Little Star (24 page)

You can plan for things,
work towards them for years, and yet they never materialise. Or you just happen to be in the right place at the right moment, and everything falls into place. If you want to believe in something like Fate, she’s a capricious character. Sometimes she stands there blocking the doorway you were born to pass through, and sometimes she takes you by the hand and leads you through the minute you poke your nose out. And the stars gaze down and keep their counsel.

One day at the beginning of May when Jerry came out of the shop, there was a wallet lying on the low wall by the bike stand. He sat down beside it and glanced around, pretending to be catching his breath. None of the people enjoying the spring sunshine was looking in his direction. He slipped the wallet into his pocket.

When he got home he investigated his find and was disappointed. He had been hoping for a few hundred-kronor notes, perhaps some interesting cards and a furious owner who would have to spend the whole afternoon ringing around and cancelling them.

But the wallet belonged to a young girl, sixteen years old according to her ID card, and contained only a few bits of paper with telephone numbers on them, two twenty-kronor notes and a Nordea bank card. Perhaps that would have been the end of the matter—Jerry might even have gone down and put the wallet back, if he hadn’t found a piece of paper in one of the side pockets.

‘IDOL 2006’ it said at the top in white letters on a blue background. It was a flyer with the time and place of the auditions for this year’s program. Grand Hotel, May 14.

Jerry looked at the ID card. Presumably the girl—Angelika Tora Larsson—had dreams of stardom.

Jerry was still inclined to give the wallet a chance to be reunited with its owner. Then he spotted the small print right at the bottom of the flyer: ‘Minimum age 16 years. Bring ID and completed application form’.

And Fate stepped aside and opened the door.

‘Sis? How would you like to be on that program we saw? You remember, the one where people were singing?’

Theres was sitting at the computer reading an article about tigers. She nodded without taking her eyes off the screen.

‘No, seriously,’ said Jerry. ‘Would you like to do that? There’ll probably be loads of people.’

‘You’ll come too.’

‘Yes, absolutely. Of course I will. But it would be cool to sing in a place where people could hear just how good you are, wouldn’t it? I mean, it’s kind of a waste just singing in here with me, don’t you think?’

Theres didn’t answer, and Jerry realised he was actually talking to himself; she had already given him her answer. Jerry held out Angelika’s ID card. ‘What do you think? Does this girl look like you?’

‘I don’t know.’

Jerry scrutinised the photograph. It had presumably been taken a couple of years ago, because the girl hardly looked like a teenager. She wasn’t exactly like Theres apart from the long, fair hair, but he didn’t think they’d check that carefully. After all, she wasn’t exactly trying to get into a political summit meeting.

He continued the train of thought. ID number, name. Check, TV. It probably wasn’t a particularly good idea, all things considered. He had got carried away by the possibility. But it was too dangerous,
anything could happen. Oh well. He would keep the ID card; you never knew when it might come in handy.

Theres got up from the computer and said, ‘Come on, then.’

‘Come where?’

‘We’re going now. To the TV program.’

Jerry smiled. ‘It’s not for ten days, sis, and I don’t think…We need to give this some thought.’

He thought. And thought. He downloaded the application form just for fun, and filled it in; he checked out where the Grand Hotel was, just to amuse himself. Just to see if it was possible, he sat down with a pin and a drafting pen and changed a one in Angelika’s date of birth to a four. And just to finish what he had started, he rubbed the card around in the gravel a little bit just to make it look scruffy, so that the change would be less noticeable.

Since they had nothing else to do, he and Theres practised a couple of songs that sounded good when she sang them a cappella. Theres wanted to sing ‘A Thousand and One Nights’, which Jerry didn’t think was a good idea. But then it didn’t really matter, because she wasn’t going to the auditions anyway.

Of course it would be good if Theres could get out and meet some people of her own age, and obviously it was almost criminal that more people didn’t have the chance to be touched by her voice, and no doubt there was some kind of desire for revenge within Jerry,
listen to this, you bastards,
but regardless of who these bastards might be, they could be dangerous in the long run.

He kept thinking like that, and he was still thinking like that at eight o’clock on the morning of May 14 when they took the subway to Kungsträdgården just so that they could stroll over to the Grand Hotel and check things out. They walked along Nybrokajen holding hands. Theres asked about everything she saw, and Jerry hardly knew the answer to any of it. He felt lost in the middle of Stockholm.

