Jim and I are at Louis’s school, rehearsing my song. Jim turns the music off.
‘I told you I couldn’t sing,’ I say, breaking into a helpless smile.
Jim coughs. ‘You’re a little out of tune.’
I stare at him, knowing he’s using artistic licence.
‘OK, let’s say there’s plenty of room for improvement. One more time,’ he insists as I’m about to jump off the stage.
Reluctantly I get back into my starting position, clutching the microphone.
‘This time don’t stand so stiffly, Polly. Walk around more, strut your stuff.’ Jim glides across the floor, clicking his fingers, begins to sing my song effortlessly. ‘It’ll be easier when you’re in your red-hot dress, you’ll feel …’
‘Terrified.’
‘I was going to say a million dollars. Think sexy. Think sultry.’ Jim pouts, making me forget my nerves for a second. ‘Remember you’re singing this for Ben. You want to show him how much he means to you, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So make every single word count. Think about the lyrics and what they mean to you. Old Frankie boy had a way of singling out a beautiful woman in the audience and making her feel like he was singing the song only for her. That’s what you’ve got to do.’ Jim presses play. ‘Just think of Ben and forget about the rest of us.’
*
The school assembly room is adorned with Christmas decorations and filled with small round tables covered with red-checked cloths and candles. People are heading to the kitchen bar to buy crisps and cheap warm wine.
‘What number are you on the list?’ Aunt Viv asks, detecting my nerves. ‘Good to go fairly early on and get it over with.’
‘I’m last.’
‘Oh,’ everyone says.
‘Exactly.’ I look over to the next table. Gabriella is with her husband and friends, everyone merrily drinking wine and filling in their quiz sheet. She’s performing ‘It’s Raining Men’, by the Weather Girls with Violet, head of the PTA. I watch her pick up the bottle and pour another glass.
It’s hard enough singing in front of a crowd, let alone singing stone-cold sober.
*
*
‘Welcome to the second ‘Stars in Their Eyes’, back by popular demand,’ says our host, dressed in black tie, holding a clipboard. ‘My name is Mike, and I know you’ll be truly bowled over by some of tonight’s performers, some of the finest acts you’ll ever see …’
Everyone laughs.
‘… and some of the most amazing outfits you’ll ever set eyes on too. So without further ado, let’s meet our first act.’
Janey squeezes my hand. ‘He’s not here yet,’ I whisper, thinking there’s no way I’m doing this if he doesn’t show up.
‘He’ll come,’ Janey assures me.
‘Have faith,’ says Aunt Viv, crossing her fingers.
Hugo nods. I watch him and Maria together, so comfortable, his arm around her shoulder. I ache to see Ben. Where is he?
*
Jim is on next. ‘So, Jim, can you give us a clue who you are?’
‘Sure. This song was used in a Quentin Tarantino film, Reservoir Dogs.’
‘And your UK sell-out tour going well?’
Everyone laughs.
‘Very.’
‘Well, Jim, tell us who you are. We’re on the edge of our seats here.’
‘Well, tonight, Mike, I’m going to be Stealers Wheel singing ‘Stuck in The Middle with You’.’
‘Of course you are! Go and get changed.’
Jim’s wife covers her eyes when five minutes later he returns on stage dressed in brown trousers, stripy shirt, droopy moustache, wig and shades, playing a guitar.
I forget about my ordeal as Hugo and I stand up and wolf-whistle. Jim can sing. He kept that a secret.
I head to the bar. Still no sign of him. ‘Have you seen Ben?’ I ask one of the school mums.
She nods. ‘Apparently Emily’s been unwell or something.’
My heart sinks.
‘He left a message. He might come later, if he thinks he can leave her with the babysitter.’
*
I report the gloomy news.
‘Oh, bloody children,’ Janey exclaims.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I mutter.
Hugo leaves the table, asking where the loos are.
*
Gabriella and Violet are on next, both of them modelling low-cut silk dresses that show off their ample cleavages. Gabriella belts out ‘It’s Raining Men’ like a diva. Panic seizes my stomach. I’m rubbish and everyone else is good. They have talent. Gabriella has a beautiful voice. This isn’t just some school fundraiser; I’m watching mums and dads who have dreamed of the stage since childhood and this is as close as they are going to get to fame. As for me … all I’m going to do is make a fool of myself. Aunt Viv stops me from fidgeting and looking towards the bar. ‘He’ll be here,’ she says, touching my arm. ‘But even if he doesn’t come tonight, there will be another way to show him.’
After a show-stopping version of Shirley Bassey’s ‘Hey Big Spender’, our headmistress comes on singing a Susan Boyle number. ‘Damn it,’ I mutter to Janey. ‘She’s amazing too.’
‘Apparently she’s always wanted to be an opera singer,’ mentions Jim.
I’ve given up hope of Ben arriving.
Janey grips my hand. ‘It doesn’t matter about Ben. Just go up there and show us what you’re made of.’
