Read Online You Don't Know Me by Sophia Bennett - Free Book Online

the fact that we entered the competition so late, but gathered votes so fast. Even that, though, is only quite entertaining. In the end they all nod without looking up at us and tell us we can go.
    Part one of the audition: probable fail.
    Next is Bert Blackwell, the musical director. We meet him in a large, airy room containing a grand piano, several instruments stacked neatly against the wall, and another TV guy wandering round with a camera.
    â€˜Hi,’ Bert says, welcoming us in. ‘I’ve seen your video. My job is to find out how much talent you really have lurking there. The video’s part of the story, but we want acts with real potential. Let’s see what you can do.’
    OK. No pressure, then.
    He’s gentle, but very organised, and a brilliant pianist, sitting at an electric piano with a vast array of buttons above the keyboard. We sing ‘I See the Light’ for him, first together, then individually. Then he gets us to sing a range of phrases from different songs. It’s quickly obvious – although it never was to us before – that Jodie has the loudest voice, but can lapse into a bad American accent if she’s not careful. She promises to watch it. Nell is the quietest and needs to project. When she’s by herself, she gets so nervous you can hardly hear her. But if she breathes properly, as Bert suggests, her beautiful tone shines through.
    When it’s my turn to sing, I instantly stop at the sound of my husky voice in the mic.
    â€˜What’s the problem?’ Bert asks.
    â€˜It’s just the gravel,’ I say apologetically.
    Bert frowns at me. ‘Gravel?’
    â€˜My old choir teacher said I sounded like a load of gravel being poured down a hole.’
    He smiles. ‘I see what she meant. But I suppose she didn’t think to mention that can be a good thing? Not for choirs, maybe, but for rock songs. Try this.’
    He plays a few bars of ‘Hey Jude’ by the Beatles.
    â€˜Do you know it?’
    Of course I do. Dad taught it to me in my cot, practically. Plus, Rose and I often sing the Beatles together. In fact she can’t help harmonising with me when I hit the chorus.
    â€˜Not bad,’ Bert says, watching me closely, ‘but you need to be careful of the high notes. You tend to go flat.’
    â€˜I know,’ I admit. I don’t have the natural talent of Rose or Jodie. I love to sing, but there is no way I will ever be Paul McCartney.
    â€˜Loosen up,’ Bert says. ‘Enjoy yourself. Believe it or not, that will help.’ He smiles enigmatically and makes notes on a clipboard.
    â€˜Right, Rose,’ he says eventually. ‘You last. I did some research and I notice from your Interface page that you like jazz. Shall we try some Nina Simone?’
    He starts the introduction of ‘My Baby Just Cares For Me’, which is one of Rose’s favourite songs of all time. All the way through the opening bars she just stares at me. Her eyes say clearly, He did some research on my Interface page? Who is this weirdo? She only has a personal page at all because we did it as an exercise in ICT.
    She looks nervous, but she knows the song so well and Bert plays it so expertly that when the time comes, her voice seems to take off, and there it is again: that warm,jazzy tone we heard at George’s party. To me, it sounds as if she’s got the best voice of all.
    â€˜That was lovely,’ Bert smiles when she’s finished. ‘You have impeccable timing. And a real gift. When you’re in your comfort zone, you definitely stand out.’
    Rose shifts around, super-embarrassed, staring at the floor.
    I give her a squeeze, while Bert makes more notes on his clipboard.
    â€˜That’s it. You can go now. Good luck with the judges.’
    What exactly was he writing on that clipboard? It was a lot.
    â€˜You were amazing,’ I whisper to Rose as we leave.
    She shakes her head. ‘Not