Welcome to the Real World (27 page)

'A
nother family crisis?' Ken the Landlord asks.

'Sorry, Ken,' I say looking suitably downcast. How can I begin to explain to him that all this heartache stems from my mum's newly developed fetish for ballroom dancing and freedom? I'm not sure that I fully understand it myself. 'This is the end of it. Truly it is. The bar of the King's Head will be my sole priority from now on.'

'The day I believe
that
is the day I believe pigs can fly,' Ken tells me in his best hangdog voice.

At that moment, Carl turns up and comes to my rescue. 'Hey, guys,' he says in his laid-back style. 'What's the matter?'

'Ah,' Ken says as he wanders off. 'Lover Boy here will sort it all out again.'

Carl waits for my explanation, so I launch into it. 'I promised Ken that nothing would come between me and pulling pints, yet I've spent the last half hour trying to sort my mum out.'

He looks at me quizzically.

'She's off to the hospital to see Dad,' I tell him. We both indulge in a relieved sigh. 'I hope this is the start of them getting back together.'

'And Mr Patel?'

'She's his temporary ballroom dancing partner,' I say. 'Nothing more.'

Carl opens his mouth.

'Don't.' I hold up my hand. 'I don't want to think about my family for a moment longer. They give me a headache. Tell me something about you instead.'

Carl hops onto the stool that my mum has just vacated, and I pull him his usual pint of lager and put the money in the till myself. 'Nothing to tell,' my friend says.

'Don't you want to tell me about someone special?' I cock my head on one side and try to look appealing.

Carl flushes and studies the contents of his glass.

'Carlos, we have no secrets between us,' I remind him. 'You should tell me about her or I'll have to hurt you.'

My friend looks up at me and his gorgeous hazel eyes soften. My insides flip as I feel Carl slipping away from me. 'She's in one of the bands at the club I told you about.'

'Does she have a name?'

'Shelly.'

'Great.' She sounds young and pretty and I think I hate her already. 'What does she do?'

'She works in one of the shops in Camden during the day. At night, she fronts the band.'

Ah. Another one of us million wannabes. I want to know if she went along to the
Fame Game
auditions, too, but am scared to ask. Instead I say, 'Are you going to introduce her to me?'

'No,' Carl says. 'You'll scare her off.'

'I'll love her,' I assure him. Or scratch her eyes out.

'I thought you'd be...' Carl runs out of words.

'I'm delighted for you. Come here, you big lummox.' I lean across the bar and hug him. 'I'd come round there and give you a great big kiss, but Ken would lose what little is left of his hair.'

'We wouldn't want that,' Carl agrees. 'Besides, it might make me change my mind.'

'Don't say that. I want you to be happy,' I tell my friend. 'I want you to be settled. I want you to be in love.'

He gives me one of his soulful looks. 'I've been in love for a long time.'

'I mean with someone who isn't such a fucking idiot as me.'

'Well,' he admits, 'I think I've found her.'

Ken the Landlord looms over us. 'Now that you've found love, perhaps you'd like to wander to the stage and sing some bloody songs about it.'

We both take the hint. Carl downs his pint while I take off my apron and then I follow my friend to the stage. It's extraordinary how quickly we've slipped back into our routine. I have a moment of panic as I wonder whether Carl will desert me for Shelly and be her pianist and ace guitarist instead of mine.

'Ken's right,' I murmur to him. 'We should sing some songs about love, it might bring us both good luck.'

We take up our places and I'd like to say a hush falls over the bar, but it doesn't. There is, however, a slight hiatus in the conversation as we launch into a set of standards that has the audience tapping their feet in time to the music. Being on the
Fame Game
has, bizarrely, given me a new confidence in myself. I throw back my head and enjoy becoming absorbed in the songs. Carl goes up a gear and the audience is rocking. Ken gives us a nod to carry on, so we trawl out some more favourites about love being the answer to everything. I don't think we've ever done such a great set here. Some of the punters start to dance, and lifted by the mood we increase the tempo. Before long the joint is absolutely jumping. Ken is delighted because beer sales are increasing rapidly along with the thirst of the dancers.

We're having a wild time. I strut about the stage like the rock goddess I should be. Carl is in a frenzy. Never have I heard him play so well. If this is what being loved has done for him, then bring it on, I say. I toss back my hair and give free rein to my voice. I'm loving it. So are the crowd, who cheer for more. We hurl ourselves, full pelt into our final song. For a minute I forget everythingwhere I am, who I am. I am a superstar on the stage at Wembley Stadium playing to her adoring fans. I even forget about Evan David, until I look up and see that his agent, Rupert Dawson, is standing as still as a stone at the back of the pub.

