Penultimate chapter

A rap at the door interrupted the surge of hugs and whoops.

The radiant young mom-to-be momentarily forgot where she was, and presumed their interloper had come to complain about the commotion and monkey noises.  But it was one of the black-and-handset-clad backstage posse who dipped her head around the door.

‘You’re back on air in ten, guys,’ she yapped, ‘can you start making your way to the studio for the results show, please?’

Before the ‘guys’ had  time to say yes, the girl was off again, to rouse Easy Tiger out of their dressing room lair.

‘Oh shit,’ Faith gasped, ‘the result!  What we gunna do if we win?’

‘We compete in the grand final next week,’ Justine answered matter-of-factly.  ‘We have a bloody good time.  And then, unfortunately, we split up – but we look back at this as one of the fabulous memories from our fun career together.  No law says we will get a record deal at the end of this.  And no law says we must accept it if we do.  This ain’t Pop Idol.  We don’t get mega prizes at the end of it, or contracts we must honour.  Bands disband all the time – such is the rollercoaster that is the entertainment industry!  That doesn’t mean we can’t congratulate ourselves on doing bloody well to get here tonight!’

In Studio One for Talent Scout: The Result, the tension was practically visible, tangible audible, edible and smellable.  The ten young people who comprised tonight’s five acts were lined up before an audience so silent that a stray cough or the wailed pitch of a hearing aid would have been heard on the telly.  The camera honed in heartlessly on the contestants’ bowed eyes and bitten lips.

Todd, meanwhile, was in Mr Cheesy mode again.

‘You talent scouts out there have been voting in your thousands – and for that, on behalf of all our singers tonight, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  And now here are the top three in reverse order…’

The girls knew there’d be impatient viewers screaming ‘Get on with it,’ as they had in their own homes on many an occasion.

He always announced the top three scores – as though not to embarrass the poor sods who came fourth and fifth by blaring to the world how lowly a percentage of the vote they’d garnered.

‘In third place – with fourteen per cent of the vote – ’ dramatic hush – ‘Eaaaasy Tiiiiger!’

The boyish rockers thumped the air, jubilant with their score as the opposition tonight had been pretty formidable.  Especially those All the Rage birds.

Chantal, Faith and Justine’s hands were connected in circulation-staunching squeezes.  Their unblinking eyes were riveted ahead, not at each other, but the sisterly support was all in the shared pulse that charged through their linked bodies.

Without being cocky – merely judging by the panel’s reaction which, justly or otherwise, tended to influence the viewers’ choice – they knew they were either going to be winners or runners-up.

‘In second place – with twenty-five per cent of the vote – ’ this pause, the girls swore, was an hour long – ‘All the Raaaaage!’

Slimy Brett looked ready to chuck his trilby out of the playpen.

Sensitive Helena looked ready to blart.  Again.

All the Rage boinged around, Greek dancing like they’d won.  Folks who thought they should have done would never know how heart-lighteningly relieved those girls were.  At least they were free from the obligation to return here next week for the final.  They were free to do what they wanted.

‘And the clear winner – with a whopping 53% of the vote, and the last place in next week’s grand final – is Alexxxxx Tomlinsooooooon!’

Alex’s family hysterics, and those of every pubescent girl in the auditorium, were virtually audible in Oldham, his home town.  Obviously Chantal’s prediction about little girls begging Mommy to borrow the phone had proved spot on.

There was an after-show party for acts, partners, parents and entourages, where more champagne flowed, save for in the direction of Faith, who was of course on the wagon for the next six months.

Naturally, the bubbly scored a direct hit on Chantal’s bladder. 

‘You be careful out there,’ Kris joked as she excused herself.  ‘Don’t forget it was your rainy slash dash that returned you to my lustful arms in Sandown!’

En route back from the plush studio loos, Chantal did happen upon something interesting.  Tabloid-worthy interesting, in fact, had she been driven by such mercenary concerns.

A cloistered alcove held Rory Powers and Alex, the Justine Timber-like, looking flushed and whispery, exchanging phone numbers – and the patent intention to exchange far more. 

Neither of them saw Chantal sidle by.  She decided now might not be a tactful moment to request the autograph craved by Charlotte.  It made her smirk, though, that the revelation she’d just stumbled upon would not only massively piss off her ex-workmate but expose her kiss-and-tell for the bullshit it was.

