THE TALENT
By Philip Caveney
The Talent
By Philip Caveney
Smashwords Edition
Copywright 2012 Philip Caveney
PART ONE
Audition
ONE
Josh trudged to the locker room, put his thumb to the recognition plate and his locker door swung open. He put on his bright red KayCo overalls then went to join Danny, who was scrubbing away at the shelves as though his life depended on it. As Josh approached, he looked up with his familiar, lop-sided smile.
‘Hey Josh, how’s it hanging?’ It was his habitual greeting; it never varied from one morning to the next. It was as though he had heard it somewhere and memorised it, thinking it made him sound cool but, of course, it had the opposite effect. Danny Lieberman wasn’t the sharpest tool in the woodshed. He had a long pale face, covered with a smattering of freckles and blond hair that stuck up from his scalp like tufts of wire wool. He somehow always managed to have his mouth hanging slightly open, which made him look even dimmer than he was, which was saying something.
‘Morning Danny.’ Josh pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and, fishing a spare scrubbing brush from the bucket of hot water, he went to work with rather less vigour than Danny. The smell of rancid milk, mingled with the powerful fumes of disinfectant turned his stomach. He might have known Tasker would save a job like this for him.
‘What did ya do last night?’ asked Danny, squinting at Josh as though it were the most important information ever.
‘Oh… I went up on the roof and practised my guitar.’
‘Yeah? What songs did you play?’
‘Well, let’s see. First I did a few old Irish folk songs, that my Granddad wanted to hear…’
‘He was with you?’
‘Yes, he likes to hear me practice.’
Danny nodded, impatient to hear more. ‘And then?’
‘Then I worked on my own material.’
‘Material?’ Danny looked baffled. ‘You mean, like, cloth?’
‘No, dummy! I mean my own songs.’
‘Oh yeah, you got to have your own song to audition for The Talent, right?’
‘Shush!’ Josh looked nervously around. ‘I don’t want Tasker to know about it. At least, not yet…’
‘Imagine!’ whispered Danny. ‘Josh Williams on The Talent! Hey, suppose you won? You’d be able to come in here and buy everything in this bloody supermarket!’
Josh laughed. ‘If I had that kind of money, there’d be better things to spend it on than this old crap,’ he said.
But he closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to dream. The Talent was the one bright spot in a grey and gloomy existence – an annual television show, sponsored by the government and shown on every TV and video screen across the country. Talent spotters travelled to six major cities in Great Britain where they auditioned thousands of young people. These were narrowed down to thirty acts, who then went through a series of elimination heats until, finally… finally, one act emerged triumphant to become the ultimate winner. Josh had wanted to try out for it for years but the problem was, all contestants had to be between the ages of 16 and 25. At last, he was old enough to give it a shot.
The roar of jet fighter engines made him open his eyes again. Tasker had just switched on the giant plasma screen on the far wall, midway through a news bulletin about the war. There was footage of high tech airplanes zooming low over desert terrain, unleashing their rockets into what looked like a small village. Explosions flared bright orange and then great clouds of black smoke billowed upwards into the sky. A male voiceover gave an impassive commentary.
‘Allied forces secured a vital victory in an attack on the fortress of Al Tabil this morning. Thirty-five rebel troops were killed in the action and a missile base destroyed. There were no British casualties. Meanwhile, in the Asian offensive, two helicopters belonging to rebel forces were shot down, bringing the week’s tally to-‘
The voice was rudely cut off as Tasker hurriedly changed the channel to a music station. The truth was, nobody was interested in the various wars currently being fought around the globe, and few people believed that there was any truth in the daily reports that suggested Allied forces were kicking the backsides of every country they came up against. It was no secret that the British government had a stranglehold on the media and nothing went out that hadn’t been vetted by them. But, if the allies were doing so well, how come there hadn’t been a word from dad in almost a year? Was he even alive? Josh’s Dad, Steve, was a soldier, currently listed as ‘missing in action’ somewhere in the Middle East. Meanwhile, Mum received no money from him. No wages, because he was missing; no pension, because his death had not been confirmed. The Government always seemed to find a way not to have pay for anything. For Josh, there was just the constant empty feeling of having no dad around to talk to, share jokes with, even argue with. He missed all that. He missed it more than he could ever say.
The sound of the aircraft was replaced by a sinewy, funky beat and the image of a gold limousine pulling up outside the doors of a theatre, where a gaggle of excited paparazzi were gathered with their cameras. The rear door opened and a long, stocking-clad leg emerged to thrust down an unfeasibly tall high heel onto the pavement. Josh and Danny both nodded in recognition. It was Kendra, last year’s winner of The Talent and this was her new download, a song called Let Me In.
‘What a coincidence,’ said Danny, but of course, it wasn’t. If Tasker had decided to flick through the three hundred other music channels on the set, chances were ten or twelve of them would currently be showing this video. That was how famous The Talent could make you.
Now Kendra emerged from the rear seat of the car, a tall black woman with huge, dark eyes and straight shoulder-length hair. She was dressed in a long silver lamé dress, one side of which was slit to the thigh. She began to prowl towards the camera, like a predatory cat stalking her prey and, as she walked, she was singing in her deep growl of a voice.
‘Get your cameras ready
open up the doors
when I’m in your location
I just won’t be ignored.
I’ve got my motor running
I’ve got my beams on high
Just give me your devotion
And never ask me why.
Some girls are made for parties
Some girls are made for sin
Just put down the red carpet
Step back and let me in!
Josh frowned. He didn’t rate the song. Oh, the production was faultless, the instruments spot on, but the lyrics weren’t really about anything much. How different it would have been, he thought, if Zoe had won last year.
