You Don't Know Me (10 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take Me Home

O
n my phone screen, FaceFeed explodes with comments.

Incredible.

Best singer the show's ever had.

The show ain't over until the fat girl sings. Well, she did tonight! #voterose. #breathless

Drop the fat girl? You idiots. I hope those #selfishcows who ditched her are crying now.

‘What's it
saying?
' Mum asks anxiously, trying to peer across me.

‘It's saying she's great,' I tell her, shifting the angle of my phone so she can't see it.

At the end of the performance, Linus waits until there is total silence before pronouncing his judgment. After all the excitement he has to wait a long time. While he waits, his expression is triumphant. He's the opposite of the scared, nervous man who was on the news this morning. It's as if he
owns
Rose now. As if he invented her.

‘That was extraordinary,' he says, allowing a slow grin to play across his face for the camera. ‘Sublime.'

‘You are So. Special. Rose,' Roxanne adds, with tears in her eyes. ‘I always knew there was something about you.'

Yeah, right.
Not large, but
large
. Was that the something? Roxanne somehow manages to make
every
moment on camera So. Special. But I'm starting to understand that she doesn't necessarily Mean. What she says. All the time.

Sebastian Rules looks happier than I've ever seen him. ‘You rock, princess! You wrote that song yourself?'

Rose nods.

‘You got a
career
, girl. A total career. How you feeling about the girls who dropped you from the band? You got anything to say to them?'

I close my eyes. Sebastian is the one whose opinion I now respect the most: he's always been honest, I think. Why did it have to be him who mentioned the rest of us? I wish I could just shrink into a tiny pixel and press ‘Delete'.

Rose pauses for a moment and looks out beyond the lights, knowing that we're sitting there somewhere.

‘They did what they had to do,' she says, quietly. ‘I
don't mind, because this is my music. They made me think about a few things when they let me go.'

‘Well, you are one classy lady,' Sebastian says. ‘And I think you just made the whole world fall in love with you.'

Rose looks modestly down at her hands in her lap.

‘I think you just earned yourself a place back in this competition,' Linus says. ‘Because we might just have found our star.'

Afterwards, as most of the audience heads for the toilet queues, I catch up with Nell.

‘Did you have any idea . . . ?' she asks.

‘No.'

‘Me neither.'

‘I've got to try and see her,' I say. ‘Are you coming?'

Nell looks at me nervously. ‘I don't think so, Sash. I don't think she wants us right now.'

She's probably right, and that's why I have to see Rose so desperately. Please can the new Rose not hate me? This is so hard.

I get Mum to wait for me in the lobby and I make my way down towards the backstage area, where Rose must be unwinding and getting changed. A big security guard from the TV company guards the door.

‘I'm Sasha,' I explain. ‘From the Manic Pixie Dream Girls. I've just got to . . .'

‘Nobody enters,' he says, not even looking at me.

‘But I was there two days ago. My friend's in there. I just need to—'

‘That's what they all say. Night night, sweets. Run along, now.'

His eyes meet mine for a second. They are hard, with a warning in them. The door stays firmly shut.

‘Just for a minute,' I beg.

He simply ignores me.

At that moment, Roxanne Wills rushes by, surrounded by her entourage. The security guard stands back to let them through, but he keeps his eyes on me, to make sure I don't join them.

‘Roxanne!' I call. ‘It's me. Can you let me in?'

She turns and looks at me, then shrugs helplessly.

‘Sorry, babe. I'm in a rush here. See you later, OK?'

The door shuts behind her again and the guard stands impassively between me and it. Still, I stand my ground.

‘I was just in there!' I repeat. ‘Two days ago! I'm part of the show. Well, I was.'

He catches the look of sadness and defeat on my face. For a moment, there's a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

‘Why don't you call her?' he says. ‘Your friend. If she says you can come in, I'll see what I can do.'

So I do. I try one more time. I call her number. I text. There is no reply.

The security guy gives me a pitying smile.

‘Night night then, sweets,' he repeats.

The big black door stays absolutely shut behind him.

I turn away sadly and go to find Mum in the lobby.

‘Take me home?' I ask. ‘Now? Please?'

‘What, to Somerset?' she asks. ‘But we're supposed to stay here for the final. And besides, it's a two-hour drive. We wouldn't be there till after midnight.'

‘I know.'

‘Well, do you want to say goodbye to the others at least?'

But I don't want to stay here for a moment longer.

Mum sees the look on my face. So she holds out her hand, and pulls me close to her.

