You Don't Know Me Page 8

  ‘I wondered what . . . I wondered why you and Linus thought we should be a trio,’ I stutter. ‘When our friend had the best voice and everything. I mean, you’ve had such a successful career. What made you think we’d be better without her?’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she says, thinking back. ‘Hmm. You were the foursome, weren’t you? Well, the thing is, Sandra—’

  ‘Sasha.’

  ‘Sasha. The thing is, Sasha, realistically, I don’t think you had a choice. I mean, this is a tough, tough business. We’ve got to be real here. You know what I’m saying? And it’s not all just about the voice. It’s about the presentation and the whole package and—’

  ‘But I thought you said it was about the voice. Or Linus did, anyway. He said Rose’s voice didn’t fit.’

  Roxanne shakes her head. ‘He was being kind, sweetie. Just face facts. Larger girls don’t work in girl bands. You know that. And that girl—’

  ‘Rose.’

  ‘Rose. She wasn’t just large. She was large. She has a great voice, actually. But it would have been horrible for her, and I think she knew that. Linus saw it first, but once it was out there, I had to agree. You were doing her a kindness to let her go, trust me.’

  The security guard steps forward and reaches out a hand to Roxanne’s elbow. She shrugs to me apologetically and obediently trots along beside him on her five-inch heels, aware that she’s late.

  I stand there, feeling sick.

  She wasn’t just large. She was large.

  I thought they wanted us to drop Rose because she was shy, and because of some weird problem I didn’t understand about her voice. It never occurred to me she was just . . . large.

  Nell and Jodie rush up, panting.

  ‘Was that Roxanne again?’

  ‘Did you actually speak to her?’

  ‘What did she say? Did she give you her autograph?’

  I ignore their questions.

  ‘Why do you think Linus didn’t want Rose in the band?’

  They stop dead. Nell gasps slightly and goes pink. Beside her, Jodie bites her lip.

  ‘Er . . .’ Nell says. She clams up. I watch her shift from foot to foot, just like Elliot Harrison the video boy.

  ‘Was that what you asked Roxanne about?’ Jodie asks me.

  I nod.

  ‘And?’

  I breathe deeply. I can hardly bring myself to say it.

  ‘She said Rose was large. She said that was why.’

  I scan their eyes for some sort of shock at the suggestion, but it’s not there. They don’t look even vaguely surprised.

  ‘We thought you knew,’ Jodie says, giving me a crooked smile. ‘I mean, it seemed a bit of a coincidence, Linus saying Rose should go when she was the best singer. Don’t you think?’

  Well, I do now. Of course I do. But I never really thought about Rose’s size before. I sit down on the nearest step. I can hardly breathe. Sure, she doesn’t have a typical pop-star figure, but I thought that stuff didn’t matter to people because we were friends, and we could sing. I was so naïve and stupid and wrong.

  And Rose knew instantly. That’s what her strange behaviour was all about. She knew she didn’t fit because she was ‘large’ . . . and I agreed. That’s how it must have seemed. Her best friend agreed – the one person she thought she could trust. She didn’t get then that I was jealous of her, she thought I was just like the others. Now, I think, she’s starting to understand that it was more complicated than that. She knows me well enough to realise that I am STUPID, but not mean. Not really. But it’s too late.

  I don’t let Nell take my arm. I can’t bear to be touched right now. She pulls her hand away, looking offended. This is how Rose was with me, I realise, after the judges’ comments. Too angry and upset to be touched. She just needed me to be there for her. And I totally wasn’t.

  ‘I never thought about it . . .’

  ‘Wow,’ Jodie says, realising how I misjudged the whole situation. ‘Awkward.’ She bites her lip.

  ‘Awkward? Awkward? If I’d realised I’d never have . . . Oh my God. And I said that we’d take her back after the TV shows were over. I meant to spare her shyness. She must have thought we didn’t want her to appear on TV . . .’

  ‘Don’t let it get to you,’ Jodie says. ‘I talked to Mum about it and she said Rose was better off out of it. People can be mean, you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper. Because, like it or not, I am one of them.