A
fter the set, I fly off the stage lifted on the wings of tumultuous applause. But before I can get back to the sanctuary of the bar, Rupert Dawson crosses the room and is in front of me.

'Fern,' he says, staying me with a hand on my arm. 'Nice to see you.'

I can't deal with any pleasantries. 'What are you doing here?'

Rupert, it seems, is slightly thrown by my hostility. 'Evan asked me to come and listen to you sing.'

My face clearly sets into a scowl, because he says hurriedly, 'I like what I hear.'

'Good. I'm pleased.' And then I go to push past him because I really don't know what else to say.

'He wants to help you, Fern,' Rupert says.

'I don't need his help. Thanks all the same.'

'Evan said I'm to give you whatever you need for your nephew.'

'Nathan?' That does stop me in my tracks. 'What's he got to do with anything?'

'Evan wants to pay for his medical expensesto get him well again. Money's no object. You can have anything. Anything at all.'

I snort with derision. 'My God, does he think he can pay me off by using my nephew? Does the man have no integrity?'

Rupert looks shocked. Perhaps he is used to settling Evan's accounts much more easily than this. Maybe he thinks I'm so desperate for money that I'd sell my story to one of the red-top tabloids that specialise in salacious stories and this is his way of buying my silence. What I wouldn't give for this sort of offer normallyI thought I'd do anything to get the money to help Nathan, but I won't take Evan David's pay-off.

'That's not what it's like, Fern, I can assure you. Evan only has your best interests at heart.'

I laugh out loud. It's a horrible and hollow sound. 'Oh, I'm sure he does.'

'He really does care about you.'

Oh, yes. He cares enough to let you do his dirty work, I think.

'He feels terrible about what happened.'

'He told you?'

Rupert nods. 'I'm his agent. His friend. I know what it would mean to him if you'd let him help you.'

'Well, tell him from me that I don't need his help. He owes me nothinghe can walk away with a clear conscience. I can manage on my own. I don't want Evan David and I certainly don't want his money.'

'Fern,' Rupert implores. 'Think about this.'

'If he's worried about me talking to the newspapers,' I continue, 'then I won't do that, either.'

Rupert shifts uncomfortably. 'I've handled this very badly, Fern. Perhaps you and I could go somewhere and have a coffee or a drink. Let me take you to my club. It's quiet there.' Rupert looks at the shabby surroundings of the King's Head and leans in towards me. 'There's something else I want to talk to you about.'

'I don't have time. I'm sorry,' I say, but I'm not sorry at all. I just want to get away from this creep who doesn't mind doing Evan David's dirty work. My judgement of people is all skewed these days, because previously I'd have told you that Rupert was quite a decent guy. 'I have to get back behind the bar.'

'You haven't spoken to Stephen Cauldwell?' There's genuine concern in Rupert's eyes.

'Stephen Cauldwell? No.' Then I remember that the pop impresario had left a business card with my dad and that this was what had started off the chain of events leading up to Dad's heart attack. What a klutz! How could I keep a guy like that dangling? The knowledge hits me on the head like a hammer. 'I haven't had time to do that, either,' I say briskly, fully appreciating that my time has, once again, passed. 'I'm a very busy person.' How lame does that sound?

'Then I'd like to offer you a contract.'

'What?'

'I'd like to offer you a contract.'

'Fern!' Ken the Landlord shouts. 'You've customers waiting.'

I turn back to Rupert. 'I have to go.'

He pulls some papers out of his jacket pocket and forces them into my hands. 'Read this,' he says. 'Read it carefully. You have a rare talent. Tonight I've seen it in action. Evan made me promise to come here, but I'm glad that I did. He's rightyou're very special. I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself. There are a thousand women with pretty faces out there who can sing, but none of them have your potential.'

'I don't want anything from you, Rupert, or from Evan David.'

Rupert is going purple with exasperation. 'As well as being special, you're also a very stupid and stubborn woman.'

'It's not the first time I've been told that.' I blurt this out with some sort of pride until I realise what I'm actually saying.

'Forget Evan,' Rupert snaps. 'This has nothing to do with him. It's between the two of us. Do this for me. Do this for yourself.'

I shake my head and I go to hand him the papers back.