Up to now only his thoughts had been opposing the whole thing, while his feelings and impulses had kept driving them forward. Now
at last his feelings began to catch up. He wasn’t in control of the situation at all. When they had passed Berzelii Park and turned into Stallgatan, Jerry stopped, let go of Theres’ hand and said, ‘No. No. I don’t think we should do this, sis. We’re fine as we are, aren’t we? This is only going to cause trouble.’

Theres looked around. Boys and girls of her own age, alone or in groups, with or without parents, were walking past them. Without looking in Jerry’s direction, she simply followed them.

Jerry was on the point of shouting ‘Sis!’ after her, but stopped himself just in time, dashed after her and said, ‘Tora. We’re going home now.’

Theres shook her head and kept on walking. Without Jerry noticing exactly when it happened, the disparate groups became a crowd, and they were at the back of a queue that was more than a hundred metres long, with people joining on behind them. Jerry tugged gently at Theres’ hand but she stood there open mouthed, gazing at all the girls who were slightly older than her, and refused to move.

Jerry realised he wasn’t going to get her away without causing a scene, and it was impossible to know what she might do if he started behaving in an unexpected way. He had said they were going to come to the auditions. They had come. Now they were here. Theres was behaving according to what had been said so, with sweat pouring down his back, Jerry joined the queue and whispered, ‘Just remember your name’s Tora. If anyone asks. Tora Larsson. Your name is Tora Larsson, OK?’

Theres shook her head. ‘That’s not my name.’

Jerry realised his mistake, and rephrased. ‘No, that’s right. But if anyone asks what your name is, you have to answer Tora Larsson.’

‘Yes.’

‘And if anyone asks how old you are, what do you say?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘OK. OK.’

Although it wasn’t OK at all. Jerry felt as if everyone was looking
at him; he felt like a deviant, he felt threatened as he stood there in the middle of the pack of girls. Most of them were probably between sixteen and twenty. Further away stood a couple of groups of boys and a few older girls, but the majority were just a couple of years older than Theres, and only a few of them had an adult with them.

The opposite was true of Theres. He had never seen her so calm when she was among other people, and presumably she was calm for the same reason that Jerry was overcome with a mild feeling of panic as he stood there surrounded by the aroma of hairspray, lip gloss and chewing gum. She was with her own kind. Jerry wasn’t.

After an hour the queue began to shuffle forwards, and after another two hours they had reached the registration desk. Jerry clenched his fists in his trouser pockets as Theres handed over her application form and ID card. His heart almost stopped as the woman dealing with the registration looked from the form to the card, back to the form.

‘Do you use your middle name?’ she asked. Theres didn’t answer. ‘Hello,’ said the woman. ‘I’m talking to you.’ Jerry saw that Theres had begun to draw back her lips, and he heard a faint growling. He quickly stepped in.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She uses her middle name. It was her grandmother’s name.’

The woman ignored him and fixed her gaze on Theres. ‘Listen to me. What’s your name?’

‘Tora,’ said Theres. ‘My name is Tora Larsson.’

‘There you go,’ said the woman, writing the name next to a number. ‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it? We don’t want to have the wrong name down for you if you go and win, now do we?’ Her tone implied that Theres winning was just about as likely as Bruce Springsteen releasing a disco album, but Theres was given a number to pin on her sweater.

Then all they could do was wait. The wannabes sat scattered about or crowded together in a vast room below street level. From time to time groups of four were called into one of the four rooms on the
next floor up, where an initial audition was held, and some were then filtered through to meet the real judges a couple of days later.

Jerry sat down with Theres in a corner behind a gigantic plastic yucca. As Theres gazed around Jerry sat with his head between his knees, grinding his teeth at his own stupidity. When he eventually looked up he saw Theres slowly wandering among the groups of young people, studying them as if they were pictures at an exhibition. That was relatively normal. It was OK. After all, this was one of the reasons they were here, wasn’t it?

Calm down, Jerry. It’s fine. Everything’s cool.

After quarter of an hour, Theres came back and sat down next to him.

‘They’re scared,’ she said.

‘Who?’ said Jerry. ‘The ones who are going to audition?’

‘All the little girls and all the little boys,’ said Theres. ‘They’re scared of the big people.’

‘I should think they’re just nervous, mostly.’

‘They’re nervous because they’re scared. I don’t get it.’

Jerry smiled, in spite of everything. The new expressions Theres had learned still sounded strange coming out of her mouth. ‘What don’t you get?’ he asked.

‘Why they’re scared. There are lots of us. There aren’t lots of big people here.’

‘No,’ said Jerry. ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.’

A little way off sat a girl who actually looked even younger than Theres, and Jerry wondered if any of the others were here under false pretences. The girl was rubbing her scalp compulsively, and suddenly started shaking and sobbing. Theres got up and went over to her, crouching down by her feet.

