Chapter 5
5
AUGUST 1990 – HONG KONG
Carina
‘This wretched wig is killing me,’ Carina moaned, adjusting her hairline before picking up the glass that the bartender had just slid across the bar and taking a sip. ‘Excellent crowd tonight, though.’ It was fifteen minutes until showtime for the first set – Carina and Lisa playing Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks in Fleetwood Mac – and every single table in the bar and restaurant of the Harbour Lights Hotel was taken for the third week in a row.
‘That’s because we’re superstars, Posh Pal,’ Moira joked, giving her a nudge with her elbow. ‘And you either need to get used to the blonde wig or send Christine McVie a wee box of Nice N Easy, walnut brown.’
Carina felt the corners of her mouth turn up. Meeting Moira had been an education, not least in expanding her vocabulary. The Glaswegian vocal powerhouse with the gravelly voice had added several new expressions to her vernacular, most of them sweary, as well as giving her a new nickname. Posh Pal. Actually, it was the first nickname Carina had ever had, but surprisingly, she didn’t mind it in the least. Moira made her laugh too much to get offended by anything that came out of her mouth.
They’d only met a month ago, but already – clichéd as it was – it felt like they’d known each other for ever. They lived together, worked together, partied together, and Moira had slotted right into the friendship that Carina already had with Lisa. On paper, the three of them had nothing in common. Carina had grown up in Chelsea, with a father who’d ran his family’s hedge fund, and a mother who treated socialising, fundraising and philanthropy as her life’s vocation. Moira had been perfectly blasé about the fact that she’d been raised in a rough housing scheme, in a dodgy area of Glasgow, to parents who both worked in a local factory. Lisa came from a village near Galway, but every time Carina had asked her about her family or childhood, she’d shrugged the conversation off and changed the subject, so that was all she knew. Meanwhile, Carina had a private piano tutor from the age of five. Had gone to boarding school from the age of twelve. And had gained her degree at the prestigious Royal Academy of Music. Moira had left high school after her O levels, and her mother had worked extra shifts to send her to a theatre school, where her vocal talents had been developed. Carina dreamt of playing the piano on concert stages. Moira dreamt of singing in a Broadway show. Lisa just wanted to live life on her own terms with no rules or boundaries. And that’s where the things they had in common came into play. They all adored performing. They all had dreams. They all had a weirdly similar sense of humour. And maybe they were not quite superstars, but they were all pretty good at what they did, as evidenced by the full capacity in here for the third week in a row.
Oh, and when it came to Carina and Moira, they were both not quite being honest with their mothers about their lives here. Moira had called home once a week and assured her mum that their accommodation was just lovely, and that she went home every night straight after work. It wasn’t and they didn’t.
And for the last six months, Carina had been assuring her mother that she was here to have a cultural experience, living in a respectable English boarding house while teaching piano to the children of expats to cover her expenses. That had been true for about a month, before she’d decided that the kids were all spoiled little shits, and she’d stumbled across Lisa’s Stevie Nicks tribute act at this hotel and managed to get signed by the same agency to play Christine McVie.
Now she had two gigs every night. She was the Christine McVie in Fleetwood Mac for the first set, and then she tossed the wig and played piano and percussion for Moira’s act, singing hit songs from musicals on a Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, and doing covers of Madonna, Whitney Houston, Celine Dion and a rake of other female stars on a Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. It was going down a storm with both the expat community that loved a bit of international entertainment and locals who loved the fact that Carina played a mean tune on the ivories and Lisa and Moira were great singers. Although, tonight, the act might be missing a very vital component.
‘You won’t be laughing at me when you’re squeezing yourself into a wig and singing Stevie Nicks’ lines if Lisa doesn’t hurry up and show,’ Carina muttered. ‘Where the hell is she?’
They both automatically glanced over at the door in the hope that their wayward friend would be strutting in right about now, but no. No sign of her.
Moira shook her head. ‘No idea. She was hanging out with Nate at reception when I left. Still think he’s Michael Hutchence’s secret twin. Anyway, you know what she’s like. She’ll be here and then we’ll look like tits for worrying. Oh, and she’ll be half cut…’
Another lesson in Glaswegian that Carina had picked up. Half cut: Adjective. Meaning having imbibed alcohol to a point of obvious inebriation, but not to a level that renders the subject incapable of functioning.