Her songs had been brilliant cutting edge stuff about the world around her and Josh had fallen for her at first sight. She was a skinny, intense blonde with a haunting vocal style and a way of moving her hands as she sang that seemed to make the song come alive. Josh had voted for her in every heat until she had inexplicably gone out in the fifth round. After that, the fire had gone out of it for him, but he’d continued to use his vote, though come to think of it, he’d never voted for Kendra. In the final he’d opted for the comedian, Judd Marlow, a young man who was actually brave enough to be critical of the government on live TV. It had been a near run thing; according to the judges, Kendra had scraped through by just a thousand points or so. The funny thing was, what had happened to Judd Marlow since then? Or Zoe for that matter? With The Talent, it was all or nothing. The winner went on to unbelievable success; the losers, presumably, went back to whatever they were doing before the competition.
Josh thought about that, imagining himself coming back to KayCo, begging Bill Tasker for his old job. He could picture Tasker’s fat face set in a smirk of absolute triumph. ‘I told you you’d be back,’ he’d say. ‘I said you haven’t got what it takes.’ Josh pushed the thought away. Dwelling on it would probably be enough to make him change his mind about entering the competition. And he couldn’t do that. It was all he had. It was his only hope.
Back onscreen, Kendra had entered the theatre and was striding through the crowd. Good looking young men in dark suits were offering her glasses of champagne, strings of pearls, diamond rings, but she was just pushing her way through them, as if they were beneath her contempt, dismissing them with words sung tauntingly straight into their handsome faces.
‘Don’t think that you can buy me
This lady’s not for sale
Don’t think that you can own me
I’m not looking for a male
There’s only one that matters
As anyone can see
There’s only one contender
The contender here is me.
Some girls are made for parties.
Some girls are made for show
Just set down the red carpet
Step back and watch me go!’
On she strode, through a set of swing doors and into a theatre where hundreds of people sat awaiting her arrival. Spotlights bathed the stage in brilliant light as she climbed the short flight of steps to the microphone. She turned to face the audience and stood with her arms spread out in a theatrical pose. The music swelled as an unseen brass section came into play. The bass and drums kicked into full throttle. Synthesisers swelled and soared. Suddenly, Kendra grabbed the front of her lamé dress and with one lithe movement, tore it aside to reveal that she was wearing a tight, white bodysuit. The crowd went wild. She grabbed the microphone, pulled it from its stand and started pacing backwards and forwards across the stage, as the audience rose from their seats and started dancing frenziedly in the aisles.
‘Some girls are made for living
Some girls are made to dance.
Some girls say ‘no surrender’
And leave nothing to chance.
Some girls take what they’re given
Some girls always think small
But others have ambition
Some girls they want it all.
Some girls are made to party
Some girls are made for sin
Just give me your devotion
Step back and let me in.
The video ended with Kendra still parading around the stage, while the crowds rushed to the front to extend their hands in the vain hope of touching her. Others threw flowers and jewels like offerings to some goddess.
Josh shook his head. Totally OTT, he thought. If he won The Talent, things would be different. Low key. Just him and his guitar, the carefully chosen words telling their story. He’d sing about what it was like to be sixteen and have no hope at all. He believed… he really believed that other kids would hear him and know exactly what he was talking about. He knew it seemed ridiculous and yet what had Kendra been before she’d won? She’d worked as a computer operator, for God’s sake! Anything was possible. You just had to have faith in yourself.
As if to hammer the point home, the video faded to be replaced by the fat, contented features of Simeon Brand, one of The Talent’s regular judges and himself a leading light in the music industry. He was a huge man, his body a series of round, swollen shapes, draped in a silky pearl grey suit that had been ingeniously designed to fit him perfectly. His short dark hair was cut in a spiky style with a blonde peak jutting up in front, and a goatee beard hung from one of his many chins. He grinned, displaying tiny white teeth that looked like rows of pearls in his huge, slobbery mouth, but anybody who had watched an episode of the show knew that he had a sharp tongue and never hesitated to voice his true feelings about a contestant’s performance. He had been known to move grown men to tears. Right now though, he was all airs and graces.
‘The fabulous Kendra there with her latest download, Let Me In,’ he purred, in his slick-as-oil and camp-as-Christmas voice. ‘As you all know, lovely, lovely Kendra was the winner of last year’s The Talent. But who will be this year’s winner? Our open auditions are coming to a city near you soon.’ With this he pointed a pudgy, manicured finger at the camera and Josh couldn’t help feeling that Simeon was pointing straight at him; that he could somehow see him standing there in his red KayCo overalls, and was issuing a personal invitation. ‘If you’re between the ages of 16 and 25, you owe it to yourself to come on down and give it a shot. This year, it could be you topping the download chart. It could be you travelling the world, taking your act to millions of people. So come on, darlings, what are you afraid of? I ask you once again. Have you got The Talent?’
Josh stared at the screen, wanting to shout ‘yes!’ but he was suddenly horribly aware that Bill Tasker had appeared at the top of the aisle and was regarding him and Danny with a baleful glare.
‘What the bloody hell’s going on ‘ere?’ he snarled.
Josh and Danny fell to, scrubbing frenziedly at the shelves, as though trying to make up for lost time. Tasker prowled closer until he was standing right next to Josh. He began to talk, bathing Josh in the stink of his maggoty breath.
‘Can I just point out that the video screen is for the entertainment of customers?’ he said. ‘Not for you two skanks.’
‘Yes, Mr Tasker,’ muttered Josh. ‘Sorry Mr Tasker.’
‘There’s no customers here yet,’ said Danny, trying to be helpful, but Tasker just glared at him.
‘I mean, I can’t expect much from you, Lieberman, everyone knows you’re a halfwit.’ He turned back to Josh. ‘But you, Williams, you’ve at least got some brains. I expected more from you.’
‘Sorry, Mr Tasker. It won’t happen again,’ Josh assured him.
‘See that it doesn’t. You want to wake up lad. Stop dreaming about pop stardom and start taking a pride in your work. I’ve told you before, haven’t I? What have I told you?’
‘That there’s twenty other kids waiting for this job, Mr Tasker.’
