‘Good idea,’ Fitz says kindly. Rubbing my shoulder in a supportive squeeze before placing both her thumbs beneath my eyes and giving them a quick sweep clean-up. ‘There, that’s better, and…’ She digs in her bag, magicking out a tube of concealer. ‘A little help for under those eyes.’ She waggles the tube in the air. ‘It’s got this amazing hush-hush anti-puff ingredient.’ Fitz examines my eyes. ‘But you’re going to put the stuff absolutely through its paces.’ She tilts her head thoughtfully to one side. ‘If you do social media, this would be a good opportunity to do a before and after shot.’
No way am I going to let any living creature get a peek at my ‘before’. I take the tube, twist the silver lid, and pull out the gloop-coated wand. I’m not sure the secret ingredient is going to be able to cope with this much mess, but anything’s worth a try. ‘What did Jackson Black say?’ I ask, delicately painting the creased, red folds under both eyes.
Fitz raps her nails against the porcelain of the sink. ‘You don’t want to know.’
I glance at her.
‘Okay, a lot about professionalism. A whole heap about talent not being what it used to be and something mildly complimentary about your blue dress.’ She shrugs.
‘Two out of three’s not bad.’
She grins. ‘I like your style.’
I hand her back the concealer, feeling a lot more human.
‘I’ll come out with you,’ she says, tucking the make-up into her bag. ‘I can distract the dragon while you go down in the lift.’
I lean forward and give her a big hug. ‘Thanks, Fitz.’
‘Hey.’ she laughs. ‘That was nothing. It’s what friends are for.’
And I can’t help but smile. This woman is an absolute sweetheart.
As I descend in the golden lift, I realise I don’t ever want to be in a studio again. I wish I could have cleared Marco’s name. Cleared it totally, but maybe that CCTV footage will turn up. If it does, it will be obvious to everyone that it was me who went into the studio. That he wasn’t there and I went in of my own free will. I kind of wish Marco would turn up, too. I realise with an odd sinking sensation in my chest that despite the humiliation, the sheer terror I felt when standing there taking the mic and warbling with an uncontrolled fear in a high-tech sound studio in front of music legend Jackson Black, the thing I found most disappointing was that Marco wasn’t there. I miss him. Miss the excitement I feel when he walks into a room, as if every moment of life has more energy. Shines brighter. When the lift doors slide back, I’m half expecting to see Stan with that large, sloppy grin over his face. I’m half dreading it too. I’m going to have to tell him I just made a total and utter fool of myself. I wonder if we still have that old goblin mask under the desk. I would put the damn thing on so I could escape unnoticed out of the building, but the foyer seems eerily quiet. There’s no one. It’s as if some kind of movie disaster has happened. One that removes everybody from the planet apart from one person. Me. I can actually hear the low hum of electricity pulsing through the marble hallway.
‘Stan?’ I call out, hesitantly moving out of the lift and into the foyer. The cool air-conditioned air makes my skin prickle. I glance towards the desk, my old desk, wondering if he’s hiding there, waiting to jump out and growl at me. But no… there’s no one.
I look at the bank of phones. They’re completely silent. Not one light flashing, demanding to be re-routed. Did I miss the memo that said ‘Evaporation Day on Thursday’? I walk through the hall; my shoes, the comfortable but pretty ones with the red straps and the hint of toe cleave, echo as I step slowly across the space.
A large, uncontrolled part of me wants to run. Kick off my shoes and sprint hell for leather towards the door and out of this place. Towards the garden outside and its bubbling brook, talk grasses, flowers and shade, dappling trees – with its carefully curated normality. But I just walk. Confused.
I push the door open and step out, following the path slowly as it curves me out from the marble magnificence of the foyer into the landscaped steel and glass exterior of the Towers. Then it hits me. The garden. That’s where everyone is. Stan and Evelyn are smiling, grinning ear to ear, beckoning me towards them. But it’s not just Stan and Evelyn. No, it’s so much more. It’s my entire choir.
‘Hey, songbird,’ Stan calls, extending his arm for me to take.
‘We thought you might get nervous,’ Evelyn explains.
‘We all wanted to be here for you.’ One of the other choir members squeezes my arm.
I feel overwhelmed. These people are so sweet. They actually care.
‘Come on,’ Evelyn says gently. ‘You know what the best thing to do is when you’ve had a shock?’
‘No,’ I say, wiping away a tear.
‘Get back on that horse.’ Evelyn laughs, turning back towards the choir. ‘Ladies, are we ready?’
‘Yes!’ they all cheer.
‘Terry, Jeff?’ Evelyn glances over towards a raised dais. It’s all set up for recording. Jeff rushes over and clips a small mic to the fold of my wrap dress. You would barely know the thing is there.
‘You got this,’ he says, shooting me a wink.
‘No pressure,’ Evelyn says, taking up position in front of the smiling choir, ‘but if you feel like going for the solo, Clara, just nod, and we’ll all back out.’
There’s a supportive murmur from the crowd.
Jeff hits the intro, and I open my mouth and sing.
