Chapter 20
NOT A SUCCESS STORY
Everyone has always spoken about me like I’m some sort of success story.
Like yes, I’m successful. Generally successful, not successful for ‘a girl from a council estate’.
But, really, what’s wrong with that? Why is it so much more shocking that I’ve been successful because I grew up in a house with subsidised rent?
I wish I’d had another slice of pizza before leaving, but any more and the boning in this dress would be cutting into my skin.
‘You look beautiful, as always, Miss Martin,’ the receptionist says as I exit the foyer.
‘Thank you, Sandy,’ I reply, catching a glance at her name badge on her chest.
The New York air hits me as soon as the air conditioning is no longer protecting my skin, and I can almost feel my hair growing three times in size already.
It’s dead on half-past seven. We are leaving right on schedule, as I always aim to do in my quest to be on time for everything, to not to waste anyone’s time or get a reputation of being late.
In fifteen minutes, Luc and I will be walking our latest, and probably biggest, red carpet.
Potentially our last… providing nothing comes up in the next few weeks.
Luc can have his life back again. The life he wanted.
The countdown is on for our fake break-up. I simply need to protect myself until then. Rory’s accident taught me I was getting complacent. Leaving myself in harm’s way.
My brain isn’t able to control my heart around Luc as it could at the beginning of our arrangement. I’m getting too involved.
The car pulls up at the end of the red carpet at twenty-to-eight. Five minutes to gather myself in the car, to make sure my lipstick doesn’t need touching up before we have to face all those people all over again.
I’m drained.
Is it the jet lag or do I actually feel burned out? It’s been nearly fifteen years. I’ve been doing this since I was a teenager. Is this how people feel when they decide to take time off?
I don’t have any real reason to feel burnt out.
Lawyers can feel burned out. Nurses. Doctors.
They have a reason. They’re helping people all day every day, day after day.
Putting other people before themselves. Nurses taking on an extra night shift because their ward is short-staffed.
Staying an extra two hours because the child who has been in hospital for three weeks will only eat if they’re there to feed them.
Not me. I live a life of luxury. Everything I’ve ever wanted handed to me on a silver platter… and here I am feeling drained?
Dennis gets out of the car at seven forty-five on the dot. Luc takes that as his cue and opens his own car door behind the front passenger seat, walking around to the other side of the car so that by the time Dennis has reached me to open my car door, Luc is already there.
Luc takes my hand as I climb out of the car as gracefully as I can in what feels like a metric tonne of tulle and chiffon.
My heel wobbles on the carpet, but Luc rights my balance.
I wave to the crowds pressed up against the barricades, screaming and crying as Luc and I begin walking.
Dennis a few paces behind us. I clutch Luc’s arm.
‘There’s a young woman at eight o’clock desperate to get your attention,’ Luc whispers in my ear. ‘I think she’s with her daughter.’
I have a soft spot for children who are fans of my music, children who have never known a world without my albums because their parents have played my music since before they were born. For fans who grew up with me and are now raising their kids as Ghosties.
I make eye contact with the mum and then the daughter. The small child bursts into tears and I soften. Luc follows me when I make the instantaneous decision to approach the barrier.
‘Hello,’ I smile at the young child and then at the mum. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you.’
‘Hi,’ the woman bursts. ‘I love you so much. Sorry, is that weird to say? I guess you must get it all the time but probably is still weird for you to have people you don’t know telling you that they love you. Sorry. I babble when I get nervous.’
‘That’s okay,’ I smile. ‘I love you too!’ It took a long time before I started to say it back but now, I always tell fans I love them, because I do. They’ve got me to where I am today and treat me with such kindness at shows and online. Why wouldn’t I love them? ‘And who is this little one?’
‘I’m Penelope,’ the girl coos.
Tears spring to my eyes when I look back at her mum. Infinite Ghost. Track 10. Penelope.
‘And how old are you, Penelope?’
