Star Struck (5 page)

‘Joanna,’ Mick hissed. Her father often complained about Karen and blamed her for his lot in life, but the fact of the matter was he was still in love with her and he didn’t take kindly to anyone slagging her off. Anyone other than him, that was.

‘She’s in Chorlton!’ Claire shouted loudly over Jo, kicking her to shut her up.

Jason P. Longford looked at them for a moment weighing them up. ‘Please do not swear,’ he said witheringly.

Jo began to sense her dad’s agitation. He didn’t like crowds and he didn’t like his routine being upset and yet here he was being thrown into a room with hundreds of people. She could feel that he was about to say something.

‘We don’t think she’s doing the right thing,’ Mick piped up.

‘Dad!’ Jo said through gritted teeth.

‘Do you want to go in?’ Jason asked, pointing at the audition room.

Jo looked at the presenter. Why would he let them in there?

‘Yes, I think that’s a good idea,’ Claire said, speaking for the family. Jo couldn’t believe it. Jason opened the door and nodded them in. It all happened so quickly. The others fell into the room and Jo felt she had no option but to follow. And there they were, the famous judges all staring at them. Jo had a sudden flash of clarity and realised what they must look like: the Manchester Hillbillies. She’d seen it time and again on this show – the half-wit contestant who couldn’t sing for toffee being defended by their quarter-wit family members. Not that she thought Catherine was a halfwit but still … Catherine was also staring at them. Jo could tell from her sister’s face that she wasn’t appreciating the family’s show of unity.

Sorry!
Jo mouthed.

‘Who have we here?’ Richard Forster asked.

Jo was about to speak for her family, afraid that Claire would have such a gush fest she’d collapse in a heap on the floor, but her dad beat her to it.

‘We know your game,’ Mick said, waggling his finger at the music mogul.

‘Dad!’ Catherine hissed.

‘This is your dad?’ Richard asked neutrally. He didn’t have to say anything else, Mick was digging his own grave unaided.

‘Hey you, mouth.’ Mick said, as if he was taking on a hoody at the corner shop. ‘I don’t want you pulling her to pieces because she doesn’t look the part and hasn’t got a
note
in her head.’ Mick jutted his bristled chin out defiantly; something that he did when he was trying to look important. Jo thought it made him look like Uncle Albert from
Only Fools and Horses
.

‘Did you really just say that?’ Catherine asked, utterly exasperated.

‘Hi, Richard.’ Maria said, with a small girly wave, as if there was only her and Richard Forster in the room. Jo cracked out laughing.

‘“Hi, Richard”,’ Jo said, mimicking her sister. ‘What are you doing, you div? D’you think he’s going to ask you out because … well, I don’t know what … because you’re here?’

‘I’m just saying hello,’ Maria snapped.

‘Embarrassment,’ Jo said, shaking her head.

‘Has she sung yet?’ Claire asked someone wearing a head-microphone and holding a clipboard. Jo couldn’t believe that Claire was talking about Catherine as if she wasn’t there.

‘No, she hasn’t.’ Richard Forster said tersely. ‘And with you lot bleating on I’m quite sure she’s not going to want to. Could you all leave, please?’

Jo and her sisters stared at the judge. He was serious. Jo glanced at Catherine, who was standing with eyes to the floor, her cheeks burning crimson. Oh God, Jo thought, we are officially the family from hell.

‘Fine, we know when we’re not wanted. Come on, Catherine,’ Mick said.

‘Not her. You lot,’ Richard Forster said with a dismissive flick of his hand.

Jo grabbed her father by the shoulders and pushed him
bodily
out of the room. Claire and Maria looked dumbfounded, as if they thought that while they were there they might have been asked to do a turn. Jo thought that she had her father under control, but he wasn’t going quietly.

‘I knew Colonel Tom Parker,’ Mick barked over his shoulder. ‘Gentleman, he was. Not like you, you robber baron.’

What the bloody hell is a robber baron? Jo thought, her heart racing as she tried her best to limit the damage her father was causing.

‘He’d have had you out of the music business quicker than you could say Chico Time,’ Mick continued.

Jo shoved her dad out of the audition room and, ensuring that Rosie was still with them, turned and grabbed her two sisters by their arms and pulled them unwillingly away from their fifteen minutes of fame.

