentally compare her with the perky, pretty little math genius in his arms and thank his lucky stars he'd made the right choice?

Would perky Lisa smile up at him and say, ‘So that's her, is it?' Whilst thinking:
Yay, I'm cuter than she is.

OK, block that, don't think about it now. On the TV screens, the first interview was in the process of being wrapped up and an assistant with a headset was making her way across the green room towards her. Time to go.

***

Ellie had been shopping in Oxford Street searching for something she could wear to Zack's sister's wedding. In a hurry to get back to watch the show, she'd ended up buying three outfits without trying them on. The plan had been to buy something peacock blue, to go with her newest shoes, so of course she'd come home with a crimson wrap dress, a pale gray top and skirt with silver lace overlay, and a bottle-green dress and matching swirly jacket with a shot-silk fuchsia-pink lining.

Because choosing what to wear to a wedding was never straightforward, was it?

Having drawn the living room curtains and switched on the TV, she stripped down to her bra and knickers and tried the wrap dress first. As expected, it was OK but a bit safe. And leaning forward caused the crossover bit to gape, which wasn't safe but wasn't really what you wanted at a wedding either.

No. Back in the bag.

Silver lacy outfit next. Oh crikey, how was it that you could see something in a shop and think it would look great on, when in reality it made you look like Dr Ruth?

Ellie peeled off the top and skirt and put them back in the second carrier. Sometimes she made really bad decisions when it came to choosing clothes. Right. She picked up the third and final outfit and prayed it would do. Bugger, the dress had the kind of zip at the back that you needed to be double-jointed to do up.

And there, just when you didn't want him, was Jamie, stretched out across the sofa with an arm behind his head.

‘Taking a lot of trouble over this,' he observed.

‘It's a wedding. I want to look nice.' Having stepped into the dress, she got the zip up as far as she could. Oh, for heaven's sake. She was a size twelve. If this was a size twelve, she was a pencil.

Jamie pulled a face. ‘Maybe it'll be better with the jacket.'

As if. She put the jacket on and gazed at herself in the mirror above the fireplace.

‘You look like one of those Slimmers of the Year,' he said helpfully, ‘wearing your old clothes to show how much weight you've lost.'

‘Oh God.'

‘Good colors though.' As if that made everything better.

‘Disaster,' said Ellie. ‘I'll have to take the whole lot back.' It was so frustrating. ‘What am I going to
wear
?'

‘How about my favorite? The one we bought on our honeymoon.'

‘I've worn it before. When we went to Claridge's.'

‘Did we? I don't remember that.' Jamie's eyes were sparkling with mischief; he was doing it on purpose.

‘When I went with Zack.' Ellie eased herself out of the way-too-big dress and jacket.

‘And does that mean you can't wear it again?'

‘No. I'd just like to wear something different.'

He looked mystified. ‘Why?'

‘Because we don't all want to go around in the same clothes all the time, wearing them until they disintegrate.' To make her point, she eyed his frayed jeans with one tanned knee showing through a series of horizontal rips.

‘It might be that.' Jamie conceded the point with a grin. ‘Or it could be because you don't want to wear your honeymoon dress while you're having a weekend away with another man.'

Was he right? Was that the real reason? Ellie collected up the carrier bags of clothes and marched past him. Dumping them in the hallway, she went into the bedroom and returned wearing a sweatshirt and shorts. On the TV, the ad break was over and the second half of the chat show was about to start. ‘OK, you have to be quiet now,' she announced. ‘I want to watch this. Roo's going to be on.'

‘You mean you'd rather watch her than listen to me?' Jamie pretended to look affronted. He'd always liked being the center of attention.

‘She's real,' said Ellie. ‘And you're not.'

‘…From has-beens to heroes!' Vince Torrance, who prided himself on his cheeky chappie persona and liberal use of irony, was making his introduction. ‘From lucked-out losers to record-smashing sensations! From the gutter to the stars… and now right here in this studio… ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Ceecee Milton and Daisy Deeva!'

At home in Primrose Hill, with a can of Fanta and a big packet of Kettle chips to hand, Ellie sat watching the show. Beneath that glib, shiny, exterior Vince Torrance was actually an intelligent man and an astute interviewer.

Reaching across the sofa for her phone, she pressed the call button. When it was answered, she said, ‘Are you watching?'

He knew it was on. She'd texted him earlier. ‘No,' said Todd.

‘Put it on.'

‘What am I, a complete masochist?' But he gave a giving-in sigh, not an annoyed one. The next moment she heard the sound of the TV echoing down the line.

‘Doesn't she look fantastic?' Incredibly, Roo had been persuaded to wear makeup tonight.

‘Yes, she does. Just explain something. How is this supposed to make me feel better?'

‘Sshh, I can't hear what they're saying.' Ellie returned her attention to the TV, where Vince was making jokey comments about Roo's time working in the charity shop.

‘…and this outfit you're wearing tonight.' He jokingly indicated Roo's charcoal jacket and skinny white trousers. ‘I'm assuming that's where you picked these things up.'

Roo nodded. ‘Yes, I did.'

‘Ah! OK.' Wrong-footed, he laughed. ‘Well, that's admirable. So forgive me, but this is quite a transformation for you. In the old days you were a pretty wild child, I think it's safe to say.'

‘Oh, I was.'

‘And what's brought this change about?'

‘I didn't like myself very much,' said Roo. ‘I decided it was time to become a nicer person.'

‘And now? Do you think you are nicer?' Vince looked genuinely interested.

Roo rubbed her fingers through her spiky white-blond hair and shrugged. ‘I hope so. I think I am, yes.'

‘And you've written this phenomenal song, with all the proceeds going to St Mark's Hospice. That's something to be incredibly proud of. You must be over the moon, surely.'

Clearly embarrassed, Roo shifted in her chair. ‘Well, yes, we're thrilled with the way it's taken off.'

‘So is this the happiest time of your life?' Vince was watching her closely, pushing. ‘It has to be! You must be unbelievably happy!'

For a moment Roo's huge brown eyes swam with tears; she tilted her head back, gazed up at the ceiling, then back again at Vince. ‘The hospice was going to have to close down. Now that isn't going to happen. It wasn't just me; it was Ceecee and everyone else involved in the campaign. And it worked; we've got everything we wanted and more.' Her smile was bright but anyone who really knew her could see that it wasn't quite reaching her eyes. ‘Of course I'm happy,' said Roo.

In exasperated unison into their respective phones, Ellie and Todd shouted at the TV screen, ‘Liar!'