‘Four!’ she shouts, giggling to herself.
‘Four! You look very grown-up.’ She doesn’t. She looks four. But four-year-olds love to be told they look grown-up, I’m told.
‘Your music was the only thing that would settle her as a newborn with colic. She was a nightmare to get down, but she’s been a fan ever since.’
‘That’s adorable.’ I look back at Penelope. ‘Would you like a picture?’ Penelope grabs her mum’s neck, shyly trying to hide behind it. The mum passes her phone to Luc, posing as he snaps a few pictures of me, her and Penelope.
Dennis gently starts to move me on and Luc hands her phone back. ‘It was lovely to meet you!’ I call as I walk away.
‘Someone’s trained you well,’ I say to Luc, and he frowns. ‘With the pictures,’ I laugh, playfully squeezing his arm. ‘Thank you.’
We don’t stop again, the people walking behind are gaining on us as we approach the press area, ready to be questioned on our relationship again. The bright flashes from the cameras blind me, but I’ve learned not to squint over the years.
‘Sienna, what’s the next step in your relationship?’ one of the interviewers calls. ‘Are you going to move in together soon?’
‘Will Luc be joining you on tour?’ another shouts.
I keep smiling, and so does Luc.
‘Luc, when are you popping the question?’
What if we didn’t break up at the beginning of the tour?
What if Luc joined me for some of it? That space of time where I used to play charades with Grampy, would Luc be there now instead?
We could play cards in silence, resting my voice but spending time together.
We could watch a movie or warm up my voice and muscles. Can Luc be my new ritual?
I remind myself of everything that would come with that: the scrutiny, Luc not being able to leave the house without being photographed, the stories in the papers about whether I’m pregnant when I’m bloated. Is it worth it?
Maybe Luc is worth it.
Dennis moves us on, and we are finally in the venue.
‘They never get less overwhelming, do they?’ Luc mumbles.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn’t realise I’d been carrying so much shame on my shoulders until someone else agreed with those feelings I’ve long since buried deep inside me.
I smile at him, but it’s not reaching my eyes.
My mouth moves stiffly and the rest of the muscles in my face stay where they are, too exhausted to move.
‘Yeah,’ I whisper. ‘Never.’
We continue walking through the foyer until we find ourselves in an empty corridor. I breathe slowly and Luc squeezes my hand. ‘I need to just catch my breath and make my heart rate go down,’ I say. We pause for a few more moments before going to find our seats in the auditorium.
‘You okay?’ Luc asks.
I turn my energy back on, shaking my spine and forcing the muscles in my face into one of my best grins.
Performance mode. It’s the same kind of action as when I’m out of breath after a song on tour but I know the track for the next one is starting and the lights are about to come back on.
A reaction I have perfected over the years I have been watched in meticulous detail by thousands of eyes.
‘Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?’ I say.
Luc winces, his shoulders slumping. ‘You know I can tell you’re faking that?’
I look at Dennis and then back at Luc. ‘What do you mean? Of course I’m not.’
‘I can tell as well,’ Dennis shrugs.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Luc reassures me, rubbing his hand against my upper arm, disturbing the fabric on the sleeves of my dress.
The auditorium doors open for us. The ceremony has already started; the first few awards have been announced.
There’s a short break now between an award and the second performance, so I’m let in to find my seat, next to Mimi and Jess who got here early.
Dennis stands nearby, always keeping me in his eye line.
He finds a member of the security team that he used to work with before I hired him in-house and stands near her so they can survey the room together.
The tiredness from the jet lag is starting to overcome me now that I’m sitting in a comfortable seat in a warm room.
I’m going to be fighting all night not to look bored or asleep on camera.
I need to put on an Olivier-worthy performance the entire time I’m in the venue for all the inevitable times the camera will be recording me in my seat.
Luc drops his hand on my thigh and grins.
