The Talent

By Philip Caveney

In the near-future, life in the north of England is a daily struggle for existence. Young musician, Josh Williams’ only hope of escape is nationwide TV show, The Talent. At the auditions, he is thrown together with Holly Porter, a troubled young girl with a truly amazing voice. They team up as duo One Plus One, and begin the long process of fighting their way through the various heats, hoping to reach the grand final, where fame and fortune beckon. But in this corrupt world, even The Talent does not offer the level playing field they were led to expect...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip Caveney
• Release date: Feb 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465988478

Philip Caveney

Philip Caveney’s first novel was published in 1977. Since then, he has published many novels for adults and a series of children’s books that have sold all over the world. Philip was born in North Wales in 1951. After leaving college, he worked extensively in theatre, both in London and Wales, and wrote the lyrics for rock adaptations of The Workhouse Donkey and Oscar Wilde’s Salome.

Book preview

PART ONE

Audition

ONE

Josh trudged to the locker room, put his thumb to the recognition plate and his locker door swung open. He put on his bright red KayCo overalls then went to join Danny, who was scrubbing away at the shelves as though his life depended on it. As Josh approached, he looked up with his familiar, lop-sided smile.

‘Hey Josh, how’s it hanging?’ It was his habitual greeting; it never varied from one morning to the next. It was as though he had heard it somewhere and memorised it, thinking it made him sound cool but, of course, it had the opposite effect. Danny Lieberman wasn’t the sharpest tool in the woodshed. He had a long pale face, covered with a smattering of freckles and blond hair that stuck up from his scalp like tufts of wire wool. He somehow always managed to have his mouth hanging slightly open, which made him look even dimmer than he was, which was saying something.

‘Morning Danny.’ Josh pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and, fishing a spare scrubbing brush from the bucket of hot water, he went to work with rather less vigour than Danny. The smell of rancid milk, mingled with the powerful fumes of disinfectant turned his stomach. He might have known Tasker would save a job like this for him.

‘What did ya do last night?’ asked Danny, squinting at Josh as though it were the most important information ever.

‘Oh… I went up on the roof and practised my guitar.’

‘Yeah? What songs did you play?’

‘Well, let’s see. First I did a few old Irish folk songs, that my Granddad wanted to hear…’

‘He was with you?’

‘Yes, he likes to hear me practice.’

Danny nodded, impatient to hear more. ‘And then?’

‘Then I worked on my own material.’

‘Material?’ Danny looked baffled. ‘You mean, like, cloth?’

‘No, dummy! I mean my own songs.’

‘Oh yeah, you got to have your own song to audition for The Talent, right?’

‘Shush!’ Josh looked nervously around. ‘I don’t want Tasker to know about it. At least, not yet…’

‘Imagine!’ whispered Danny. ‘Josh Williams on The Talent! Hey, suppose you won? You’d be able to come in here and buy everything in this bloody supermarket!’

Josh laughed. ‘If I had that kind of money, there’d be better things to spend it on than this old crap,’ he said.

But he closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to dream. The Talent was the one bright spot in a grey and gloomy existence – an annual television show, sponsored by the government and shown on every TV and video screen across the country. Talent spotters travelled to six major cities in Great Britain where they auditioned thousands of young people. These were narrowed down to thirty acts, who then went through a series of elimination heats until, finally… finally, one act emerged triumphant to become the ultimate winner. Josh had wanted to try out for it for years but the problem was, all contestants had to be between the ages of 16 and 25. At last, he was old enough to give it a shot.

The roar of jet fighter engines made him open his eyes again. Tasker had just switched on the giant plasma screen on the far wall, midway through a news bulletin about the war. There was footage of high tech airplanes zooming low over desert terrain, unleashing their rockets into what looked like a small village. Explosions flared bright orange and then great clouds of black smoke billowed upwards into the sky. A male voiceover gave an impassive commentary.

