“Let me take you somewhere now. Even if it’s just back to school. You feel comfortable around Mrs Armstrong. She’ll know what to do. I’ll bet she’ll even let you in the music room. There are loads of guitars in there.”
He inhaled a long breath that seemed to go on for minutes while I waited, apprehensively, for his answer. “Sure. I love you, Heli.”
I gave his whole body a quick squeeze…and then smacked his belly. I did that a lot, always hovered my hand in front for a second first in forewarning. “Can you guess what I’m thinking?”
“That I’m a soppy twat?”
I nodded once. “You’re a soppy twat.”
He’d be okay. I’d make sure of it. We’d be together forever, best friends till the end.
I love you, too.
Eight years ago…
Something amazing happened to my best friend up on the stage. The transformation was physical. Unmistakable. For three minutes every Saturday night during his spot on Next Up, his mind offered him respite. From the audience, I watched him cradle the mic in his hands. I saw his entire posture change when the first notes of music filled the air and I smiled when the lyrics of U2’s One left his lips. The studio went almost deadly silent for him, every person enraptured by his voice, his presence.
Until the song faded…and a thousand hands clapped into the air. I stood up and joined them. Clapped. Whistled. So did my mum, who came with me every week to watch and support my friend. Hugo’s own mother, unsurprisingly, couldn’t be bothered, and no one had seen or heard from his father for several years now.
The stage brightened and Hugo walked to the spot in the centre where the acts were required to stand to receive their feedback. I wondered if anyone else, either here in the studio or the millions of viewers watching at home, could see the effort it’d taken Hugo to keep his head high amongst the furore when instinct was telling him to look at the ground. It was something his coach had been getting him to work on. Performing. Faking it. Hugo was a powerful singer, and he could captivate a crowd for hours with a guitar in his hands, but as soon as the music stopped, he looked like a lost toddler in a swarming circus.
“That was...incredible.” Fred Dawes, one of the world’s most prominent record executives, spoke first. He wasn’t Hugo’s coach, but probably the judge whose opinion most people valued. “You know, Hugo, I think you’ve probably grown the most on this show. I remember your first audition and seeing this shy and awkward guy who wouldn’t look me in the eye. You’ve come a long way, and I’ve got a feeling whatever the results say tonight, we haven’t seen the last of you.”
A camera zoomed in on Hugo’s face, projected it onto the giant screen behind him and showed the ghost of a smile that rocked on his lips. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice quiet and wobbly. A remarkable contrast to the power behind it when coupled with a melody.
Again, the audience around me clapped and cheered. The sound was deafening. Thrilling. I’d never felt so proud. They had no idea, none of them. Not even Fred Dawes. Hugo wasn’t merely shy and awkward, but he hadn’t told them that. Hugo wouldn’t tell anyone the truth. I never could quite understand why because I thought every single part of him was brilliant.
“Oh, I absolutely agree,” said Julia Leighton, Hugo’s coach who sat next to Fred in front of the stage. “Hugo, it’s been such a pleasure working with you over these last nine weeks. Your commitment, your passion, it really shows in what you do up there. I can’t think of any praise that I haven’t given you already, and I definitely don’t have any criticism. Instead, I just want to wish you the very best of luck tonight, and tell the viewers at home to pick up the phone and vote for this young man!”
Hugo steepled his hands, smiled gratefully, and repeated the motions while the other two judges gave equally brilliant appraisals. Now his turn was over, I couldn’t wait for the other acts to perform, for the show to finish and the lights to change, so that I could run backstage and find my friend.
A while later, I’d been escorted to a green room where I found Hugo with the other three acts that had made the final. My mum had stayed behind with the rest of the audience after striking up a conversation with a woman in the seat next to hers. Knowing my mother, I imagined I’d be calling the woman Auntie soon enough.
Hugo stood as soon as he saw me, opened his arms for me to run into.