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wasn’t going quietly.
    ‘I knew Colonel Tom Parker,’ Mick barked over his shoulder. ‘Gentleman, he was. Not like you, you robber baron.’
    What the bloody hell is a robber baron? Jo thought, her heart racing as she tried her best to limit the damage her father was causing.
    ‘He’d have had you out of the music business quicker than you could say Chico Time,’ Mick continued.
    Jo shoved her dad out of the audition room and, ensuring that Rosie was still with them, turned and grabbed her two sisters by their arms and pulled them unwillingly away from their fifteen minutes of fame.
    ‘Bloody hell, you’ve got your work cut out,’ Richard Forster said. ‘Right, where were we? When you’re ready, Catherine.’
    Catherine was mortified. She wanted to bolt for the door but she was here now. Her throat had dried up, thanks to her family descending en masse, and she was shaking like a leaf. Cherie Forster tapped her pen on the desk impatiently; Lionel Peters – who looked like a wise old wizard with his pointy beard and long greying mane – had put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, his face neutral, but Carrie Ward smiled warmly and said, ‘Take your time Catherine.’
    Catherine swallowed hard and began to sing. Her voice was sweet and strong but she knew that nerves were getting the better of her. She put her hand to her throat as if this would stop the reverberation that she was sure they could all hear. As she reached the end of the verse she looked at Carrie Ward and there was something in her eyes – a willing for her to succeed – that made Catherine think that maybe she was doing well. This gave her the confidence she needed and she pushed on; giving her all to the chorus. She could hear her voice now resonating around the room. She was finally beginning to enjoy herself when Richard Forster waved his hand in the air and said, ‘Thank you, thank you.’
    Catherine stopped dead and blood rushed again to her cheeks. She touched her face and in that moment had a strange recollection of trying to fry an egg on the pavement as a child because she’d seen it done on
Record Breakers
– it hadn’t worked but she was sure if she cracked one on her face now it would fry in seconds.
    ‘Lionel?’ Richard said, looking for the impresario’s opinion on Catherine.
    ‘To be honest, I could take it or leave it,’ he said with a shrug. Catherine stared at him numbly.
    Carrie Ward hit her hand on the table and looked at him open mouthed. ‘Are you kidding? That was beautiful!’ she said.
    ‘Cherie?’ Richard turned to his wife.
    Cherie paused and looked at Catherine. Catherine could hear the blood rushing in her ears, like listening to the sea in a seashell. ‘You were very nervous.’ She paused. Catherine nodded. ‘I’m not sure you’re ready for this competition.’
    Catherine hung her head. She was probably right. When she looked up the judges were staring back at her. She couldn’t work out why for a moment and then realised that they expected her to list all of the reasons why she was right for this competition. But she couldn’t and she wasn’t about to beg. She could sing OK but she wasn’t sure that this public grilling was something she could face every week. She opened her mouth to speak but Richard Forster had had enough.
    ‘Look, I’m in agreement with Cherie. I think if we put you through, you’d crack.’
    ‘I wouldn’t, I promise.’ Catherine said, tears welling in her eyes and her voice shaking as if to cruelly prove the judges’ point that she wasn’t in control of her emotions.
    ‘Lionel?’
    ‘It’s a no from me.’
    ‘Cherie?’
    ‘You’re a sweet girl with a big smile,’ She paused and the look on her face suggested she was torn as to whether to put Catherine through or not. ‘But I’m afraid it’s a no from me.’
    Right, thank you, if you could just arrange for the floor to open up and swallow me that would be great, Catherine