‘Oh, Fitz.’ Betsy laughs. It’s not a nice laugh. It’s over-syrupy and yet as hard as ice. ‘I haven’t let them go.’ There’s a slight pause, one I bet Betsy is itching to interject a ‘not yet’ into. ‘I’ve just given them the afternoon off.’
‘But…’ Fitz looks like she’s going to scream.
But sadly, the more emotional Fitz looks, the calmer Betsy seems to become.
‘Clara suffers from nerves,’ Fitz says, waving one long arm out towards me.
I clear my throat, feeling like a piece of extra baggage. ‘I was hoping it would be Terry and Jeff in the studio. It would be less daunting.’
Betsy’s eyes narrow. ‘So, if you were playing at the O2 or Hyde Park, or the Albert Hall, you’d want them there for that?’
I feel my shoulders drawing tighter and tighter. All the work I’d been doing on my breathing, on keeping calm, it’s all wasted.
‘Is there a problem?’ I turn to see Jackson Black standing in the studio doorway.
‘No,’ I say, taking in a deep breath.
‘Good.’ He nods slowly and raps his fingers against the doorframe. ‘Because time is money.’
‘Ain’t that right,’ Betsy says.
I feel Fitz’s hand on my arm. ‘Are you okay, Clara? We could do it another time?’
Betsy throws her hands up to her head. It’s total melodrama, but scary with it. ‘Another time? I thought we were here to clear Margo Delagado’s name!’
Suddenly I realise that, actually, a lot of the Delagado branding has gone from the studio. The logo on the desk has been picked off. The corporate stationery seems to have disappeared. It hasn’t taken long for Betsy to attempt a full take over.
‘It’s not a problem,’ I say, projecting a coolness I am absolutely not feeling. Shall we start?’ I walk into the recording studio.
Jackson Black nods. ‘No time like the present.’
I shuffle in my shoes, stand in front of the mic, fill my lungs, and my world cracks in half.
I run straight from the studio to the washroom. I think I mumbled something before I sprinted, or maybe I mumbled it as my shoes were streaking across the carpet. But if I did, I can’t remember what it might have been. As I sit on the closed lid of the toilet, tears streaming down my face, my breathing is so erratic I can barely hold enough air in my lungs to support the most basic functioning of a human body, let alone allow it to sing. I am a fool, a first-class fool.
‘Hey.’ There’s a gentle rap on the door. ‘It’s Fitz. You okay in there?’
‘I’m so sorry. I let you down,’ I gasp. ‘I let everyone down. But I promise that voice, the missing…’ I can barely say the words. I detest that whole label so much. ‘That missing songbird. It is me. Just like I said.’ Sheepishly, I open the door. Fitz is standing there, a pained smile on her face.
‘You were pretty shit just now.’
I sob. ‘Sorry, I…’
‘Hey.’ She shrugs. ‘Actually, you were so shit that I totally believe you. I believe you about creeping into the studio. I absolutely one hundred per cent believe you about the singing solo bit.’ She sighs. ‘I wish we had those damn CCTV recordings. Betsy’s so smug, I seriously want to bite her nose off.’
I can’t help it, I laugh. ‘Her nose?’
‘Yeah. I know it’s odd, but it would totally blindside the woman, so it would be so worth it.’ Fitz runs her eyes appraisingly over my face and scowls. ‘You look like you’ve had a fight with a hedge and the hedge came off best.’ She leans forward and picks a thick false eyelash from my cheek and holds it between her index finger and thumb as if it’s some weird new creature. ‘I think these are supposed to go on your eyelids?’
Leaning back into the stall, I grab the end of a roll of toilet paper and pull myself off a wodge, dabbing the paper under my eyes as I flush away the offending eyelash creature. ‘What will happen to Marco? To the business. Did you see she’s taken down all the logos?’ I say, finally feeling brave enough to step out of the stall.
Fitz moves back, leaning against the sinks. ‘That woman has seriously got some nerve. But don’t worry too much, I’ll get some damage limitation in place.’
‘After you bite off her nose?’
She smirks. ‘Don’t tell anyone I told you that. Are you going to be okay to get home?’
‘Yeah, I’ll call my brother.’ But the thought of seeing Minty when I’m in this state suddenly worries me. He’ll just get totally overprotective. I don’t think I can cope with all the male posturing. ‘Or maybe,’ I say, ‘maybe I’ll just get a taxi.’
