Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen (31 page)

I’m stunned. ‘That can’t be right. I mean, Simon and Jaz? It
can’t
be.’

‘And the best bit? It was all for the cameras, for a bit of attention. Because that’s what reality shows do, isn’t it? They ruin people’s lives, their relationships …’ she looks at me, full of heartbreak, ‘their friendships.’

‘Lou, hold on a minute,’ I say, dumbfounded. ‘I’m struggling to believe this. Are you absolutely sure? Simon’s devoted to you, he always has been.’

Her body’s shaking, she’s properly crying now. ‘Yes,’ she mumbles, her voice thick with tears, ‘because Simon told me
himself. He came round here earlier tonight and confessed everything.’

‘What did he say?’

She looks up at me with hard red eyes. ‘He tried to get out of it, said she’d launched herself on him in front of the crew – god, I can’t even bear to say her name – and there was nothing he could do.’ She shakes her head. ‘Why do men always say that? “There was nothing I could do” – of course there was, you prick.’

‘And it was – it was caught on film?’ Seeing Lou like this, I would honestly kill them both right now. This is a nightmare. It can’t be real.

‘Yup,’ she sniffs, ‘not for long, but long enough. All ready for broadcast, no doubt – that should push up your fucking ratings.’

‘Lou, this isn’t my fault.’

‘Whose fault is it then?’ she fires back. ‘If you hadn’t said yes to Evan fucking Bergman in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?’

‘Hang on a second, you know we’ve been done over by Evan – what am I meant to do about it?’

‘But I never
wanted
to be involved!’ she cries. ‘And once upon a time neither would you – I guess you’ve changed, Maddie.’

‘But you agreed to start working there!’

‘And you promised, you
gave me your word
that Evan wouldn’t come near me. Some word that turned out to be.’

I think I’m going to cry. Lou’s hurt, I tell myself, that’s why she’s taking it out on me. But she’s my best friend – I want to comfort her and she won’t let me. I can’t let our friendship get ruined over this, I won’t.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘There was nothing I could do.’

She barks a harsh laugh. ‘Oh, not you as well! It doesn’t look like anyone’s to blame, does it? Hey, maybe it’s
my
fault! No one else looks like they’re about to step up to the plate. Though I’d sure like to give a piece of my mind to that … that
cow
.’

‘Maybe I should talk to her first,’ I suggest, thinking if I can help she might remember we’re a team and I’d never do anything deliberately to upset her. ‘You know what she’s been through with that guy in America – maybe she felt like—’

‘Don’t tell me you’re prepared to hear her out?’ she lashes, appalled. ‘Not after what she’s done. Everyone’s got shit in their past, we don’t all go around getting off with other people’s boyfriends!’

Swiftly I clarify it. ‘Lou, I’m on your side, a hundred per cent, but we have to find out what really happened. It just doesn’t seem … real. I can’t believe she would do that without good reason.’

‘Good reason?’ Lou glares at me. ‘I suppose any reason Jaz gave you would be good enough, wouldn’t it?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Lou stands up. ‘I think you should leave.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I want to be by myself.’

‘I’m only saying we should give Jaz the benefit of the doubt until we know—’

‘Please.’ She folds her arms, shut like a book. ‘Just go.’

‘But Lou, I’m sorry! Can’t we just … I mean …’

She goes to the door. ‘I won’t be round at the club for a while,’ she says, eyes on the floor. ‘I can’t face it.’

With shaking hands I pick up my bag. ‘How long’s a while?’

But she doesn’t answer. Instead she waits till I’m standing outside in the hall, and then she closes the door.

The next twenty-four hours are terrible. Horrible. Possibly the worst of my life.

Lou’s frozen me out. Our shifts at Simply Voices always cross on Thursdays so I thought I might at least catch her at the office, but no. By midday it was becoming clear she wasn’t going to show up, and when I asked Jennifer, she told me Lou had had a family emergency and wasn’t planning to come in till next week. I don’t even know if this is true. I don’t know anything about what’s happening in her life, and even though it’s only been one day, I hate it.

Three emails this morning say it all:

To:
Maddie Mulhern

From:
Simon Taylor

Subject:
help

Hey. Lou said (yelled) that she told you.

It’s not what you think. She hates my

guts. If you speak to her please tell her

I’m sorry and I love her.

To:
Maddie Mulhern

From:
Jasmine Rose

Subject:
RE: we need to talk

Sure, I want to see you too. Three sounds

fine, hope ur OK xx

To:
Maddie Mulhern

From
: Evan Bergman

Subject
: excellent news

Maddie

This week:
RECORD VIEWING NUMBERS

1.5 MILLION tuned in on Sat

No hard feelings after our talk. Are you back in circulation? We need you for the final push. I know you won’t let me down. Evan.

Jennifer invites me to lunch, quizzing me on Nick Craven and asking me a load of questions I don’t want to answer. Brusquely she announces she’s on a diet and chooses one of those Pret ‘no bread’ sandwiches, which is the strangest food initiative on record. What’s a no-bread sandwich? Not a sandwich – at all. Meanwhile I’m cramming a baguette and crisps down my throat, followed swiftly by a chocolate brownie chaser.

