Star Struck (8 page)

‘Well, she went for an audition today.’

‘An audition for what?’ Rachel asked.

Jo knew this was going to be good. They would never think in a million years that Catherine would have a talent for singing.

‘Oh, a little singing competition …’ Jo said, watching Rachel and Cara roll their eyes at one another, ‘… called
Star Maker
.’

‘No!’ Rachel gasped.

‘Way!’ Cara finished for her.

‘Yes. Way.’ Jo nodded.

‘Did she get to meet the judges?’

‘She didn’t just get to meet them … she got through.’

‘What?’ Cara and Rachel screeched.

‘Boot Camp. My sister is going to be famous. Well, maybe not famous, maybe seen once and then booted off but you get the drift … But you’re not allowed to say
anything
or I’m dead meat. The show controls all the press stuff. We’ve all got to sign confidentiality agreements which means that Richard Forster can eat our spleens if we blab anything to the press if she gets down to the finals.’

Cara and Rachel looked at each other and burst out laughing. ‘Whoa! Back up. How has that happened?’ Cara asked.

‘She can sing,’ Jo said. And then she remembered the really good bit of the story. ‘And I’m probably going to be on telly.’

‘Why? Because you’re just so goddamn photogenic?’ Cara asked.

Jo shoved her. Her friends always teased her about her looks.

‘Don’t be a div. No because we went in there – the whole family!’ As Jo told the story Cara and Rachel roared with laughter. Jo loved telling her friends stories, they always appreciated them and always egged her on to elaborate. She had been looking forward to imparting this priceless anecdote all day.

‘All of you?’ Cara asked.

‘The entire Reilly clan?’ Rachel added.

‘The lot of us. Dad included.’

Cara and Rachel let this piece of information settle and then burst out laughing again.

‘Yes, Mick Reilly got out of his pit long enough to get himself on national TV,’ Jo said, finishing her drink with a flourish. Jo went on to tell the girls about the total show they’d made of themselves and how her father had shouted at Richard Forster.

‘What’s a robber baron?’ Cara asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

‘That’s what we said,’ Jo replied. ‘So our Catherine is off to Boot Camp …’

‘What’s going to happen with your dad? She does everything for him, doesn’t she?’

‘I’m going to show him a picture of his arse and his elbow and once he’s worked out which is which, he’s on his own,’ Jo said, rising from her seat. ‘Another drink? All this business of having a famous sister is making me thirsty,’ she said, smiling before heading for the bar.

Chapter 3

THE DAY OF
Boot Camp finally arrived. The last few weeks had seemed like months; in which time Catherine had become something of a local celebrity. The
Star Maker
people had made her sign all sorts of legal documents, stating who she could and couldn’t talk to, stressing how important it was that people didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes. But they had informed her that it was fine to tell people that she was going to Boot Camp. Until then she hadn’t even thought about the repercussions of telling people her good news. People weren’t just interested in it, it seemed, they somehow felt that they had a vested interest in Catherine’s future. Because
Star Maker
was such a national institution, Catherine quickly realised, people saw her success in getting through to the next stage as somehow their own success. They knew her, they were pleased for her and therefore they were now involved in the whole process. She didn’t begrudge anyone feeling this way; on the contrary she was delighted to have people support her. It was just odd to be the centre of attention for once. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it yet.

It had started when she had to ask at work for time off. Catherine worked in a call centre in Trafford Park, an industrial area that stretched from the M60 ring road to Old Trafford. The most exciting thing that had
happened
to anyone on her team in the last five years was when her colleague Ray had appeared on
Eggheads
. He had come a cropper against Judith Keppel and still hadn’t got over it. He would wander around work, muttering ‘The Hoover Dam’. Catherine didn’t know what that meant but it obviously upset Ray.

When Catherine asked her boss Gloria for time off and told her the reason, Gloria had been so excited that she had screamed and spilled Slim Fast all over her keyboard. ‘Take all the time you need,’ Gloria said. ‘As long as we get tickets to the live finals.’

Catherine didn’t think she’d get that far but she promised Gloria that she’d do her best and asked Gloria if, in return, she’d keep quiet about her impending time off.