‘All right.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rainbow Coloured Cardigan

I
t's late when Mum comes into my room on Sunday morning, dressed and clutching a mug of tea.

‘I thought I'd leave you. How are you feeling?'

‘Fine,' I lie. ‘Tired.'

‘You looked exhausted. That's why I let you sleep on despite the phone calls. Lots of people trying to get in touch. I told them they could talk to you later.'

‘Thanks, Mum.'

‘Where shall I put this?' she asks, holding out the tea.

We cast around for a mug-sized space, but there isn't one. I shift a pile of papers on top of another to make
some room.

‘Sure you're OK?'

I nod. ‘I just need to be on my own.'

She gives me her
I'm downstairs if you need me
smile and leaves me to it.

Instinctively, I reach out for my phone and check my messages on Interface. Some are from family, friends and new fans:

How are you, love? Your grandpa and I are thinking of you.

Bad luck in the competition! You were the best!

I always thought Rose was lardy. You looked amazing.

Hiya, Hotlegs. You were soooooo coooooool.

Others are from new enemies:

I hope you die, you selfish cow.

It's God punishing you for being such an evil witch. lol

There are ten times more of these. But even the ‘encouraging' ones are weird. How can anyone think they're comforting me by calling Rose ‘lardy'? Did they not understand our friendship at all?

I scan through the list, put my phone down and reach for the hot cup of tea. Then I drag myself out of bed. My room is a tip. Worse than usual. At the moment, it's got about ten discarded outfits for Killer Act rehearsals in a
heap on the floor, several piles of papers on the desk to do with homework I haven't done, and various little pillars of read and half-read books lined up near the bed. Walking across it is a hazard and it hasn't been properly hoovered for weeks. I'm not entirely sure that all the laundry is clean.

In the middle of the pile of clothes are two of Rose's cardigans. Her gran knits them for her every Christmas. She must have left them here when it was too warm to wear them, or maybe to have one ready to slip into when it was cold. She must have loads of my stuff mixed up with her wardrobe, too – not that she'd have worn it. My clothes were generally too boring for her.

I've always admired Rose's style. Only she would wear a vintage nylon evening dress, baggy jacket and boots to go shopping in Castle Bigelow. Only Rose would combine a lime green midi skirt with one of these chunky, rainbow-coloured knitted cardigans. She was impossible to miss. In fact, she always shone out like a beacon.

I miss everything about her. Now it feels as if I'll never see her again.

I pick up one of the cardigans. This one is a colourful statement in every possible shade of blue, with red beads sewn in stringy patterns around the hem. Her gran was inspired by the ocean when she began knitting this and I think the beads are supposed to be coral. I take it off the pile and put it round my shoulders, gradually easing my arms into the sleeves. It's warm and cosy, even if the sleeves dangle past my fingertips and the hem practically comes down to my knees. Will Rose miss it? I can always give it back to her if she does. Right now, I need it, as the weak spring sun struggles to make it through the gap in
the curtains in my room.

My phone rings. It's Nell, with Jodie right beside her, anxious to find out what's happened to me.

‘Aren't you coming back?'

‘No,' I explain.

‘But don't you want to be here for the final?'

‘Not really. Have you had a chance to talk to Rose?'

Nell sighs down the line.

‘No. She's busy in rehearsals for tonight. I think she's avoiding us.'

‘Of course she's avoiding us!' Jodie moans. ‘We dumped her. Well, Sasha dumped her. She's just doing to us what we did to her.'

‘But we tried to apologise,' I murmur. ‘Or at least . . .' Or at least,
I
did. Seeing as I was the one who had the brilliant idea of dropping her, it was only right that it should have been me who tried. I'm still trying.

‘Ivan's storming around,' Nell says. ‘He was really hoping you'd be here for the show. You know, that bit at the end when we all stand onstage? It'll look odd without you. Please come back, Sash.'

‘I'm sorry, I can't. Tell Ivan I'm not well. Actually – I don't care what you tell him. Why are you guys even still there, after what they did to us?'

‘Because . . .' Nell says, struggling for an answer.

‘Because it's television,' Jodie shouts. ‘It's what you do. There's, like, a million people waiting to see us.'

‘So they can call us selfish cows on FaceFeed,' I point out.

‘You're being a coward, hiding away.'

She's right. She's absolutely right. I should probably be up there, with them, smiling for the cameras, ignoring all
the hate. But I can't. Instead, I stick my hands into the pockets of Rose's cardigan and sit staring out of my bedroom window.

At lunchtime, Mum tempts me downstairs for soup and toast. As usual, she has the radio on in the kitchen while she cooks. Some woman who's written a book about the female body image is being interviewed about us and ‘what we mean to society'.

