Free Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen by Ella Kingsley Page B

signed contract back into its leather wallet. ‘The club’s going to be unrecognisable when we’ve finished with it.’
    Nathan, slumped in a booth, snorts. He mumbles something that sounds like ‘It better be’ and I decide then that I really don’t like him.
    Toby comes over. ‘When we getting started, boss?’ He pulls up the stool next to mine.
    ‘The first show will go out in three weeks,’ says Evan. ‘First and last shows of the series will be broadcast live.’
    I’m shocked. ‘Three
weeks
?
Live?
’
    Evan slugs back his coffee and I’m amazed he doesn’t burn himself. ‘This was always going to be a fast project,’ he explains, ‘I’ve got everything we need already in place. Kicking off with a live show will do wonders for publicity.’Seeing my worried face, he continues, ‘There won’t be anything extra for you to do – just run the bar as normal. We’ll have a presenter touring the place, showing people at home what’s what, then after that the fun part: our cameras get free roam behind the scenes. The viewers will love it.’
    ‘So we can get moving pretty quick?’ Toby pushes at the nose of his glasses, a nervous habit I’ve seen him indulge in several times.
    Evan pats his hair. ‘Just as soon as I’ve made some preliminary changes.’
    I look between them. ‘Preliminary changes?’
    ‘For starters, there’s all the structural work.’ Evan scans the walls. ‘Your electrics are down and we’re at risk of flood if we don’t patch that up quick.’ He nods to the damp mottling on the ceiling where all the water came in yesterday. ‘Then I want karaoke machines that work – it’s important we get as much dreadful singing as we can, the punters love a spot of ritual humiliation.’ I expect him to laugh, but he says this without a trace of humour.
    ‘Following that, a little brush-up on the interior,’ he continues, and Toby nods obediently, ‘just enough to bring the place to life.’
    ‘But if the whole point is to chart our resurgence,’ I ask, ‘why do any work at all?’
    Evan’s words are brutal. ‘First, what you’ve got here is something pretty nondescript. It’s got potential, but as it is it won’t get anyone excited. We’ve got to … embellish certain aspects, make a real statement. The fouler it looks on opening night, the better and more tasteful the contrast at the end of the series – we’ll get stylists in to see to that over the eight-weekperiod, it won’t interfere with the club’s opening.’ He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘And second, Maddie, your parents are at serious risk of contravening a catalogue of Health and Safety laws. If I weren’t on your side I could quite happily report you.’
    Somehow I don’t doubt that for a second.
    There’s an uncomfortable silence, which Toby fills. ‘If we want Sing It Back to look the part, we have to help it along a bit,’ he clarifies, his manner somewhat gentler than Evan’s. ‘Think of it like dressing a stage, or putting on make-up: all we’re going to do is work with what’s already there. The difference at the end will make it all worthwhile.’ He gives me an apologetic smile.
    Alison and Freddie select a Kylie number. It launches at deafening volume and I realise I forgot to tell them that the volume control’s duff, too. Nathan, moody in his booth, clamps his hands over his ears and yells something obscene.
    I turn to Toby. I have to shout to be heard over the noise.
    ‘So hang on – if you’re the first assistant, who’s the director?’
    The men exchange a brief look, but I can’t work out what it means.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘Nick Craven,’ says Evan finally.
    I frown. ‘Why do I know that name?’
    Toby clears his throat. ‘Nick used to work in serious documentary, but then …’ Another glance at Evan, as if for approval. ‘You remember the Rebecca Ascot affair?’
    ‘I don’t think so …’
    ‘It was all over the papers,’ says Toby. ‘His