‘Correctomundo. Twenty kids who don’t mind getting their hands dirty.’ He gave the metal bucket that held the hot water a hefty kick, making the greasy contents slop over the sides. ‘Make sure you clean that up,’ he said, smirking. ‘If a customer slips in it, I’ll have you out of here so fast, your feet won’t touch.’
He turned and walked away, looking pleased with himself. Josh was about to give him the finger, but stopped himself, remembering that the place had CCTV cameras everywhere and that one of Tasker’s favourite pastimes was going through the memory banks, looking for incidents just like that. So Josh contented himself with a few words, spoken under his breath.
‘One day, Tasker. You just wait and see. ‘
He risked a quick glance at the screen to see Simeon Brand’s smiling face as it faded to black and then the next video came on. Josh concentrated on scrubbing shelves and didn’t look at the screen again all that day.
TWO
Josh and Danny walked home through the crowded streets. They usually walked most of the way together in the evenings, but always met up at work in the mornings, as Danny started half an hour earlier than Josh. Josh was carrying a large cardboard box of tomatoes under one arm.
One of the only perks of working at KayCo was that you got first dibs on any food that was being thrown away. Unfortunately, stuff didn’t get chucked unless it was pretty close to being inedible, but, despite that, there was always an army of Rag People hanging around the skip in the car park, ready to fight to the death over whatever the workers turned their noses up at. The tomatoes had been bruised and soft, but Josh figured they’d be all right to throw into the evening’s communal food pot, so he’d grabbed them and shoved them in his locker for later on.
Tasker was always going on about ‘the good old days.’ He had worked for this company since he was a teenager, he claimed and, when he was a lad, supermarkets threw out food by the bucket load, most of it perfectly OK, maybe just a day or so past something called its ‘sell-by’ date.
‘What’s that?’ Danny had asked him one time.
‘Something we had when we could afford to be picky,’ snarled Tasker, unhelpfully. ‘These days we just trust to this…’ He tapped his nose. ‘And this,’ he said, opening his mouth and pointing to his tongue.
Danny had stared at him blankly and Josh had to explain to him afterwards that Tasker had been referring to the smell and the taste of the food. The idea of a ‘sell-by’ date had gone years ago, along with a lot of other niceties.
It was already dark on the street and pretty cold. Josh shrugged his coat tighter around him and he and Danny kept their heads down. Gangs of kids patrolled the streets around this part of town and it didn’t pay to risk giving them the wrong kind of look. Josh had heard of people being beaten to a pulp for their loose change or simply because others didn’t much like the way they dressed.
To his left, hundreds of bicycles and rickshaws clattered along the road, commuters going to and from their respective jobs. Hardly anyone could afford to travel by car these days and those who hung fondly on to their old petrol-driven vehicles had an almost impossible job trying to locate any fuel for them. There was a thriving black market in the stuff, but the prices asked were ridiculously over the top. Granddad had got rid of his old car some years ago, when he worked out it would be as cheap to fill the tank with whiskey as it would with petrol. Here and there, you might spot some rich Suit in a hydrogen powered car, blaring his horn as he tried to make headway through the chaos of traffic, but they were few and far between, particularly in this part of the city.
Josh and Danny passed through a small street market, the traders all bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, many of them standing around burning braziers. A lot of people were wearing face-masks; there had been a recent scare about a bird flu epidemic. Josh kept meaning to pick one up for himself, maybe just improvise one from an old handkerchief but, as yet, he hadn’t quite got around to it. He kept telling himself that things like that only ever happened to somebody else, but supposing he did get sick? Nobody in his family had the money to pay for a doctor.
The market traders didn’t seem to be doing much business tonight. Laid out on homemade tables were the various bits and pieces of junk they were trying to sell – obsolete computer equipment, second hand toys, tools, blankets, heaps of ratty looking clothing.
‘Look at that stuff,’ muttered Danny. ‘Who the hell would ever buy it?’
Josh didn’t answer him. He knew that often these stalls were just fronts for selling illegal substances like tobacco and alcohol, but his attention had been caught by a couple of cops swaggering along the pavement toward them, oddly top-heavy in their bullet-proof vests, machine-guns slung over their shoulders. They were studying Josh with interest, paying particular attention to the box he was carrying.
‘Evening, lads,’ said the first cop, as he drew close. He was a tall, shave-headed man with impassive grey eyes. ‘Where you off to then?’
‘We’re going home,’ said Josh. ‘We just finished work at KayCo.’
‘Papers,’ said the second cop, gesturing with a gloved hand, and Josh and Danny obediently fished out their ID cards. The cops examined them for a moment then handed them back.
There was a brief silence. Then the second cop said, ‘What’s in the box?’ He was a good six inches shorter than his companion and was wearing a regulation peaked cap, something that few coppers seemed to bother with these days.
‘Nothing,’ said Josh.
The first cop smiled mirthlessly. ‘You’re carrying an empty box?’ he murmured.
‘Well, no,’ admitted Josh. ‘It’s just… tomatoes.’
The second cop looked interested. ‘Oh yeah? I’m quite partial to tomatoes,’ he said.
‘Not these ones,’ Danny assured him. ‘They’re rotten.’
The two men glanced at each other. They didn’t seem convinced.
‘Open it,’ said the second cop, pointing to the box.
Josh sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have had stuff nicked off him by coppers. They seemed to use their authority in any way they saw fit and it would have been pointless to go complaining about it. You just had to be grateful they hadn’t used their guns on you. There had been a news item on the plasma screen the other day. A bunch of cops had shot a suspicious-looking guy in the street, who had been reaching into his pocket for something. When they examined the bullet-riddled corpse, it turned out he’d only been reaching for his ID card. The police had apologised to the man’s wife, so no further action was being taken.
Josh lifted the lid of the box and the cops appraised the contents. After spending several hours in Josh’s locker, the tomatoes looked even worse than they had this morning. The first cop prodded one of them with a gloved forefinger and it split messily open, spurting red seeds in all directions.
