Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen (10 page)

There’s an awkward silence, during which Freddie looks at Nathan, Nathan looks at Toby, Toby looks at Alison – a touch dejectedly, I think – and Alison looks at the floor.

‘Anyway,’ says Toby, ‘Evan wanted to move things forward. All right if we come in?’

‘Er …’ I check behind me. Davinia’s still at the top of the stairs, excitedly mouthing something I can’t make out. ‘I’m not too happy about this, to be honest. I’d rather talk to Evan.’

‘Aw, we’ve been waiting ages,’ moans Nathan.

‘That’s not my fault,’ I say. ‘I didn’t ask you to come.’

‘Yeah, but we’re here now …’ God, he’s sulky. If I didn’t know better I’d say I had a bunch of moody teenagers at my door, not a cutting-edge fly-on-the-wall documentary crew.

‘There he is!’ cries Alison, pointing down the street, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her even remotely enthusiastic.

I peer round the door. Sure enough, the big producer himself is strutting like a cockerel in our direction. He’s wearing jeans and an open-necked coral shirt, exposing a triangle of tan-leather peppered with sparse chest hairs. The shirt is loosely tucked in and there’s an impressive crocodile-skin belt on show. His hair is as bizarre as I remember.

Evan’s arrival has an instant effect. Toby, clearly the authority figure in this motley crew, shoves his hands in his pockets and patiently awaits direction. Nathan removes the gum from his mouth and flicks it to the ground. Freddie keeps clearing his throat, as if he’s too nervous to speak but, in the unlikely event that he is required to speak, he doesn’t want to fluff his lines. Alison is the only one who doesn’t appear uneasy – instead she looks positively … elated. That’s strange – she was hardly his number one fan yesterday.

But Evan’s all business.

‘Maddie,’ he pronounces, storming past the others and seizing my hand. ‘It begins here.’

‘Um, Evan,’ I lower my voice, noticing Alison’s miffed expression, ‘could we have a word? You’ve caught me a little off-guard. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.’

Evan gives a winning smile. ‘Fear not, my little star. We’re not filming anything today.’

‘We’re not?’ Toby looks confused.

Evan doesn’t bother turning round. ‘Absolutely not – we wouldn’t dream of putting you out. We just want to come and have a look around, get a feel for the place. OK with you?’

I suddenly remember I’m wearing my pyjamas. And shit, it’s Tuesday: I’m due at Simply Voices in half an hour.

‘Fine,’ I say reluctantly, standing back to let them in. I hear Davinia rush back inside her flat and slam the door, the naughty child listening at the top of the stairs.

The crew bustle past. ‘It’s the door on the left,’ I say, guiding them through. Evan brushes close to me and he smells of old mahogany furniture.

‘Hang on a sec,’ I say, ‘let me grab the keys.’ I take the steps two at a time and emerge seconds later with a bundle of metal trinkets in the shape of bass clefs and musical instruments. Hidden somewhere among them is access to Sing It Back.

‘I should warn you it’s a bit of state down there,’ I say apologetically as I unlock the door. ‘I don’t even know if the lights are working.’

‘Perfect!’ says Evan, rubbing his hands together.

‘I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls,’ I tell him, mounting the stairs. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, help yourself to coffee.’

Upstairs I ring Jennifer at Simply Voices.

‘You’ll have to get someone to cover for you,’ she says, brusquely efficient, after I explain. ‘We haven’t seen enough of you lately, Maddie.’

‘I know,’ I admit, grabbing a clean towel out the airing cupboard, ‘I’m really sorry. Things have been hectic since Mum and Dad went. I’ll be in tomorrow – I promise.’

Minutes later I’m speaking to Lou.

‘You’ve done
what
?’ she cries, horrified.

‘I know, I know.’ I’m breathless after a breakneck summary of my meeting with Evan. ‘But it’s a good opportunity. And I said I was looking for a solution, didn’t I?’

‘Not this one!’

‘Look, I didn’t have much choice. It was all Peter Andre’s fault.’

‘What’s Peter Andre got to do with it? And why didn’t you call me?’

‘I tried, you didn’t pick up! Look, I’ll explain everything
later.’ I pad into the bathroom. ‘Can you come over tonight? I’m getting the others round as well. Once I’ve been through the up-sides I promise you’ll see it makes sense.’ I cross my fingers behind my back, praying it’s the truth. If I do a good enough job convincing them, I might start to feel convinced myself.

There’s a pause. ‘The others’ll be there?’

‘Yes.’ I raise my eyes heavenward. ‘All of them.’ Then I remember Lou’s not the only one with a ginormous crush. Without warning Mystery Man pops into my head – those eyes; that smile. ‘I’ve got loads to tell you.’

‘Fine.’ Big sigh. ‘So I guess you want me to cover for you?’

‘Do you mind?’

She lets me hang, but I know she’s going to say yes and I owe her one.

‘Fine. But you owe me one.’

I flick on the shower. ‘You got it. Love you.’

Downstairs, Evan is looking decidedly like the cat that got the cream.

‘This is wonderful,’ he purrs, running his hands over the bar as though we’re in a Porsche showroom and it’s the paint-work on his dream car. ‘It’s just perfect.’

I sip my coffee. ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ I say, nodding to where Alison’s trying to programme a song into one of the machines, which, after my efforts last night, has finally given up the ghost. ‘In fact I’d say we were rock bottom.’

‘But that’s
why
you’re so perfect.’ He flashes me a smile.

