Always Something There to Remind Me (4 page)

‘You’re through to the voicemail of Desmond Ryan. I can’t take your call right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, go ahead after the tone.’

I’ve always been hopeless with voicemail. I never know what to say and after I’ve left a message I always feel really dumb. I wanted to hang up, but he’d know I’d called, so I had to say something.

‘Hi there. It’s only me. Call me back if you get time. Trudi and I will be in the pub at eight-ish. The karaoke starts at nine.’ I ended the call. The ball was now firmly in his court.

By seven-thirty, I’d decided he wasn’t going to call back. Trudi insisted that I put on a little black dress and some make-up for a change. I felt like an advert for
Barbie goes to Weight Watchers
– the ‘before’ picture! – as we made our way through the bar to the little stage where the DJ was setting up the karaoke equipment. Two large ring binders, containing lists of the available tracks, lay open beside the monitor that would later display the lyrics and there was a pile of cards for would-be performers to write their names and song choices. We took a handful of cards and one of the ring binders and sat down at a table nearby. Leafing through, we soon found the song and filled in one of the cards.

‘Are you going to have a stage name?’ Trudi asked. I thought about it for a minute.

‘No – just Lydia. Let’s wait until I’m discovered before I get delusions of grandeur.’ My stomach was churning as the room began to fill up and more people, mostly young and glamorous, handed their cards over to the DJ and he sorted his running order out on a laptop that was wired into everything else. I checked my mobile for the umpteenth time – still no word from Des. Oh well, what did I expect? If you really want to screw things up with someone, sex will do the trick every time. My failed marriage had taught me that much, if nothing else. Reluctantly, I switched the phone to vibrate.

‘Put that thing away – they’re starting.’ Trudi had come back from the bar and placed two glasses of wine on the table.

‘I’m never drinking alcohol again,’ I said, pushing the glass away from me. ‘From now on, I’m staying in complete control.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

The music started and we turned to watch the first act. A stunning creature who couldn’t have been more than eighteen was belting out
I Will Survive
, a real karaoke classic, with such confidence I wanted to die.

‘I can’t do this!’ I whispered to Trudi. ‘I’m too old and too nervous.’

‘It’s too late to pull out now. I won’t let you.’

‘You’re as bad as Des!’

‘Not quite,’ she muttered. ‘At least I’m here for you tonight.’

The girl finished her number to rapturous applause and stepped down from the stage into the arms of an equally stunning young man who hugged her enthusiastically. The DJ introduced someone called Patrick, who clearly fancied himself as Rod Stewart and gave an embarrassing rendition of
Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?
The simple answer to that was … no way.

The DJ nodded at me to indicate that I was up next. There are no words to describe the panic I felt as I rose from my seat and stepped onto the stage, almost bumping into Rod Stewart’s evil twin as he stepped down. Nothing seemed quite real at that point as I stood in a small spotlight, unable to see the audience, and heard the voice over the speakers.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, our next performer is Lydia, and although this is slightly unusual, I have to give her a message before she sings.’

What’s going on here? Just let me get through this, please.
I stared at him.

‘A message?’

‘Yes – Janet from behind the bar just gave me this. The caller said you had to get the message before you performed. It must be something very important.’ He was milking the situation for all it was worth; even the audience wanted to know what the message said.

‘What is it?’ I pleaded. The DJ was grinning, so I figured it couldn’t be anything too serious – probably a practical joke of some kind. Eventually he took pity on me and picked up a sheet of paper from his table.

‘OK, love, I’ll put you out of your misery …’ He paused, for dramatic effect. ‘Someone called Des says “See ya tomorrow. Keep Calm and Karaoke!”’

Everybody laughed, including me. The relief was enormous. The music started up, the lyrics appeared on the screen, and I forgot I was nervous. Three minutes and six seconds later, I got down from the stage to an encouraging round of applause. Trudi hugged me and I downed the glass of wine I’d refused earlier, in one gulp. As I sat down to watch the rest of the show, Janet came from the bar and placed a bottle of wine on the table.

‘It’s all right, love. Des has already paid for it,’ she said observing my confusion.

‘He’s here?’ I stood up.

‘Not now. He bought the wine and left as soon as you’d finished your number.’

