Star Struck (26 page)

‘Could you put something like, “To Jane and Lucy,
Supermarket Sweep’s
biggest fans, love Dale.”’

Andy thought he was going to swallow his own tongue, he was trying so hard not to laugh. He could see the seat in front shaking where Will was laughing.

‘Dale?’ Jason screeched, ‘
Supermarket Sweep?
’ His voice went higher still. ‘Do you think I’m Dale Bloody Winton?’ His voice was by now so shrill that Andy was sure that if there were any dogs in the hold they would be covering their ears with their paws.

‘Well, yes. Aren’t you?’ the girl asked, bewildered.

‘Am I friggery. I’m twenty years younger than him for a start!’

‘All right, keep your wig on.’ The girl snatched the pen from Jason and walked back down the aisle. ‘It’s not him; he’s just some nobody with an attitude problem,’ the girl said loudly to her mates.

Andy couldn’t believe what happened next, it was so embarrassing that it made him wish that Boeing 767s were fitted with ejector seats. Jason got to his feet and took his glasses off and shouted down the plane to the girls, ‘I’m Jason P. Longford you …’ he was so angry he struggled to find the words ‘… set of tits!’

A mocking cheer went up from the other passengers
on
the plane as Jason thumped down into his seat in an absolute strop.

‘Who, mate?’ the autograph hunter shouted back. ‘Never heard of you!’

‘Get me to New York now!’ Jason shouted at Andy, as if he was flying the plane.

‘All right, Jason, we’ll be setting off in a minute,’ he replied, trying to be reassuring as a chant of ‘Who are you? Who are you?’ began to grow until it sounded like everyone on the plane was chanting at Jason. Andy buried his head in his hands. This was going to be the longest seven hours of his life.

Catherine was sitting in the passenger seat of Claire’s car, driving towards Manchester airport. She was meeting Kim at departures and they were flying together to join the other contestants at Heathrow, where they would all depart for New York.

Jo was singing ‘New York, New York’, for what must have been the twentieth time that day. She accompanied it by kicking her legs through the space between the front seats in the car.

‘Stop it! I can’t see when you kick your foot up,’ Claire grumbled, as she pulled the car into the airport.

‘I can’t believe you’re going to New York! And not just going to New York, you’re like going to New York!’

‘What on earth does that mean?’ Claire spun around to face her sister who was sitting in the middle of the back seat.

Catherine knew exactly what she meant. She had even begun writing about her experiences in her songs.
Catherine
usually wrote about longing, or loss or hope, not actual concrete experiences. This was different and she found that, rather than scaring her away from song writing because of the enormity of what was happening to her, it was making her creative juices flow.

‘I mean she’s doing it in style, duh! Will you go to the Marc Jacobs store and genuflect in front of it for me please?’ Jo begged.

‘We’re all really proud of you,’ Claire said, squeezing Catherine’s knee.

‘Dad’s not,’ Catherine said sadly.

Mick had made an excuse not to come to the airport. Said that his stomach was playing up and he needed to stay in bed.

‘He’s just acting up.’

‘When is he going to the hospital? Is someone going with him?’ Catherine asked.

‘Tomorrow, I think, but he won’t say exactly when. He’s being a martyr, saying he wants to go on his own.’ Claire shrugged in a what-can-you-do way.

‘Right.’ Catherine hung her head guiltily.

‘When he decides he’s going to accept our help then we’ll help him, won’t we, Jo?’

‘He’s got an appointment tomorrow then?’ Jo asked, suddenly serious.

‘Yes, at Christie’s. He said it yesterday. Was I the only one there?’

‘Right …’ Jo said, not really listening to Claire.

Catherine studied Jo; she looked as if she was hatching a plan.

‘What are you thinking?’ Catherine asked.

‘Nothing.’ Jo snapped out of it. ‘Not thinking anything.’

‘Right, go and don’t come back until you’re rich and famous.’ Claire said as she found a parking space.

The three sisters climbed out of the car. ‘And I’ve set Sky Plus for the weekend …’ Jo said impishly, ‘And I’ll call you and tell you if we’re on.’

