Dream On (13 page)

Janice laughed. "Oh, so I can have him back when you've
finished with him, can I?"

"I didn't mean that." She looked at Janice. "I'll
stop seeing him, if you like. He should be here with you and Harley. It's
probably what he really wants, long term, anyway." She was surprised to find
that she meant it. About stopping seeing him. Nearly, anyway.

"God, no," said Janice.  "That's the last thing I
want. You and darling Dave denying yourselves all those nights of reclaimed
passion, or whatever the hell it is, because of his responsibility to the
mother of his child? What a ghastly thought; Heaven forbid." She yawned and stretched. "Oh, bollocks to it all. Do you know, a little part of me doesn't even
care. Dave's put me through it so much over the years that this is just
the last straw, in a way."

"I can imagine."

"I'm sure you can't. You weren't around when he went
through his stupid period of self-indulgent depression, and got us into debt. Of course he was bloody depressed; he was drinking every night. If I woke
up with a hangover every morning and got the sack because I was too unreliable
to keep my job, I'd be depressed, too. It was all self-inflicted. And it was me who had to hold everything together."

"I didn't know about that."

"Well, no, he's not likely to tell you about a time in his
life when he behaved like a complete tit, is he? Oh, it didn't last that
long, and it's not particularly characteristic of him, I'll give him that, but
it wasn't easy."

Ariel studied her face. She'd never talked to
Janice before; she wondered if she might have got on with her if the
circumstances had been different. She was the sort of woman she admired; someone
who just got on with stuff and didn't make a song and dance about it.

"Would you want him back if he wants to come?" she
asked. "I mean, if he and I stop seeing each other."

Janice considered for a moment. "I don't know. We've
got a lot of history together, not to mention that little person in the front
room. I don't know, I can't say. Don't stop seeing him on my
account, though. I mean that. If he comes back to me it has to be
because he wants to, not because you've left him."

Walking home twenty minutes later, Ariel decided
that she probably would stop seeing Dave. She'd start winding it down. After
Christmas, perhaps - or, no, after the Raw Talent auditions, she couldn't upset
him before that.  Yes, that was what she'd do. Definitely.

Well, definitely maybe, anyway.

Janice sat there for a while after Ariel had left. She wasn't anything like Janice had imagined.  When they were all so much
younger she'd been one of those girls that others bitched about because they
were jealous of her. The great Alison Swan, with tiny hips and that amazing white
hair, who could play the guitar and sing. One of those golden girls who had
everything. Ridiculously pretty. How come the girls with fantastic hair and effortlessly
perfect bodies always had really pretty faces, too? Janice had found, today,
in spite of herself, that she just couldn't stop looking at her. It was like
looking at a lovely picture. She'd expected her to be a bit superficial, and cocky,
too, but she wasn't; she was just normal. She seemed kind, and not big-headed
or shallow at all. Quite unassuming.

Just before she'd left, Janice had said to her, "It must be
so easy, being as pretty as you. I expect you can get any man you want,
can't you?"
So why pick on mine?

Ariel had laughed, and looked off into the
distance. "It doesn't make any difference," she said. "Being born with your
facial features arranged in a way that appeals to lots of people just means you
get a wider choice of men who'll screw your life up if you let them, that's
all."

Janice was still as jealous of her as hell, though.

She still wanted to scratch her beautiful big blue
eyes out.

The thought of her having sex with Dave was so
sickening that she almost retched.

She got up from the table, went to put the wine
bottle away but had second thoughts; damn it, who was there to complain if she
finished it?

Might blur the edges a bit.

"Come on, up to bed, now," she said, walking into the
living room with her glass.

"Okay, Mummy!" Harley said, turning round to grin
at her. "Will you come and tuck me in?"

"Of course I will. Make sure you clean your teeth,
won't you? I'll be up in five."

"Mummy."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Who is that lady? She was at Ritchie's house, wasn't
she?"

She's a very nice woman and I want to kill her.
"She's Daddy's friend. Ariel."

"Oh. She looks like a princess."

Right.