‘Bloody hell, you’ve got your work cut out,’ Richard Forster said. ‘Right, where were we? When you’re ready, Catherine.’

Catherine was mortified. She wanted to bolt for the door but she was here now. Her throat had dried up, thanks to her family descending en masse, and she was shaking like a leaf. Cherie Forster tapped her pen on the desk impatiently; Lionel Peters – who looked like a wise old wizard with his pointy beard and long greying mane – had put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, his face neutral, but Carrie Ward smiled warmly and said, ‘Take your time Catherine.’

Catherine swallowed hard and began to sing. Her voice
was
sweet and strong but she knew that nerves were getting the better of her. She put her hand to her throat as if this would stop the reverberation that she was sure they could all hear. As she reached the end of the verse she looked at Carrie Ward and there was something in her eyes – a willing for her to succeed – that made Catherine think that maybe she was doing well. This gave her the confidence she needed and she pushed on; giving her all to the chorus. She could hear her voice now resonating around the room. She was finally beginning to enjoy herself when Richard Forster waved his hand in the air and said, ‘Thank you, thank you.’

Catherine stopped dead and blood rushed again to her cheeks. She touched her face and in that moment had a strange recollection of trying to fry an egg on the pavement as a child because she’d seen it done on
Record Breakers
– it hadn’t worked but she was sure if she cracked one on her face now it would fry in seconds.

‘Lionel?’ Richard said, looking for the impresario’s opinion on Catherine.

‘To be honest, I could take it or leave it,’ he said with a shrug. Catherine stared at him numbly.

Carrie Ward hit her hand on the table and looked at him open mouthed. ‘Are you kidding? That was beautiful!’ she said.

‘Cherie?’ Richard turned to his wife.

Cherie paused and looked at Catherine. Catherine could hear the blood rushing in her ears, like listening to the sea in a seashell. ‘You were very nervous.’ She paused. Catherine nodded. ‘I’m not sure you’re ready for this competition.’

Catherine hung her head. She was probably right. When she looked up the judges were staring back at her. She couldn’t work out why for a moment and then realised that they expected her to list all of the reasons why she was right for this competition. But she couldn’t and she wasn’t about to beg. She could sing OK but she wasn’t sure that this public grilling was something she could face every week. She opened her mouth to speak but Richard Forster had had enough.

‘Look, I’m in agreement with Cherie. I think if we put you through, you’d crack.’

‘I wouldn’t, I promise.’ Catherine said, tears welling in her eyes and her voice shaking as if to cruelly prove the judges’ point that she wasn’t in control of her emotions.

‘Lionel?’

‘It’s a no from me.’

‘Cherie?’

‘You’re a sweet girl with a big smile,’ She paused and the look on her face suggested she was torn as to whether to put Catherine through or not. ‘But I’m afraid it’s a no from me.’

Right, thank you, if you could just arrange for the floor to open up and swallow me that would be great, Catherine thought.

‘Carrie?’

‘Absolutely one hundred per cent yes! We’ve just put some one through who was dressed as a giraffe and you’re turning her down?’

Good point, Catherine thought.

‘Thank you,’ Richard said. He definitely wore the trousers around here.

Carrie had one last go at defending Catherine. ‘She’s twenty-four. If we send her away she’ll be too old for the category next year.’ Catherine knew that it was the unspoken rule that the only successful
Star Maker
winners were the ones who came from the under-twenty-five category. The public wants its stars to be youthful.

Richard Forster looked at her, thought for a moment and then proceeded to sum things up for Catherine. ‘Here’s the thing,’ he said – Catherine wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the thing – ‘you can sing. And there’s definitely something about you, but – as Cherie said – I’m not sure you’re ready for this competition. America will be extremely tough.’

Catherine hung her head waiting for the inevitable.

‘It’s a no, Catherine.’

Catherine was gutted, in the most extreme sense of the word. It was exactly like all her guts had been ripped out of her and dumped on the floor. Her family would
definitely
be on the TV with their performance and she would become a laughing stock. A rejected laughing stock. She nodded meekly and headed for the door. The short walk felt like a day-long trek.

Jason P. Longford pounced on her as soon as she came out of the audition room. The camera was rolling and he was charm personified. ‘Catherine, how did it go?’

