Page 10 of Going Solo

“Sorry, girls!”

“You’re right, babes,” Gemma called back.

As I shut the door, my phone pinged again.

Cole:Didyou just call me “babes”?

Uh-oh, had I screwed this up already? I sank back into the reception chair and crafted a cautious reply.

Toby:I’m from Essex, everyone calls everyone babes.Soz do u not like it?

Cole:No, it’s cool. I liked it ;) Don’t think anyone has ever called me babes before.

Toby:Tell me ur not from Essex without telling me ur not from Essex!

Cole:Guilty as charged.

Cole said he needed my help deciding between two songs for our first London TV audition. One was by Patti Smith, who I’d sort of heard of but never listened to, and another by a band called Nirvana, who I’d heard of but only because you see the word written across T-shirts worn by the kind of guys who look and smell like a debilitating water allergy has devastated their personal hygiene routine.

Toby:Let me bring them up on Spotify. BRB.

“I’m changing up the music for a minute,” I called across the salon. No one replied. Patti Smith’s “Because the Night” filled the air.

“What’s this shit, bubby?” Mum said, after a minute. “Are you trying to put me out of business?”

I explained what I was doing and—when Mum had finally finished telling the entire salon how lovely Cole was—took a straw poll of the room. Patti Smith was a unanimous no. I lined up Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” This time, the salon went wild.

“Tune!” Gemma shouted. Mum and Aunty Cheryl were singing along. Mum danced around the salon with scissors in her hand. She was an occupational health and safety nightmare, but if you tried telling her she was an accident waiting to happen, she’d stab you with them on purpose instead. I thought the Nirvana singer sounded like his voice was battling its way through a throat full of barnacles, but everyone else seemed to love it.

Toby:Totes scientific poll of salon says 2 go w Nirvana babes. I think it’s a winner.

Cole:Really?

Toby:Defs. 1. U get to play ur guitar n impress the hell out of everyone. 2. It fits ur rock vibe. The audience will go mad. 3. It’ll stand out from all the poxy ballads. 4. Ur guaranteed pts from Johnswagger, who’ll b as rigid as the Southend Pier.

Toby:And so will most of the audience, tbf.

Toby:Including me babes.

My fingers had typed and sent the final message before my brain gave consent. I had no idea how to flirt. The adrenaline dam in my body burst like it had been bombed by the Luftwaffe. What had I been thinking? My phone pinged immediately. I nearly jumped out of my skin. No words, just a devil emoji. Internally, I was screaming. My phone went off twice more.

Cole:Dad’s getting the cows in. G2G get the dairy ready.

Cole:x

I stared at that littlexfor the rest of the afternoon, willing it to jump out of the screen and stick its tongue down my throat. What did it mean? Whatever it was, there was only one correct response.

Toby:x.

* * *

That evening, my phone pinged again.

Cole:I never asked what you’re planning to sing. That was rude.

It was half past ten and I was lying on my bed in my jimmy jams, next to Gaston, watchingMadonna: Truth or Dareand working my way through a packet of Wotsits with the diligence of a convert to the Church of Our Lady of Coronary Heart Disease.

Toby:Surefire banger!!! Robyn’s Dancing on My Own.

---