Harley went upstairs and she opened the laptop, sat
down, and logged on to MySpace. Two messages. Both from Tom from Whittlesey. A little rush of excitement ran through her. No, she'd save them until after
she'd read Harley's story and kissed him goodnight. Then she would go
downstairs, top up her wine glass, and talk to her new friend.

Well, if Dave could do it, why couldn't she?

Raw Talent!

Confirmation of their first auditions arrived on a
Saturday morning, and thus began the countdown until Monday, January the
thirteenth, 2008.

"The studios are in Wembley - I'll suss out a
Travelodge," said Ariel, "and we all need to book the time off work, now."

"Yeah, we need to book the whole three days off,"
Ritchie said, "'cause we're all going to make it through to the live shows,
aren't we?"

"D'you think that's, like, tempting fate?" said
Dave. "I mean, if we presume we're all going to make it through, we probably
won't."

"No, it's being positive," said Ritchie. "Our Pete says
you've got to have a positive mental attitude. PMA, he calls it."

"Ritchie's right," said Ariel. "I'm not going home on the
first day, I'm telling you that, now."

"So what happens, then?" said Melodie. "I couldn't be
bothered to read all the technical stuff."

Ariel caught Dave's eye for a moment and smiled. "It's hardly technical." She picked up the documents she'd brought with her to
the pub, and glanced down them.  "What happens is, we all go to the studios on
the Monday, where everyone in turn gets a quick few minutes in front of a record
industry talent spotter - in other words, an A&R man - and a researcher
from the programme. If you don't get through that stage, you go home. If
you're one of the lucky eighty, the next day you get to audition in front of a
panel of three; a festival organiser, the programme producer, and the record
industry guy, again. They do the solo singers in two sections according to age,
the bands in another. This is the bit that'll be televised later. You know,
it'll be like on The X Factor, when they go in front of Simon Cowell and Louis
Walsh for the first time. After that - " she cast her eyes down the page
again, " - the eighty are cut down to forty. Then, on the third day, the
forty perform again."

"So all our mates will see us making twats of
ourselves on telly, when the record industry guy - I bet he
is
like
Simon Cowell - when he says 'this is the worst audition I have
ever seen',
right?" said Shane, and laughed.

"Well, we hope not," Ariel said. "Anyway, that's it. We go home, and wait for a phone call. They only bother to contact the
ones who get through; out of the final forty, you see, they pick fifteen for the
live shows where the public can vote, either by text or phone. Just
fifteen."

They were all silent for a moment.

"I'm going to be in that fifteen if it kills me,"
said Melodie. "I reckon what you've got to do is say a few sort of
controversial things, so you get noticed, yeah?"

"Well, either that, or make sure you sing really,
really well," said Ariel, raising her eyebrows.

"Or give one of the judges a blow job!" put in
Shane.

"Think I'll stick with brushing up me guitar
skills," said Ritchie.

"I've already started dieting," said Melodie. "Do you
think I ought to have some blonde highlights?"

"No," said Ariel, "suits you dark. But it's about the
music, this show, remember?"

"Yeah, you might want to practise your scales while
you're waiting for your nail polish to dry, as well, love," said Ritchie.

"Scales?" said Melodie, with a frown. "Oh yeah, I've done
them at my singing lessons."

"This is it, isn't it?" said Dave. "We could be on our
way. Any of us. Or all of us."

"I bloody hope so," said Melodie. "Anything that'll rescue
me from living in a rabbit hutch above a dry cleaners and wrapping up bunches of
bloody flowers from nine 'til five, five and a half days a week, has got my
vote."

"Even if one of us doesn't win, you never know who
you might meet at these things, like I've said before," said Boz. "And if you
don't like your rabbit hutch you can come and share mine anytime, Mel, pet!"

"I thought my chat up lines were bad enough," said Shane. He leant across the table and gazed into Melodie's eyes.
"
You're just
too good to be true,"
he sang,
"can't take my eyes off you - "

Ritchie grinned. "Is that one of Dave's new songs?"

Janice was surprised to see Dave standing at the
door; it was half past one on Sunday afternoon, and she'd just been thinking
about putting up the Christmas tree for Harley. Wasn't Dave always in the pub
at this time on a Sunday?