‘Of course! You know me, take everything to the grave,’ Gloria had said conspiratorially, crossing her heart and winking. However, Gloria didn’t get as far as the grave with this particular secret; the next day Catherine had arrived at work to be greeted by a huge make-shift banner draped on the outside of her office building with ‘Catherine Reilly – our
Star Maker
Winner!’ written in ten-foot-high letters. When Catherine arrived at her desk Gloria shouted ‘Now!’ and everyone tried to let off party poppers, with mixed results; some refused to pop, some popped loudly with streamers landing on the banks of PCs and Ray’s went off in his eye, meaning he had to fill out an occupational health form and spend the morning in the sick bay.

‘I couldn’t help it, Catherine, I’m just so pleased for you!’ Gloria said.

Catherine couldn’t be angry with her. Gloria was lovely;
Catherine
couldn’t ask for a nicer boss. But it did mean that Catherine’s little secret was soon the talk of Manchester.

The
Manchester Evening News
had called, asking if they could write an article about Catherine. Mick had naturally thought that the phone call was for him – the
Manchester Evening News
was finally on the phone – and had been hugely disappointed to discover that it was his daughter they were interested in and not the latest letter of complaint he had submitted to them about footballers parking on double yellow lines. Catherine had been given a number by the
Star Maker
producers to call if she had any questions before Boot Camp, so she had rung and asked them if it was OK to speak to the paper. They agreed and Catherine found herself on the front cover.
M
ANCHESTER
G
IRL
H
AS
S
TAR
Q
UALITY
the headline read, with a picture of her at the side. Jo had run home with the paper waving it for everyone to see. In the past few weeks Jo had been almost more excited about Catherine’s impending trip to Boot Camp than she was herself. Jo had laid the paper out on the table and she, Maria and Catherine had gathered around. Mick had been feeding his goldfish. When Jo began to read the article she realised that Mick wasn’t paying attention. ‘Eh, Dad. You coming to look at this, or what?’ Jo had asked.

‘I’ll read it after,’ Mick had sniffed, dropping a pinch of fish flakes into the goldfish bowl.

‘Suit yourself,’ Jo replied, turning back to the article. Catherine hadn’t been able to concentrate on the words. She just wished that her dad could be happy for her, or at least feel that he could tell one of the others what he was going through so that they could help.

Now the day had arrived for Catherine to leave for Boot Camp and Mick was still in truculent form.

‘If he says, “Don’t mind me,” one more time I’m going to boot him,’ Jo said.

Jo had taken the day off college to drive down with Claire and Catherine to the manor house in the wilds of the Cotswolds where Boot Camp was held. She was glad of the day off, her tutor was getting on her nerves at the moment. Jo was in the middle of a project that her tutor said should draw inspiration from the early post-war couture of Christian Dior and team it with fabrics used in space flight to give it a futuristic twist. Jo had decided that this sounded like a load of bollocks and that she was going to design a collection inspired by Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter – Joan Collin’s character in Dynasty, one of Jo’s re-run TV heroes, and one of the people Jo would like to be for a day – and there wasn’t going to be a square inch of Teflon near it.

Maria had been unable to change her shift and was absolutely gutted. She had headed off to the airport with a face like thunder that morning after telling Catherine that she had to call them if anything, and she meant
anything
, happened. Catherine knew that the fact that she was involved in
Star Maker
and Maria wasn’t was killing her sister. Not that Maria could sing, or would ever have entered the competition – she just thought that she deserved better than the hand she’d been dealt in life; that she shouldn’t be serving people teas, coffees and Beyoncé Knowles’ latest perfume on a plane but that she should be sitting in first class being served herself. Claire called it ‘a misplaced sense of entitlement’. Jo called it
‘delusional
nob-head behaviour’. Catherine thought that the truth lay somewhere in between.

Claire had deposited Jake and Rosie with her mother-in-law and was busy packing the boot with Catherine’s belongings. Catherine had been informed by one of the
Star Maker
producers that she needed to bring at least four changes of clothes as they didn’t want them wearing the same thing every day. Jo had taken Catherine to Primark and – as she had put it – ‘done a number on her’. Catherine was now kitted out in the latest fashions and all for less than fifty pounds. If she’d known that her sister had been so good at choosing clothes that flattered her, she’d have dragged her into town years ago.

