Page 3 of Going Solo

“How do you know that?”

“Didn’t you watch season four?”

Cole and Orla looked at each other meaningfully.

“Oh my God, do you not know what happened in season four?”

Cole shook his head.

“You’ve never heard of Jamie Struff?”

He shook his head again. How did Cole not know this? This wasMake Me a Pop Starfolklore. This was British cultural history—like Shakespeare’s plays, the Beatles’ music, and that bit inLove Actuallywhere Alan Rickman gives Emma Thompson a CD for Christmas.

“At the Manchester auditions, Jamie Struff starts singing ‘Hallelujah.’ Felicity Quant raises her hand, and the music stops. Jamie’s thrown completely. He looks shattered. Felicity says, ‘Save it for your nan’s funeral, mate. What else have you got?’”

“She did not!” Orla said.

“One hundred per cent. In short, you need to pick another song.”

Cole looked crestfallen.

Mum rallied. “Well, if anyone can help you pick the right song, it’s my Toby. Tell you what, why don’t Orla and I pop down to Costa and get us all a nice cup of cino, while you two put your minds together?”

“Great plan,” Orla said. She put a hand around Cole’s neck, pulled him down to her height, and kissed him on the forehead. “Do you want a water, darling?”

He nodded. “Still, please.” She released him, and he flicked his hair back, running his fingers through it so it bounced back into place with the perfect swoopiness. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen—and I’d been in the front row of the Jonas Brothers at Wembley Arena. Both nights. I’d been so close I could actually smell Joe’s eyebrows. But Cole Kennedy was somehow even sexier than that.

“Did you seriously not watchMake Me a Pop Starseason four?” I asked as Mum and Orla disappeared around the corner.

Cole leaned into me and whispered in my ear. “Will you think less of me if I confess that I’ve never watched a single episode?”

I stepped back, literally clutching my imaginary pearls.

“Sorry. I’m not much of a reality TV person.”

I shook my head. “Babes, you need to sort your priorities out. This is a life-or-death situation.”

“I’m… not sure it is.” He giggled, studying my face with amusement.

“If you don’t like reality TV, what are you even doing here?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to say anything, but a producer called up and asked me to audition.”

“Shut up, they never!”

Cole nodded. “No, really. They saw a YouTube video of me singing at my local pub, tracked me down to the farm, and got in touch. I didn’t particularly want to audition, but Mum and Fiona were dead keen.”

The mention of a girl’s name cut through my consciousness like a record scratch. “Is Fiona your girlfriend?” I asked, poised for heartbreak.

“My sister,” Cole said, to my relief. “Anyway, they insisted, so here I am.”

“You’re a shoo-in, then.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” Cole said, as cool as a cucumber that’s jumped into an ice bath to recover from a long weekend at home with a lonely homosexual.

“You must be good,” I said, dialling up the flirting a notch.

Cole blushed. A coy side-smile widened into a sexy grin. It was infectious. I smiled and blushed in return. Our eyes met, and I held his gaze. For all that outward confidence, my legs turned to jelly. Cole laughed awkwardly, and in that moment, I felt the instant, undeniable spark of something between us—like a magnetic force was pulling us towards each other.

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