Chapter 7: Waking Up

It was almost ten o’clock when the doorbell woke me on Sunday morning. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa, still dressed in my finery from the night before. I stumbled towards the door in a daze, trying to force my eyes to open fully. Des smiled as he looked me up and down.

‘Hi there, Panda, looks like I missed a good night.’

‘What …?’

Placing his hands on my shoulders, he turned me gently to face the mirror on the wall. I was mortified. My hair was sticking out in all possible directions and last night’s make-up had run, leaving me with huge black circles around my eyes and streaks down both cheeks.

‘I thought you wanted to be Olivia Newton-John, not Alice Cooper,’ he teased, and as I delivered a gentle punch to his arm, I realised things were as normal as they’d ever been.

‘I was so tired I didn’t get as far as the bedroom.’

‘Why don’t you go and sort yourself out – shower, whatever – while I make you some breakfast? I can cook anything you like, as long as it’s toast.’

‘Toast is fine.’ I laughed as I headed for the bathroom to repair the damage.

Over breakfast, Des apologised for not calling on Saturday.

‘I had such a hangover I didn’t get out of bed all day. I’d left my mobile in the kitchen so I didn’t even know you’d called until it was too late.’

‘But you weren’t that drunk on Friday night,’ I ventured, ‘just a bit tipsy.’

‘Not while I was here, but I polished off half a bottle of vodka when I got home.’

‘Drinking to forget?’ I knew I was pushing my luck with this, but we couldn’t go on avoiding the subject for ever. ‘Was it that bad?’

He hesitated just long enough for me to get the message, so I saved him the trouble of replying.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.’

Was that a look of relief on his face, or something else?

‘So have you got a date for your audition yet?’ The subject was successfully changed.

‘They’re supposed to email within the next week.’

‘Right. Well, we’d better push on with the next thing.’ He glanced at the list on the fridge. ‘Josh Greenwood. Let’s ask Mr Google where Josh is these days.’

We sat at the desk with the laptop. We had both developed an aversion to the sofa. I typed ‘Josh Greenwood’ into the search bar, and there seemed to be millions of references. I narrowed the search by adding ‘Luvsik Kitten’ and we soon found my teenage idol.

‘Oh my God! He’s still performing.’ I clicked on the link and a website appeared for a band called ‘Alley Kat’. Apparently, Josh was now leading a group of ageing rockers and they were starting a Christmas tour in two weeks. The ‘gallery’ link led to hundreds of photos of the band in action. He still looked amazing. I gazed at the photos for a few minutes until Des snapped me out of it.

‘Stop perving over the pics and go to the gig guide. If you’re going to get a date with him, we have to get the two of you in the same place first.’

‘I suppose that would help,’ I said, ‘but I’m still not sure how we’ll manage it.’

‘Leave that to me. Hey – they’re going to be in town on Christmas Eve. See if you can get tickets.’

The gig was sold out, but Des was convinced he could get us in, so I put my trust in him.

He sat deep in thought for a few minutes and then his eyes lit up and he leapt to his feet.

‘Gotta go, Lyd. I’ve got an idea, but I need my own computer to get it rolling.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’ll tell you later, if I can pull it off.’

‘When later?’ I knew I sounded desperate.

‘Dunno. As long as it takes, I suppose. I’ll call you.’ He was on his way out of the door already but he turned back and looked at me. ‘About the other night …’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I … er … forgot to say thanks for helping me … with the story.’

Then he was gone before I could even say, ‘You’re welcome.’

* * * * *

Dear Diary,

Sunday afternoon looks set to go on for ever! Since Des left on his secret mission I’ve done the laundry, changed the bed linen, painted my toenails and watched ‘My Fair Lady’ for the millionth time, singing along with everything. There are some advantages to living alone, after all. When Bob and I were together he hated me singing. He used to glare at me and say, ‘Who the hell do you think you are – the Karaoke Queen? Don’t give up the day job.’

After a while, I stopped singing altogether. He’d have died if he’d been there last night. No, on second thoughts, he’d probably have killed me before I could even get up on the stage. I wonder what he’ll think if I do pass an audition for ‘Stargazing’? Will he see me on TV and thank God he ditched me before I could embarrass him? I can almost hear him. ‘I thought this was a talent show? Why have they got that useless cow on? Comic relief?’ Then he’ll laugh and think he’s been really clever.