‘You’re gonna eat those?’ he asked disbelievingly.
‘I thought they’d be OK for cooking,’ said Josh defensively.
‘Yeah? Well, good luck, pal. Enjoy your stay in hospital.’
The cops swaggered on, laughing unpleasantly. An elderly Rag Man, crossing the pavement in front of them, was a little slow in moving out of their way and received a shove in the ribs from the taller cop, which sent him staggering into one of the market stalls. The sheet of plywood that served as a tabletop tipped up and the various bits of merchandise went flying in all directions. There were shouts of anger from the stallholders and the Rag Man had to make a run for it, for fear of being attacked. The two cops, striding onwards, reacted as though it were just about the funniest thing they’d seen in ages.
‘Cops,’ muttered Danny. ‘Don’t’cha just hate ‘em?’
Josh closed the box on the manky looking tomatoes and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I guess they’re just trying to do their job,’ he said, although Granddad was always telling him that, not so many years ago, policemen had been different; they were the people you went to in times of trouble. Now, he liked to say, you wouldn’t trust them with your old underpants. Whatever that meant.
As Josh and Danny started walking again, Danny tried to switch to a more cheerful subject. ‘So when’s the audition?’ he wanted to know.
‘Next Wednesday, at the Videodrome.’
‘Wow. Are you scared?”
Josh looked at him. ‘No,’ he said. It was true, he wasn’t really scared, just kind of excited.
‘I would be terrified,’ said Danny. ‘Honest. If I had to stand up in the Videodrome and play the guitar, I’d be bricking it.’
‘Yes, but you can’t play the guitar.’
‘Even if I could.’ Danny looked at Josh. ‘Even if I was as good as…’ He was obviously trying to think of a famous guitarist, but after a few moments, he gave up. ‘So… have you asked Tasker for the day off yet?’
Danny shook his head. ‘No. And don’t you mention it to him, either. I want to wait for the right moment.’
‘Yeah? When would that be, exactly?’ asked Danny. It was a worrying question. Josh couldn’t imagine his boss reacting joyfully to the idea. Josh reminded himself that he hadn’t even told Mum about it yet. He’d have to do it tonight, maybe when he was giving her the tomatoes.
They reached the street where their paths diverged.
‘Yeah, well, see you tomorrow,’ said Danny, in a fake American accent. He snapped a finger and pointed. ‘Same time, same channel.’ He said the same thing every night, something he’d picked up from a video he’d watched. That was the great thing about Danny. He never surprised you.
‘See you Danny,’ said Josh. Danny turned and strolled away down the side street. Josh gazed after him for a moment, thinking how small and vulnerable he looked in the gloom. The streetlamps weren’t working around here. He had a sudden impulse to run after him and see him safely home, but knew that it would add an extra half hour to his journey. So he just put his head down and carried on walking.
THREE
He reached the entrance to his apartment block a little after seven o’ clock. A group of deadbeats were hanging around the concrete steps and Josh eyed them warily. They were all the kids of families that lived on the various floors, but none of them were particularly friendly to him, not even a skinny eighteen-year-old called Carl Sullivan, who lived in the same apartment and even shared the same bedroom. Carl styled himself as a ‘retro-punk.’ Most kids these days were retro something or other. Fashion had reached the stage where it had to look back for inspiration. Today, Carl wore a transparent plastic jacket which showed his hairless bare chest beneath; and his jet-black hair was gelled into a series of spikes that put Josh in mind of a porcupine. Carl was sitting beside his girlfriend, Ginnie. Like Carl, her eyes were outlined with thick black mascara, but she wore a jacket that had been made from recycled car tyres. Neither of them had jobs and both had been in trouble with the police countless times, usually for petty theft.
Carl regarded Josh sullenly as he approached the entrance. ‘Hey, Hotshot,’ he said. ‘How’s things in the world of big business?’
‘Fine,’ said Josh. ‘How’s things in the world of hanging around on doorsteps?’
Carl snickered unpleasantly. He glanced at Ginnie. ‘You know, it beats me how this guy is still going out to the same crap job every day, when he’s so bloody talented.’
Ginnie looked puzzled. ‘How’s that then?’ she asked.
‘Oh, you mean you haven’t heard him? He’s the ubermeister. Most nights he’s out under the stars, singing his little heart out.’
‘I thought that was a cat,’ said one of the other kids and there was some laughter. Josh pushed past Carl and climbed the steps to the door.
‘At least I’ve got a talent,’ he muttered. ‘One that’s legal.’
A collection of jeers and catcalls followed him up the steps but he ignored them. He pushed open the paint-blistered swing door and stepped into a dilapidated hallway that always smelled, for some reason, like a Chinese takeaway. Not that anybody living here could afford one. He went up the gloomy staircase, listening to the different sounds on each level – the hubbub of conversation, the tinny blare of unseen radios, the nerve-shredding whine of an electric drill. On the fourth floor, he placed his thumb on the battered recognition plate beside the door of his apartment and it swung open to admit him.
The living room was dark save for the glare from the TV set which was currently blasting out a brainless game show called ‘Shoot Thy Neighbour,’ where feuding families were invited to take pot shots at each other with high-powered paint guns. As Josh looked at the screen, an elderly woman was being knocked down by a whole series of orange splats while an audience roared with laughter. She hit the ground in a sprawl and lay there, ominously still. A digital display in the corner of the screen wracked up a hundred points and then there was a shot of the sniper, a teenage girl, jumping up and down and waving her arms in triumph.
Josh glanced around the room. The only person watching was Briony, Carl’s nine year old sister. She was slumped on the sofa, already in her pyjamas, and she was watching the screen intently, sucking her thumb. ‘Hi Briony,’ said Josh, but she completely ignored him and kept her gaze fixed on the screen, as though she’d been hypnotised by what she was watching. There was no sign of Granddad in there, but that was no surprise. He hated TV and rarely watched it.