‘Are you all right?’ Jennifer enquires, no doubt regretting her decision to lunch with a shire horse. ‘You seem … hungry.’

‘I am hungry,’ I say, reasoning that if Lou’s not here then I’m eating for two.

‘Why don’t you go home early,’ she says. ‘We understand how frantic things are – why you’re still opening envelopes and answering phones for us is beyond me.’

‘Don’t fire me!’ I cry through a dam of bread. Then I mutter, ‘This job’s about the only semblance of normality I have right now.’

‘We wouldn’t dream of it,’ says Jennifer. ‘But the time will come when you’ll leave us all behind – you’re set for great things, Maddie, I’ve always known it.’

‘You have?’

‘Of course. You’re your parents’ daughter, how could you not be?’

That’s if Mum and Dad don’t disown me as well. Oh dear: they’re coming home in three weeks. At this rate they’re going to arrive at the flat to find me huddled in Dad’s wardrobe among his ‘piano’ trousers, rocking back and forth and drooling, reciting ‘Peter Andre made me do it’ over and over again.

In the end I take Jennifer up on her offer and head back to the club after lunch. What I really want to do is avoid the place until the series has blown over, Lou’s forgiven me and Nick and Evan are out of my life forever, but that’s not going to happen. I have to face the music. (Sorry.)

Plus I’ve got to confront Jaz about what happened with Simon. A big part of me was tempted to ring last night and give her what for, but I was so upset after seeing Lou that I knew I’d only make things worse. Instead I emailed her this morning and asked to meet. I’ve no clue how I’m going to broach the subject, but she must know what it’s about because she didn’t seem in the least surprised. And judging by her lacklustre appearance the day after it happened, it doesn’t take a genius to work out she’s feeling like utter crap.

I’m so caught up in this that when my phone rings I pick it up without thinking.

‘Yeah?’ I say irritably, as I attempt to manoeuvre past a crowd of Japanese tourists drowning beneath a map of the Underground.

‘Hi,’ says the voice on the other end.

Oh.

And there was me hoping it wouldn’t affect me when I talked to him again. My heart leaps into my throat.

It’s Nick.

‘Hi.’ I peel off and disappear into Boots, where two blank-faced women gaze at me from the perfume counter. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to talk to me.’

I take a deep breath, attempting to slow my racing pulse. ‘You could have talked to me before now.’

‘I tried. I’m sorry, I freaked out.’

What is it with men? I wasn’t asking him to marry me, for god’s sake.

‘I spoke to Evan,’ he says. ‘He told me you met.’

‘We did,’ I say, charging past the tampons. ‘It was very enlightening.’

‘Maddie, listen—’

I keep it light, brisk. ‘There’s nothing to say, Nick.’

‘There is. It’s complicated.’

‘I’m sure. Why don’t you try to explain it to me?’

There’s a long silence, during which I think he’s hung up. ‘I can’t.’

‘So that leaves us where, exactly?’

‘You have to trust me – it’s not what you think—’

‘But you can’t tell me what
it
is … right?’

‘Right.’ To his credit he sounds suitably dejected, but for all I know this conversation could be scripted, too. Perhaps Evan’s got a bug on me – it wouldn’t be surprising.

‘Sorry – not good enough, Nick.’

‘Can we talk about this in person? Christ! Can I see you?’

I find the quietest aisle I can and pretend to peruse its contents. ‘Just tell me one thing.’ My voice is wobbling. ‘Did he put you up to it?’

‘Who?’

‘Evan.’

Another silence.

‘Be honest.’ To my dismay a salty teardrop plops from my eye and trickles down my cheek. ‘Did he put you up to … getting to know me?’

‘Yes,’ he says at last. ‘He did.’

I have to get off the phone before the sob that’s been threatening to strangle me all morning has its way. ‘Thank you. That’s all I needed to know. Goodbye, Nick.’

‘Maddie, please—’

Nick’s voice gets swallowed as I click the phone shut. My knees have gone to jelly and I have to sit down. I grasp the shelf in front of me and bundle back the armful of goods I’ve been idly handling. I can get over it now, I reassure myself. Now I know for sure, now I’ve heard it from Nick himself, I can get over it.

‘Do you need some help, madam?’

I glance up. A friendly faced, slightly spotty Boots assistant is regarding me curiously. At first I think he must have a sixth sense – that or he knows a heartbroken girl when he sees one. Ah yes – I look at his name badge – young Atif’s probably left a few girls broken and bloodied in his time. The bastard.

But then I see him nodding a little uncomfortably at the cluster of white packets I’ve replaced on the shelf.

LADY LEAK:
not all days are dry days

FEMBUM:
for women who want to be free

ASSOLUTION:
tell diarrhoea NO

‘Plenty of women find it upsetting,’ he informs me,
sotto voce
, ‘you’re not alone.’

‘Oh no,’ I laugh, a touch hysterically, ‘no, no, I’m not looking to
buy
any of this stuff, I was just … you see, I was on the phone and …’

Atif nods at me sympathetically. ‘I understand,’ he whispers. ‘No need to explain.’

‘Really, I’m not … leaky … erm … watertight … erm …’

Five minutes later I’m back outside Boots, eighteen pounds lighter and advertising a chronic bowel complaint.