To the Moon and Back

Chapter 50




‘We’ve been trying to think of ways to raise money for St Mark’s Hospice,’ said Yasmin. ‘They looked after my auntie before she died last year. It’s the most amazing place, but they’re desperate for more cash. If they can’t reach their target by Christmas they might have to close.’

Roo said, ‘That’s terrible. Ow.’ Yasmin was good at leg waxes but not that good. It still hurt.

‘Sorry! So anyway, we’ve decided to have a raffle here at the salon. And seeing as you’re one of our celebrity clients, we wondered if you’d donate a prize.’

More pain. Roo flinched. ‘Of course I will, but I’m not a celebrity.’

‘I know, but you used to be. Maybe you could give us a signed photo or something. Or one of your old stage outfits. Anything really.’ Yasmin carried on ripping merrily away at the little hairs on Roo’s legs. ‘It’s just to raise as much money as possible. The last time we held a raffle we raised two hundred and eighty pounds!’

Roo felt bad. She didn’t have any stage outfits she could donate. Nobody would want a signed photograph of her. Wasn’t there any other way she could help? Ow.

‘Who else are you asking?’

‘Gosh, pretty much everyone! We’re offering prizes of sessions here at the salon, obviously. And quite a few of the clients have offered to bring in boxes of chocolates, homemade cakes, that kind of thing. Everyone’s being great,’ said Yasmin. ‘They all want to chip in.’

Which was all very lovely but it wasn’t going to save a hospice on the brink of closure. Roo said, ‘Who are your other celebrity clients?’

‘Well…’ Yasmin pulled a face, ‘we’re not really the kind of salon that gets celebrities.’

Jackie, ever the optimist, said, ‘Gary Barlow walked past our window the other week.’

‘That doesn’t really count though,’ said Yasmin.

‘Ooh, and there was that woman who used to be a weathergirl on TV. Thingywhatsit.’ Jackie made twirly can’t-remember-the-name gestures with her pen. ‘Remember? She got huge. Came in for a body wrap and we ran out of wrap.’

‘Funnily enough,’ Yasmin carried on waxing, ‘she never came back after that.’

Jackie thought for a moment. ‘How about that actress who always used to play mad women? Thelma someone. Knobbly elbows and funny teeth. Oh, I’ve just remembered, she moved to Canada.’

Yasmin rolled her eyes. ‘Is it any wonder our celebrity clients emigrate?’

‘Whoops, sorry! But we’ve still got Ceecee Milton!’

Another blast from the past. Roo had met Ceecee Milton a couple of times, back in the day when they had both been experiencing success. Like herself, Ceecee had briefly risen and enjoyed her moment in the celebrity spotlight before fading back again into sepia-toned obscurity. This had largely been down to the fact that her husband, a sleazy operator who doubled as her manager, had managed to alienate most of the big guns in the business. You couldn’t fault Ceecee’s powerful voice, but when each booking had to be made through someone who created difficulties and complained nonstop about every last detail, it became easier to book someone else for the job. And so another promising career had bitten the dust.

‘Who else is there?’ said Roo.

‘Um, that’s it, really.’ Yasmin looked apologetic.

‘Just me and Ceecee?’ Oh dear. Talk about scraping the bottom of the celebrity barrel. ‘A couple of old has-beens.’

‘She’s really nice, though. She’ll definitely give us something good for the raffle.’

Paranoid, Roo wondered what that meant. Was Yasmin implying that Ceecee was nicer than her?

‘I’ll give you something too. I just don’t know what yet.’ Ow. ‘Is she still married?’

‘Not to that awful one. She dumped him a while back. Got herself a lovely new husband now.’ Yasmin broke into a smile. ‘See? It can happen. There’s hope for us all.’

***

The rain was hammering down as Roo emerged from the tube station. Within seconds her hair was plastered to her head and her T-shirt had turned transparent. People in the street were actually recoiling at the sight of her, which possibly meant she looked a bit deranged, but Roo didn’t care. Her body was exhausted but her heart was singing, her brain fizzy with excitement. It was ten to nine in the morning, she’d had no sleep whatsoever, and this was something she had never experienced before. At least, not without the aid of alcohol or other mind-altering substances.

‘Oh my goodness.’ Yasmin, arriving to open up the salon, discovered her waiting in the doorway. ‘What’s happened? Are you OK?’

‘I’m great.’ Roo wiped her sodden hair away from her face and followed her inside. ‘I’ve been up all night. Writing.’

Yasmin passed her a towel. ‘Here, dry yourself off. I didn’t know you were doing that now. What is it, an autobiography?’

‘Not that kind of writing. I’ve done a song. It’s really good.’ Roo shook her head and tried again. ‘Actually it’s not, it’s better than that. It’s brilliant.’

‘Ooh, how fab! Sing it to me, then!’

At the best of times Roo’s singing voice resembled a cat in a vet’s waiting room. ‘I can’t. I need Ceecee to do it. Can you give me her number?’

Yasmin was clearly puzzled. ‘Ceecee Milton? Why?’

