Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen (43 page)

He takes a deep breath and releases it gradually. ‘I suggested a romance centring on the club’s manager – I didn’t know then it was you. Evan wanted me in the leading role and I hate to say, I didn’t argue. Because it didn’t matter to me then. If that’s what Evan Bergman wanted from me, I’d do it. Only an eight-week gig and then it was over – perhaps I did have a future in TV after all; it was what I’d been trained to do, I’d worked hard at it and I deserved this break. I deserved it after what happened.

‘But then I met you, Maddie … and the minute I met you I knew I couldn’t go through with it. Well, I could … just not with the lying part.’ He smiles. ‘Because it turns out, after all, that I didn’t have to lie.’

‘Pass me the sick bucket!’ Evan bellows, attempting to get the crowd on-side. But they’re as rapt as I am.

‘Shut up, Bergman!’ a woman yells. ‘Let the man speak!’

‘I wanted out right away,’ Nick continues, unshaken by the interruption. ‘When we first bumped into each other outside Tooth & Nail, I promise you I didn’t know who you were. When we met properly on launch night I instructed Evan the deal was off – I already knew you, I said, it wouldn’t be right. And it wasn’t. I liked you. Even if you liked M People.’

‘I do not like M People!’

A lone voice rises from the floor. ‘What’s wrong with M People?’

‘But Evan threatened me. He told me if I backed out of the arrangement he’d go straight to the papers and “fix me up”. He had a sexting scandal he warned me he’d run.’ A bitter laugh. ‘I wasn’t stupid, I knew where the power was. One more slip and that’d be it.’

‘What the fuck is this?’ Evan thunders. ‘Suddenly everyone’s developed a conscience? This is
TV
, people – what don’t you stupid twits get about that? This is what we do! If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the goddamn kitchen!’

‘Cheryl and Mike would be ashamed of you, Evan. All of Bucks Fizz would.’

Hang on, I recognise that voice. It’s Loaf – I swear it’s Loaf.

‘That was “keep out of the kitchen”, you dimwit,’ Evan tosses back, unaware he’s addressing his old nemesis.

That’s it – I have to get away. I don’t care where I’m going or where I end up. I just want to be gone from here, far, far away where no one can find me. I’ve had enough. All the lies, the double bluffs, the propaganda – I can’t take any more.

Jaz’s red hair is shining at the bar like a beacon, a lighthouse I have to reach. I step off the stage and fumble blindly through the masses, the silence thick as fog. My legs are like jelly and my heel impales a bit of discarded pastry from the buffet, but I force myself onwards, thinking only of getting away, out into the clean air. The green EXIT sign is coming closer, blurry through the tears that are poised to fall, and when I reach it and push down on the handle, a cool slice of fresh July night pours in, filling me with hope. Briefly I
glance back, expecting hundreds of eyes to be on me … but then I realise no one’s looking at me. They’re all watching Nick.

‘Stop fucking filming!’ Evan yaps, swiping the air in front of him. ‘Show’s over!’

‘No.’ Nick raises the microphone to his lips. ‘I’m not finished.’

My hands come away from the door and I stay where I am. The spotlight bathes Nick in a warm golden hue, his remorseful face up there on the screen, and what strikes me is how long his eyelashes are, though I’ve never noticed before. At the side of the stage two camera ops exchange brief, nervous glances, before shrugging and returning to their positions.

And then, something unbelievable happens.

First, Nick goes extremely red. Then he opens his mouth. And then, like my worst nightmare and my best dream all rolled into one, a song comes out. ‘If You Leave’ by OMD, the song Molly Ringwald kisses Andrew McCarthy to at the end of
Pretty in Pink
; the song we talked about that day in Soho. And it’s so, so embarrassing but so lovely that it’s all I can do to stand there drenched in amazement, cringing for him and loving him at the same time. There’s no music, just his voice. It’s a poor voice, miserably flat, but at least he knows some of the words – and anyway, I know I’d sound worse. Without the electronic backing he’s laid bare, and the lyrics sound sweet, vulnerable, led eyes-closed by their tune. It’s hopeless. And full of hope. And excruciating. And perfect.

