12. Wait a minute
CHAPTER 12
Wait a minute
CALUM
Scott treads the same line he did minutes ago. At this rate, he will wear a hole into the carpet. He stops by the window and shoves a hand into his pocket. Head bent over his phone, he grunts for what should be the hundredth time. I don’t need to go near to know he’s on TikTok again. He has been raving about this new kid he needs in the label. I don’t care. Well, I do.
But it’s not as important as finding Cathie.
It has been seven months since I walked out on Mum. Yet whenever I think of Cathie, a mental block rises. This time is no different. I press two fingers to my temple, and the throbbing in my head fades to a dull pounding. I’m stuck in a limbo between finding her and letting go.
The doctor is confident a physical meeting might do the trick. But how can that happen when she doesn’t exist except in fragments of my memories? She moved from Wells Spring. Her dad quit his job. I can’t find her on social media. She couldn’t have changed her name, right?
My head falls back, and I run my hands over my face. A vague memory sneaks up on me as I stare at the ceiling. A memory of us on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I need my memory back, all of it.
“Fuck off, Scott,” Lucas mumbles from the corner with the drums. I straighten up as he tosses a drumstick at Scott, who catches it without looking away from his phone. “We get it. This guy is exceptional, and you want him in your label. Keep the rest of us out of it, would you?”
Sam struts into the new cave. It’s supposed to be our practice area, but we converted it into something more. There’s a TV to one side with the game set up. Sam stops in front of the TV, his back to us. He has his earbuds plugged in, head bobbing to a song. I pick up my phone and scroll through my messages without texting anyone. My eyes stray to Mum’s chat.
Our last message was the day before I walked out on her. I can’t pick. I won’t choose.
Brown shoes appear beside my feet, and my gaze drifts up to Scott. I raise my hands in surrender so he doesn’t pour his frustrations on me. “How long until you talk to your mother? It’s been months.”
The fight was in February. This is the last week of September. He should have this discussion with her. She’s the one ignoring me. I ignore Scott, but it’s difficult to avoid Lucas’ hazel eyes boring into me. He won’t interfere, but he will run his mouth when someone brings it up.
“Squash the beef, Cal,” Scott murmurs.
Why do I have to be the one to do it?
“Fuck. Me,” Sam blurts out. “When last did any of you get on TikTok?”
Our heads round up. Because of Sam’s earbuds, he is louder. “Stop screaming,” Lucas yells.
Sam ambles to the middle of the room with a smile that would have a bunch of girls drooling and creaming their panties. His sweatpants hang low from his waist, revealing the band of his briefs. He tugs his pants up, but it drops back down. I almost laugh. He insists on wearing pants that are not his size in the name of being stylish. Sam offers Lucas one of his earbuds. I cross my legs on the couch. We used to be close, but the time away made them grow closer.
“Yo,” Lucas says. He taps a finger on the earbud, and Sam laughs. “This shit is fire.”
Scott scowls. “What shit ?” He hates it when the boys cuss, but he’s not our dad. He rips the earbud from Lucas’ ear and plugs it into his. His scowl automatically dissolves. “Not bad.”
“Hey, I was listening to that.”
No one pays attention to Lucas. Sam saves the day by connecting his phone to the speaker. A lady’s voice booms from the device, and I click my tongue. All that excitement for a chorus we have heard too many times to count. So many people, singers or not, have hopped on the #mendinghearts challenge. I’ve heard so many versions I never want to listen to another one.
Cathie would have delivered. I feel it in my bones. I know so.
“Is that it?” I ask when the chorus ends, sounding more annoyed than I intended.
The chorus starts almost immediately, and I groan into my palms. That’s the thing with TikTok: a video plays on repeat until you pause it. These boys don’t intend to do that.
Lucas taps his temple. “Listen, Cal. Listen. Stop being such a hater.”
My head meets the couch, and I shut my eyes. She doesn’t sound so bad. Her voice runs over me like I’m newly listening to it. A corner of my lips twitches. This is good. Her soft intake of breath before ending the chorus was great. Finally, the singing ends, and my eyes fly open.
Wait. Wait a minute. I point at Sam. “Again.”
“What?” he asks.
I barrel towards him. “Play it again,” I command.
“Okay, boss.”
Lucas and Scott watch us. My heart thumps faster, and my mind runs wild. Sweat rolls down my temples, back, and armpits. It cannot be her. It’s not her. Sam drops his phone on the tall speaker as the familiar sound filters into the room again. I punch my palm. Fuck. My. Life.
“It’s her,” I whisper.
Sam is the only one who hears me because he’s within hearing distance. “Her, who?”
Images blend, spilling over me so fast I can barely identify anything. Lethargy sweeps in. I flatten my palms on the wall and breathe slowly. My chest hollows. It’s her. It’s Catherine.
“Superstar,” I mumble.
They probably think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Or that’s Cathie. Lucas laughs. I notice now he’s on his feet and with Sam’s phone. He’s the most dramatic, but it doesn’t amuse me now.