Josh made his way through to the kitchen, from which issued the greasy smell of cooking. His stomach stirred, remembering that it hadn’t had food since that morning. He was glad to see that Mum was in there; she must have finished work a little earlier today. She was standing at the ancient cooker together with Joyce and Frank Sullivan, Carl and Briony’s parents. Mum and Joyce were trying to put together a meal while Frank was standing there offering unwanted advice. He was a short, ratty-looking fellow with a big sharp nose and very little hair. He worked at a second hand shoe warehouse in the city and seemed to have an opinion on just about every subject under the sun.
‘It’s going to be too dry,’ he was saying, peering down at whatever was in the big saucepan. ‘We’ll never be able to swallow it. It needs something like…’
‘Tomatoes?’ ventured Josh, handing him the box.
‘Perfect! Must have read my mind!’ said Frank gleefully. He opened the box and his good cheer faded as he peered doubtfully at the contents. ‘Well, beggars can’t be choosers,’ he muttered, and he handed the box to his wife, a big, overbearing woman with curly hair and a mole on her chin. It was a mystery to Josh how, in a world where food was so hard to obtain, she still somehow managed to be overweight. She carried the tomatoes to the sink to wash them.
‘Don’t they ever give you any meat in that place?’ she asked as she tipped the tomatoes into a colander and rinsed them under the tap.
Josh shook his head. ‘The bosses get the best stuff,’ he said. ‘We just get what they don’t want.’
‘I’m sure everybody will be perfectly happy to eat them,’ observed Mum dryly. She hadn’t really been getting on with the Sullivans lately, but had to reign in her emotions at times like this in order to keep the peace. Josh went to her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She looked old, he thought, much older than a woman of forty-five years had any right to look. She’d recently cut her lovely auburn hair short and her face was etched deep with the lines of worry. Josh longed to give her a better life; he wanted to take her out of here and put her in a mansion on a hill.
‘How was work?’ he asked her.
‘Fabulous,’ she assured him, in a voice that suggested it had been anything but. She worked on a conveyer belt in a canning factory and nobody was ever going to describe it as a fulfilling career. Years ago, in another life, she had been a University graduate, but the world recession had taken away any chance of her finding the kind of work she was qualified for – marine biology. The closest she got to it these days was putting sardines in tins. But it kept the wolf from the door and these days, that was everybody’s first consideration.
‘Any news?’ he asked her. He asked the same question every night and she knew exactly what he was referring to - news of his dad. But she just shook her head.
‘Nothing,’ she said. She must have known how much he longed for his dad’s return, but it was something they never really discussed in detail. He kept the pain of it on the inside, just as much as she did.
Josh looked at Mum intently. ‘I need to speak to you,’ he said. He glanced towards the Sullivans, knowing that they would be hanging on his every word. Those two had turned being nosey into an art form. ‘In private,’ he added.
She gave him a wary look, then nodded and led him out of the kitchen and through the living room to the landing. There was no heating out there and their breath clouded.
‘What is it?’ she asked him anxiously. He knew she lived in dread of him losing his job, which wouldn’t make what he was about to say any easier.
‘Mum, next Wednesday… it’s the open audition for The Talent.’
She looked at him warily. ‘Oh, that,’ she said flatly.
‘Mum, I want to go in for it. I just need to take one day off work, that’s all.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Josh, you’ll lose a day’s wages; I’m not sure we can afford…’
‘Mum, please! You know I wasn’t old enough to go in for it last year. You always said that when I was sixteen…’
‘Things have changed since then. We still had your dad around; we still had his wage coming in.’
‘Mum. This is my big chance, you’ve got to let me go.’
She sighed. ‘I understand how much this means to you, but… well, I’m not being funny, do you honestly think you stand a chance? There’ll be hundreds of kids going in for it… thousands, probably. Chances are you won’t even get through the first audition.’
Josh frowned. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ he said.
‘It’s not that. Please don’t think that I don’t rate what you do. You’re very good on that guitar and your songs…’ She shook her head. ‘But life isn’t like that, Josh, not for people like us, not here in the north. We don’t win. We just struggle along, the best way we can. That’s our life.’
‘Somebody has to win it,’ insisted Josh, stubbornly. ‘Kendra came from nowhere; she was a nobody just like me. Now look at what she’s got.’
Mum nodded. ‘I understand you wanting something, Josh, that’s only natural. But you can want a thing too much. And when it doesn’t happen, it can drive you crazy. I blame your Granddad for all this. He’s the one who’s filled your head with these wild notions.’ She studied him for a moment, chewing her lip. ‘It would be just the one day?’ she asked him. ‘And your job would still be there the day after?’
‘Sure it would,’ said Josh, though he had no assurances on that matter. ‘Of course, if I get through the first audition, The Talent would be looking after me then, feeding me, putting me up. So you wouldn’t have to worry about me…’
‘Until you were eliminated,’ said Mum. ‘And then you’d have to come back to this.’ She gestured around her at the cold, dark landing, the drab walls badly in need of paint, the wisps of cobwebs hanging from every corner. Then she shook her head, sighed. ‘Yes. Well, all right. If you feel you have to go to the audition, then go. We’ll… manage somehow.’
‘Thanks Mum, you won’t regret this.’
‘God, I hope not.’ Mum turned away. ‘I’d better get back to that dinner before Joyce ruins it,’ she said. ‘She’s been threatening to add a tin of peaches to it.’
‘Yuck! Where’s Granddad?’
Mum glanced back at him scornfully. ‘Where do you think he is? He’s where he always is this time of night, up on the roof waiting to hear you play that bloody guitar.’
