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‘Just leave me. Please?’ I go to her, but she waves me away. ‘Honestly. Yougo back. I’ll join you in a minute.’
    I don’t like to leave her, but I know that when I’m feeling unwell the last thing I need is people fussing over me, so I promise her I’ll be back soon.
    In the hot, sweaty barn, Call of Duty bring their set to a crashing close with a hard rock version of ‘Happy Birthday’ to George. The barn erupts into rowdy, storming applause.
    â€˜Sorry guys – that’s all from us tonight,’ Ed Matthews calls out over the noise. ‘There’s another band on in a few minutes. Some strange name. Massive Pixie Dreamboats or something? Where did you find them , George?’ He laughs. ‘Anyway, they made one video, so . . . well done to the Dreamboats. Meantime, it’s not too late to vote for us in Killer Act. We need every vote and your vote counts, OK? And your mum’s. And your auntie’s. And if you’re very lucky, I’ll give you a little kiss to say thank you.’
    Several girls in the audience shriek at the idea of it. Jodie and Nell are still hovering by the door. Jodie turns to catch my eye and looks as if she’s about to combust.
    â€˜DREAMBOATS?’ she shouts at me, above the screaming.
    â€˜He’s just jealous,’ I yell back.
    â€˜One video?’
    â€˜Well, we—’
    â€˜We are going to Take. Them. Down.’
    â€˜Right,’ I nod.
    Although how we’re going to do that with one girl being sick in the garden, one who can hardly see through her steamed-up glasses, one about to explode with fury and one girl whose sole ability is jiggling around in a mini kilt, I’m not exactly sure.
    With a fifteen-minute break between the boys and us, the crowd stream out into the night air for a bit of a break from the sweaty atmosphere and the chance to stock up on drinks from the bar in the living room. Ed Matthews saunters off, grabbing a bottle of water from one of the eager girls clustering round him. He comes straight down towards us, by the door, and flicks us a hostile look.
    A bit heavy, I think. All we did was enter a competition. We didn’t even do that , actually – somebody else did it for us.
    As he passes us his lip curls.
    â€˜Are you ready to take on our crowd then, Dreamboats?’
    We have never done this before. So no, we are absolutely not. Not even close.
    â€˜Sure,’ Jodie says, through clenched teeth. ‘Any time.’
    â€˜Great. And if it doesn’t work out, we always need more backing singers. Hotlegs here would be perfect.’
    He winks at me, takes a swig of his water, and moves off into the night.
    IhatehimIhatehimIhatehimIhatehim.
    Outside the barn, Rose looks a bit better.
    â€˜How did it go?’ she asks.
    â€˜They were OK, I suppose,’ Jodie growls.
    We chat for a while, until George arrives to tell us it’s time for our set. Rose puts on the bravest face she can. ‘Shall we go?’
    We head for the stage – which is empty by now – shouldering our way through the returning crowd. Jodie sets up the backing tracks. We find our places and check the mics. In the middle of the room, I spot the girl fromCall of Duty high-fiving various people and laughing.
    The audience is noisy, happy and not interested in us – still coming down from the buzz of listening to the band as they gradually filter back in from the house. Nevertheless, George steps to the front of the stage and gives us a quick introduction. Nobody listens. Nobody cares.
    Jodie starts the backing track. Our first track is ‘California Gurls’ by Katy Perry, which Jodie says is a classic anthem to get everyone in the mood. It sounded OK when we rehearsed it the last time; even Rose had to agree. Now, however, our voices are somehow lost in the general hubbub of party chatter. Call of Duty girl doesn’t seem to have noticed we’ve started,