  Jodie holds out a hand to help me up, but I refuse it. She shrugs and walks off. I walk slowly after her, making sure to keep a good distance between us. Nell trails behind, keeping more distance still.

  Four hours later, we’re back in costume and ready, waiting backstage while the first act launches Killer Act Live. It’s the ukulele players. They sound amazing. Through a tiny crack in the wooden wall at the side of the stage we can just make out the studio audience and the judges, spotlit at their table. Two cameras are trained on them, and two more on the stage. I try not to think of them broadcasting their images to millions of people. They’re scary enough as it is.

  After the adverts, it’s time for the next act: the street dancers. They’re aged between eleven and thirteen, and they could frankly be in the Olympics, the way they tumble, balance and leap. They must have been practising every minute since they passed the audition. How did the three of us ever make it this far?

  Janet, the floor manager from the auditions, is in charge of us while we wait. ‘You know what you’ve got to do?’ she checks.

  We nod. We’ve rehearsed this a dozen times. After the next advert break, we will go onstage and chat to Andy for a minute or two, then watch the background video they’ve done about us. They haven’t shown it to us yet, because they always like to film the surprise on the band members’ faces when they see it for the first time. After that, we go to our marks on the stage floor, and then we sing. And, in my case, wiggle about in my kilt for three minutes in front of several million people I can’t see.

  Seminal leotards. Totally.

  The street dancers finish their act flawlessly. The judges tell them how great they are. Advert break. Nerves. Three. Two. One. Janet sends us out. We walk to our marks next to Andy. We’re on.

  Bright lights shine in our faces. Andy takes a breath and does his best professional smile.

  ‘And finally tonight we have three girls from near my home town in Somerset,’ Andy says, in his reassuring, familiar West Country burr. ‘These girls entered the competition with their own song, back in October, and became our fastest-rising entry ever! And look at you now! Don’t they look hot, ladies and gentlemen?’

  He gets the audience to whoop and applaud. The judges join in from their spotlit table at the front – Roxanne Wills clapping harder than anyone. We chat for about a minute, as we rehearsed. But all I can think about are the lights shining in our faces. I have no idea what we say. Finally, Andy moves us all a bit further backwards as the lights go down and the screen at the back of the stage lights up with the words ‘Manic Pixie Dream Girls’.

  ‘Let’s follow their journey from a little bedroom in Castle Bigelow to the heart of London,’ Andy says. ‘Don’t forget, folks, the voting starts after the final act, in just a few minutes. And meanwhile, you can send us your thoughts by tweeting or Interfacing us using the hashtag killeract. I’ll share some of our favourite tweets and FaceFeeds at the end of the show.’

  In the darkness, my heart rate slowly starts to subside. The tape starts with an extract from our original video of ‘Sunglasses’. Then there are pictures of our voting numbers rising and rising. There’s a shot of us arriving at the auditions, and a little clip of us chatting nervously. To my surprise, there are lots of shots of Rose. It’s not as if they’re trying to pretend she was never there. That’s a big relief. What the camera captures, though, is how uncomfortable she looks. I didn’t spot it at the time, but she’s constantly smoothing the skirt of her dress and looking unhappy if anyone stares at her. People star
ed at all of us, of course, because of our crazy outfits, but the camera only shows them staring at Rose.

  Then we get to the audition. Now, the camera focuses more than ever on Rose. It captures how desperate she was not to lose her guitar, how much she hated ‘jiggling’. It contrasts with how much more confident I am, by comparison, throwing myself into the dance moves. When Rose is shifted to the end of the line, the background music changes tempo, sending a message. The tension builds. Something bad is about to happen.

  And that’s when I see it for the first time. I should have seen it all along, but I didn’t. Nobody will ever believe me, but you have to remember: I’ve known Rose a long time. She’s my friend. All I ever saw was a girl who was better at music than me.

  What I see now, through the camera’s eye, and with the music wailing to a climax in the background, is three skinny girls on one side, moving in time to the music, and a big girl on the other side. A girl who feels uncomfortable, hating to dance. And her so-called friends all ignoring her and having fun.