Catherine decided, as her father was obviously avoiding being alone with her, it was time for her to take him to one side and talk to him before he left. She waited until he needed to use the toilet and then followed him upstairs, sitting on the landing until he had finished.

‘You scared the bloody life out of me!’ Mick exclaimed, clutching his heart.

‘Can I have a word?’

‘Antidisestablishmentarianism.’

Catherine sighed. ‘Very good, Dad. Not that sort of word. I need to talk to you about the …’ she found it hard to say, ‘… cancer.’

Mick’s eyes darted around, checking to see if anyone was within earshot. ‘Not here.’ He grabbed Catherine by the arm and pulled her into her bedroom. He shut the door, flopped on the bed and put his head in his hands. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Anything. You won’t let me come to the doctors
with
you, you won’t tell me what’s going on. You keep saying you’re going to be fine, but I don’t even know if you mean it.’

‘You’re going anyway, doesn’t matter what’s up with me.’

‘Dad, don’t be like that …’

‘Don’t be like what?’

‘That. Making me feel guilty.’

‘I’m not making you feel anything. I’m just saying …’

‘What sort of cancer is it?’ Catherine asked gently.

Mick tapped his stomach.

‘Stomach cancer?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it, and neither should you. You’re going off on a big adventure, don’t worry about me.’

‘Let me tell Claire. I want her to keep an eye on you.’

‘I don’t want Claire knowing. You can call me from this place, can’t you? It’s not a prison camp.’

‘We’re not allowed our mobile phones in case anyone takes pictures and sells them to the papers. They don’t have a problem with people knowing who’s gone into Boot Camp, it’s who’s coming out the other side they’re worried about. So it’s all secretive. Bonkers, I know, but that’s the way it is.’

Every time Catherine told anyone anything about Boot Camp it made her, for a moment, step out of herself and think
Did I just say that?
It all seemed so surreal. She still couldn’t believe that any of this was happening to her.

‘So how am I expected to contact you if there’s an emergency?’

‘What sort of emergency? Do you need me to stay here, Dad?’ Catherine grabbed her dad’s hand. If things really were as serious as he seemed to be suggesting, and
Catherine
was the only person that Mick felt that he could trust, then she couldn’t go away and leave him.

The door burst open. It was Jo.

‘Why are you asking if he needs you to stay here?’ she demanded.

Catherine shot her dad a look. Was that all Jo had heard him say?

‘Because she’s being daft,’ Mick said. ‘’Course I don’t. I’m all for her going, aren’t I, Catherine? Off you go and don’t worry about me.’

‘Christ, that record’s well stuck,’ Jo said, grabbing Catherine’s arm. ‘Come on, we have to set off now or you’re going to be late.’

‘I’ll call when I get there,’ Catherine promised. Mick hung his head. She wanted her dad to look at her to wish her well, but he just stared at the floor.

‘Bloody hell, Catherine, you’re only going for a week!’ Jo said and then seemed to remember that she should have more faith in her sister. ‘Well, initially.’ She looked at her father. ‘So are you going to say good luck to Catherine then?’

‘Who’s going to be here with me today?’ Mick asked.

Catherine’s heart sank. She really would have liked him to wish her luck, but he couldn’t. He was just worried about himself. As always, everything in Mick’s life revolved around Mick.

‘No one, but the
Corrie
omnibus is on; get stuck into that,’ Jo said flippantly.

‘All heart, you, Joanna.’

‘Why, thank you.’

‘That was sarcasm. You’re not all heart. You’re the
opposite.
Heart
less
. I’m all right, Jack, sod the rest of you. That’s you.’

‘Did you hear that Catherine? I’m all right, Jack? That’s me all over isn’t it? Doesn’t sound like anyone else who happens to be in this room …’ Jo said, glaring back at her father.

‘Yes, her an’ all.’ Mick jabbed a finger in Catherine’s direction. ‘The pair of you. No heart. Just thinking of yourselves. No wonder your mother left,’ Mick said.