Accidental Superstar by Marianne Levy

Author:Marianne Levy [Levy, Marianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan

And then Adrian and me were back out in the street, both of us with hot red cheeks, half panting like we’d run a race.

‘Is this really happening?’ I said. ‘I’m recording a single NEXT WEEKEND. In a studio. A proper recording studio. I cannot believe this is happening to me!’

Adrian smiled, and shook his head.

I couldn’t seem to stop talking. ‘I can’t believe . . . we were just playing in my bedroom . . . messing around . . . and now . . .’

‘I know!’

I was spinning, whirling about, bouncing off the cobbles like my feet were springs.

The sun’s rays had gone golden and slanty, and Covent Garden was full of amazing-looking people, ramming the pavements outside every pub or hurtling towards the tube, and some guy with dreads was playing the saxophone and I just didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

‘I was thinking we could go for a bit of a walk around?’ I said. ‘Since we’re here.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Adrian.

Maybe he had a bit of that sunshine inside of him, too.

It would explain why he let me go into H&M, which had way better stuff than the one on the high street. This was just as well, as I had real trouble deciding between a turquoise belt and a bracelet. When I eventually came back from the till with the bracelet – which was the wrong decision, and something I still regret – I found him all worked up.

‘There’s a place just round the corner that sells Fenders. Have we got time . . . ?’

Then we were in this guitar shop, and when he heard my news the guy behind the counter didn’t mind that we clearly weren’t going to buy anything, and let me play Just Me on this Ovation in the most gorgeous deep orangey-red.

It somehow sounded orangey-red, too, or maybe that was just the feeling I had inside of me already, leaking out through my fingertips into the strings.

After that, Adrian played a vintage Schecter, and then a Coronado Semi-Hollow. And then my stomach rumbled so loudly you could hear it even over the 1965 Gibson acoustic.

‘Shall we get a sandwich?’ he said. ‘Or a pizza? Let’s get a pizza!’ He checked his wallet. ‘Or maybe a sandwich.’

They have a Pret a Manger in Covent Garden, and we perched up on those high stools while the world flowed around us. I was like an island, surrounded by a churning sea of people. An island eating a salt beef bagel followed by a chocolate brownie. Followed by another chocolate brownie, because we were celebrating, after all.

‘You want this?’ said Adrian, seeing me eyeing up his muffin.

‘Are you offering?’

‘No! But go on.’

We munched away in this happy silence for a while, as the couple next to us had a humungous fight in what I think was Japanese.

‘Maybe I’ll go to Japan,’ I said. ‘Can you get bagels there?’

The man next to us stopped arguing and turned and looked at me. ‘Of course we have bagels in Japan,’ he said.

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