I place my hands on my waist. “What’s so funny?”
“Her bio literally says I’m not a superstar,” Lucas answers. What? Why would she write that? He offers me the phone. Everything on the screen blurs except for her username. “Look at it.”
But all I see is her username. Mama Mace. What? She has a kid named Mace. With who?
Air rushes out of my lungs, and my abdomen tightens. When did we break up? Mama Mace cannot have a kid for another man. I scroll through her page. It’s either a new account, or she doesn’t post often. There are only three videos. Her most viral is the one with our sound.
I tap on the second video, and my heart twists into itself. “She’s singing about us,” I murmur.
My knees buckle. Sliding to the floor, I toss Sam’s phone to him and bring out mine to view the videos. The lyrics of the song are on the screen instead of her face. It’s the chorus of tangled sheets. Our song.
“She’s singing about us,” I whisper.
“About who? No. With this voice, she will be singing for us soon. We want her. I want her,” Scott says. No one is getting her but me. Only me. He retrieves his phone and types into it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
The height difference has me tipping my head back to get a better look at his face.
He sighs. “Sending her a message, Cal. We need to contact her before another label does.”
“It’s TikTok,” Lucas states. He’s back on the couch, using the armrest as a substitute for the drums. “You can’t message her unless she allows it, or you both follow each other. Do you?”
Mama Mace is following no one, but her account has 5,426 followers and 705.2k likes.
Scott scoffs. “Seriously? Who created the app? Does she have an Instagram, Cal?”
A smile spreads to my lips when I tap on the first video. The others don’t have her face, but this does. I like and save the video all at once. She looks happy. Happy without me. Because of her son? If she has a son, does this mean she has a new boyfriend? One year is enough time to move on. Is it? What about her plans to travel the world? Singing? Being a superstar?
Someone nudges me with their foot. I look up at Scott. “Does she have an Instagram?”
“Me? How am I supposed to know?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Scott replies. “The same way you know she’s a superstar, maybe.”
Catherine Jenkins is not just a superstar. She’s my superstar. I offer him a contrite smile. He tuts and walks away.
“Good save, Cal,” Lucas says once the door shuts after Scott. He gives me a thumbs-up as he stalks towards me. “No more talks about Alan from TikTok or whatever that freak’s name is.”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
Lucas’ shoulder rubs mine as he lowers himself to the floor, but I can’t look away from my screen. Her voice is richer and better. I should have recognised it the moment it played.
“How do you know her, anyway?” Lucas asks. The right question is: why did it take so long to remember her? My superstar. “If she has kids, are you sure it’s okay to mess with her?”
“I’m not messing with her,” I snap.
Lucas raises his hands. I rub a hand over my forehead until the claws of anger recede. She doesn’t have kids. She has only Mace. What if she has more than one? Maybe Mace is her first child. But how can she have a kid so fast? How’s she? I glance at Sam. They have the memory of a sponge. As soon as they saw the video, they should have known it was her.
“You two met Cathie last year,” I begin. Nostalgia sets in. I chuckle. “She was there when we had that video call. I was nervous about meeting Scott, and you two tried to cheer me up.”
Lucas’ forehead wrinkles. He still doesn’t remember. Unlocking my phone, I search for the cover of Tangled Sheets. It’s my baby with her blue hair sprawled over a pillow in my room.
“She wanted me to use a picture of her because the song was about us,” I add. I give Lucas my phone, offering a brief history of the cover of my best-selling song. “It was her gift to me.”
“How do you know this?” Sam asks. He sits up and crosses an ankle over his leg. I don’t get him. “Last time you mentioned her, you sounded frustrated because you couldn’t remember.”
“I still don’t rem—”
Shit.
Shit.
I have my memory back.
Wait. I shoot to my feet. “Ask me a question. Ask me anything.”
Sam motions for me to calm down. I can’t. “Let’s do something,” he says. The pounding in my chest intensifies, and I slump down beside him. We are so close. I can find her. I’ll find my superstar. “What are the things you remember about her? Any specifics? Favourite food?”
Without thinking, I say, “Chips in her ice-cream.”
“What the fuck? Who does that?” Lucas shrieks.
“Cathie does,” I hiss, growing defensive. My mouth waters from the memory of the taste. I point a finger at Lucas. “And it’s very nice, Luc. Fries, not chips. The Brits call it chips.”
“Yeah, well, the Brits need to do better,” Lucas retorts. I ignore him, but he doesn’t want to be ignored. Sitting on the floor before Sam and me, he asks, “What else do you remember?”
“Lots.” I place a hand on my chest. “They were working on a site. Girls Code. Boys Code?”
“I know an app with the first name. Girls Code,” Lucas says.
My heart beats too fast, and my head spins. I flash him a blinding smile. “Good.”
“Is it the same as the site?” he asks.
“There is only one way to find out, Luc.”