Rising Star (5 page)

Part of me feels his words like an ocean wave, washing me clean. But another part of me is so mired tight in shame, that it locks down again.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” says Adam, sensing my shame. “But Summer. We
do
have to talk about this.”

He’s looking at me, waiting for an answer.

I nod.

“Ok,” he breathes. “We’ll wait until you’re ready. My God,” he adds, with an anguished expression. “If I’d have known…”

He doesn’t say anything else, just holds me tight in his arms. And something occurs to me, bound tight in him.

“Does that happen often?” I ask, “with the boat?”

Adam shakes his head.

“No.” He pauses for a moment, as if wondering whether to go on.

“The rope had been partly cut,” he says, after a moment.

I freeze.  Every part of my body is on high alert.

“Hey, Summer.” He squeezes me tightly. “Don’t worry. I left it moored up on the docks. Probably some tearaways thought it would be fun to vandalise the boat.”

“But,” I say, my frightened eyes resting on him. “Wouldn’t kids just have… I don’t know. Drawn graffiti? It seems a bit extreme to cut a rope.”

Adam shrugs.

“Disillusioned kids can do some horrible things,” he says.

The look on his face is so dark it frightens me. And once again I’m struck by the certainty that his past carries bad memories.

“Did something happen to you?” I whisper, momentarily forgetting to be concerned about the boat. “When you were a kid?”

Adam gives a sardonic kind of smile.

“Let’s just say I know what teenagers are capable of,” he says. His expression is hard, and I look away.

“Don’t worry about the boat, ok?” Adam says, his voice turning to its usual gentle lilt. I blink into his blue eyes. They’re warm again.

But I can’t help but worry. Because I’m thinking all kinds of things.

Could Dez have sabotaged the boat? Does he know about me and Adam?

I dismiss these thoughts as ridiculous. No
-one knows about us. Apart from Tammy and George. And they certainly wouldn’t tell Dez.

Besides. Dez might be have a violent streak. But cutting the rope could have killed someone. And for all his faults I don’t think he’d take things so far.

Would he?

But as Adam helps me off the boat and leads me back
to the studio, I’m not so sure it wasn’t Dez. Not so sure at all.

Chapter 8

My mind is still racing with this thought as Adam drops me back at the studio. But I don’t have time to think it through properly. It’s time to collaborate on our music video. And since we only have days, we need to give this our all.

I’m heading back to meet Tammy and George when my mum calls. I debate calling her back later, since I don’t want to be late. But I’ve got a few minutes, so I connect the call.

“Hi Mum.”

“Hello love!”

“You sound excited,” I laugh.

“Of course I am,” she says, “we all are. Ben hasn’t stopped asking for your TV appearance to be replayed.”

I grin at the thought of my irrepressible five-year-old nephew.

“That’s so cute,” I say. “Is he there now?”

“No, not this morning,” says mum. “He’s with Sam.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she’s much better nowadays,” affirms my mum. “She’s growing into a proper mum. She had him so young, you know…”

It’s a popular refrain from my mum. The truth is, my sister Sam can be a little selfish. We all make excuses for her, but she’s the baby of the family, so we’re used to taking care of her.

“Sam was going to give you a call, after you got through to the next round,” says my mum quickly, remembering my sister hasn’t called to congratulate me. “But she’s had a lot on, you know.”

A lot of TV to catch up on, if I know my sister.

“That’s ok,” I say. “I’m sure she’ll call when she’s got a minute.”

My mum hesitates.

“Yes,” she says. “Sam’s very proud of you Summer, in her own way.”

“I know mum.”

“So what’s the plan now?” asks my mum. “Will there be another song for the next show?”

“Um. There’s a quick-fire video round next,” I say. “We’re teaming up with a garage music band.”

“Garage music?” says my mum, her Welsh accent sounding more strongly. “I’ve seen that on the MTV music channel. Don’t let them put you in a bikini Summer. Keep your self-respect.”

I laugh.

“It’s not like that mum,” I giggle. “I won’t be draped over a car in a gold thong.”