Josh grinned. He thought to himself that, if only he could find a few thousand people as keen on his music as Granddad, he couldn’t fail to win this thing. He went up the stairs three steps at a time, and kept climbing until he reached the door that led him out onto the roof and, sure enough, there was Granddad, his skinny old frame wrapped up in layer after layer of clothing - t-shirt, shirt, two sweaters and an old anorak, the fur-lined hood pulled up to frame his long, mournful face, his grey eyes magnified by the thick lenses of his spectacles. He was sitting in his usual spot and he was cradling the ancient guitar like a baby.
Josh grinned at him. Granddad had been a close part of the family since Josh was a toddler. He barely remembered his Gran; she had died relatively young and Granddad had come to live with them - this tall, white-haired, ramrod straight Irishman, a famous musician himself back in the day, but now totally devoted to his grandson and totally determined to pass on his skills. It was he who had given Josh his old guitar on his twelth birthday, he who had taught him how to play it and had encouraged him to write his own songs. And it was Grandad who had suggested, more than a year ago, that Josh might want to go in for The Talent once he was old enough.
‘You have something special, Josh,’ he’d once said, in his broad Mayo accent, ‘Something that marks you out from the common herd. The others I hear on that programme, they’re just going through the motions. Oh, they sing in tune and they make all the right moves, but they don’t really mean it; they don’t feel it like you do. When you perform, Josh, you give something of yourself to the song and that’s a rare thing, a very special thing.’
Grinning, Josh walked across to his granddad and accepted the guitar from him. In that moment he felt strangely like a young knight being handed a sword by his mentor. He realised in that instant how much time and effort the old man had invested in helping him to prepare for this. He wanted more than anything else to win it for Granddad, as a way of thanking him for all his hard work.
‘Mum says it’s OK,’ said Josh. ‘I can do the audition on Wednesday.’
Granddad nodded. ‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘Oh, that’s the best news today! Well then, we’d better waste no more time. Sit yourself down and play me something.’
Josh did as he was told and placed the guitar on his knee. He checked the tuning, but realised that the old man had already done that while he was waiting.
‘What would you like to hear?’ he asked. ‘One of the good old songs?’
Granddad shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Play me the one you’ll do for your audition.’
Josh nodded. It made sense. He took a deep breath and then he began to play.
FOUR
When Josh and Granddad got back downstairs again, everyone else was gathered around the kitchen table and Mum was just preparing to dish up the meal, which had finished up as a kind of brown sludge. Josh was relieved to see that at least it didn’t seem to have any tinned peaches in it.
Carl studied Josh with an insolent grin as he slipped into a vacant seat. ‘Ah, so good of you to join us,’ he said. ‘Been up there frightening the birds again, have you?’
Granddad fixed Carl with a disapproving look. ‘Actually, he’s been up there practising the song he’s going to perform for The Talent. And I tell you what, it’s a corker!’
There was a brief silence while this information settled in. Josh wished his granddad hadn’t said anything about it. There would be enough pressure without everyone knowing what he was up to.
‘You’re doing The Talent?’ gasped Briony. She was a thin, gangly girl with straight blonde hair and a huge nose like her father’s. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘He’s not kidding,’ said Mum, dropping a large dollop of sludge onto Briony’s plate. ‘He’s deadly serious.’
‘What do you call this?’ asked Briony, looking down at her meal in apparent disgust, though really she should have been used to it, since she got pretty much the same thing every night.
‘It’s chicken surprise,’ said Josh. ‘The surprise is…’
‘… there’s no chicken it,’ finished Briony and she rolled her eyes. She’d heard it before.
‘Of course,’ said Frank, sitting back in his chair. ‘It’s not real music any more. What they’re listening to now, it’s just a collection of beeps and whooshes and rinky- dink sounds. Not like when we were kids, now those were real bands. People who could actually play their instruments.’
Carl regarded his father with evident disgust. ‘Yeah, like you’d know,’ he muttered.
‘Oh well, I may not be much to look at now,’ admitted Frank, ‘but I attended quite a few major rock concerts when I was a youngster. Oh yes. Springsteen, U2… I’ve seen ‘em all.’
‘Yeah, you’re cool,’ said Carl. ‘It’s a wonder you aren’t going in for The Talent. Do they have a section for people who talk crap?’
‘Language!’ snapped Joyce, who was standing behind Carl, helping Mum serve up. She leaned forward and administered a hefty slap to the back of Carl’s head. ‘And don’t cheek your father!’
‘Oi, watch the hair!’ snapped Carl. ‘Took me hours to get it like this.’
Josh studied Carl for a moment. As he was obliged to share a room with Carl, he knew the hours of messing about it took to get his hair into the series of outlandish styles he favoured, which were slavishly copied from photographs in a history book he owned.
Mum had finished going around the table and she spooned the last morsel of food into her own bowl before putting the saucepan in the sink to soak.
‘Mum, you’ve hardly got anything,’ observed Josh. ‘Take some more of mine, I’m not all that hungry.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Mum. ‘I’m watching my figure.’
Josh almost laughed at that. He’d never seen her looking so thin. If Dad walked through the door right now, he’d be shocked to see how much weight she’d lost over the past year.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Granddad to the table at large. ‘When Josh wins The Talent, he’ll take us all out for a slap-up meal. We’ll go to one of those fancy restaurants in the Salford Quays and everyone can have whatever they want.’
There was a brief silence while they considered this.
‘Cous cous and Mediterranean vegetables,’ said Joyce longingly.
‘Nah, something more traditional,’ suggested Frank. ‘Chicken tikka masala with nan bread and poppodoms.’
‘Cabbage and bacon,’ said Granddad. ‘And a side order of pigs trotters in jelly.’
Briony looked disgusted by his suggestion. ‘Ewww,’ she said. She thought for a moment. ‘Chocolate gattocks,’ she suggested. ‘With three scoops of ice cream – chocolate, strawberry and vanilla.’
Everyone looked at Carl but he just gave a derisive snort. ‘Stop torturing yourselves,’ he said, moving the brown sludge around with a fork. ‘That’s just pathetic. It’s not going to happen.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said Granddad quietly.