‘Because this is the best song I’ve ever written. I can’t quite believe I’ve done it, but I have. And I want us to put it out as a charity single,’ said Roo. ‘For your hospice. If we do this properly, we can make it happen. In a big way.’

‘Really? Seriously? Oh my God, how?’

‘Scam. Beg. Use every contact we have.’ Roo’s head was positively bursting with possibilities. ‘And get a buzz going.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘Well, I think mainly we want to use a mixture of rumor and gossip and technology.’ Were her eyes shining? Roo thought they probably were. ‘And some truly massive lies.’

***

Ellie had never seen anything like it. Summoned to a townhouse in St John’s Wood, it was eight in the evening by the time she arrived. The huge extension at the back of the house had been turned into a recording studio, there were technical types doing technical things at the mixing desks, and the buzz in the air was tangible. Roo was there at the center of things, running on Diet Coke and adrenaline. Having pulled every string she could conceivably lay her hands on, she had brought together a team of experts to weave their magic. Musicians, music producers, and backing singers were milling around the studio, listening and contributing and contacting others who might be able to help their cause. And there was Yasmin with her baby son on her hip, chatting to statuesque Ceecee Milton, who was black and beautiful and balancing her own baby daughter on hers.

‘Hello!’ Spotting her and beckoning Ellie over, Yasmin said, ‘Can you believe all this is happening? This is Ceecee, by the way.’

‘Hi there.’ Ceecee had a wonderful smile. ‘You must be the one with the invisible baby.’

‘Sorry about that.’ Ellie glanced at Yasmin. ‘The good thing is, the nappies are invisible too.’ She paused to listen as someone flicked a switch and the opening bars of music filled the room. ‘This is just amazing.’

‘Wait till you hear the whole thing.’ The music stopped. ‘Ceecee’s voice is fantastic. I can’t get over how they’ve done it all in one day. And the track itself…’

Someone raised their hand for silence, the music began again, and everyone listened intently. Within thirty seconds Ellie knew just how special it was. Ceecee’s heartbreaking vocals were making the little hairs on her arms stand on end. As the song continued, the backing singers joined in and Ceecee’s own voice began to soar. ‘You’re the light in my life… you’re everything… when it’s dark you’re my light, you’re my world, all I believe in…’

Oh God, there was such emotion in the words, Ellie had to turn away. She was going to cry, how embarrassing. Fumbling in her bag, she surreptitiously pulled out a mini pack of Kleenex. The next moment Yasmin was in need of a tissue as well. Gazing around, Ellie saw they weren’t the only ones. The music, haunting and powerful and emotive, was impossible to resist; it gripped you by the throat and didn’t let go. Grown men were standing there with tears in their eyes. Yasmin’s son Ben, blithely indifferent, wriggled and pulled her hair and kicked one of his booties off. The skinny man with the goatee who had been at the recording desk put his arm around Roo’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze as the song reached its crescendo…

Ellie only knew that such an extreme reaction to a song you were hearing for the first time was a rare thing. When the final notes had died away, there was absolute silence for a couple of seconds. Then Ceecee dabbed her eyes and said huskily, ‘Damn, I’m good,’ and the studio erupted with whoops and cheers and wild applause.

In a daze, Roo said, ‘We’ve done it. Have we? I think we’ve done it.’ She sank down on to a conker-brown leather sofa and buried her face in her hands.

All around her, people continued to celebrate. Within thirty seconds Roo was fast asleep.

By eleven o’clock the video had been completed. It hadn’t taken long at all. Quite simply, someone was dispatched to the local Chinese takeaway for a pile of brown paper bags. A camcorder then recorded the process of the track being laid down while everyone wore bags over their heads with just eye holes cut in them to avert unfortunate accidents. Ceecee and the backing singers wore them too. Every last member of the team would be anonymous.

By midnight the video had been edited together and posted on YouTube. Next, the whispering campaign began. Everyone posted links on websites, Twitter, Myspace and Facebook, dropping hints as to who might be involved: Bono, Jay-Z, Elton John, Beyoncé… Next, they called in favors from journalists, TV people, other music contacts, anyone they could possibly think of. Each person contacted was asked to listen to the song just once, then spread the word that it was a) for charity and b) the track of the year.

By one o’clock the word was already spreading like wildfire, the YouTube clip had been viewed almost half a million times, and speculation as to who could be behind it was rife. Goatee man had to contact Bono, Jay-Z, Elton, and Beyoncé and ask them to remain enigmatic, neither confirming nor denying involvement in order to promote the cause.

Ceecee took her soundly sleeping daughter home at one thirty. Yasmin had left before midnight with Ben. At two o’clock Ellie put a hand on Roo’s shoulder and gently shook her awake.

‘Hey, there’s a taxi outside if you want to come home. Or Denny says you can stay here if you like.’

Roo blinked up at her, momentarily confused. Then she swung her legs off the sofa and hauled herself upright. ‘No, it’s OK, I’ll come back with you.’ She rubbed her eyes and peered at her watch. ‘I’m working in the shop tomorrow morning. Mustn’t be late.’