‘Allied forces secured a vital victory in an attack on the fortress of Al Tabil this morning. Thirty-five rebel troops were killed in the action and a missile base destroyed. There were no British casualties. Meanwhile, in the Asian offensive, two helicopters belonging to rebel forces were shot down, bringing the week’s tally to-‘

The voice was rudely cut off as Tasker hurriedly changed the channel to a music station. The truth was, nobody was interested in the various wars currently being fought around the globe, and few people believed that there was any truth in the daily reports that suggested Allied forces were kicking the backsides of every country they came up against. It was no secret that the British government had a stranglehold on the media and nothing went out that hadn’t been vetted by them. But, if the allies were doing so well, how come there hadn’t been a word from dad in almost a year? Was he even alive? Josh’s Dad, Steve, was a soldier, currently listed as ‘missing in action’ somewhere in the Middle East. Meanwhile, Mum received no money from him. No wages, because he was missing; no pension, because his death had not been confirmed. The Government always seemed to find a way not to have pay for anything. For Josh, there was just the constant empty feeling of having no dad around to talk to, share jokes with, even argue with. He missed all that. He missed it more than he could ever say.

The sound of the aircraft was replaced by a sinewy, funky beat and the image of a gold limousine pulling up outside the doors of a theatre, where a gaggle of excited paparazzi were gathered with their cameras. The rear door opened and a long, stocking-clad leg emerged to thrust down an unfeasibly tall high heel onto the pavement. Josh and Danny both nodded in recognition. It was Kendra, last year’s winner of The Talent and this was her new download, a song called Let Me In.

‘What a coincidence,’ said Danny, but of course, it wasn’t. If Tasker had decided to flick through the three hundred other music channels on the set, chances were ten or twelve of them would currently be showing this video. That was how famous The Talent could make you.

Now Kendra emerged from the rear seat of the car, a tall black woman with huge, dark eyes and straight shoulder-length hair. She was dressed in a long silver lamé dress, one side of which was slit to the thigh. She began to prowl towards the camera, like a predatory cat stalking her prey and, as she walked, she was singing in her deep growl of a voice.

‘Get your cameras ready

open up the doors

when I’m in your location

I just won’t be ignored.

I’ve got my motor running

I’ve got my beams on high

Just give me your devotion

And never ask me why.

Some girls are made for parties

Some girls are made for sin

Just put down the red carpet

Step back and let me in!

Josh frowned. He didn’t rate the song. Oh, the production was faultless, the instruments spot on, but the lyrics weren’t really about anything much. How different it would have been, he thought, if Zoe had won last year.

Her songs had been brilliant cutting edge stuff about the world around her and Josh had fallen for her at first sight. She was a skinny, intense blonde with a haunting vocal style and a way of moving her hands as she sang that seemed to make the song come alive. Josh had voted for her in every heat until she had inexplicably gone out in the fifth round. After that, the fire had gone out of it for him, but he’d continued to use his vote, though come to think of it, he’d never voted for Kendra. In the final he’d opted for the comedian, Judd Marlow, a young man who was actually brave enough to be critical of the government on live TV. It had been a near run thing; according to the judges, Kendra had scraped through by just a thousand points or so. The funny thing was, what had happened to Judd Marlow since then? Or Zoe for that matter? With The Talent, it was all or nothing. The winner went on to unbelievable success; the losers, presumably, went back to whatever they were doing before the competition.

Josh thought about that, imagining himself coming back to KayCo, begging Bill Tasker for his old job. He could picture Tasker’s fat face set in a smirk of absolute triumph. ‘I told you you’d be back,’ he’d say. ‘I said you haven’t got what it takes.’ Josh pushed the thought away. Dwelling on it would probably be enough to make him change his mind about entering the competition. And he couldn’t do that. It was all he had. It was his only hope.

Back onscreen, Kendra had entered the theatre and was striding through the crowd. Good looking young men in dark suits were offering her glasses of champagne, strings of pearls, diamond rings, but she was just pushing her way through them, as if they were beneath her contempt, dismissing them with words sung tauntingly straight into their handsome faces.

‘Don’t think that you can buy me

This lady’s not for sale

Don’t think that you can own me

I’m not looking for a male

There’s only one that matters

As anyone can see

There’s only one contender

The contender here is me.

Some girls are made for parties.

Some girls are made for show

Just set down the red carpet

Step back and watch me go!’