  Oh no. This is all wrong. All I want to do is stop the tape, but it rolls on.

  Linus leans forward: he wants us to be a trio. Sebastian disagrees, but Roxanne says Linus has a point. Rose can sense what’s coming. Linus singles her out. I look shocked on tape, but Rose does not. It’s as if she knew she was the big girl in the band – the one who didn’t fit.

  But this is crazy! What about how good she was?

  Now we’re inside the room, and Rose is already leaving. Of course – they had to miss out the early part of our conversation because the cameras hadn’t arrived yet. So there’s nothing about us saying we should stick together. Instead, they show Jodie and Nell looking shocked, and me talking them round, saying it will be OK.

  As if I chucked my fat friend so we could go on TV.

  As if I would do that.

  But as I watch the tape it seems clear: I did.

  Outside the room, the camera watches from a distance as I approach Rose and talk to her in a low voice. It follows her dignified walk as she leaves me standing.

  It doesn’t show me calling after her. Instead, the tape cuts to the rest of us reacting as the judges put us through. We stand there, as a trio, shocked and hugging each other.

  And then it stops. I want to die.

  So that was our backstory. Nothing to do with writing ‘Sunglasses’, or Nell’s plans to be a vet. I just betrayed my fat best friend on TV.

  ‘So here you are!’ Andy says, sad and serious as the tape finishes and we’re back in the spotlight. ‘You’ve come all this way and it obviously wasn’t easy for you.’

  Even bright, bouncy, ‘my arms and my legs make FOUR’ Andy Grey looks as if he’s wincing behind his smile.

  ‘I suppose you must have really, really wanted to be here tonight.’

  I did at the time. But not like this. Onstage, not looking at each other, we nod and shuffle miserably.

  ‘And how is Rose? Is she watching you tonight?’ Andy asks, trying to keep talking over this tumbleweed moment.

  ‘We don’t know,’ I whisper.

  Which, of course, makes it much, much worse, because now it sounds as though we didn’t ask and we don’t care. Fabulous.

  He decides to avoid taking it further. Instead, he smiles his brightest smile again. Ever the professional.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, with a song from the sixties, we have . . . the Manic Pixie Dream Girls!’

  Spotlights create a circle of light, centre stage, where we’re supposed to stand. I’m at the front. The audience waits in silence until the start of our backing track. It’s time to sing.

  Yeah. We shimmy and high-kick our way around the stage in our fabulous high-heeled vintage boots and cute little outfits.

  Just the three of us. Without our fat friend, who wasn’t there because we dumped her. Obviously.

  Toast

  ‘We’re dead,’ Jodie says, head in hands in the dressing room after our performance. ‘We’re one hundred per cent toast.’

  I say nothing. I’m beyond speech.

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t mean it to look so bad,’ Nell says nervously. ‘They wouldn’t deliberately do that, would they? I mean, Linus really liked us.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Jodie gives her a sarcastic smile. ‘The way Rolo really likes apples. He likes chewing them up and spitting them out. Come on, Nell. They always like something controversial for people to talk about, and we’re it.’

  ‘Rose is it,’ I correct her.

  Jodie just stares at me.

  ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘I do now,’ I say. ‘Roxanne Wills explained it pretty well.’

  Jodie shakes her head.

  ‘Check FaceFeed,’ she says. ‘See what they’re saying about us.’

  FaceFeed has taken over Twitter as the forum for comments about what’s going on in the world. It’s part of Interface, so you can always see the FaceFeed at the side of your page. I get my phone out of my bag and we all gather round it.

  Sure enough, #killeract is trending, and a lot of the FaceFeeds are about us.

  Hahah! Did you see the three skinny ones drop the fat one? Killer Act was on form tonight. ROFL

  Loving the bit where the three skinny witches dropped the only one who could sing. #dropthefatgirl

  Watch this clip: 3 pretty girls drop the fat one who can play guitar! OMG

  My heart sinks. Poor Rose. Nobody deserves humiliation like this. What have I done to her?

  ‘See?’ I say to Jodie.

  She glares back at me.

  ‘You think this is about Rose?’

