Page 30 of Going Solo

“And be the go-between between you and the other go-between?” Mum opened her salad bowl and shoved her fork into a piece of boiled egg. “No thank you. Besides, I’ve got Priti fromDress for Successexcoming in for a cut and colour in fifteen minutes. You’re a big boy. You know how to use the phone.”

I rolled my eyes.

“And you can’t keep sitting at the front counter with a face like that. Mrs Fitz come in this morning, said she nearly turned around and walked back out again. Said she thought she’d walked into the funeral home by mistake.”

She shoved the egg into her mouth.

I put the towel I’d been folding down on the benchtop. “I’m scared, Mum. What if he doesn’t want to see me because of all this ‘marriage material’ stuff?”

“It’s better to know, bubby. We’re all here for you, whatever happens.”

* * *

There was silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a deep sigh.

“They said they were going to call you,” Orla said, frustration obvious in her voice. “I asked them specifically, and they promised me someone from the show would be in touch with you.”

“Is Cole upset with me? Have I embarrassed him? Because I promise whatever he’s been going through, it’s been so much worse for?—”

“What? No, sweetheart. They took his phone off him.”

“Are you joking me?”

“They took their phones off all the boys. For filming reasons, supposedly. And to keep them from seeing coverage and socials and so on. Then they made them all sign new contracts—at two in the morning, mind you, after a full day of rehearsals—stipulating who they could have contact with. They gave them new phones with new numbers. I only found out yesterday. I’m fuming. Fiona says the contracts are probably not legally binding, because they’re minors and they signed under duress with only a Totally Records lawyer present. But Cole is worried if we kick up a stink, they’ll boot him from the show.”

“So, he’s not angry with me?”

“No, darling, he’s not angry with you.”

“Do you have his new number? I need to speak to him.”

More silence.

“Listen, I’m not sure, darling. This contract they made him sign. If any information about the show or what they’re filming gets out, he’ll be kicked out of the competition.”

“I won’t ask about the show. I ain’t bothered about that. I need to hear his voice. I miss him.”

“I know. He misses you too,” Orla said. “When I spoke to him yesterday, he asked after you.”

“Did he?”

“He did.”

“What did he say? Did he have a message for me or anything?”

“He asked how you were doing and whether I’d spoken to you.”

“Is that all?”

More silence. This time it felt loaded.

“Look, I shouldn’t have to tell you this. I can’t believe those arseholes are making me do this. They’ve told Cole he can’t have contact with you during the competition.”

“What?”

“Apparently, it doesn’t ‘fit the narrative,’ whatever that means.”

I knew what it meant. The narrative was that I was Cole’s love-crazed stalker and he wasn’t interested in me. That’s what the editing of the audition episode showed. That’s what the internet thought. If anyone knew we were boyfriends, it’d ruin their storyline. Our strategy of avoiding one another on camera had played right into their hands.

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