On she strode, through a set of swing doors and into a theatre where hundreds of people sat awaiting her arrival. Spotlights bathed the stage in brilliant light as she climbed the short flight of steps to the microphone. She turned to face the audience and stood with her arms spread out in a theatrical pose. The music swelled as an unseen brass section came into play. The bass and drums kicked into full throttle. Synthesisers swelled and soared. Suddenly, Kendra grabbed the front of her lamé dress and with one lithe movement, tore it aside to reveal that she was wearing a tight, white bodysuit. The crowd went wild. She grabbed the microphone, pulled it from its stand and started pacing backwards and forwards across the stage, as the audience rose from their seats and started dancing frenziedly in the aisles.

‘Some girls are made for living

Some girls are made to dance.

Some girls say ‘no surrender’

And leave nothing to chance.

Some girls take what they’re given

Some girls always think small

But others have ambition

Some girls they want it all.

Some girls are made to party

Some girls are made for sin

Just give me your devotion

Step back and let me in.

The video ended with Kendra still parading around the stage, while the crowds rushed to the front to extend their hands in the vain hope of touching her. Others threw flowers and jewels like offerings to some goddess.

Josh shook his head. Totally OTT, he thought. If he won The Talent, things would be different. Low key. Just him and his guitar, the carefully chosen words telling their story. He’d sing about what it was like to be sixteen and have no hope at all. He believed… he really believed that other kids would hear him and know exactly what he was talking about. He knew it seemed ridiculous and yet what had Kendra been before she’d won? She’d worked as a computer operator, for God’s sake! Anything was possible. You just had to have faith in yourself.

As if to hammer the point home, the video faded to be replaced by the fat, contented features of Simeon Brand, one of The Talent’s regular judges and himself a leading light in the music industry. He was a huge man, his body a series of round, swollen shapes, draped in a silky pearl grey suit that had been ingeniously designed to fit him perfectly. His short dark hair was cut in a spiky style with a blonde peak jutting up in front, and a goatee beard hung from one of his many chins. He grinned, displaying tiny white teeth that looked like rows of pearls in his huge, slobbery mouth, but anybody who had watched an episode of the show knew that he had a sharp tongue and never hesitated to voice his true feelings about a contestant’s performance. He had been known to move grown men to tears. Right now though, he was all airs and graces.

‘The fabulous Kendra there with her latest download, Let Me In,’ he purred, in his slick-as-oil and camp-as-Christmas voice. ‘As you all know, lovely, lovely Kendra was the winner of last year’s The Talent. But who will be this year’s winner? Our open auditions are coming to a city near you soon.’ With this he pointed a pudgy, manicured finger at the camera and Josh couldn’t help feeling that Simeon was pointing straight at him; that he could somehow see him standing there in his red KayCo overalls, and was issuing a personal invitation. ‘If you’re between the ages of 16 and 25, you owe it to yourself to come on down and give it a shot. This year, it could be you topping the download chart. It could be you travelling the world, taking your act to millions of people. So come on, darlings, what are you afraid of? I ask you once again. Have you got The Talent?’

Josh stared at the screen, wanting to shout ‘yes!’ but he was suddenly horribly aware that Bill Tasker had appeared at the top of the aisle and was regarding him and Danny with a baleful glare.

‘What the bloody hell’s going on ‘ere?’ he snarled.

Josh and Danny fell to, scrubbing frenziedly at the shelves, as though trying to make up for lost time. Tasker prowled closer until he was standing right next to Josh. He began to talk, bathing Josh in the stink of his maggoty breath.

‘Can I just point out that the video screen is for the entertainment of customers?’ he said. ‘Not for you two skanks.’

‘Yes, Mr Tasker,’ muttered Josh. ‘Sorry Mr Tasker.’

‘There’s no customers here yet,’ said Danny, trying to be helpful, but Tasker just glared at him.

‘I mean, I can’t expect much from you, Lieberman, everyone knows you’re a halfwit.’ He turned back to Josh. ‘But you, Williams, you’ve at least got some brains. I expected more from you.’

‘Sorry, Mr Tasker. It won’t happen again,’ Josh assured him.

