12. Charlie
12
CHARLIE
‘So, what do you reckon, guys? You up for it?’
The three women look at each other, then me, then back at each other. I already know by the smiles on their faces that it’s a ‘yes’.
‘Go on then,’ says the red-headed lady, whose name I’ve just learned is Sarah. ‘If only to embarrass my kids.’
The other women laugh, and I call my camera and boom crew over. ‘Sam, Marek, we’ve got some more wannabe pop stars right here.’
Sam and Marek set up their equipment, I hit ‘play’ on the speaker and soon enough these three smartly dressed mums are crooning along, surprisingly tunefully, to Lina’s latest hit.
I’ve scrawled the lyrics in Sharpie on a few pieces of A4, which I hold up behind the camera. It actually makes the whole thing funnier if people don’t know the songs off by heart – they have to pause and mumble and squint at my words while they’re singing, which just makes them laugh more.
I flip the cards and the three women clutch their invisible microphones and give it their all. They’re brilliant, to be fair; passers-by keep stopping and cheering or joining in and taking photos. This is surely exactly what Bishi is after: funny and silly and ‘light-hearted’. I can picture the audience – and Lina – cracking up as it gets played on Thursday’s show.
The women get as far as the end of the first chorus before they collapse into giggles and one of them calls out, ‘Cut!’ Before Sam can switch off his camera, Sarah blows a kiss into the lens. ‘Love you, Kirsty and George! Hope Mum hasn’t been too “cringe”!’
I pass them the release forms and tell them when the episode will air. As I bid them goodbye, Sam grins at me. ‘Nice one, Charlie. We’ve got tons of good stuff here already.’
‘Cool.’
Weirdly, my stint at the Barkley Gallery has prepared me pretty well for this task. The Barkley job was all about bowling up to random people, and trying to be as charming and funny as possible in an effort to get them to visit the gallery. This assignment is pretty much the same thing – the only difference being that I have to get them to sing and dance on camera instead. Which, as it turns out, they are surprisingly up for doing.
By two o’clock, I’ve got eight clips in the bag, including Sarah and her pals. They’re all pretty good too – the standout one being two old guys, maybe in their eighties, who’ve never even heard of Lina, yet still manage a pretty damn good singalong after a couple of rehearsals with me.
‘What do you reckon then?’ Sam says to me. ‘We got enough?’
‘Maybe we could stick around for another half-hour?’ I suggest. ‘See if I can get one or two more?’ I’m actually starting to get really into it now.
He nods. We’re only a few hundred yards from the office. We pitched up outside the Limehouse DLR station, and I just started going up to people.
I spot a young couple with a giggling baby, and I’m about to try my luck with them when I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Nick. My stomach flips with excitement – a muscle memory from when I was a kid, and the mere sight of his name on my phone screen represented a rare and precious thrill. My dad actually wants to talk to me!
But the feeling dissolves quickly into a pang of self-loathing.
‘Hello?’ For some reason I answer like I don’t know who’s calling.
‘Charlie boy!’ he booms. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Yeah, good, thanks.’
‘Sorry I never got back to you on lunch yesterday – hellish day. Fancy a bite right now?’
‘Erm, I can’t right now, actually,’ I say. ‘I’m out doing something for the show.’
‘Oh yeah? What have they got you doing?’
‘Well, you know that pop star, Lina, who’s the guest host this week?’
‘Yes, she’s just arrived, apparently,’ he says. ‘I had to jump off a Zoom halfway through because I couldn’t hear myself bloody speak for the screaming outside.’ He chuckles heartily at his own joke. ‘So, what are you doing for her then?’
‘I’m supposed to be getting as many clips as I can of random people singing her songs. Then they’ll all be edited together for a montage on the show.’
‘Oh, brilliant. Lots of fun. Have you got some good ones?’
‘Yeah. I could probably do with a couple more though, so I’m going to stay out for a little bit longer.’
‘Well, lunch later this week then, perhaps. Good luck with it. Hey – let’s hope you don’t come across Sir Michael Barkley this time, eh?’
He roars with laughter again, and – reigniting that pang of self-loathing – I laugh too. I know he’s kidding, but it still stings the same way it did yesterday, in the office. It still feels like, underneath the ‘banter’, the underlying message is: you can’t do anything right, Charlie.
I end the call and grit my teeth, more determined than ever to collect as many funny clips as possible.
As I stride purposefully towards the couple with the baby, I wonder how Nell’s getting on.