‘I just think it's absolutely terrible,' she says. ‘Girls these days. They're so nasty to each other. You wouldn't believe the things they say on websites and social media. This behaviour by those so-called Magic Pixie Dream Girls is just typical: “If you don't look right, you can't be part of our gang.” We really need to do something about it. Women need to stand together. As long as you're eating healthily and exercising, there's nothing wrong with your body shape. We should celebrate everyone, big and small. And we should stop criticising each other all the time.'

Mum stares at the radio.

‘From Miss “Women need to stand together”,' she says sarcastically, shaking her head. ‘If that's not being critical, I don't know what is.'

She looks at me with a sympathetic half smile. I try to smile back.

I doubt Mum knows this, because she mostly only goes online to do food shopping from Tesco, but people are selling T-shirts saying #dropthefatgirl now. You can buy them from several different sites. If you like, you can get them with #skinnywitch on the back.

Back in my room, my phone goes again with a text:

I know where you live, Sasha Bayley. And I'm waiting.

This is different. Breathless. I feel breathless.

At 7 p.m. Mum calls me down to watch the final with her. It goes by in a blur. I can't concentrate.
Who
knows where I live? What are they waiting for? Are they watching me now? Mum can't understand why I keep checking that all the curtains in the cottage are shut tight, or why I flinch every time a car goes by in the lane outside.

On TV, there are several close-ups of Nell and Jodie sitting in the audience, looking pale, holding hands. I feel more than ever that I've abandoned them, but really, what is the point of us being there tonight? Before I came downstairs I checked the ‘I Hate the Manic Pixie Dream Girls' page. It was up to 107,000 haters. And 107,000 people who hate you can't be wrong.

When Rose appears onstage for her final number, she is wearing a designer dress I'm sure I've seen in a magazine – blue and green, with crystals shimmering around the neckline. She's back at the piano, playing ‘Breathless' one more time. Her makeup, as always, is immaculate, down to the triple flick of her eyeliner. Her hair is piled high on her head. She's not like most girls you see on MTV, but there is no doubt she's beautiful. Especially when she's singing, she has a glow about her.

And then there's her voice. Her incredible voice. The voice that comes out of nowhere and never lets you go.

I check my phone, to see what the world is saying.

#voteRose is trending. So are #Breathless and #dropthefatgirl again. But even those FaceFeeds are
mostly from people who really like her. Ivan will be pleased: Killer Act has five of the top ten trends in the UK right now.

At the end of this part of the show, Roxanne Wills comes out to sing her new song, surrounded by sexy backing dancers in neon makeup and not much else. There's a break for a game show, while the world busily votes. Then it's back for the final announcement.

Andy Grey stands onstage next to all the finalists and grins at the camera, enjoying the tension. He asks each of the judges which performance they liked the most. Linus shrugs and says it's impossible to call. Roxanne, in a new dress and jewellery after a quick change, says nice things about everyone, as usual.

Sebastian sneers at them slightly.

‘We all know what we think is going to happen,' he says honestly, straight to camera. ‘The question is, are we right?'

With that, Andy waits for Ivan Jenks to speak the name of the winner into his earpiece. Ivan lets the moment last for what feels like hours. All the contestants, in their personal spotlights, look down at the stage floor. The dancers hold hands. A background drum roll goes on forever.

‘And the winner of Killer Act … with a contract to advertise Interface for a year … worth one hundred thousand pounds … is … … … … … … … … … … … ROSE IRELAND!'

The studio erupts. Silver confetti falls from the ceiling. Rose dips her head and bites her lip. She looks pleased but shocked. So many people fake surprise, but Rose wouldn't know how. She's genuinely stunned – despite the fact that
half the world, it seems, knew what was going to happen. The other finalists swoop in to hug her. Soon she's surrounded by a large group of emotional people, with Jodie and Nell on the edge of it looking uncertain about what to do. The judges, thrilled and satisfied, go onstage to join her too.

Meanwhile, the producers are clearing the stage and repositioning the grand piano so that Rose can play ‘Breathless' one last time.

She does. Just a girl, and a piano, and a spotlight. She gives a perfect solo performance, filling the screen with her emotion, and the room with her stand-out voice.

My best friend just won a national talent competition and the video of her first performance – I just checked – has a half a million hits, and counting.

My
ex
-best friend.

When she sings,
‘You may hear me breaking, but you will never see me cry,'
I'm right back in that corridor, at the Interface HQ. It feels as though she's singing it straight at me.