  ‘I’d say it’s all about Rose, wouldn’t you? Pretty much. Or does everything have to be about you?’

  ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ Nell shouts. ‘It’s bad enough as it is. Don’t fight.’

  Janet, the floor manager, appears in the doorway.

  ‘Time to go, everybody. We need you on the stage in five for the final wave.’

  I glance at my phone screen one more time before I shut it down and put it away. There’s a personal message to me, so I click on it. It’s from Nina Pearson, one of the girls in my class.

  I had no idea u could be such an evil witch. I hope u lose.

  We step forward into the brightest lights, still holding hands. Before we wave goodbye, the judges comment on our performances. Andy asks Sebastian to go first.

  ‘I’m with the ukes. Sorry, Dream Girls and Street Wise. You did a good job, but the ukuleles really nailed it for me tonight.’

  Then Roxanne.

  ‘Oh, this is So. Difficult. I loved the ukuleles. You guys are so cute! I think everyone should play the ukulele. And Street Wise, you are A.Ma.Zing. You guys have so much energy! But there’s something about the Dream Girls. You’ve come so far. You looked great! I’m going with the Dream Girls.’

  Then Linus.

  ‘This is the hardest part of my job,’ Linus says. ‘It’s up to the public anyway, so this is just my professional opinion. Street Wise, you danced your little socks off tonight. Great routine, but is it a world beater? I’m not so sure. Me and Uke, you gave it your all and it was a fantastic performance, but I don’t know how much further you could go. Dream Girls – you were good, but I know you can do better. Off-the-scale better. I think there was something holding you back tonight. You just have to let go and move on. So . . . I’m going to go with the Dream Girls.’

  He starts off confidently, but seems surprised when the audience start to hiss and boo. Maybe he hasn’t looked at the internet yet. By the end of his speech, his frown lines are deep crevices in his face and I can see he’s starting to regret his decision.

  As soon as we get back to the dressing room, we check our phones to see what people are saying.

  #dropthefatgirl is still trending, but at least Rose’s Interface page is full of supportive messages. There are lots of horrible ones on my page – I scroll through them quickly – but the band page has loads of new fans, a
nd I have over a thousand new followers on my FaceFeed, which is insane.

  The most reassuring thing is that lots of people have seen the videos of Rose performing that night at George’s party and most of the comments say how good she was. The link to the one of her singing the intro to ‘I See The Light’ must be whizzing around the internet, because already over 10,000 people have viewed it.

  Ten thousand!

  Meanwhile, #selfishcows is trending on FaceFeed. So is #skinnywitches. #dropthefatgirl is second trend after something about Justin Bieber.

  By the next morning, it’s number one.

  JUDGES TELL TEEN BAND TO ‘DROP THE FAT GIRL’

  It’s even made the papers in the hotel restaurant, where we sit in a corner, having breakfast. Poor Rose. It’s everywhere. Every time I see the headline, I think about how the story should have gone: Judges tell teen band to drop their friend, and they refuse and stick together to live in happy obscurity for the rest of their lives. Except, of course, then it wouldn’t have been a story at all.

  ‘Why do they have to keep calling her that?’ I ask. ‘I mean, going on and on about how bad she must be feeling, and reminding everyone she’s supposed to be fat? Don’t they see it just makes it worse for her? God, I hope her gran’s looking after her.’

  Because it should be me. It should be me looking after her.

  ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ Jodie mutters, biting morosely into a croissant and holding the paper up to hide her face.

  ‘Get what?’ I ask.

  ‘Forget it.’

  It’s not until late afternoon that I finally understand. We’re back at the hotel, changing into our outfits to be in the audience for the second show, when Jodie comes over to me, holding out her BlackBerry.

  ‘I told you you never got the point, Sash,’ she says. ‘All this time you’ve been worrying about Rose . . .’

  ‘Yes. And?’

  ‘My brother sent me this link,’ she says. ‘He just found it. Watch.’

  Her screen is set to show a video clip from a US online entertainment show. A man with slicked-back hair and a broad smile sits in front of a screen saying ‘Killer Act Backlash’.