As he’s launching into the chorus, I gesture for him to stop. I can’t bear any more (I mean I really can’t; it’s terrible). Nick winds to a halt, and the crowd holds its breath.

‘Come back,’ he says simply. ‘Don’t leave.’

The ground starts to move beneath my feet, and I guess it isn’t really moving and I must be walking, but before I know it my hand is in his. The entire room erupts with deafening applause, and when Nick pulls me on to the stage and kisses me on the lips, softly and with care, he smells so delicious I just fall into it and wrap my arms around his neck and for that moment it’s only us.

‘Turn that
bloody
camera off, you wretched cow!’ Evan howls.

Nick and I pull apart, smiling nervously at each other. Alison, next to us, lowers her equipment and turns on Evan with revulsion.

‘Do you know what, Evan Bergman?’ she says. ‘Fuck you. I’ve had enough.’

‘Fine.’ Evan waves her off like a bad smell. His huge face replaces Nick’s and mine on the big screen. ‘Go find another job. I don’t need you anyway.’

‘I mean I’ve had enough of
you
.’ She waits to drop her bombshell. ‘Of us.’

The excited murmurs surrounding Nick’s performance die back, knocked by this fresh revelation. A buzz electrifies the air, the buzz of tension, incredulity, anticipation.

Evan barks a strangled laugh. ‘In your dreams, you daft little thing.’

‘Haven’t you got the message yet, you
cruel old man
?’ Alison mimics, camera down by her side like a costume she’s just pulled off. ‘
No one here is on your side
… and for once that includes me.’

‘Oh do shut up—’

‘I won’t shut up. Not this time, Evan. I’m sick of being the girl you just call up when you’re bored, or your wife’s not around, or you’re at a loose end. I’m sick of being her.’

Evan gulps.

‘And do you know what the saddest thing is?’ Alison chokes on the words. ‘I actually had feelings for you. How ridiculous is that? And I thought you might have feelings for me, too … at least you told me you did. But I’m not the only one, am I?’ A dry laugh. ‘No, not by a long shot.’

Finally Evan finds his voice. ‘As if I’d look at you twice.’ His lizard eyes rake Alison up and down with disdain. ‘You’re a mess. Toni, baby, don’t listen to her.’

But it seems Toni has been listening to her. Because the next thing we know Evan’s wife is storming on to the stage with her lemon-sucky face and Danny DeVito (who must be a best friend, or a sister?) following in close pursuit. She slaps her husband once round the chops – hard, so the wet sound ricochets through the hushed club – and tugs off her wedding band.

‘Stick this ring
right up your own
, Evan Bergman,’ she instructs him in surprisingly neat, clipped tones, pushing it against his meaty chest. ‘I’ve put up with your cheating for years.
Years!
No more. It’s over.’

‘Toni—’

‘You make me sick.’

‘Baby, please …’

But it’s too late. Evan swallows – I see his Adam’s apple rise and fall like a bobbing float. A lost dog, he turns to Alison. Toby emerges from the wings and slips his arm round her shoulders. Alison turns away from Evan, close to tears, and I
think then how she really did care, and how funny the heart is, and how it can’t help who it loses itself to.

And then, just when I think it has to be over, a deafening crash thunders through the club. The doors fly open and through them travels an ear-piercing shriek, swiftly followed by a voice I know only too well.

Dad’s.

‘WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?’

Uh-oh. I haven’t heard him sound like that since I was five and I made a potion out of all Mum’s expensive hand lotions … down the loo.

My name flies out of the darkness. ‘Maddie?’

Three hundred heads turn to look at me.

‘Dad?’

Three hundred heads swivel back.

‘Where are you?’