Jerry didn’t hear what they said, but after a while the girl stopped crying and nodded bravely. She took Theres’ hand and gave it a brief pat. Theres allowed it to happen. Then she came back to sit with Jerry.

‘What was that all about?’ he asked.

‘I can’t tell you,’ she said, staring straight ahead. Jerry had never seen her like this. A heavy, solemn calm emanated from her, so strong that Jerry unconsciously moved slightly closer, drawn to her so that she would soothe his own anxiety. Her back was straight and she was utterly still, with an impassive expression on her face that suggested she had seen through the whole thing, that the ghost was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

A little while later it was an older girl with teased black hair who broke down, dragging her friend down with her until they were both sitting there sobbing as the mascara smeared their cheeks. Theres went over and sat with them.

The result was not as immediate this time, but Jerry could see how quickly the two girls accepted Theres and listened to what she said. One of them laughed out loud and shook her head, as if Theres had said something absurd but uplifting. When she noticed that Theres wasn’t smiling, she stopped laughing and leaned closer to listen.

And so it went on. There were no more breakdowns among those who were waiting, but from time to time a boy or girl came back from one of the rooms upstairs and obviously hadn’t got the reception he or she expected. The boys were usually furious, and Theres took no notice of them, but sometimes there was a girl with tears running down her cheeks, and Theres was there to console her. Or whatever it was she was doing.

Some ignored her, others became slightly aggressive when this stranger tried to make contact in their darkest hour, but several moved close to Theres and sat down with her to talk. Sometimes it ended with a hug which Theres accepted without reciprocating, sometimes she was given a piece of paper or a card. A name or phone number, presumably.

Towards three o’clock a woman with a headset and a clipboard came in and called out Theres’ number, along with three others.

Theres, deep in conversation with a red-haired girl who had practically had to be carried down the stairs from the audition room, didn’t react. Jerry ran over and told her it was her turn now. Theres
stood up and said goodbye to the red-haired girl, who whispered, ‘Good luck,’ in a voice thick with tears.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Jerry.

‘There’s no need,’ said Theres, and headed for the stairs. Jerry watched her go into a room on the next floor along with clipboard-woman, and his heart clenched. Something had changed irrevocably today. He didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. As usual.

Three minutes later, Theres emerged. Some of the girls she had talked to had waited, presumably to see how she got on, and she was immediately surrounded by seven eager, questioning faces.

Theres’ expression was unreadable. She looked exactly the same as when she walked in. The only thing that told Jerry how things had gone was a brief nod, then seven cheering voices.

The experience with Tora Larsson’s
song had shaken Teresa. She was boiling inside and needed to let off steam. As soon as she got to her room that evening, she logged on to Lunarstorm to see how the discussion was going.
Idol
was always a hot topic.

She thought she had been struck by spontaneous dyslexia. It took a while for her to grasp that it did actually say what she thought it said. Tora Larsson was the most written about of that evening’s contestants, and most people thought she was terrible, or worse. They said she had no presence, no star quality. They said her clothes were ugly and her haircut was even uglier. They said the song she sang was crap. The only thing nobody complained about was her voice, but everything else about her appearance was scrutinised and deemed to be dire, stupid, meaningless and boring.

Teresa had always conducted herself sensibly in chat rooms and on discussion forums. Apart from the wolf forum, she was a calculating troll who dragged her baited hook where it would have the greatest effect, only to watch with an ironic smile as the little fish made their pathetic attempts to bite. But now she saw red. She was so agitated that her fingers would hardly obey her as she logged in with her alter ego Josefin, and started to write her reply.

She tried to remain calm, in spite of everything. She wrote that Tora Larsson had the most fantastic voice that had ever been heard on
Idol,
and that what others called a lack of star quality was just Tora being herself. That it was nice to see somebody who wasn’t trying to
be Britney or Christina. She said she was convinced that Tora Larsson could sing just about anything, because she was singing from who she was, not who she was pretending to be.

It didn’t really cover everything Teresa felt, but it was impossible to put the most important things into words so it would have to do. She clicked on send. The answers came quickly. One or two people who agreed with her plucked up the courage to crawl out into the open and give her tentative support, but the majority simply jeered. You’d have to be a complete loser to like such a reject. Tora was totally out of place; she wouldn’t get a single vote, and so on.

It was a relief for Teresa to let herself go. She hadn’t felt comfortable writing calmly about what she really felt. Now she gave free rein to everything that was boiling and fermenting inside her.