‘See that it doesn’t. You want to wake up lad. Stop dreaming about pop stardom and start taking a pride in your work. I’ve told you before, haven’t I? What have I told you?’

‘That there’s twenty other kids waiting for this job, Mr Tasker.’

‘Correctomundo. Twenty kids who don’t mind getting their hands dirty.’ He gave the metal bucket that held the hot water a hefty kick, making the greasy contents slop over the sides. ‘Make sure you clean that up,’ he said, smirking. ‘If a customer slips in it, I’ll have you out of here so fast, your feet won’t touch.’

He turned and walked away, looking pleased with himself. Josh was about to give him the finger, but stopped himself, remembering that the place had CCTV cameras everywhere and that one of Tasker’s favourite pastimes was going through the memory banks, looking for incidents just like that. So Josh contented himself with a few words, spoken under his breath.

‘One day, Tasker. You just wait and see. ‘

He risked a quick glance at the screen to see Simeon Brand’s smiling face as it faded to black and then the next video came on. Josh concentrated on scrubbing shelves and didn’t look at the screen again all that day.

TWO

Josh and Danny walked home through the crowded streets. They usually walked most of the way together in the evenings, but always met up at work in the mornings, as Danny started half an hour earlier than Josh. Josh was carrying a large cardboard box of tomatoes under one arm.

One of the only perks of working at KayCo was that you got first dibs on any food that was being thrown away. Unfortunately, stuff didn’t get chucked unless it was pretty close to being inedible, but, despite that, there was always an army of Rag People hanging around the skip in the car park, ready to fight to the death over whatever the workers turned their noses up at. The tomatoes had been bruised and soft, but Josh figured they’d be all right to throw into the evening’s communal food pot, so he’d grabbed them and shoved them in his locker for later on.

Tasker was always going on about ‘the good old days.’ He had worked for this company since he was a teenager, he claimed and, when he was a lad, supermarkets threw out food by the bucket load, most of it perfectly OK, maybe just a day or so past something called its ‘sell-by’ date.

‘What’s that?’ Danny had asked him one time.

‘Something we had when we could afford to be picky,’ snarled Tasker, unhelpfully. ‘These days we just trust to this…’ He tapped his nose. ‘And this,’ he said, opening his mouth and pointing to his tongue.

Danny had stared at him blankly and Josh had to explain to him afterwards that Tasker had been referring to the smell and the taste of the food. The idea of a ‘sell-by’ date had gone years ago, along with a lot of other niceties.

It was already dark on the street and pretty cold. Josh shrugged his coat tighter around him and he and Danny kept their heads down. Gangs of kids patrolled the streets around this part of town and it didn’t pay to risk giving them the wrong kind of look. Josh had heard of people being beaten to a pulp for their loose change or simply because others didn’t much like the way they dressed.

To his left, hundreds of bicycles and rickshaws clattered along the road, commuters going to and from their respective jobs. Hardly anyone could afford to travel by car these days and those who hung fondly on to their old petrol-driven vehicles had an almost impossible job trying to locate any fuel for them. There was a thriving black market in the stuff, but the prices asked were ridiculously over the top. Granddad had got rid of his old car some years ago, when he worked out it would be as cheap to fill the tank with whiskey as it would with petrol. Here and there, you might spot some rich Suit in a hydrogen powered car, blaring his horn as he tried to make headway through the chaos of traffic, but they were few and far between, particularly in this part of the city.

Josh and Danny passed through a small street market, the traders all bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, many of them standing around burning braziers. A lot of people were wearing face-masks; there had been a recent scare about a bird flu epidemic. Josh kept meaning to pick one up for himself, maybe just improvise one from an old handkerchief but, as yet, he hadn’t quite got around to it. He kept telling himself that things like that only ever happened to somebody else, but supposing he did get sick? Nobody in his family had the money to pay for a doctor.

The market traders didn’t seem to be doing much business tonight. Laid out on homemade tables were the various bits and pieces of junk they were trying to sell – obsolete computer equipment, second hand toys, tools, blankets, heaps of ratty looking clothing.

‘Look at that stuff,’ muttered Danny. ‘Who the hell would ever buy it?’