‘Up here,’ I say weakly, as Nick thrusts the mic into my hands. I give a little wave. ‘Hi.’

‘Up where? Who? What? What’s
happened
to this place?’

‘Um …’ I say the first thing that pops into my head. ‘Surprise!’

The main lights come on, flooding the room in harsh white light. Mum, her hair a plaited bush and reams of some material or other covering her frame like crinkly leaves, lifts a hand to her forehead and collapses back into the arms of the unfortunate person standing behind her.

Now I can see Dad’s baffled expression. ‘Maddie …? Who
are
all these people? And what on earth has happened to Sing It Back?’

‘They’re um … they’re here for karaoke.’

‘
Karaoke?
’ questions Dad, as if this is the most unlikely sounding thing he’s ever heard.

‘Yes. And I made a few, um, changes.’ I attempt to sound bright, but my voice soon fizzles into a croak. ‘What do you think?’

Mum’s back on her feet now, clutching Dad’s arm, her eyes wide. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she breathes, her gaze sweeping across the room, taking it all in. ‘I don’t bloody believe it.’

‘Look,’ I begin to explain, ‘what happened is—’

‘Rick,’ she turns to him, ‘this is
brilliant
!’

It is?

‘You don’t need to tell me that!’ Now Dad’s beaming as well. What? I thought he was cross … wasn’t he? But he didn’t actually
say
he was cross. Maybe …

‘Maddie, darling, there are
people
here!’

‘Yeah,’ I say unsteadily. ‘You might know some of them actually. See, they’re—’

‘It doesn’t matter who they
are
!’ Mum cries. ‘The point is
that they’re
here
! Someone get me a Chardonnay, for heaven’s sake!’

Nick nudges me in the ribs.

‘And, um, we’re on TV,’ I say into the mic.

They turn on me with vacant expressions. ‘What?’ says Dad.

‘Yep!’ I chirp with a note of hysteria. ‘And it’s been quite a show so far tonight!’

Mum, still beaming, looks like she did when I told her I passed all my GCSEs – I don’t think she’s registered what I’ve just said. Instead she flaps excitedly at the bar. ‘Rick, would you look at that! It’s all so … different! I love it!’

Dad doesn’t move. ‘
We’re on TV?
‘

‘Jaz, my darling!’ Mum rushes over to the bar, dress flapping, and envelops Jaz in a monster hug. ‘Simon!’ She kisses him on both cheeks. ‘Ruby, you gorgeous thing!’ Then she whips back to Dad. ‘Rick, don’t you dare leave our guests out in the cold – bring them in to join the party!’

‘What guests?’ I ask. Right this minute I wouldn’t be surprised if Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men strode through the door.

‘We brought a couple of familiar faces back with us,’ Mum explains happily. ‘They became such great friends on tour – we just couldn’t leave them behind!’ She’s talking like they’ve smuggled a pair of rabbits through airport security.

But when the mystery visitors emerge I see they’re not rabbits at all. They’re Don Jenkins and Lenny Gold. Better known as Two Shay.

On the other side of the stage, still on his knees, Evan
emits a startled gasp. His hair’s slipping off the back of his head. His face is puce.

‘
You!
’ he hisses, staggering to his feet.

Ah.

‘You ruined my life,’ he spits at Two Shay, a maniacal glare contorting his features. ‘You ruined me, you evil sons of bitches!’

‘Well, there’s no need for that,’ Mum says, hands on hips. ‘Rick, who is this man?’

Dad squints up at us, shading his eyes like he’s looking into the sun. ‘Darling, if I’m not mistaken that’s Poison Bergamot.’

‘Poison Bergamot?’ Mum splutters. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! That man’s long gone, no one’s heard from him in years.’

Lenny Gold speaks up, tossing his lustrous caramel mane over one shoulder. Wow, it really is nice hair. ‘It wasn’t us, Bergamot,’ he says in a smooth transatlantic accent. ‘For the thousandth time … it wasn’t us.’