‘Everyone on this table will be clapping,’ reassures Maria.
‘Exactly!’ continues Janey. ‘Who cares if you can sing or not? You give it attitude! Own that stage.’
I nod, yet feel positively sick with nerves and disappointment as the host announces, ‘Well, we’ve saved the best till last, folks! Come on up, Polly Stephens.’
Hugo encourages me to go, but I can’t feel my legs. I’m going to faint.
‘Polly,’ our host greets me when finally I join him on the stage. ‘I’ve been really looking forward to your act. Give us a clue who you’re going to be.’
‘Er, she was an American singer and actress, big in the 1920s and 30s.’ I look towards the back of the hall, still waiting for Ben miraculously to show up.
‘And tell us about the song you’ve picked,’ continues the host.
I can see Aunt Viv and Janey willing me to continue.
Come on, Polly, you can do this. ‘Harry Connick Jr. sang it in my favourite film, When Harry Met …’ I stop dead.
I want to jump off this stage and into his arms.
‘Go on,’ Ben mouths at me, leaning against the wall at the back of the hall.
‘When Harry Met Sally.’
‘Well it’s great you’re singing this for all the children at Eastwood’s.’
‘I’m not doing it for the school,’ I say without thinking. ‘Sorry, but if it were for the school, I’d have rather donated a tenner.’
A few more laughs.
‘I’m singing it for someone,’ I say, looking directly at him now. ‘Someone who’s here tonight.’
‘Well, on that saucy note, I think it’s time to tell us who you’re going to be.’
‘Tonight, everyone, I’m … I’m …’ I catch Ben’s eye. ‘Ruth Etting.’
‘She’s Ruth Etting!’ the host repeats with way too much enthusiasm.
*
I return to the stage in a full-length red-sequin dress with matching lipstick, dangerously high-heeled shoes, my dark hair falling down my shoulders. The audience cheer and wolf-whistle. ‘I can do this,’ I mutter to myself, my heart thumping.
The orchestral music starts to play the introduction to ‘It Had to Be You’, everyone in the audience clapping already. I take a deep breath. He’s here. He is here, Polly. This is my chance. Don’t be nervous.
‘It had to be you,’ I sing, my voice surprisingly bold.
As the song picks up momentum, I glide across the floor and gesture to Ben, just before my heel gets caught in the hem of my dress. I disentangle myself and on I go, reminding myself I am a glamour puss. Some of the audience turn to see who I’m looking at. ‘Go for it, Polly!’ I hear Jim shout, as my entire table gets up to clap and encourage me on.
I sing every single word for him, from the bottom of my heart. When the song comes to the end, I must be dreaming. I’m getting a standing ovation.
*
Backstage, I rush to get dressed, laughing with tears of relief that it’s over and that he came. At least I didn’t go through that ordeal in vain. I can’t have been that bad? A standing ovation! Maybe I can sing? I hop around on one foot trying to find my other shoe. Come on, where are you? I look under the rail of clothes. I’ve got to see him, before he goes …
‘Here it is,’ a voice says.
I turn, my heart skipping a beat when I see Ben standing in front of me, holding my shoe.
‘How’s Emily?’ is the only thing I can think of saying to him, not taking the shoe.
‘She picked up some bug.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.
‘I’m sorry. Poor Emily. But you came, saw me make an idiot of myself.’
‘When Hugo called to tell me his sister was singing a special song for me in a stunning red dress … well that kind of offer doesn’t come along more than once in a lifetime. Well, I hope not anyway, for the sake of my ears.’
I take the shoe and slip it on, building myself up to say, ‘How was your date?’
‘Good.’
I look away.
Gently he turns me back towards him. ‘It’s my turn for a “but” now.’
‘But?’
‘But she wasn’t you.’
I take his hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Ben … and if I could rewind time …’
‘What time would you go back to?’
‘The time when you told me you loved me.’
‘What would you do differently?’
‘Everything. You were right. I was scared. Terrified that if things didn’t work … but I shouldn’t have trusted Matthew so easily, or let him get in the way of us.’
‘You’re forgiving.’ He shrugs. ‘We’ve had second chances. Everyone deserves that, and I understand that he’s Louis’s father. Hugo told me about what happened that night Matthew came over,’ he says, moving closer towards me, our fingers now interlocking. ‘That he uncovered a lot of untruths about him. He’s quite something, your brother.’
I nod, tearful. ‘So are you. It was always you, Ben. I was just so stupid. You were never second best.’
He wipes a tear away from my eye with his thumb and our faces are only inches apart before he puts his arms around me. I do the same, clinging on, knowing I will never let him go again.
‘I was wondering,’ he says, when finally we pull apart.
‘You were wondering …’
He pulls me towards him again; our foreheads touch, his mouth so close to mine. ‘What do you fancy doing on our first date?’
‘This,’ I say, as we kiss.