Page 55 of Worth Every Game
“You two look positively conspiratorial.”
At the sound of Kate’s voice, shock radiates through my body so hard I nearly shoot forward in my chair and hit my head on the table. Somehow, I manage to keep myself in check and calmly turn to find her standing behind me, beaming at the two of us, a glass of wine in hand.Please say she didn’t hear us discussing me dry-humping her brother.
“Your brother laid into Elly about the state of her career,” Marie says quickly. “Banged on her door to tell her she’s wasting her life singing down here.”
Kate sits at the table, a concerned expression on her face. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. That’s very Jack though. He likes to get the best out of everything… always wants to maximize his employees’ potential and their performance.” She sips on her wine, scrunching her face at the taste. The wine here is like battery acid. “It’s actually one of his strengths. He’s an excellent boss.”
Of course he is.The perfect boss, the perfect man.Fuck him. “He’s not my boss.” Even to my ears, I sound remarkably bitter, and Kate’s eyebrows draw together as though she suspects there’s something else going on, but before she can query it Marie downs the rest of her wine and asks, “What’s new with you? Give us some good news.”
Kate glances at me like she wants to check it’s really okay for us to move off this topic so fast. I give a tiny shrug to let her know I don’t care.
“I’ve booked the venue for Nico’s party. It’s going to be amazing. You’re still up for performing, right?” Kate eyes meover the rim of her glass as she takes another sip of her wine, winces, puts the glass down, and pushes it aside.
“Are you sure you want me to?” I ask.
She reaches over and grips my hand. “Stop doubting yourself. I know how good you are. You know it too. It’s time to get you out of here.” She nods around the dingy Marchmont basement. “And onto a bigger stage.”
“I completely agree,” Marie states, as though her proclaiming it is the thing that’s going to make it happen.
Deep inside, a note of sadness rings out, the tone of it settling in my heart. It’s not just Jack who thinks I need to sort out my career. It’s my friends too.
How do they all know that I want fame and fortune? That I want to be discovered? How do they know I’m not happy right here, doing exactly what I’m doing? None of them asked me. Then again, I haven’t exactly been keeping them up to date on my feelings. I still haven’t shared the details of my non-interview with Robert Lloyd. I’m ashamed of myself.
Pathetic.
A lump rises in my throat, and I pull out of Kate’s grip.
She frowns at me. “You okay? I know the party would be different. A big step up. There would be five hundred people there.”
I take a steadying breath.Nico’s party.“Five hundred?” I query.
“Nothing compared to when you’re playing for ninety thousand people at Wembley Stadium,” Marie says, nudging me with her elbow and winking. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a joke or an encouragement, so I ignore it.
“Exactly,” Kate says. “You can definitely do this.”
“Thanks.” I strive to keep my voice calm, but my heart is racing. I want this,I do, but fear is threading its way through my veins. How can I admit to wanting something that feelsimpossible? Every time I try to take a step forward with my career, it bites me in the arse. If I had told Kate what happened at my interview, how I totally lost my nerve and ran away, there’s no way she’d ask me to sing for Nico. “Of course I want to do it. I’m honoured you asked me. Really.”
I can do this.
“Elly.” Marcia’s harsh voice cuts across our conversation, and her index finger slices from me to the stage area.Crap. It’s my set, and I’d been so distracted that I lost track of time.
“Break a leg,” Kate says, toasting me with her glass of cheap white.
Marie slaps me on the bum as I get up and walk away. “Show us what you’re made of,” she says, and winks again.
“Boooo.”
My heart jerks at the sound, fingers stalling on the strings. No one has booed me while I’ve been performing since I started. Back then, I was so nervous I kept halting and forgetting the lyrics. That doesn’t happen now, and you have to have a pretty thick skin to get up on stage every night, even if it is only at the Marchmont Arms. But for some reason, the noise slides right into a weakened crevice, knocking me off.
My fingers stumble, but I resume the chords so fast that maybe no one noticed.
“Get your tits out, love.”
Who is heckling me like that?
I blink into the light that’s shining right in my face. I can only see the people right at the front, and it’s not them. A few people are glancing over their shoulders, trying to work out where the disturbance is coming from.
Marcia, stony-faced, is striding through the bar, heading towards whoever is shouting. They sound drunk.