Sketch

106 - Emmy

The first audition goes as well as we could have expected and it's literally only two hours later that we're standing in front of the second judges panel of the day.

They're just as scary as the first lot and I let Sam do the talking.  I stand still, my lips shut tight so I'm not tempted to say something stupid.  I really want to ask the lady bringing in drinks where she got her shirt from but I know this isn't the time or the place.  Instead, I focus on running through the performance in my head and double checking I know where to come in.  This song starts with a drum solo and I think I'm hearing it in my head at first.  It's only when I spot Vince actually playing the drums that I realise our audition has started. 

I swallow quickly, counting myself in.  Then, with one last look at Sam as his fingers slide over the strings of his guitar, I breath.

"This is our time, no time, to linger on the past.  It's a new day, my way, no more bad habits."

"This is our life, one life, to get what we want.  No more waiting, anticipating, we'll give it our all."

Sam's voice melts the last of my nerves.  We sing the chorus in unison and it gives me a fresh wave of confidence.  Sam lifts me, showing me things are possible even though sometimes it seems like the world's against us.

I sing with a purpose and I hope the three judges in front of us can see and hear how much I want this.  Our lives hang in the balance.  One slip and we're falling, maybe even having to take a different ladder back to the top.  But I don't want to think about that, so I sing like I still have a chance, and we do. 

Tanya treats us to a greasy burger and chips afterwards.  We eat in near silence.  It's not tense, but we all know that we're all thinking things along the same lines.  Have we done enough?

We won't find out how we did until at least the end of the week, but Tanya's given us something else to focus on.  Thanks to Tanya's infinite list of contacts, we've been invited to play at a charity gig on the weekend.  It's not a small affair, either.  I've been assured that celebrities will be attending; whether they're A-list or Z-list, we'll have to see.

The thought of a gig is enough to start motivating us again and we make it our first task to draw up a possible set-list.  That done, we rehearse like crazy.  The only time it feels like I'm not singing is at meal times.  I even catch myself humming as I help the guys pack up the flat.  I don't have much here apart from the few suitcases I'd brought with me.  I've added a few things to my wardrobe but nothing major.  Sam, however, is only partly though his room and he's already accumulated seven boxes.

It feels sad to be leaving here.  After all, this is where everything started.  I met Sam here and now he's my boyfriend.  I have three new amazing friends in Ollie, Vince and Tandy, and I've reconnected with Alex.  This flat holds a lot of memories and even though some are bad, like finding out about being dropped from our record label, I still love it here.  Tanya's assured us that she's found somewhere decent for us to live but I can't help thinking that it won't be able to match up to this place.

Sam and I are mid-way through trying to sort the massive pile of clothes on his bed when I pull out a football top.

"Spurs, eh?"

Sam looks up from the jeans in his hands to smile.  "Dad's team."

I give him an understanding nod.  "I think I had the full Liverpool kit at some point.  Home and away," I add.

"Too cool."  Sam tries to look impressed but it just comes across as massively sarcastic.

"You're just jealous."

"So jealous it hurts."  Sam drops the jeans he's holding into a box at his feet.  They land crumpled and I lean down to fold them up.

I roll my eyes at him.  "You're supposed to be packing properly.  If you screw it all up it'll crease."

"I'm not scared."  He laughs, tensing his arms to show off his muscles.  Or lack thereof.  "I can pull off the creased look."

"Sure you can," I say.  "I'm not sure Tanya will want you wearing wrinkled clothes on stage at the gig though.  She'll give you one of her serious looks." I try to re-create said look and Sam mock flinches.

"Who said I'm wearing those, anyway?"

I shrug.  "Just put it away properly, yeah?"

Sam makes an exaggerated effort to fold the t-shirt he's just picked up before placing it into the box.

I throw a pair of socks at him and he laughs.

"What are you wearing to the gig?"

"Clothes," I reply.

Sam widens his eyes.  "Really? Me too!"

I wind up attractively snort-laughing at his show of being excited.

"We can both wear shoes too.  Now that would be awesome!"

I shake my head at him just as he bundles me into a hug, pushing me onto the bed and in amongst the pile of clothes.  I'm laughing so hard it takes me a good ten seconds to realise that a pair of Sam's boxers are on my face, which only sends me laughing harder.

Sam throws them to the floor and kisses my forehead.  "I love it when you laugh."

I manage to simmer down enough to reply.  "I love when you make me laugh."

It's true.  Earlier I'd been sad about leaving, but typical Sam has brightened my mood.  Even though we're packing and the theme of moving is still present, he's made me realise that as long as I'm moving to the same place as him everything will be okay. 

He'd rolled off of me to allow me to contain my laughter but now I pull him close again, nuzzling into his neck.  His hair's getting long, curling up around the back of his ears, and I run my fingers through it gently.  I hear him sigh into my shoulder.  We lie still for a moment until Sam moves to get up.  I reach for his hand and he smiles down at me, grabbing a hold of my fingers before pulling away slowly.

"Music will help us pack faster," he decides.  "Then we can rehearse again," he adds brightly.

I nod, getting up from the mass of clothes just as his stereo flickers to life.  A moment of static and then music in my ears.  Sadly, I preferred the static.

"Oh bog off," Sam says, switching stations almost violently fast.  "I don't know why they play shit on the radio."

The room's filled with a different song and we both seem to welcome it.  I hum along and Sam moves back to the bed.  We pack clothes until the song's finished and then I sit down, pulling a shirt of Sam's into my lap.  I fold it slowly.

"They'll be playing our songs instead of hers soon, you wait."

Sam's shoulders seem to relax from their tensed and squared position.  His gaze is soft as he smiles at me.  "I hope so."

"You'll see," I assure him. 

Even if I'm only holding on to hope like him, I don't let him see it.