‘Yet, she’ll still go up there and blast every one of us out of the water,’ Moira added.
Right on cue, something – or rather, someone, caught Carina’s peripheral vision and her gaze went back to the direction of the door. Moira was right. With five minutes to showtime, Lisa was strutting towards them, her mass of shaggy blonde hair as wild as ever, her upper body squeezed into a tight black corset, her lower body in a long black mesh skirt, and a flowery shawl draped across her shoulders. Stevie Nicks was in the building and damn, she was stunning. No wonder every pair of eyes in the room fixed on her as she passed. As she got closer, though, Carina could see Moira hadn’t been wrong. The walk was always the giveaway. When Lisa was sober, she would have her head down, like she wanted to blend into the background, but when she was, as Moira put it, ‘half cut’, she came with a swagger of confidence that made her mesmerising. She hugged them both in turn. ‘All right, chicas?’ Carina wasn’t sure when that had become a collective name for their gang of three, but hearing it in Lisa’s Irish accent always made her laugh. ‘Are we ready to go?’
‘Thank God you’re here.’ Moira told her. ‘Carina was about to put me in a blonde wig and force me on stage.’
Lisa raised one eyebrow as she chuckled. ‘Never miss a show. Might not remember all of them, but never miss them.’
Carina shook her head and channelled her inner school prefect. ‘I did fifteen years of classical training for this shit.’ She slipped her hand into Lisa’s and tugged her in the direction of the stage. ‘Right, come on then, you car crash of a human being. Let’s go.’
The musicians that worked the stage with them in the tribute band were a ramshackle bunch. A Canadian guy who looked about 106 took the part of Mick Fleetwood. And a curly haired English bloke with more of a resemblance to Art Garfunkel played Lindsey Buckingham. The Japanese student who’d stood in as John McVie had packed up and gone home a couple of months ago, and they didn’t have a replacement yet. But none of that mattered, because the minute Carina got behind the keyboard and played the opening bars of ‘Rhiannon’, the place broke into a roar of cheers. And when Lisa opened her mouth, the whole room fell silent, captivated by the voice, the actions, the absolute star power of the lead singer.
Carina winked over at Moira, who was, as always, watching them in the Fleetwood set before getting on stage for her own act, and she returned the smile. Yep, Lisa was blowing them all out of the water, just as predicted. For the next hour, Carina lost herself in the music, in the performance, in the rowdy appreciation of the crowd, only realising how much time had passed when Lisa closed out the last bars of ‘You Make Loving Fun’, to thunderous applause, and then announced that Moira would be on after the break.
Carina came out from behind the keyboard, and took Lisa’s hand, murmuring, ‘Come on, my darling, I’m dying for a cigarette,’ into her mane of hair.
‘Me too. With a side order of Jack Daniels.’
Carina tried really hard not to judge. Lisa was a grown woman – what she did with her body and her blood alcohol levels was up to her.
They fought their way through the crowd to the spot at the bar where they’d left Moira. At first, Carina thought she wasn’t there, but then she realised that someone was standing in front of her, chatting to her and blocking the view. All she could tell from behind was that it was a woman. Slim. Glossy dark hair pulled back in a low bun.
Still holding her hand, Lisa reached them first and Carina heard her say, ‘Move yer arse, Moira, we’re in need of alcohol and nicotine.’
‘Preferably both at the same time,’ Carina added, laughing, until the smile was well and truly wiped off her face when the stranger in conversation with Moira turned around.
‘Really, darling? Spending all that money you earn as a piano teacher?’
She wasn’t usually the sweariest of the three friends, but— Oh. Holy. Fuck.
‘Carina, you didn’t tell me your mum was in town!’ Moira exclaimed, clearly not reading the dynamics of this situation.
‘That might be because I didn’t know,’ Carina answered tersely, panicking inside. If it were possible for a heart to thud louder than the drum kit on that stage, that’s exactly what was going on inside her chest right now. This was bad. Worse than the time she got caught with three bottles of Pimms under her bed at boarding school. Worse than the time her mother saw her snogging the face off one of the students who’d joined the landscaping crew at their Chelsea home for the summer. Worse, even, than when she’d told her parents that instead of auditioning for the London Philharmonic, which had always been the post-university plan, she’d decided to bugger off to Hong Kong for a year. Her mother had almost burst her pearls that day.