I put the picture of Josh on the wall above my desk so that I can look at him when I’m writing, and I found some of Luvsik Kitten’s greatest hits on YouTube for inspiration.

So this is who I am – I write, I sing and I dream of my youth – alone.

* * * * *

It was 7 p.m. when I rang his doorbell.

‘What took you so long?’ Des ushered me into the living room.

‘It’s only been half an hour since you called. I’ve been hanging around the house all day waiting.’ I shivered as I took my coat off. ‘Don’t you ever put the bloody heating on?’

‘Sorry, I was busy. I’ll do it now. Go on into the study.’

I sat in the big swivel chair at the desk. Des is a bit of a computer geek and I knew better than to touch anything. He came in and switched on the monitor. I gasped in amazement. There was a website dedicated to the past glories of Luvsik Kitten, with links to the Alley Kat site we’d viewed earlier.
LuvsikMemories.co.uk
seemed to be a fanzine with all the usual features: photos, reviews, and articles about the band from long ago. There was a place for fans to leave comments and reminiscences. Several women had posted comments about gigs they’d attended and so forth. There was even a forum where fans discussed their musical tastes, favourite band members and anything else they fancied. I was entranced.

‘So, what do you think?’ Des was clearly very pleased with himself.

‘I love it!’ I said. ‘How come we didn’t find it this morning, I wonder?’

Des laughed. ‘Because I didn’t build the site until this afternoon. Is it convincing?’

‘You mean it’s not real?’ I was astounded.

‘That depends what you mean by “real”. Once I publish the site it’ll be a real working website that people can view and join. It has to be, if it’s going to serve our plan.’

‘I’m not sure I see where you’re going with this. Is it legal?’

‘Well, all of the links I’ve used are in the public domain. We need permission to use the photos, but that’s probably not going to be a problem because we’re offering free publicity and not planning to make any money out of it. I’ve emailed the various agents involved and we’ll get answers soon.’

‘So how’s this going to get me a date with Josh?’

‘That really depends on you now, and on what you consider a “date”. Are we talking lunch at the pizzeria so you can tell him you’re his biggest fan? Or do you want the full works – champagne, moonlight and roses, followed by a trip to the moon and stars?’

I had to think about that. ‘I guess I’ll take whatever I can get,’ I answered eventually.

‘Good. That makes it easier all round. Let’s aim for lunch first then.’

‘How are we going to do that?’

Des clicked a tab that we hadn’t yet explored. It gave details of the site’s administrators. Des was listed as editor, and I was listed as assistant editor.

‘This is a new fanzine, so we need the support of the band’s most prominent member. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make contact with Mr Greenwood and get him to agree to an interview for the website. I propose that you arrange to meet him for lunch to conduct the interview; the rest is in the hands of the gods. If you play your cards right over lunch – who knows? Maybe the rest will follow.’

The rest? Champagne, moonlight and roses – followed by a trip to the moon and stars? Yeah, right - like that was going to happen!

Chapter 8: Seeing Stars

The email from the BBC arrived on Thursday. I stared at the details in my inbox for a few minutes, scared to click and read the contents. If I didn’t get in it would be so disappointing, but if I did … well, that would be terrifying. I looked around me; the office was fairly empty with half of my colleagues on their lunch break.

I’ll leave it until I get home; a few hours won’t make any difference and I’ll have time to put on a brave face before I have to tell anyone.

But that was easier said than done. Throughout the afternoon I could think of nothing else. I was almost grateful when the phone rang at three-fifteen and my supervisor, Liz, called me into her office. My personnel file lay open on her desk.

‘Ah, Lydia,’ she said. ‘We need to talk.’

This couldn’t be good. I prepared for the worst and forced a smile. The truth is, she terrified me at the best of times and this was not one of those.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘There are, er, shall we say … issues? I think we should schedule your PM review shortly so we can sort things out.’ She was flicking through her large desk diary. ‘How about Monday at eleven?’ It sounded like a question, but I knew it was an instruction. I nodded.