“You’d better not be,” she warns, only half joking. “It would give your poor
dad a heart attack.”

I check the time, and realise I’m a few minutes away from running late.

“Listen mum, I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’ll call you later. I’m needed in the studio.”

“Ok love. Well you take care. We’re all thinking of you down in Wales.”

“I know mum. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I arrive in the nick of time for our video session, but Dev.as.station have not yet arrived.

And we have to wait another twenty minutes before they turn up.

George is openly glowering as the Dev.as.station crew walk into the room.

Their lateness has confirmed what George already thought. That they’re unprofessional and unreliable.

“Hey!” Cher waves a friendly hand. Tammy beams back. Since we met Cher at the start of the contest, I think Tammy has a slight friend-crush. They’re similar in many ways. Both from the same part of London, from immigrant families. But whilst Tammy has learned to lay low and keep her talent hidden, Cher seems at ease with herself. And although Cher is stunning to look at, with a tall willowy frame, sooty-lashed eyes, and long dark hair, I think it’s her confidence which Tammy most admires.

“Hey girls.” Dushane smiles at us. He has less of an arrogance about him today. I have a sudden feeling that underneath his gangster posturing, Dushane’s an uncertain boy, trying to make it in a grown-up world.

George, however, does not see this.

“You’re late,” she snaps, in her snootiest voice. “This is a professional contest. How are we supposed to work together if you can’t show up on time?”

Dushane’s smile vanishes, and a ripple shudders round the rest of the group. Aside from Cher and Dushane, there are four more boys, all clad in the London gangland uniform of super white trainers and baseball caps. They look so similar under their low caps, that it’s hard to tell them apart – or see what they’re thinking. But something tells me they have not reacted well to be balled out by a posh girl.

There’s an uneasy silence.

“Sorry,” says Cher after a moment. “It’s difficult to get this lot in the same place.” She beams a sincere smile, and George’s annoyance melts a little. “Shall we get started?” adds Cher. “Make up for lost time?”

“Ok,” says George begrudgingly. Her upper-class accent sounds so totally at odds with Cher’s African-Cockney lilt, that I find myself wondering if this collaboration is a good idea after all. Maybe we just won’t mesh.

“Dushane has some ideas,” adds Cher, turning to him to draw him in.

Comically, Dushane’s bravado seems to totally desert him, now he’s called upon to share his ideas publicly. He looks lost. I feel a sudden urge to give him a hug.

“Yeah, well,” Dushane starts, his eyes glued to the floor, and his white trainer tracing an invisible circle on the floor. “I just thought, y’know. A dance-off would be good.”

George snorts loudly. I glare at her, but she doesn’t get the message.

“A dance-off?” she says derisively. “With a garage band? How original.”

“It wouldn’t be like, a regular dance-off,” mumbles Dushane. “I was thinking we’d do something original. A different dance style.”

“Look,” says George. “You might be all into your breakdance, or whatever you call it…”

A member of Dev.as.station sniggers.

“But we’re not street dancers,” continues George. “We can’t…”

“Different dance styles?” says Tammy, interrupting her, and landing a gentle gaze on Dushane. “Like what?”

Dushane rubs his hand under his cap, and adjusts the brim to sit a little higher on his face.

“Like… I dunno. Something unexpected,” he says. “Maybe that dance they do on TV. Ballroom, or something.”

I consider this. It’s not such a bad idea. Certainly the concept is original. And it might be a way to bring our two styles together with a little humour.

I picture two bands facing up for a dance off, and breaking into unexpectedly classical moves. I find myself smiling.

Tammy catches my face and grins.

“George does ballet,” she says, turning to Dev.as.station. “How about that?”

“Yeah,” agrees Cher. “That could work.” She ponders for a moment. “I did ballet too,” she says. “As a little kid. All the boys are really fit,” she adds proudly. “We could easily teach them some ballet moves.”

Dushane is smiling now.

“The boys could dress in those tight ballet costumes, but still keep our caps and trainers,” he adds. “That would look funny. Right?”