Yep, this was worse.
‘Ah, I thought I’d surprise you, darling,’ her mother said, deploying the smile that assassins used right before they stuck a knife in your neck. Felicity Bateman would rather eat her favourite Jimmy Choo pumps than cause a public scene. They didn’t do that in her family. They did polite sabotage and muted, elegant fury. ‘I’ve had a lovely chat with your… friend here.’
Carina could see from Moira’s expression that she was completely oblivious to the undercurrent of disapproval, and Lisa, meanwhile, didn’t help when she said, ‘Good to meet you, Carina’s mam. Joe—!’ Lisa shouted to the barman. ‘Can we have the usual Jack and Cokes and an extra one for Carina’s mammy,’ before pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, pointing them in the direction of her mother, saying, ‘Cig?’
Carina thought her mother was about to combust.
‘Mummy, can I have a chat with you outside, please?’
‘Certainly, darling. Lovely to meet you, girls,’ her mother said to Moira and Lisa, as if she were addressing the local chapter of the Girl Bloody Guides. Even in times of chaos and rage, Felicity Bateman never lost her manners.
They’d barely got outside the front door, when her mother rounded on her, eyes blazing, speaking through clenched teeth. ‘What the hell are you doing? This is your life? This is your “year out to teach and experience another culture?”’
Carina felt her own blood pressure rise. ‘I’m definitely experiencing other cultures,’ she bit back, utterly aware that it wouldn’t get her anywhere. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Well, darling, the little flaw in your plan is that Daddy gets your credit card statements since we’re still covering your costs…’
Ah, damn. Once her paltry wages were gone, she used her dad’s card for essentials like food, water and drinks at the bar here.
‘And on that itemised statement, this little slice of heaven seemed to show up on a nightly basis.’
Carina didn’t have time to comment on the sarcasm, because her mother was on a roll and was now sneering as she looked her up and down. ‘What the hell are you wearing? And since when did you drink or smoke?’
Again, she didn’t stop for breath or for an answer.
‘It’s disgusting. You gave up an audition with the Philharmonic for this? Not to mention the tens of thousands of pounds we clearly wasted on your education.’
Carina finally squeezed in a retort. ‘It wasn’t wasted. Look, Mum, this is harmless. It’s just some fun.’
If it were possible for a head to spin around then take flight, Carina was pretty sure it was about to happen.
‘Harmless fun? You lied to your family.’
Carina threw up her arms. ‘Because I knew you’d react like this. My whole life, I’ve never been allowed to make my own decisions. I was at boarding school, then university, and you and Daddy decided on the career I should have?—’
‘The career you wanted!’
‘I don’t know what I want. That’s the point. I just want to try new things. Work it out by myself.’
‘Pfft. Work it out by yourself? You’ve never done a damn thing by yourself. Everything has been given to you. Everything except this hideous job and those awful friends. Is this it, Carina? Is this really what happens when you make your own decisions? This is where you end up and those are the kind of people you choose to associate with?’
Carina felt the arrow of that judgement pierce right through her soul, swiftly followed by a second arrow delivering a cool seethe of rage. There was nothing wrong with her friends. And this job was the most fun she’d had in her life. Before she could plead the case, though, her mother took charge.
‘I’m not going to stand in the street arguing with you, Carina. Come on, let’s go. You’re coming back to the Mandarin Oriental with me and then we’ll fly back to London tomorrow.’
‘I’m not, Mum.’
‘You damn well are.’ They both knew that Felicity Bateman wasn’t someone that people ever said ‘no’ to. Until now.
‘Unless you’re going to drag me down that street, I’m not coming.’ Shots fired. Carina knew, though, that her mother’s unfailing decorum would prevent Felicity from escalating to physical force or delivering a shouty barrage of demands. This whole conversation had been conducted in the kind of hushed tones that would befit afternoon tea at a five-star hotel.
‘I promise you, Carina, staying here is going to be the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.’
Carina took one step backwards. ‘Then like I said… I guess I’m going to have to work that out by myself.’
With that, she turned around and walked back inside, praying that her mother was wrong.
And praying that she wasn’t going to follow Carina back in and have her dragged out by security.