Star Struck (9 page)

Catherine’s mouth dropped open. How dare he? She did everything he asked of her and just because she was doing something for herself for once he threw this accusation at her. Catherine couldn’t believe it, it was one thing for her father to be deluded, but she didn’t expect him to be this cruel just because he felt abandoned. Jo stared, wide-eyed, at her father. She was obviously in shock at his accusation, too.

Something clicked inside of Catherine. The guilt at having to leave her father to look after himself had been weighing heavy since she had been successful at the auditions and Mick had been pulling out every stop to maintain her guilt. But this, calling her heartless and blaming them for their mother’s departure, was low. She couldn’t believe he could say something like this. If anyone drove Karen away it was him, because he was even more self-centred than Karen. All Mick ever thought about was himself. Never Claire and his grandchildren, or Jo and her college work, or Maria and her – Catherine stalled thinking about what was important to Maria – Maria and her make-up. Why was everything always about him? Why couldn’t he be happy for her to go away for a few
days?
It wasn’t like she was going to Pontin’s, she had the opportunity of a lifetime here and what did her dad want her to do? She thought she’d ask him. ‘Do you want me to stay, Dad?’

‘You are not doing anything of the—’ Catherine dug her fingers into Jo’s arm, stopping her mid-sentence.

‘That would be very nice, Catherine,’ Mick said.

Catherine stood staring at her dad. He was serious.

‘You mean it, don’t you?’ Catherine asked. ‘You would seriously let me squander this one opportunity to do something amazing to sit here with you …’

‘Watching the
Corrie
omnibus,’ Jo added helpfully.

‘… when the others will be back this evening and I’ll be back in a few days’ time.’

Mick changed tack. ‘It’s just a lot of commercial rubbish this
Star Maker
thing, Catherine, and I don’t want you being used up and spat out by these TV companies.’

‘What are you on about?’ Catherine asked angrily. Jo’s eyes widened, she wasn’t used to Catherine raising her voice. ‘You don’t know the first thing about TV companies, you don’t know the first thing about anything. You just sit here, spouting off from your chair and I’m supposed to listen to you. You haven’t once said you’re pleased for me getting through the auditions, you haven’t once asked me about singing. I’m not expecting a big hug and you to say you’re proud of me …’

‘Yeah, steady on, Catherine, we’re not American,’ Jo said.

‘… but you’ve actively discouraged me. What sort of dad does that? I know you’re not well.’

‘What’s up with you?’ Jo asked peering at her father.

Catherine opened her mouth to say, to get it out in the open that their father had cancer but stopped short – it wasn’t her place to tell the others. She looked at her dad, hoping that he would take this opportunity to be honest.

‘Depression,’ Mick said quickly.

‘Bloody hell, we all know that,’ Jo said, rolling her eyes. ‘You’ve had that for years. I don’t think Catherine staying here for the next few days is going to cheer you up.’

‘I’m going, Dad,’ Catherine said resolutely. ‘I’ll not be far away.’

‘A four-hour car journey,’ Mick said morosely.

‘Two hours,’ Jo corrected.

Catherine didn’t want to leave her dad but perhaps it would do him good. It was what Jo had been saying for ages. Her dad, she said, was too dependent on Catherine and, she said, Claire and Maria quite liked it that way. Catherine had always rubbished the idea but recently it had become increasingly obvious that maybe her sister was right. Catherine had always thought that looking after her father had naturally fallen to her and that if she ever, for some reason, needed to go away then Claire and Maria would step up to the mark and help out. But since she had been given the place at Boot Camp this hadn’t seemed to be the case. Both sisters wanted her to go on
Star Maker
because they wanted to know all of the backstage gossip, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in looking after Mick in her absence. Jo had also told Catherine that no one should have to sort Mick out. He was wallowing in self-pity and the longer he was mollycoddled, the longer he would remain that way. Catherine realised now that this was absolutely true with regards to
his
depression. Cancer, on the other hand, was a different thing altogether. But she didn’t think that a week would make any different. He wasn’t in hospital and he certainly didn’t seem to be at death’s door. Catherine hated having to think like this but with her dad refusing to wish her well Catherine had to think about this as rationally as she could.

‘Say good luck to Catherine,’ Jo insisted.

‘Break a leg,’ Mick shrugged.

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. This was the first time that he had said anything remotely encouraging to her about going to
Star Maker
Boot Camp.

‘What’s that about? Break a leg?’ Jo asked angrily.