Chantal could now picture ‘My night of gay passion with soap studmuffin, by talent show winner’-style headlines emblazoning future News of the Worlds.

Justine was going to be miffed, though, since she too had a longstanding pash on Rory.

‘Hey, you’ll never guess – ’ Chantal began, as she returned to her friends’ company, and Kris’s encircling arms.  But a confab was already in irrepressible progress, and her exposé was drowned out by an efflux of baby talk.

‘It must have happened up in Scotland,’ Faith was estimating.  ‘What with the flurry of planning an impromptu wedding, and all that, I went a bit scatty and forgot to take me Pills!’  She rolled her lovely eyes at her own carelessness – while smiling with complete joy at its consequence.

‘So my little niece or nephew’ll be a honeymoon baby, won’t you, mate?’ Justine cooed, patting her sister-in-law’s very slightly distended belly.  ‘It’ll make a change having someone in the family who’s actually smaller than me!’

‘I was dead anxious when you went all peaky this afternoon, Faith,’ Chantal joined in, abandoning her ‘Guess who I’ve just seen snogging’ thread, ‘and when you never had any champagne.  I thought it was unlike you to turn your nose up at a free booze trolley.’

‘I know!  I bet you think it unlike me to be getting maternal at all, eh?’

Justine and Chantal both nodded, to admit as much.  Their babe friend had such a beatific bloom about her, that Chantal and Justine were almost jealous.  Only almost.  They weren’t quite at the clucky stage yet – even Chantal, who was well in the throes of marriage plans.  They had careers to orchestrate; audiences to wow; a showbiz world to set on fire.

‘You know, I remember having this conversation with you, Mom, about two years ago, where I said: “I’m never having babbies – they make you fat!”’

‘I remember that an’ all,’ Pam chuckled, ‘you was in one of your moods, cuz you’d put on half an ounce, or summat, and was a-mytherin’ in the mirror at your imaginary gut!’

Faith burrowed her face in Joe’s shoulder at what a shallow little madam she’d been.  ‘All I cared about was never wanting to gain weight.  But now – ’  She rubbed her little bulge, and the pride and love in her face spoke volumes.  ‘I certainly didn’t ever envisage settling down so young – if at all, to be honest – but when you meet the right man,’ she clasped Joe, adoringly, ‘it changes everything.’

Then she crinkled into giggles at that last comment.  Faith had changed a lot, but wasn’t above a laugh at her own Hallmark-card corniness.

‘So this is the end of All the Rage then?’ Chantal lamented, after a few musing sips.

‘Yes, but it’s also the first day of the rest of our lives.’  Justine was ever the optimistic.  ‘Faith’s starting a family with my lovely brother, you’re heading off into the Far Eastern sun with your man; and I’m going to play Geri Halliwell every night of the week.  Hope she comes to see me!  We’ve had a wonderful time along the way, met wonderful friends, and if these new endeavours don’t work out, we can always reform in ten years time for an All the Rage reunion tour.’

‘I’ll start designing some commemorative T-shirts,’ Faith volunteered.

‘Yeah – put that Marketing degree to some use!’

‘Seriously, though,’ Faith went on, ‘it’s been a fun journey for us all, hasn’t it?  Had we three not met, given each other such confidence and backing, we’d never have had the pluck to go off and launch into these different directions.  You would still be a picked-on secretary, Justine still a barmaid and I’d be re-sitting my finals for the zillionth time.’

‘I think this calls for a group hug,’ decreed Chantal. 

So they bunched into their signature huddle for the last time as All the Rage, but nowhere near the last time as the kindred sisters they would be forever.

As they eased apart, sniffing back tears, Justine spied Alex returning, surreptitiously patting the pocket containing his mobile.  The owner of the newest number in its memory was tagging along at a circumspect distance.

‘Eh up, there goes Rory,’ Justine leched.  ‘What d’you reckon, girls – should I make me play now?  I’m the sole remaining singleton after all, and a star boyfriend would go very well with the Spice image!’

‘Justine, love,’ Chantal pulled a face, ‘you’ll remain single a lot longer if you try barking up that tree!’