It’s ‘Music Artist of the Year’ – the Big One. One I’m nominated for. One I won last time I was nominated.
‘Our winner has seen more than a decade of success in the music industry. They have set a new record for being the first person to win this award for four albums in a row. For Your Email Didn’t Find Me Well…’
My mouth drops open. I know what’s coming, but I also can’t believe it all at the same time.
‘An album which has made a huge splash in the short time it’s been released. Your “Music Artist of the Year” is… Sienna Martin!’
I jump up and I don’t have to paint on a smile when I grab Luc to hug him. He kisses me in delight.
‘You did it,’ he cries. ‘You’re incredible.’
He hugs me again and I squeeze him tight. He pushes me away, gesturing towards the stage as he joins the audience in their claps and their cheers.
I haven’t prepared a speech.
I climb the stairs at the side of the stage, praying that I don’t stand on my dress and trip like I did at the Brit Awards when Unlikely Silence won ‘British Single of the Year’.
‘Wow,’ is the only thing which immediately comes out of my mouth when I’m handed the award.
In front of the microphone, I find Jess, Mimi…
Luc in the audience and look away so I don’t cry.
I imagine Mauve and Rory at home, watching on the TV.
Mauve nodding along while Rory uses his good hand to clap against his leg, the other in a cast and sling.
Mauve likely cringing at a wobble of my foot or an out-of-place curl.
Nana sitting in her armchair, an ice-cream sundae in one hand and her feet half-in, half-out of her slippers while she lets the tears roll silently down her face.
Grampy, Dad… the way they’d stop pacing when my name was called out, the nervous energy dissipating into the threadbare carpets.
I glance at the roof for a few fleeting moments, half looking to those who can’t be here, and half trying to stop the tears from rolling down my face. I let myself enjoy the applause, the standing ovation.
‘I didn’t prepare anything to say here. I never expected to win this award again. I think this is now the fifth time I’ve won this award, four of them for each of my latest albums… which is insane.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I’ve had quite a tough year, which is something you can’t really say when you’re as privileged and lucky as I am and, trust me, I do still pinch myself every day that I get to live this life.
But it doesn’t matter how privileged you are…
’ My voice cracks. Is that because of the polyps or the emotion?
A physical or a mental symptom? I have to hold this together.
‘Grief still affects us all in the same way. And when someone you love goes, it really does make everything feel really, really shitty.’ I inhale deeply again and laugh.
‘All of that is to say, if you emailed me this year, it really did not find me well.’
The audience politely joins me in laughing.
‘I’m so lucky to have seen the success I have seen for the past decade and thank you all so much for not getting sick of me yet.
The world tends to get a bit funny towards women who have seen success for what they deem as “too long”, especially when they’re unmarried and childless, and there’s a shiny new person to enjoy. ’
I fiddle with my fingers behind the podium. I’m going off on a tangent and I don’t know how to bring it back.
‘So, I feel especially lucky to be standing in front of you as an unmarried, childless woman in her thirties who has broken a record for this incredible award,’ I continue.
I know I’m running out of time. ‘I’d like to thank my Grampy, Dad, Nana, as always for being a guiding light through some dark times.
And Mauve and Rory for keeping me grounded.
Mimi, for always being there for me and letting me do whatever I want to do… to some extent.’
Mimi drops her head, and her shoulders heave up and down with laughter.
‘When I said I wanted a retro, nineties teen magazine-inspired cover for this album, she didn’t shy away.’
The audience laughs again.
‘Jess, my best friend. Thank you for everything you do and basically giving up your life to travel the world with me. What we always dreamed of as kids.’
I look at Luc and the smile on his face lights him up against the stage lights blinding me. I know exactly where he is. I can picture the exact look on his face. My stomach flutters and, in that moment, everything else falls away.
‘And, finally, to Luc Nicholls, my– who has dragged me through this year to find my happiness again, who tirelessly puts everyone else above himself and who taught me how to live again.’