‘It’s a saying Jo, he’s not being literal,’ Catherine said.

‘Oh.’ It wasn’t often there was a gap in Jo’s cultural references and she clearly didn’t like it when there was.

‘Theatre saying,’ Mick said knowledgeably. ‘Never wish anyone luck and never mention the Scottish play.’

‘Ah,
Macbeth
.’ Jo said, happy that she was back on track with her father’s references.

‘Don’t mention the Scottish play!’ Mick shouted.

‘Jesus, mind my eardrums.’ Jo rubbed the side of her head. ‘Who d’you think you are? Ian McKellen?’

‘It’s OK, Dad. I don’t believe all that superstition stuff,’ Catherine reassured him.

‘Well, you should,’ Mick snapped, walking past her, back into the bathroom.

Catherine watched him shut the door and looked at Jo. When he had said ‘Break a leg’ there had been the tiniest glimmer of hope for Catherine. That he really did wish her well. But now he was sulking in the bathroom,
and
she knew that he really didn’t want her to do well at all, he just wanted her here with him.

‘That’s it, Dad, give it out with one hand, take it away with the other,’ Jo shouted. She turned to Catherine. ‘Selfish old sod. Ignore him. He’ll just stew in his own juices until we get back.’ Jo headed down the stairs.

Catherine looked at the closed bathroom door. She was about to say something to her dad but couldn’t think of anything more to say. She turned around and walked down the stairs with a heavy heart. She just wanted her dad to be proud of her, but maybe Jo was right, he wasn’t capable of ever thinking about anyone but himself.

Chapter 4

‘CATHERINE, WAKE UP.
We’re here.’ Jo said, shaking her sister. No way were they letting their sister stay in a place like this for a week, it was amazing; a huge turreted castle at the end of a tree-lined drive.

Catherine opened her eyes. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Oh my God is right. Look at this place! It’s like the Playboy Mansion.’

‘How do you know what the Playboy Mansion looks like?’ Claire asked.

‘Because I watch
Girls of the Playboy Mansion
, duh!’ Jo said.

Jo loved the show. The idea that a load of girls a few years older than her would hang around with manky octogenarian Heff and his smoking jacket made her laugh out loud. She found it fascinating. It was like Bruce Forsyth trying to set up home with Girls Aloud and then expecting them to get their bits out and ‘entertain’ whoever came to the door.

Girls of the Playboy Mansion
was one of Jo’s favourite TV shows along with
America’s Next Top Model
, where a group of would-be American models all lived in a house together. From what Jo could gather they didn’t do much modelling. But they did do a lot of crying and back biting which made excellent TV; Jo Sky-plussed every episode. But her absolute favourite was
Dog the Bounty Hunter
. This was where a
be-mulleted
American went out and caught ‘felons’ (they weren’t proper felons, just smack heads who’d gone looking for a fix instead of attending their parole hearing) who had ‘jumped bail’. Jo knew all the lingo. Dog thanked God a lot and told said felons (smack heads) that they should be thankful to their ‘momma’ because their ‘momma loved them, no madder what’. It was the same thing every week and was, in Jo’s opinion, TV gold. She had often thought that if she didn’t turn out to be a world-famous fashion designer she might set up her own bounty hunting service. Although she didn’t think that quite so many Mancunian mothers would pay for the safe return of their smack head sons as LA mothers. That was why American was the land of opportunity, Jo thought wistfully.

‘You watch such a load of rubbish on the telly,’ Claire sniffed.

‘And you watch
Heartbeat
– what’s that about?’

‘It’s about a little Yorkshire village in the 1950s,’ Claire said matter-of-factly.

‘Not what’s the show about, I mean, what’s you watching it about? I know what it’s about, it’s about Green Grass getting his car stuck in some cow muck to hilarious consequences while Cliff Richard and the Shadows sing and we all sit around thinking what a lovely time we had in the fifties, forgetting how shit-boring it actually was then, and how women were second-class citizens and everyone just ate luncheon meat and no one even knew what a panini was … Anyway ITV have canned it. Thank God.’

‘I can’t believe we’re here,’ Catherine said in awe, snapping Jo out of her
Heartbeat
diatribe.

Jo looked at the huge manor house in front of her. ‘I can’t believe we’re here, either. And you’re going to be staying here!’ Jo squealed and punched Catherine on the leg and then had to apologise because she’d made a red mark.