‘Sure I do.’ He pointed across the table at Josh. ‘He’s got less chance of winning The Talent than I’ve got of becoming the next Prime Minister.’
A silence fell over the table. Josh concentrated on eating his food, which tasted of nothing in particular, but at least went some way to fill the empty space deep in his gut.
‘That’s a bit cruel,’ said Joyce. ‘I don’t think there’s any need for that.’
‘Well, he wants to get realistic about it,’ said Carl. ‘If he thinks that caterwauling he does up on the roof is good enough to win a show like that, then…’
‘At least he’s trying!’ snapped Mum and Josh looked at her, surprised and oddly delighted by her reaction. ‘What do you do but sit on those steps all day, making fun of everyone and everything that you set eyes on? At least Josh hasn’t given up. At least he still has a dream.’
Carl sneered at his plate, not really brave enough to meet her gaze. ‘Well bully for Josh,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s hope he’s still feeling so positive once he’s been up to those auditions.’
Mum looked suddenly contrite. ‘I’m… sorry,’ she said. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.’
‘That’s quite all right, dear,’ Joyce told her and she shot an angry glare at Carl. ‘That one would try the patience of a saint.’ She transferred her attention to Josh. ‘Good luck to you, Josh, I hope it all goes well.’
‘Hear, hear!’ added Frank. ‘It takes some guts to get up there and give it a go. We’ll certainly vote for you, if you get that far.’
Josh nodded. He looked around the table, feeling that he ought to say something. ‘It’s just… well, I know it’s not very likely, but… somebody has to win it and.... I saw this interview with Kendra and she was like saying that she went into the competition with no expectations. She’d never really sung before in her life, only to herself… and she was as amazed as anyone when she started to get more votes than other people. She said this great thing. Well, I thought it was great anyway. She said, ‘Never let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. All of us have something inside us that’s just waiting to come out and, unless we give it the chance, then we’ll never know what we could have been.’ And I thought that was cool, you know? I thought that said everything. So, people can think what they like but I don’t want to wake up in ten years time and think, ‘I should have had a go.’ And… I just can’t help feeling that… well, there must be something more than this.’ He gestured around the table at the bowls of half eaten slop. ‘There must be something better.’
There was a long silence after that. Even Carl didn’t seem to have an answer to it. They sat around the table eating their meagre dinner, and they kept eating till every last bit of slop was gone and it was time to do the washing up.
FIVE
‘You want what?’ snarled Tasker. He was sitting at his desk and looking across the top of it at Josh as though he couldn’t believe his own ears.
‘It would only be one day,’ Josh assured him.
‘The Talent? You’re going in for The Talent? You?’
Josh stared at him. ‘But you know I play the guitar and -‘
‘Yeah, I heard about that. But I thought it was just a hobby.’
‘I’ve been planning this for a long time,’ Josh corrected him. ‘I wanted to do it last year but I wasn’t old enough.’
Tasker blew air out of his mouth in a sound of exasperation. He sat there looking at the litter of papers on his desk, as though one of them might have an answer to his current dilemma. ‘So let’s this straight. You’re asking me to give you a day off next Wednesday so you can go to this audition thing?’
‘Yes. That’s exactly it.’
‘Well, I’m not paying you,’ said Tasker flatly. ‘It’s up to you if you want to go chasing off after some hare-brained dream, but I’m not in the business of paying people for work they haven’t done.’
‘I didn’t expect you would,’ said Josh. ‘I just need to know my job’s still here the next day if… if I don’t make it through.’
Tasker’s piggy eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I see. Worried that I might get somebody else in, eh? One of those other kids who’ve been beating down my door, beggin’ me for a chance.’ He considered for a moment. ‘Well, I dare say we could keep the job open for one day. But… what if you do get through, what happens then? I couldn’t keep it open indefinitely.’
‘No, that’s fair enough. But, I was thinking…’
‘Yes?’
‘If I did get through… and say I got into the top twenty acts…’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it could be good for KayCo, couldn’t it?’
There was a long puzzled silence. ‘How do you work that out?’ asked Tasker.
‘Well, you look at Kendra.’
‘The tart that won it last time?’
‘Yes. Once she started winning heats, everyone wanted to know where she’d come from. She told them she was a computer operator for Dex Solutions. Well, as soon as they heard that, they sent cameras there, didn’t they? They interviewed all her old workmates. And the company did really well after that, all these people wanting to do business at the place where Kendra used to work. I’d never heard of them until Kendra won The Talent.’
‘I see…’ Tasker looked interested, all of a sudden. ‘So you’re saying…’
‘I’m saying that if I got through, and they started asking me stuff, naturally I’d do the same thing, wouldn’t I? I’d say I worked at KayCo, the… the best supermarket in the UK.’
‘Hmm.’ For a moment, Tasker looked convinced. ‘Yeah, I can see that might work. I mean, I wouldn’t object to being interviewed. I’ve been told I come across quite well on camera.’ But then he frowned. ‘Not that there’s much chance of that. I mean, are you any good on that guitar?’
‘My Granddad reckons so. And he was a musician all his life.’
‘Your Granddad?’ Tasker shook his head. ‘And what about your songs and that? Are they any use?’
‘I think so.’
‘Sing me a bit,’ suggested Tasker.
‘What?’ Josh stared at him. ‘Sing? Here?’
‘Hey, it’s no use being a prima donna, Sunshine. What will you do when you’ve got to get up in front of Simeon Brand and his crew? It’s no use coming over all shy then; they’ll just show you the door.’
‘Yeah, but… well, I haven’t got my guitar with me.’
‘Sod the bloody guitar! Just give me a few bars of the song you’re going to do for your audition. I’ll soon tell you if you’re any good.’
‘Umm. Well…’ Josh felt ridiculous. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You want the day off, don’t you?’
‘Yeah but…
‘So let’s see if you’re any good. What’s the song called?’