Her joy in finding exactly the right phrase came to the fore as she wrote about the detractors’ vacant heads, how they had been force fed so much plastic pop music that their brains short circuited when they actually saw a real person; she suggested they get up from in front of the computer and go kneel before the shrine to Elin Lanto which they no doubt had in their bedroom, next to their signed
Idol
poster of Kaj Kindvall.

Less-gifted barbs came back at her, and Teresa was in her element. Sometimes she got hesitant support from the sidelines, someone who squeaked, ‘Hi, Josefin. You’re right’, fanning the flames. A few dropped out of the mudslinging and new participants joined in. However, those who supported her stayed on.

At one o’clock in the morning, Teresa wrote, ‘Good night’, and logged out. Her head was buzzing, but the pressure she had felt was gone. When she went to bed the image of Tora Larsson remained in her mind’s eye for a long time before she managed to fall asleep.

The following day there was a lot of talk in school, but Teresa didn’t join in the discussions. Somewhere inside she knew you can’t convince people that something is fantastic if they don’t already think it is. Her
behaviour on the net was just a way of letting off steam, not a serious attempt to recruit support.

Besides which, there was a key difference in school. The general opinion was the same as it had been on the net: that Tora Larsson was useless and didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance. This view was put forward by the loud, popular girls whose opinions always got airtime, along with the small number of boys who cared enough. From a purely statistical point of view there must have been some people who thought differently, but in the real world they didn’t even have the courage to squeak. They either agreed or stayed out of the discussions.

A girl called Celia from 9a stood up in the dining room and did a horrible imitation of Tora. With a blank expression and her mouth half-open she burbled, ‘A thousand and one nights, does anyone know where I left my tights’ to general sniggering. Teresa flushed with anger, but said nothing. She couldn’t work out what it was about Tora Larsson that had touched her heart, but it was something, and she acted on it. She felt like a faithful warrior as she squeezed superglue into the keyhole of Celia’s locker during the lunch break.

Teresa’s nails got shorter and shorter as she chewed them through the different stages of the final audition. The judges were unimpressed by Tora Larsson’s stage presence, and it sounded as if they were always on the point of sending her home. But her voice triumphed in the end. Maybe they were only playing to the gallery, but the judges seemed almost reluctant to give her a place in the final twenty whose fate would be decided by the viewers. It was as if they wished they could ignore her voice. But it was more than perfect, it was magical, and it couldn’t be dismissed.

Teresa could relax, temporarily at least. Now it was up to her and all the others who
understood
to make sure Tora Larsson stayed in the competition so that they could see more of her.

The following week was ‘agony week’ on
Idol.
Twenty competitors would be reduced to eleven. Agony was the word, said Bull. Tora Larsson was to sing in the first semi-final, and as the evening
approached Teresa was so anxious she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She knew it was ridiculous to invest so much emotion in a fucking
Idol
contestant, but she couldn’t help it. She had watched Tora’s performance several times on the net, and the effect it had that first time was still there.

As the family settled down noisily in front of the TV as usual, Teresa was sitting inside a bubble. She didn’t want to hear the others’ small talk, and above all she didn’t want to hear their opinions. If they said anything negative about Tora, Teresa might well explode. When Tora walked onto the stage, Teresa dug her nails into the palms of her hands and sat there, taut as a piano string.

A few months had passed since the filming of the auditions, but Tora hadn’t changed much. Some stylist on the program had presumably had a go at her hair and clothes, but the general impression of a person from another, less broken world remained intact.

Appropriately enough, Tora sang ‘Life on Mars’, and it was doubtful if Teresa so much as blinked during her performance. One thing had changed, actually. Tora completely ignored the audience in the studio, but she did look into the camera from time to time. Every time Teresa met that gaze, a shock went through her.

A small affair, the lyrics said; but it wasn’t a small affair to Teresa. She thought it was the best performance she had ever seen on
Idol.
When it was over she said she wasn’t feeling very well, and left the family in the living room. She felt absolutely fantastic, but for one thing she didn’t want to hear what the others had to say; for another, she obviously needed to hit the phone.

Since she didn’t want to run out of credit on her mobile, she went and sat in her parents’ bedroom and rang the number for Tora over and over again until her index and middle fingers were sore. Then she went back to the TV in time for the announcement of the results. Tora had got through. Of course.

She spent the evening defending Tora on various internet forums. There were a few more supporters, but there was still a huge
preponderance of people who thought Tora was more or less useless. Presumably those who did like Tora liked her so much they had helped her get through by ringing over and over again.