Claire looked around for somewhere to park the car when a man came towards them dressed in a black suit and speaking into a walkie-talkie.

Claire wound down the window. ‘The man at the lodge told us to park up here,’ Claire said.

About five miles back, at the beginning of the drive, a man stationed in what could be termed a booth, but was in fact bigger than the Reilly’s house, told them to drive to the front of the manor house, park the car and ask for someone called Will.

‘I’m Will. And you’re Catherine Reilly and you’re in the …’ Will looked down at the clipboard he was carrying, ‘under twenty-fives, girls category. Great. Follow me.’

‘Ace,’ Jo said bounding out of the car.

‘Hi, Catherine, very pleased to meet you,’ Will said, putting his hand out for Jo to shake.

‘Oh, I’m not Catherine. That’s her.’ Jo pointed at her sister.

‘Hi,’ Catherine said, dragging her bag out of the boot and putting her hand out for Will to shake.

‘Oh, hi.’ Will said and then looked at Jo and Claire as if he was wondering where they thought they were going.

‘Can’t wait to see your room.’ Jo said setting off in the direction of the imposing entrance.

‘Er, excuse me, only the people signed up for Boot Camp are allowed on the premises. Security and all that.’

‘Come on,’ Jo said, pointing to her face. ‘Does this face look like that of a security risk?’ Will didn’t answer. ‘All right then, what about that face?’ Jo said, pointing at Claire.

‘I’m sorry, ladies, but only Catherine is allowed in.’

‘Bloody hell! I just want to ask Richard Forster how he gets his hair so black and his chest so shiny,’ Jo said.

‘Right you, come on, back in the car.’ Claire instructed her youngest sister.

‘Are you sure they can’t come in?’ Catherine asked.

Jo felt sorry for her sister. She needed something to feel guilty about, if it wasn’t her dad it was her and Claire not being let in to have a nosy at the
Star Maker
judges.

‘Don’t worry about it, Catherine. We won’t let Will into our mansion when you’re rich and famous. Sorry, Will.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Will said sarcastically.

Jo quite liked a man with a bit of sarcasm about him. ‘For you it is. It’ll be ace. Right, come on then Claire, back to Manchester.’

Jo linked her sister’s arm and guided her back to the car. Catherine was standing with her suitcase at her side. Jo looked at her sister. She looked like someone who was staring at their big chance – her eyes almost danced. Jo walked over to her and gave her a quick hug. They weren’t a touchy-feely family but this definitely warranted a hug.

‘Even though
Wil
won’t let us in,’ Jo said, looking over her shoulder at Will who was standing with his eyebrow arched at Jo, ‘we don’t mind. Good luck, Catherine. Knock their socks off in there.’

‘Thanks, Jo.’

Jo and Claire stood by the car and watched Catherine walk towards her new home for the coming days.

Claire turned to Jo. ‘How do you think she’ll do?’

‘Dunno. She’s as good a chance as anyone I suppose.’

Jo really hoped she had. Catherine deserved a break, and not necessarily an all-singing-all-dancing break with a guaranteed route to overnight success. Just a break from their dad would be a start.

Catherine turned around and waved. Claire and Jo waved back. Will waved too, in a sarcastic bye-now-off-you-two-go way. Jo kept waving to Catherine with her left hand and with her right hand merrily flicked two fingers at Will. He reciprocated. Jo was quite pleased, she would have expected men who worked in TV to be total saps but he seemed all right, Catherine could have a laugh with him at least, Jo thought. Better than all the
High School Musical
wannabes who got through on things like this. Catherine turned around and waved one last time before she went through the door.

‘It’s like
Stars in Their Eyes
,’ Claire observed.

‘It’s not though, Claire, is it? It’s a bit more impressive than that.’

Jo climbed into the passenger seat and wondered what news Catherine would have for them next time they saw her.

Andy was sharing a poky room with a guy called Jesse. Their room wasn’t just something you could describe as a broom cupboard – it was a broom cupboard; the brooms had been removed and replaced by beds. Andy had envisaged a palatial velvet-pelmeted room when he had been
told
that he would be staying at the Boot Camp mansion. Maybe even a four-poster bed. As it was he was sandwiched into a single bed so close to Jesse’s that if he turned over in the night he ended up spooning him. All of the decent rooms were occupied by the
Star Maker
hopefuls. And even they were three and four to a room. They were all currently in the process of arriving, expecting glamour but finding that the reality wasn’t exactly how things were portrayed on TV.