Josh didn’t answer him. He knew that often these stalls were just fronts for selling illegal substances like tobacco and alcohol, but his attention had been caught by a couple of cops swaggering along the pavement toward them, oddly top-heavy in their bullet-proof vests, machine-guns slung over their shoulders. They were studying Josh with interest, paying particular attention to the box he was carrying.

‘Evening, lads,’ said the first cop, as he drew close. He was a tall, shave-headed man with impassive grey eyes. ‘Where you off to then?’

‘We’re going home,’ said Josh. ‘We just finished work at KayCo.’

‘Papers,’ said the second cop, gesturing with a gloved hand, and Josh and Danny obediently fished out their ID cards. The cops examined them for a moment then handed them back.

There was a brief silence. Then the second cop said, ‘What’s in the box?’ He was a good six inches shorter than his companion and was wearing a regulation peaked cap, something that few coppers seemed to bother with these days.

‘Nothing,’ said Josh.

The first cop smiled mirthlessly. ‘You’re carrying an empty box?’ he murmured.

‘Well, no,’ admitted Josh. ‘It’s just… tomatoes.’

The second cop looked interested. ‘Oh yeah? I’m quite partial to tomatoes,’ he said.

‘Not these ones,’ Danny assured him. ‘They’re rotten.’

The two men glanced at each other. They didn’t seem convinced.

‘Open it,’ said the second cop, pointing to the box.

Josh sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have had stuff nicked off him by coppers. They seemed to use their authority in any way they saw fit and it would have been pointless to go complaining about it. You just had to be grateful they hadn’t used their guns on you. There had been a news item on the plasma screen the other day. A bunch of cops had shot a suspicious-looking guy in the street, who had been reaching into his pocket for something. When they examined the bullet-riddled corpse, it turned out he’d only been reaching for his ID card. The police had apologised to the man’s wife, so no further action was being taken.

Josh lifted the lid of the box and the cops appraised the contents. After spending several hours in Josh’s locker, the tomatoes looked even worse than they had this morning. The first cop prodded one of them with a gloved forefinger and it split messily open, spurting red seeds in all directions.

‘You’re gonna eat those?’ he asked disbelievingly.

‘I thought they’d be OK for cooking,’ said Josh defensively.

‘Yeah? Well, good luck, pal. Enjoy your stay in hospital.’

The cops swaggered on, laughing unpleasantly. An elderly Rag Man, crossing the pavement in front of them, was a little slow in moving out of their way and received a shove in the ribs from the taller cop, which sent him staggering into one of the market stalls. The sheet of plywood that served as a tabletop tipped up and the various bits of merchandise went flying in all directions. There were shouts of anger from the stallholders and the Rag Man had to make a run for it, for fear of being attacked. The two cops, striding onwards, reacted as though it were just about the funniest thing they’d seen in ages.

‘Cops,’ muttered Danny. ‘Don’t’cha just hate ‘em?’

Josh closed the box on the manky looking tomatoes and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I guess they’re just trying to do their job,’ he said, although Granddad was always telling him that, not so many years ago, policemen had been different; they were the people you went to in times of trouble. Now, he liked to say, you wouldn’t trust them with your old underpants. Whatever that meant.

As Josh and Danny started walking again, Danny tried to switch to a more cheerful subject. ‘So when’s the audition?’ he wanted to know.

‘Next Wednesday, at the Videodrome.’

‘Wow. Are you scared?"

Josh looked at him. ‘No,’ he said. It was true, he wasn’t really scared, just kind of excited.

‘I would be terrified,’ said Danny. ‘Honest. If I had to stand up in the Videodrome and play the guitar, I’d be bricking it.’

‘Yes, but you can’t play the guitar.’

‘Even if I could.’ Danny looked at Josh. ‘Even if I was as good as…’ He was obviously trying to think of a famous guitarist, but after a few moments, he gave up. ‘So… have you asked Tasker for the day off yet?’

Danny shook his head. ‘No. And don’t you mention it to him, either. I want to wait for the right moment.’

‘Yeah? When would that be, exactly?’ asked Danny. It was a worrying question. Josh