She shook her head, unable to reply.

‘Was it a no?’ He asked, oozing fake compassion.

Catherine nodded and walked off. Jason followed her with his crew. ‘What did Richard say?’

‘He said no.’

Catherine discerned a look of glee from Jason. She
turned
away from him – catching the eye of the clipboard guy from earlier. He gave her what she thought to be a look of sympathy. She’d had enough of people’s sympathy for one day. It was her family feeling sorry for her that had made her so nervous in the first place. She walked away from Jason and could hear him saying, ‘What’s her problem, miserable cow?’ He was obviously off-air again. Catherine sloped towards the door thinking that this was all her own stupid fault. Who did she think she was? Someone good enough to do well on a show like this? She swallowed back tears and wished that she’d never got out of bed that morning.

‘Dum. Dum. Dum. Another one bites the dust …’ Andy was watching Jason P. Longford move his body with a distinct lack of rhythm, as he sang in celebration at having orchestrated another person’s exit from the competition. It was like watching an embarrassing uncle trying to body pop.

‘What you looking at?’ he snapped at Andy.

‘Nothing,’ Andy said, averting his gaze.

The door to the audition room opened and Richard Forster stuck his head out. The crowds of people waiting to audition became visibly excited at his presence. ‘Can I have a word?’ he said. Andy and the rest of the crew went to follow him but Richard said, ‘On your own.’

Jason gulped and followed the man who, for the moment, was responsible for his career. Andy stood outside the audition room and could hear muffled, raised voices and snatches of conversation. He didn’t want to appear as if he was listening in, but that was absolutely
what
he was doing. Richard Forster’s voice dominated the proceedings.

‘When they’re obviously good, don’t let their idiot family lose it for them just for TV ratings … I know what I said, but there’s enough lunatics out there without breaking good people who’ve come to audition … unless they’re totally OTT, I don’t know … like they’re toothless and playing a banjo, then no more families in the audition room! We’re turning into a freak show and this is going out in America, not just here. It needs to be about talent.’

Richard calmed down and then began saying something else to Jason, which Andy could barely hear. Then Jason’s voice: ‘It won’t happen again … absolutely, absolutely … yes, straight away.’ Andy stifled a laugh at the sound of Jason’s grovelling.

A few moments later, Jason came out of the audition room, smoothed his shirt down and stretched his neck from side to side as if limbering up. He looked at Andy. ‘They want to see that bloody girl again.’

‘Really?’ Andy asked, surprised.

‘Am I standing here telling lies for the sake of it? Of course, really. Go find her. And don’t come back without her.’

Catherine, still stunned by her family’s performance, was standing in the taxi bay of the hotel, shivering in the cold drizzly Manchester weather and wishing that Claire would hurry up. She had just called her sister and pleaded with her to turn around and pick her up. It didn’t take much pleading. Claire was rightly contrite. Thankfully, they
hadn’t
got far and Claire soon screeched to a halt outside the hotel – the scene of Catherine’s shame.

Catherine was soaked. She hadn’t thought to dress for the rain.
God knows why
, she thought. Twenty-four years in Manchester should have taught her that the chances of rain were high even if a drought of Biblical proportions was predicted.

‘What happened?’ Jo asked, excited.

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Oh my God, were you booted off? The shame,’ Maria said.

‘Thanks for the understanding.’

‘But we’ll be on telly looking like wrong ’uns now,’ Maria complained.

‘And that’s Catherine’s fault, how?’ Jo asked. Then something seemed to occur to her. ‘Eh, maybe they’ll get us back to be on the final show, you know like they do with all the divs who can’t sing. How top would that be?’

‘Not very top at all,’ Catherine said quietly.

No one seemed to notice she was angry. Her family were so thick-skinned that Catherine would probably have to murder one of them for the others to notice she was annoyed.

‘Sorry, Catherine,’ Jo said, nudging her sister affectionately. ‘You’re right. Not top at all.’

Catherine looked at Jo. It was OK for her, a knock like this was nothing to Jo. She breezed through life. Catherine only wished that she were one of life’s breezers.

Catherine couldn’t catch her father’s eye. She knew he was annoyed that she hadn’t told him of her plans to
audition.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s done and dusted is all I can say,’ Mick muttered.