The whole studio – from Eric and me to the audience and Mimi on the sidelines – had erupted in laughter. The video was everywhere for weeks. And I got my first number one album and single just days later.
Today’s conversation lasts another five or so minutes in my head but might be longer or shorter because I have absolutely no concept of time in high-stress situations. And then I’m stood up on the side stage, guitar in hand, performingKind Regards. I don’t push my voice, I change notes to sit comfortably in the middle of my range, and I somehow make it through the performance with only one crack. I hope no one noticed.
No tears tonight but my heart is rattling around my chest at a thousand miles a minute, filling me with nausea. I pace around my dressing room while Mimi, Jess and Mauve go downstairs to the cars.
I gather up my things into my bag before sliding down and sitting on the floor against the sofa with my legs stretched out in front of me. I stare into the empty space for a few seconds, savouring these few moments alone.
A light tapping on the door.
‘It’s time to go, Sienna. Kareem says the car is ready,’ Dennis tells me. ‘Have you seen your phone?’
I shake my head.
‘Benji has put out a statement saying he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, but he and Caro haven’t been together for a while, and that they’re getting a divorce. Told everyone the way you’ve been treated the last twenty-four hours has been abhorrent and disgusting. Makes for a nice read, you should read it.’
‘So, he should,’ I reply, getting up and pulling the bag onto my shoulder.
Dennis takes the bag from me. ‘Took him long enough,’ he grumbles.
I unlock my phone and post a picture from tonight’sEric Lancaster’s Laughs. The negative comments trickle in, accusing me of hiding what I’m really like, of acting sweet on national tele when I’m clearly a ‘selfish bitch’. There are a few positive comments though, a few people saying they knew I would never ‘do something like that’.
The tide is levelling.
For now.
CHAPTER 3
ME, REALLY?
TRACK 13 | INFINITE GHOST
A song I wrote after someone I’d only spoken to a few times told me they were in love with me. Mauve told me that’s what made me destined to be a popstar, that people could fall in love with my ‘aura’, she called it. I was confused. Obviously, I realise now it was probably lust, or maybe a joke. I’m not someone that people fall in love with, clearly. It’s not like anyone actually wants to be with me.
I stareat the ceiling in my bedroom, counting the paint strokes on the ceiling and praying that when I unlock my phone, everything has righted itself overnight. I groan, a weight on my chest when I try to sit up against the resistance. My head is pounding, my mouth dry. I need a huge glass of water with crushed ice, and two paracetamols.
And someone else to get them for me.
I catch sight of myself in the mirrored dressing room door and immediately curse myself for getting one. Again. As I do every morning when I wake up. After this tour is finished, I’llhave to get someone to come and build me a new door whichdoesn’treflect all my mistakes every time I open my eyes.
It’s funny really that, despite my reputation, I haven’t slept with anyone since last year. It’s been a while since someone other than me or my team was in this house. All this ridicule for some stupid kisses.
I had a weird experience last year with Harley Joseph from Purely Spring, the boyband everyone was obsessed with back in 2015. And my memory from that night is hazy at best but no matter how hard I try, I can never forget the way his head curled towards the mirrored door as he pounded into my body with all the force and speed he could muster. Watching the way his biceps flexed while we were in missionary, the way his hips moved as he thrusted. It told me that maybe I should stop sleeping with people I met at parties when my beer goggles are on, that maybe I should meet someone who will care about what I enjoy as well as what they want. But I don’t see the point in meeting someone when I’m hardly ever around.
Harley had removed himself from me and, for just a second, I’d felt guilty for not realising he’d finished. But he didn’t clean himself up. He walked through my house until I heard him clattering about in the kitchen. He came back with the kettle, lid open. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ He still had the condom on.
I had to buy a new kettle – I could never look at it the same.
The news agenda seems to have moved on from me and Benji without a trace, but only because they have new photos of me kissing a Chelsea footballer at a party last night. Jonny and I have history in the sense that we slept together once about seven years ago, and since then we’ve had a series of kisses in clubs and bars. Most of them haven’t made public knowledge, but I’m under a microscope since Benji. There are more important things happening in theworld but society’s demand for celebrity gossip is completely insatiable.
I close the apps and get myself dressed, opening all my windows as the late morning sun starts to heat my house. I take up camp on the sofa in the front living room with my songwriting notebook open in front of me. The chorus of a song for an idea about someone who can never do anything right, no matter how hard she tries. I think I’ll call itDark Daylight.
I cross my legs on the sofa with a cup of tea in one hand, fingernails drilling against the side of the pale pink Le Creuset mug, finding the rhythm I’m looking for.
A key in the lock and Jess appears in the doorway within seconds. I continue drilling the rhythm against my leg with my pen.
‘Hi!’ I stand up, keep my voice light, but I can’t look in her eyes. I know why she’s here. I know what she’s seen online.
She wraps me in her arms, but my brain doesn’t react quickly enough so my own hang limply at my sides. Jess takes the pen out of my hands, and I hadn’t realised I’d started to click it, another way of trying to find the melody which is desperately trying to burst out of my head.