Catherine’s stomach performed its now familiar churn. ‘Oh God,’ she groaned. Saturday saw the first airing of
Star Maker
this year. Now that she was down to the final six, her audition was bound to be aired.

‘Next time you come back through those doors, you’ll be recognised by everyone. How mad is that?’ Jo asked.

Catherine closed her eyes. ‘I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.’

‘Ha!’ Jo laughed. ‘Bit late now.’

She was right, it was.

‘Anyway, sis, break a leg, Scottish play and all that, as Dad would say, because he’s so into the theatre.’

Catherine thought about her dad for a moment. ‘Tell him I’ll be back soon and that if he needs anything then he can always ring me.’

‘Right, yeah, we’ll tell him.’ Jo said, throwing a look at Claire that suggested this piece of information wouldn’t go any further.

‘Come here,’ Jo gave Catherine a huge warm hug. Claire joined in.

‘Good luck, sis.’ Jo pulled Catherine’s case out of the boot and handed it to her.

‘Oh, and if you see Maria in there sweeping the floors then let us know. I’ve always thought this air hostess thing was all in her head.’

Catherine laughed and waved to her sisters and walked towards the automatic doors with trepidation at what the weeks ahead held for her and her fellow competitors.

Just as the doors were opening two photographers ran up to Catherine and began snapping away. A reporter thrust a Dictaphone into her face. ‘You’re in the final, Catherine, how does it feel?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Catherine said panicking, craning her neck to see if Jo and Claire might come to her rescue, but they had gone, she was on her own. Catherine made her way to the check-in desk, the reporter and photographers followed, drawing stares from the holiday makers queuing up for their flights. Catherine wondered what to do, it was embarrassing enough being hounded by people firing questions at her and being photographed, but ignoring them while they did so wasn’t something she could keep up for long. ‘I’m just going to London for the weekend with a friend.’

‘Right, pull the other one,’ the reporter said harshly.

Just then Kim came round the corner and seeing Catherine trying to fend off the reporter, dived behind a pillar. Catherine wanted her to come over to take some of the pressure off her but she knew she couldn’t. If they were seen boarding the plane together and this woman had done her research and had Kim down as someone who was going through to the finals too, she would have her story and Kim and Catherine would be in trouble before they even got to New York. So Catherine braved it out in the queue.

A little boy in front of her turned and said, ‘Excuse me, are you famous?’

Catherine laughed and said, ‘No, they think I’m someone else.’ She just had to get to the front of the queue, get checked in and then she’d be all right, she reassured herself. But something was worrying her, something which totally stood to reason but she hadn’t really thought about until now. Once you were famous you were public property and intrusions like this would become, if not commonplace, at least something she couldn’t complain about when they did happen. And if one thing was for sure, by accepting her place in the final six of
Star Maker
:
Transatlantic
, Catherine was now officially signing herself up for fame whether she liked to admit it or not.

Chapter 11

CATHERINE STARED OUT
of the limousine at the New York skyline as they drove towards Manhattan. This famous city, one that was etched in her memory from childhood films through to the terrible events of 9/11 seemed so familiar, and at the same time, so other worldly.

‘Wow!’ Catherine said, without realising that she had spoken.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Star asked.

Star had been her usual charming self on the flight over. Having had a few days away from the others Star had cooled down again and decided that being cool and distant was the way to go. Catherine had decided to leave her to it. In her opinion they had been treated like royalty by the cabin staff on the flight over from the UK; Star didn’t seem to agree. ‘They shove us in business class? What about first class?’ she sniffed.

Catherine had never been on a flight that lasted more than three hours. In fact, she’d never been anywhere further than Spain and she’d only been there twice. Now here she was, flying to another continent, business class. Each girl had their own seat that made into a bed, they were served champagne before the plane had even taken off, they were given the option to have a back massage, a foot massage or a facial – Catherine had all three – and the food they were served was definitely the best meal Catherine had
ever
eaten: smoked salmon roulade followed by a cooked-to-perfection steak with mashed potato and sticky toffee pudding for dessert. Star had turned her nose up at it, saying that she didn’t eat plane food. Kim had asked if she ate fancy food, but Star had just ignored the joke and buried her head in her copy of
Vogue
.

