Even After Everything

I wait out the next few days irritably, repeatedly looking at my phone to check I didn’t have any missed calls, despite the fact it never left my side.

I potter around aimlessly a bit, eating for no reason other than boredom, and making the tiniest corrections to my painting. After I’d painted in the smile, I’d captured his expression more clearly, but that look still wasn’t there, and it made me want to throw the painting away. It seemed as though I was missing something, something that could put that final touch on the painting and bring him to life.

And that’s not the half of the excitement. I’d be sitting down with a random object, a pen or something, and I’d think about how I would advertise it for the television. I’d take off the lid, scribble something, put the lid back on again and slide it into my pocket. Then I’d think, the lid’s a bit stiff coming off, so maybe I’d just play me putting the lid on but backwards. I’d rehearse it over and over in front of me, replacing pen caps and sliding it in and out of the same pocket.

Then I’d snap back to life, and realise that I had actually been sat staring at this pen, replacing it’s lid and scribbling with it in the same way repeatedly for the last half hour, transfixed. How retarded is that?

And all through this, Owl City was on repeat, until every single line was engraved into my skull, until I could tell you where I came in when, and in which refrain I sang on my own.

But enough about my sad, sad life.

The phone finally rings, and I press it to my ear eagerly, jabbing the answer button.

‘Yes?’

‘Banana!’

Great. Just great. I’m waiting for news on my duet with William Beckett and I get Sana.

‘Hey Sana.’

‘Hey - so how was the recital?’

‘Not too bad - I didn’t fuck up or anything at least. Ahah - Tom was having trouble with his mic, so I took the slip out of the battery thing - you know the ones that stop them from turning on - and it worked again. So when he goes on stage, he goes ‘this is dedicated to the girl who can pull the paper out of my sping any day’ - I was so embarrassed.’

‘Who’s Tom?’

‘Oh right, you wouldn’t know. Well, you know that scene sort of guy that dropped into singing classes a couple of times before you left? He’s called Tom.’

‘Ohh right. Well he was hot. You should totally go for it,’ she says passively.

I blush. ‘It’s not like that - we’re just friends.’

‘Hmmmm.’ She sounds skeptical. ‘But what happened afterwards? I checked the update on the website about the recital and there was a comment-rant from Charlotte there about how you got called out from backstage by some producer.’

‘Oh! He’s not a producer…’

‘Oh..’ she says, sounding disappointed.

‘In fact I quite don’t want to tell you who it was.’

‘Why?’

‘’Cause there’s no way in hell you’d believe me.’

‘Why? Who was it?’

I pause for effect.

‘William. William Beckett.’

‘No. Way.’

She actually believes me?

‘How did he find you?!’

‘What do you mean? He was at the show. And I sang Everything We Had - and then when I come off the stage, Pat’s all ’Hannah!’ and tells me that he’s waiting in the green room. I was so scared - I thought he was going to bawl me out for using his song without asking.’

'But what did he say?’

‘Well…he has to cover a song for, well, a cover album that’s coming out - and he wants to duet.’

‘Oh, cool. Why’s he telling you?’

‘Sana…he wants to duet with me.’

There’s a silence and I’m sure the line has gone dead until I hear her let out a long breath.

‘What song is it?’

‘Salty Water or something, by Owl City.’ I hear the familiar beep in my of an incoming call, and my heart starts thumping heavily. ‘Uh Sana - I have to go. I have an incoming call.’

‘Ok, I’ll look this song up on MySpace and maybe call you later. Bye Banana.’

‘Bye.’

I hang up, and the other call is put through immediately - leaving me no time at all to compose myself.

‘Hannah? Are you there?’ The voice is American, and the very voice I’ve been waiting to hear since the recital.

‘Yeah, yeah, sorry,’ I say hurriedly, realising that I’d been silent after picking up.

‘It’s just William. I’m calling about the cover…obviously. Have you listened to the song? Do you like it?’

‘Oh it’s amazing,’ I gush. ‘I love it so much. Are you changing the instrumentals at all?’

‘Yeah, the whole backing bits have already been recorded by the rest of the band before they left for America, it’s all electric guitars and drums.’

‘Wow…’ is all I can find to say.

‘So I’ve found this little studio in Birmingham we can practice in - Robannas, do you know it?’

‘Erm…nope.’

‘Well they don’t have any recording space until way into next week, but the rehearsal rooms are open, so I thought we could go down and um…practice. I was actually hoping to get in today…are you busy?’

‘Let me just check my diary,’ I say as I hear him snort. Let’s face it, I don’t have a diary, but I could have. I could be busy. I grab a book and flip the pages next the receiver of my phone, before saying, ‘Nope, doesn’t look like it. I can be ready in an hour if you like.’

‘That’s great - how about I swing by yours and pick you up at twelve then?’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Okay Hannah, I’ll see you soon.’

‘Bye.’

For a moment, he sounds as though he might say something more, but he hangs up, and I drop my phone onto my bed.