"Hi," he said, when she opened the door. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she said. "You don't normally stand on
ceremony. There's no need to be sheepish, just because you've got a new
girlfriend."

Dave kissed her on the cheek, rather tentatively;
his skin felt cold next to hers. She wanted to put her arms around him,
underneath his leather jacket, like she used to, but she held back. Used to. It wasn't so long ago, really, was it?

"Daddy!" Harley leapt up and bounded over to him,
and Dave picked him up, kissing him on the cheek, too.

"Hello, Mr D!" he said.

"What's that in there, Daddy?" said Harley, feeling
inside his jacket. "It's a book! Is it for me?"

"No." Dave put him down and took the book out. "It's for your great gran." He looked at Janice and handed it to her. "I thought Evelyn might like it. I thought maybe we could all go and see
her."

It was a volume of photographs, of Fenland scenes, new and
old.

"It's lovely," she said, flicking through it.

Dave looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, I thought,
she can't read anymore 'cause she can't remember what the last bloody paragraph
said, can she? But she's still sharp enough to get bored 'cause she hasn't got
enough to do. And look - " He leant over Janice's shoulder and turned a few
pages. "There are some old photos of that village near Ely where she grew up. She'll probably remember it being like that."

Janice breathed in the smell of him and felt weak
with wanting to put her arms around him. She looked up at his face, and
smiled. "This is a really brilliant idea. Thanks."

"Shall we all go and see her then? Now?"

"Yes. Just let me get changed into something half
way respectable." (
And chuck on some mascara, lipstick and perfume). "
Harley,
sweetheart, d'you want to go and get your shoes on?"

Dave didn't say much on the drive out to the care
home; Janice couldn't help wondering about the motivation for this surprise
show of goodwill. Guilt, genuine concern for Evelyn, or trying to curry
favour, get back in her good books? Could be any of them, she supposed. Or,
more likely, a combination of all three.

"Who's that little boy, then?" Evelyn asked,
peering at him.

"That's Harley, Gran," Janice said. "My son. Mine
and Dave's."

"Dave?"

"Yeah, come on, Eve, you know me!" said Dave. "'orrible
Dave, you remember?"

Evelyn smiled at him, though she looked quite blank.

"Dave bought you this book, Gran," Janice said. "It's got
some lovely pictures in it."

Dave held the book out to her, opening it at the
pages he'd shown Janice. "Look," he said, "that's where you lived when you were
a child, I remember you telling me."

Evelyn beamed at him again. "This is very nice of
you, dear. It's lovely to get presents." She opened the book and peered at
it, quite absorbed for a while, smiling as she turned the pages. "I used to
live there," she said, pointing at a picture of a large manor house. Then she
lost interest, and looked around the room again. "I'd like to go home now. Can you take me, or will I have to phone for a taxi?"

"You have to stay here, Evelyn, so they can look after
you," Dave said, leaning forward and taking her hand in his.

"Yes," she said, and seemed to drift off for a
moment. Then she looked at Janice. "I'm sorry, dear, I can't remember your
name."

"It's Janice, Gran. Your granddaughter."

"No! Don't be silly!" She laughed. "Janice is only a
little girl!"

"I was a little girl, a long time ago. I'm grown up
now. Look, there's Harley. He's my son."

Dave stood up. "Shall I see if I can get us all a cup of
tea?"

"Mm," said Evelyn. "I don't know if I've got time. I've got to be getting home. They'll be wanting their dinner."

"It's okay, Gran, you haven't got to go anywhere.
You're safe here," Janice said.

"Yes." She turned to look out of the window, her
wrinkled, parched skin lit up by the winter afternoon sun as she did so. For a
moment, Janice saw a flicker in her eyes of the old Evelyn, the one who'd been
so witty and sparky and funny. But then it was gone; when her grandmother
turned back the shutters were down again, and she gazed at them as if she
hadn't got the faintest clue who any of them were.

"She's much worse, isn't she?" Dave said, as they were
driving back, breaking a long silence.