As the limo powered across the Manhattan Bridge, Catherine turned to Star. ‘Sorry, I just haven’t seen skyscrapers before.’

Star sniggered as if Catherine had just admitted that this was the first time she’d clapped eyes on a wheel. ‘What? Where have you been?’

Catherine stiffened, ‘Manchester, Star. I haven’t lived all over the world like you.’

‘But surely Manchester has skyscrapers, London does.’

‘Canary Wharf might have, but London doesn’t, not really,’ Kim interjected.

‘Who asked you?’ Star asked, throwing Kim a withering look.

‘Right,’ Kim said calmly in her broad Yorkshire accent. ‘Let’s get one thing straight: you use that mouth of yours again on me and I’ll punch your lights out. Got it?’

Star, for the first time since Catherine had met her, was speechless. She gathered herself and, pretending not to be bothered, looked out of the window.

‘Star, I said, “Got it?”’ Kim wasn’t going to let Star get away with her queeny demeanour any longer, it seemed.

‘Got it,’ Star squeaked.

‘Good.’ Kim turned to Catherine, ‘I’ve never really seen skyscrapers either. Not all together like that. It’s mad isn’t it?’

Catherine felt as if she was free to speak now without being ridiculed by the worldly Star. ‘Yes, they look so packed together. Why don’t they build on the other islands? Why does it all have to be concentrated on this one little bit of land?’

Star cleared her throat as if she was about to say something, but a hard stare from Kim quickly put paid to that.

They drove into New York City and Catherine took in the familiar sites of jammed roads, yellow taxis, newspaper stalls and towering buildings. One moment they would be in an area that looked like somewhere you shouldn’t step foot into alone, the next they were driving through parts of the city with glistening shop fronts and picturesque stucco houses with huge steps up to the grand wooden front doors.

‘Times Square, ladies,’ the driver said through his microphone. He couldn’t simply turn around and tell them because there was bullet-proof glass between him and the girls. Probably to stop him turning round and shooting the likes of Star, Catherine thought.

Looking out at the bright neon lights and the hundreds of people crossing the street in different directions, Catherine’s head buzzed with everything she had to take in. Adverts screamed from every billboard, people flooded in and out of the touristy shops. Theatres were tucked away along side streets but their hoardings shouted the names of the shows. Once through Times Square the limo driver turned a corner and pulled up at a set of lights.

‘What’s with the horse?’ Kim asked. There was a shire horse pulling a carriage parked in front of them.
She
pressed the button to speak to the driver. ‘What’s with the horse?’

‘They’re a pain in the ass. That’s what’s with the horse. For tourists, they ride them round Central Park and then they shit all over the road and I get it stuck in the tyres.’ The girls laughed at the driver’s turn of phrase and his strong New York accent. The driver then launched into a story which culminated in him telling the girls that he had been engaged to Liza Minnelli but couldn’t go through with it because she couldn’t cook.

‘Here we are,’ the cabbie said, looking up at the gothic building facing out onto Central Park.

‘Is this the one that was in Ghost Busters?’ Kim asked.

‘No, no, no …’ The driver shook his head.

‘It’s where John Lennon lived, where he was shot …’ Star said assuredly. ‘The Dakota building.’

‘No, that’s the one up there,’ The driver said, pointing up the road.

Catherine stepped from the car. Kim and Star followed her. ‘Are we staying here?’ Catherine took in the magnificent building.

‘You certainly are.’ Richard Forster answered. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, beaming at the girls. He had a camera crew in tow.

‘I’ll introduce you to the guys when we get inside but they’ll be trailing you pretty much around the clock now that the competition is on.’ Richard gave them a Machiavellian smile.

Catherine looked at the crew. There was no sign of Andy as yet, thank God she thought. After what Jason had told her, Andy was someone she needed to avoid, so
she
should just stay clear and let him get on and flirt with whoever else came his way.

Jo had been up for two hours and it was only nine o’clock in the morning. She now knew what jet lag must feel like. She didn’t want her dad to leave the house when she was asleep, but she didn’t want him to suspect that she was going to follow him to make sure that he was OK either.

Mick came into the kitchen wearing a suit. ‘Where you off to?’ Jo asked, confused.