‘Er… City Streets,’ murmured Josh.
‘Dumb title. Right then.’ Tasker turned to leer at an imaginary camera and adopted a really bad American accent.
‘OK, ladies and gentlemen. A big round of applause for Josh Williams and City Streets.’
Josh closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t anticipated anything like this. He felt downright stupid singing to Tasker of all people; he’d probably just take the pee out of him. But… he needed that day off. He cleared his throat and concentrated. He opened his eyes again, because he remembered from some of the auditions he’d seen in the last series that the judges always criticised performers who closed their eyes. ‘You have to look at your audience,’ Simeon Brand had told one boy. ‘If you don’t, they think you’re afraid of them.’ So Josh looked across the desk at Tasker’s fat, blobby face and he began to sing.
‘Walk with me along these city streets
‘See things you thought you’d never live to see,
The Rag Men begging in the summer heat
Their empty fingers reaching out to me.
And in the all night drugstore
Where lives are bought and sold
They count the empty minutes ticking by.
How did it come to this?
How did everything go wrong?
Oh can you tell where and when and why?
Remember when we were children
And we laughed the summer long –
We chased our shadows through the summer heat.
And nobody went hungry
And no-one ever cried
Because we always had enough to eat.
Why can’t we turn the clocks back?
Why can’t we run again?
Relive those precious moments of our youth
Why can’t we put an end
to all our doubt and fear?
When no-one ever feared to tell the truth.
Come walk with me, along these empty streets
Come walk me, along these midnight streets
I need to hear you say that we’ll be free
I need to know that you’ll be there for me.
Come walk with me-
‘Enough!’ said Tasker suddenly and Josh looked up, startled. Despite everything, he’d begun to get lost in the song, and now he was shocked to see that Tasker… his boss, Bill Tasker, the world’s meanest man, actually appeared to have tears in his eyes. He was rummaging among the papers on his desk, as though trying to find something he’d lost.
‘Are you all right?’ Josh asked him.
‘Of course,’ he answered gruffly. ‘Er… yeah… not bad, that song. You know, for a kid and all. I’ve… I’ve heard worse.’
‘So… I can have the day off then?’
Tasker nodded. He had found what he was looking for, a crumpled paper handkerchief. He began to dab at his eyes.
Are you… crying?’ asked Josh.
‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous! No, it’s… conjunctivitis. I suffer from it a lot.’ He sniffed and then glared at Josh. ‘Yeah, well, I must need my head testing, but I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you the day off… with pay.’
‘What?’ Josh could hardly believe his own ears. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. It’s a once in a lifetime, never to be repeated offer. But remember, we have a deal. If by some miracle they let you onto that show, you make damned sure you mention KayCo every time someone sticks a microphone anywhere near you.’
Josh grinned. ‘I will, Mr Tasker.’
‘Right, good.’ Tasker blew his nose loudly. ‘Well, we’ve wasted enough time. Get out there and help Danny to unpack those tins of creamed rice. At the double!’
‘Yes, Mr Tasker.’ Josh headed for the door and let himself out of the office. He made his way through to the cavernous interior of the store and eventually found Danny unpacking the first of a whole heap of cardboard boxes. He looked awful, his face a mass of bruises. He’d run into a gang of kids after Josh had left him the night before. They’d planned to rob him but, when they found he had nothing worth taking, they’d just knocked him around for a while. Josh had told him he shouldn’t even have come in to work after a beating like that, but Danny had explained that that he couldn’t afford not to. Josh promised himself that, next time, he’d walk Danny right back to his apartment building. He stepped in beside him and began to open another box, shaking his head as he did so.
Danny looked at him, puzzled. ‘What’s up with you?’ he asked.
Josh smiled. ‘You’ve heard of miracles, I suppose?’ he asked.
Danny looked at him with that open-mouthed blank look he did so well. ‘You mean like in the bible and all that?’
‘Yeah, that sort of thing.’
Danny nodded. ‘What about ‘em?’
Josh gave his friend a grin. ‘I think I’ve just witnessed one,’ he said.
And he started unpacking the box.
SIX
Josh got there several hours early and already there was a long queue lined up at the entrance of the Videodrome and stretching away along the street. He took his place in line and, every time he glanced back, the queue was longer.
He noticed on the street up ahead that an Army recruitment van was parked alongside the pavement and that several uniformed men were moving up and down the queue, talking to the kids. Josh grimaced. Squaddies, thought Josh bitterly. They never missed an opportunity to talk to large numbers of young people and now that it was legal to enlist at the age of sixteen, without parental permission, they were always eager to sign up as many as they could.
There were also a couple of camera crews: one roving up and down the street, another fixed on a high gantry up by the entrance to The Videodrome, where it could look down on the queue of people.
In front of Josh stood a skinny girl in a green anorak, the hood pulled up above her head. She never turned back to look at him, so he glanced over his shoulder at the boy standing immediately behind him. He was maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. He was wearing odd clothes: a broad-brimmed hat, a black velvet cape thing that came down to his ankles, and white cotton gloves. He also had a fake pencil moustache painted on to his top lip. He smiled at Josh in a friendly way and extended a hand to shake.
‘Andy Bartlet,’ he said. ‘How you doing?’
‘OK,’ said Josh. He was carrying his guitar wrapped in an old black bin bag because he didn’t have a proper case for it. His last bit of money had gone on a spare set of strings, which he had in his back pocket, just in case.
‘No need to ask what you do,’ observed Andy, pointing to the curvy shape wrapped in plastic.
‘No,’ agreed Josh. He studied Andy’s odd clothes for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, admitting defeat. ‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘Ah, well, let me show you.’ Andy reached into a pocket and brought out a red sphere about the size of a pool ball. ‘Watch closely,’ he said. He held it up in plain view and then passed his other white-gloved hand in front of it. Josh never took his eyes off the ball but it appeared to vanish right in front of him. He looked at Andy in amazement.