“It’s not a comedy,” complains George. Although she’s sounding less sure of herself now. “We’re not in it for laughs.”

“But a little humour could work really well,” I say, adding my voice to the discussion. “After all, we’re
from quite different music disciplines. It’s a good way to gently poke fun at the collaboration. And we could do some really cool stuff with the changes.”

Already I’m imaging how we might combine a garage sound into the bridge.

“It could be great,” I decide. My mind is working excitedly over the musical possibilities.

“Ok then,” says Cher. “Let’s get some stuff down on paper, and talk to the video crew.”

After some time collaborating, I’ve a completely reformed opinion of the Dev.as.station boys. I always liked Cher, and was excited to work with a new style of music. But now I have a real appreciation of their talent.

The boys remind me a little of the Lost Boys in Peter Pan. Sure, they’re rough round the edges, and unruly. But at the heart of it, they’re good lads. Not only that, they’re talented and hardworking. And they came from nothing, and managed to bring their musical ideas into an arena where it could be recognised.

I know how scary it was for me, to come from Wales to London and work as a singer. But in many ways they had it harder. With their tough-guy accents and street appearance, they must have experienced prejudice and snobbery at every turn. They’ve got through it all and I admire them for it. Not only that, but they are really great collaborators. If it wasn’t for George’s open hostility, working with them would be a dream.

After a few hours putting ideas together, we have a rough song outline and a concept. The video will take the form of a classic dance off. But the moves will be unexpectedly classical. Then, at the bridge, we’ll dance with one another as our music styles merge.

We explain our idea to the video crew, who seem gratifyingly enthusiastic. Even George has lost some of her frostiness now we’ve started working as a team.

This could be good,
I find myself thinking.

I catch Tammy’s eye. I know she thinks the same. She turns adoringly to Cher, and I feel a little tug. Perhaps Tammy would be better off as a member of Dev.as.station. Certainly she’d get more of the limelight.

I brush the thought aside. The video can be left to the experts for the time being. But now we have to get the music nailed.

We spend a long few hours starting the musical mix, and make some good progress. Because of their format, Dev.as.station are used to sharing ideas as a big group, and are generous collaborators. Before long we have the song mostly nailed, and we know how it’s going to work visually.

“So we start out with our own styles compl
ementing one another, and gradually blend?” confirms George, who has been the slowest to pick up the musical hook.

I nod. “Exactly.”

“Sounds… Good,” she says finally. “I think we’ve got some good things going on.”

We all turn to her in amazement. Even Dushane looks a little shocked at this. George has been nothing but negative all afternoon.

George is coming round to Dev.as.station. Who knew?

I’m still thinking over how things went, and how our music will progress, when we finish for the day. But once we’ve left the studio, my mind immediately veers back to Dez, and the sabotaged boat.

Should I tell Adam my fears?
I want to protect him from my past with Dez. But I don’t want to put him at risk either.

My mind drifts uneasily back to the boat.

He wouldn’t have. Would he?

Tammy and George accept an offer to go for a drink with Dev.as.station. But with so much going on in my mind, I make my excuses.

An idea is formulating. I’m suddenly exhausted, and tired of hiding things.

So I tell everyone heading back to the Sing
-Win house to work a little on our song.

Then I’m going to give Adam a call, and tell him the truth about Dez.

“Hey Summer!” calls George, as I head away from the group. “Don’t forget. My birthday party tomorrow. I’m expecting a decent gift since it’s my twenty-first.”

I grin back at her. Typical George. She’s only half joking.

We’ve been so busy with the band, that I’m not sure what she’s got arranged. Besides the fact George’s birthday will likely be in an extremely expensive bar with the snooty friends from her all-girl’s college.

“Sure thing,” I say, mentally making a note to buy a present in time for the party – which she’s holding tomorrow, the night before her actual birthday. And simultaneously wondering how much money I actually have in the bank. “See you later.”

“Laters,” grins George.

I give her my best forced smile back and turn away. Already my mind is flooded with dread, as to how Adam will react when I tell him the truth.