Read Online Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen by Ella Kingsley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ella Kingsley
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by Color Me Badd.
‘No!’ I howl, furiously tapping the controls. ‘Oh
god
.’
After I’ve tried every single combination of buttons I can think of, it’s still going. I head behind the bar, searching for instructions, anything that’s going to tell me how to kill the bloody thing. I call Simon but his phone’s switched off.
‘Bollocks!’ It’s on its third cycle now – it’s only gone and
jammed
.
As I’m engaging in a last-ditch attempt to find an ‘Off’ button (why don’t more things have ‘Off’ buttons? It’d makethings so much simpler), I feel something cold tap my left foot. And again. My toes start to feel a little wet.
I look up to the ceiling, and a cool drop of water splodges bang in the centre of my forehead. It trickles past my hairline and into my ear.
Great. Now we’ve got a leaky roof.
The bulbs above me splutter and crackle. For a second they cut out completely and I’m left in the dark, alone with Color Me Badd, wanting to sex me up.
As soon as the lights are back, I grab my wallet and rifle through it.
It’s three minutes to six. I fish out Evan’s card.
After two rings, he picks up.
‘Hello, Maddie.’ I can hear he’s unsurprised. ‘You’re just in time.’
‘Good.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Because you’ve got yourself a deal.’
Causing a Commotion
I wake the following morning to the sound of someone hammering on the door. I’m in the middle of a dream where I’m being chased through the swimsuit section at M&S by Evan Bergman. I
know
it’s Evan, even though I can’t see him, but every time I turn round he’s changed into Simon Le Bon.
Now he’s calling my name. Except it sounds more like a woman’s voice …
‘Maddie?’
Bang bang bang
. I open my eyes a crack.
‘Maddie, are you in there?’
Yawning, I surface from the dream and check the time. It’s barely past eight. Throwing off Mum and Dad’s silky zebra print duvet cover (OK, but at least it’s not a water bed), I pad out to the living room and open the door. It’s my parents’ neighbour and good friend Davinia. She’s a professional socialite and gets photographed occasionally for being a friend of some minor royal, but if you ask her what she does for a living, she’ll tell you she’s a jazz singer. Davinia’s been here nearly as long as my parents and is the perfect person to live next door – I can’t imagine who else would put up with all the warbling.
‘Maddie, I’ve been out here for ages!’ she exclaims. ‘What’s going on?’ Even at this hour, Davinia still looks immaculate. Her hair’s wound up in a chic turban and she’s wearing a strident shade of red lipstick that matches her floral Cath Kidston dressing gown. There are little wads of cotton wool between her freshly painted toenails.
I rub my eyes. ‘What do you mean, “What’s going on?”?’
‘I
mean
,’ she says, exasperated, ‘there are people outside with cameras, lots of them. They’re asking for you.’
‘What?’
‘Go and see for yourself. They’ve been here since seven.’ She adjusts the turban with manicured nails. ‘I ignored them at first, but then some man put his thing through the letterbox.’
‘His
thing
?’
‘You know – those big grey cotton buds they use for sound.’
I push past her, fleeing down the stairs in my Fido Dido pyjamas.
‘You could have warned me!’ Davinia sings from behind. ‘I’m not nearly ready for my TV debut! Have you won a competition or something?’
I fling open the door. The first thing I notice is that I’m staring into the eye of a great big camera.
‘What the hell is going on?’ I cry, outraged. ‘Turn that thing off!’
The camera lowers and I see a face I recognise. Alison, the girl from Tooth & Nail reception.
‘What are you doing here?’
She scuffs her biker boots on the ground. ‘Evan told us to get here – he’s late.’ Her voice is still scratchy but it’s definitely better since yesterday.
‘But what
‘No!’ I howl, furiously tapping the controls. ‘Oh
god
.’
After I’ve tried every single combination of buttons I can think of, it’s still going. I head behind the bar, searching for instructions, anything that’s going to tell me how to kill the bloody thing. I call Simon but his phone’s switched off.
‘Bollocks!’ It’s on its third cycle now – it’s only gone and
jammed
.
As I’m engaging in a last-ditch attempt to find an ‘Off’ button (why don’t more things have ‘Off’ buttons? It’d makethings so much simpler), I feel something cold tap my left foot. And again. My toes start to feel a little wet.
I look up to the ceiling, and a cool drop of water splodges bang in the centre of my forehead. It trickles past my hairline and into my ear.
Great. Now we’ve got a leaky roof.
The bulbs above me splutter and crackle. For a second they cut out completely and I’m left in the dark, alone with Color Me Badd, wanting to sex me up.
As soon as the lights are back, I grab my wallet and rifle through it.
It’s three minutes to six. I fish out Evan’s card.
After two rings, he picks up.
‘Hello, Maddie.’ I can hear he’s unsurprised. ‘You’re just in time.’
‘Good.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Because you’ve got yourself a deal.’
Causing a Commotion
I wake the following morning to the sound of someone hammering on the door. I’m in the middle of a dream where I’m being chased through the swimsuit section at M&S by Evan Bergman. I
know
it’s Evan, even though I can’t see him, but every time I turn round he’s changed into Simon Le Bon.
Now he’s calling my name. Except it sounds more like a woman’s voice …
‘Maddie?’
Bang bang bang
. I open my eyes a crack.
‘Maddie, are you in there?’
Yawning, I surface from the dream and check the time. It’s barely past eight. Throwing off Mum and Dad’s silky zebra print duvet cover (OK, but at least it’s not a water bed), I pad out to the living room and open the door. It’s my parents’ neighbour and good friend Davinia. She’s a professional socialite and gets photographed occasionally for being a friend of some minor royal, but if you ask her what she does for a living, she’ll tell you she’s a jazz singer. Davinia’s been here nearly as long as my parents and is the perfect person to live next door – I can’t imagine who else would put up with all the warbling.
‘Maddie, I’ve been out here for ages!’ she exclaims. ‘What’s going on?’ Even at this hour, Davinia still looks immaculate. Her hair’s wound up in a chic turban and she’s wearing a strident shade of red lipstick that matches her floral Cath Kidston dressing gown. There are little wads of cotton wool between her freshly painted toenails.
I rub my eyes. ‘What do you mean, “What’s going on?”?’
‘I
mean
,’ she says, exasperated, ‘there are people outside with cameras, lots of them. They’re asking for you.’
‘What?’
‘Go and see for yourself. They’ve been here since seven.’ She adjusts the turban with manicured nails. ‘I ignored them at first, but then some man put his thing through the letterbox.’
‘His
thing
?’
‘You know – those big grey cotton buds they use for sound.’
I push past her, fleeing down the stairs in my Fido Dido pyjamas.
‘You could have warned me!’ Davinia sings from behind. ‘I’m not nearly ready for my TV debut! Have you won a competition or something?’
I fling open the door. The first thing I notice is that I’m staring into the eye of a great big camera.
‘What the hell is going on?’ I cry, outraged. ‘Turn that thing off!’
The camera lowers and I see a face I recognise. Alison, the girl from Tooth & Nail reception.
‘What are you doing here?’
She scuffs her biker boots on the ground. ‘Evan told us to get here – he’s late.’ Her voice is still scratchy but it’s definitely better since yesterday.
‘But what
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