'Keep them,' Rupert insists. 'You have two days to call me and change your mind. If I don't hear from you, then I'll take it you've decided to remain a pub singer for the rest of your life.'

That stings and I take a step back.

'Phone me,' he says. 'Don't let me down.'

Then Rupert Dawson spins on his heels and walks out of the pub. The door reverberates on its hinges in his wake, and a shiver goes down my spine as everyone turns to look at me.

'F
ern!' Ken the Landlord shouts again. 'Could I trouble you to do some work?'

I walk back to the bar with shaking legs and shaking hands. There's a queue of thirsty punters a mile long. Ken is single-handedly pulling pints as if they're going out of fashion.

Carl gives me a slow handclap as I approach. 'Oh, man.'

'What's
your
problem?' I snarl as I push the contract into the depths of my handbag. I might as well rip it up and put it in the bin, but that seems like an empty gesture too far.

'Would you like me to put a gun to the other one?'

I give Carl a puzzled look.

'That was the best case of shooting yourself in the foot that I've ever seen,' he tells me.

All the fight floods out of me. 'Don't,' I say. 'I don't want you on my case as well.'

'He's right, Fern. You're running out of chances to get out of this place.'

'This has Evan David stamped all over it,' I counter. 'I don't want anything to do with him. You, of all people, should be supporting me in that decision.'

'Do you know who that guy is?' Carl asks. He nods his head towards the door where Rupert Dawson has recently departed, taking some of the paintwork with him.

I shrug. 'It's Rupert Dawson. He's Evan David's agent.'

'He also represents Carrion Ten, The Spiel, Culture Clash, Aimee...' Carl reels off a list of the hottest indie bands of the moment. 'Shall I continue?'

I hold up a hand. 'I've heard enough.'

'So, you see, I don't think he'd simply be offering you a contract because your precious Evan David told him to. I think the guy's probably capable of spotting talent all by himself.'

I feel myself gulp. 'I've got two days to call him.'

'Then I suggest you do just that.'

'So do I.' Ken the Landlord is behind me. 'Because you're sacked.'

I look at him open-mouthed.

'You're the worst barmaid in London,' Ken says.

'You d-don't mean that,' I stammer.

'I do,' he says, handing me my coat and handbag. 'Go on. Sling your hook. And you.' By that he means Carl, too.

'Ken. Man...' Carl starts.

'Bog off, the pair of you,' Ken growls, and with that we do as we're told and leave.

Carl buys me a cup of tea in the brightly-lit McDonald's across the road from the King's Head, and I nurse the scalding hot liquid in my hands. Thankfully, I do still have the ability to feel something other than numb.

'This is desperate,' I say with a nervous laugh. 'You don't think Ken's serious?'

'He sounded pretty serious to me.' Carl distractedly unfolds the rim on his paper cup.

'What am I going to do for money now?'

'We'll have to look for another gig. I'll trawl around some pubs tomorrow. Maybe we could get a set at Monsters.'

'Where?'

'The club in Camden where Shelly sings.'

'Oh, right.' I'd forgotten about Shelly. 'Yeah, maybe.' I let the tea burn my throat. 'Perhaps Ken will reconsider if I have a word with him in the morning. Or maybe you should talk to him. He likes you.'

'He likes you, too, Fern,' Carl says, 'but I think it's time that we moved on. We've used up all our lives at the King's Head.'

'I'm becoming a liability for you, Carl. Perhaps we should split up and go our separate ways.'

He laughs. 'You've been a liability for me since we were fifteen. Why spoil the fun now?'

'Jeez,' I say. 'I am such a fuck-up. Why don't you push me under a bus when I've finished my tea and put us both out of our misery.'

'Cheer up,' Carl says gently. 'Things could be worse.'

'I love your optimism,' I tell my friend. 'I can never decide whether you're very spiritual or just as stupid as I am.'

Carl takes my hand and pulls me up. 'We'll go and say goodnight to your dad and then I'll take you home.'

I hug Carl to me. 'I love you, you know. You're the nicest man I've ever met.'

'It's too late for all that now,' Carl tells me with a grin. 'I'm already spoken for.'

'She's a lucky woman.' I dig him sharply in the ribs. 'I should have snapped you up when you were hot for me.'

He throws his arm round my shoulder and steers me out into the street. And I'm so pleased that whatever else is going on in my life, when it all comes crashing down around my ears, my relationship with Carl is the one thing that endures.