I return it, wishing I could like him a bit more.

‘Just sign here.’ Slick as a snake, he unscrews the lid from a shiny racing-green fountain pen.

I look down to the contract between us, the dotted line awaiting my signature. Quickly I scribble my name, before I can change my mind. I’ve already changed my mind about fifty times this morning – and then changed it back again – so it feels a bit like tossing a coin.

‘Whoa, this stuff is
old
,’ announces Alison, flipping through our song lists. Freddie points at something and they both laugh.

‘Yeah, we’re working on some updates.’ I turn round on my stool, feeling defensive. Sing It Back might well be a dump, but it’s still
our
dump. ‘I was thinking we could run some theme nights,’ I suggest to Evan, ‘you know, shake things up a bit.’

‘We’ll look after all that,’ he says dismissively, easing the signed contract back into its leather wallet. ‘The club’s going to be unrecognisable when we’ve finished with it.’

Nathan, slumped in a booth, snorts. He mumbles something that sounds like ‘It better be’ and I decide then that I really don’t like him.

Toby comes over. ‘When we getting started, boss?’ He pulls up the stool next to mine.

‘The first show will go out in three weeks,’ says Evan. ‘First and last shows of the series will be broadcast live.’

I’m shocked. ‘Three
weeks
?
Live?
’

Evan slugs back his coffee and I’m amazed he doesn’t burn himself. ‘This was always going to be a fast project,’ he explains, ‘I’ve got everything we need already in place. Kicking off with a live show will do wonders for publicity.’
Seeing my worried face, he continues, ‘There won’t be anything extra for you to do – just run the bar as normal. We’ll have a presenter touring the place, showing people at home what’s what, then after that the fun part: our cameras get free roam behind the scenes. The viewers will love it.’

‘So we can get moving pretty quick?’ Toby pushes at the nose of his glasses, a nervous habit I’ve seen him indulge in several times.

Evan pats his hair. ‘Just as soon as I’ve made some preliminary changes.’

I look between them. ‘Preliminary changes?’

‘For starters, there’s all the structural work.’ Evan scans the walls. ‘Your electrics are down and we’re at risk of flood if we don’t patch that up quick.’ He nods to the damp mottling on the ceiling where all the water came in yesterday. ‘Then I want karaoke machines that work – it’s important we get as much dreadful singing as we can, the punters love a spot of ritual humiliation.’ I expect him to laugh, but he says this without a trace of humour.

‘Following that, a little brush-up on the interior,’ he continues, and Toby nods obediently, ‘just enough to bring the place to life.’

‘But if the whole point is to chart our resurgence,’ I ask, ‘why do any work at all?’

Evan’s words are brutal. ‘First, what you’ve got here is something pretty nondescript. It’s got potential, but as it is it won’t get anyone excited. We’ve got to … embellish certain aspects, make a real statement. The fouler it looks on opening night, the better and more tasteful the contrast at the end of the series – we’ll get stylists in to see to that over the eight-week
period, it won’t interfere with the club’s opening.’ He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘And second, Maddie, your parents are at serious risk of contravening a catalogue of Health and Safety laws. If I weren’t on your side I could quite happily report you.’

Somehow I don’t doubt that for a second.

There’s an uncomfortable silence, which Toby fills. ‘If we want Sing It Back to look the part, we have to help it along a bit,’ he clarifies, his manner somewhat gentler than Evan’s. ‘Think of it like dressing a stage, or putting on make-up: all we’re going to do is work with what’s already there. The difference at the end will make it all worthwhile.’ He gives me an apologetic smile.

Alison and Freddie select a Kylie number. It launches at deafening volume and I realise I forgot to tell them that the volume control’s duff, too. Nathan, moody in his booth, clamps his hands over his ears and yells something obscene.

I turn to Toby. I have to shout to be heard over the noise.

‘So hang on – if you’re the first assistant, who’s the director?’

The men exchange a brief look, but I can’t work out what it means.

‘Well?’

‘Nick Craven,’ says Evan finally.

I frown. ‘Why do I know that name?’

Toby clears his throat. ‘Nick used to work in serious documentary, but then …’ Another glance at Evan, as if for approval. ‘You remember the Rebecca Ascot affair?’

‘I don’t think so …’

‘It was all over the papers,’ says Toby. ‘His career’s not been the same since.’ He shrugs. ‘That’s what you get for jumping into bed with a married woman, I guess.’

‘The romance went public?’

‘Sadly for him, yes. And for his future in TV. Rebecca was the wife of Pritchard Wells, Head of Commissioning at Channel 7.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Exactly.’

I shake my head. ‘So why is he working with us?’

Evan cuts in, smooth as a knife through butter. ‘He’s a good director,’ he states – a little robotically, I think – ‘needs a break. I’m not about to kick a guy when he’s down.’

‘As long as he doesn’t try it on with anyone here,’ I pronounce, aware I sound stuffy. ‘I can tell you now, he won’t have any luck.’

I’m uneasy: the idea of Evan Bergman playing Mr Nice Guy and helping out this man – or anyone, for that matter – doesn’t quite ring true. Plus I’m not sure I like the sound of this Nick Craven, whoever he is. His implied friendship or connection to Evan unnerves me, especially if the two are heading up the project together. Something tells me I’m going to have quite enough to deal with already.

Evan takes another gulp of his drink, watching me over the rim of his cup with that reptilian gaze. ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he says.