Carol stood back to make sure the look was right. She nodded, satisfied: Daisy’s head looked like it was on fire.
Marcus hung-up and addressed Walt.
‘Can you make sure she gets on stage?’
Walt nodded. ‘Yeah, you got something to do?’
Marcus nodded, with a face that looked like he’d sucked a dozen lemons. ‘Work.’
‘Sucks dunnit,’ said Walt.
Marcus stepped up to Daisy and placed both hands on her shoulders, addressing her via the mirror.
‘I have to nip off for a while,’ he said, realising that Daisy was admiring her appearance more than listening to him. ‘Call if you need anything. Someone will come and pick you up after the show.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Daisy, then remembered her new makeup artist. ‘Can Carol come?’
‘Um,’ said Marcus with a frown. ‘I don’t think that’s–’
‘Oh go on,’ said Daisy protesting. ‘She’s done a really good job.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Marcus agreed emphatically. ‘Definitely. But it’s one of those occasions.’
Daisy frowned and Marcus rolled his eyes.
‘Fine, fine,’ he relented. ‘I’ll send someone along to pick her up.’
‘I don’t want to be a bother,’ said Carol, hoping her tone indicated she really, really wanted to come to whatever was planned. ‘But I’d really love to come.’
Marcus stared at her, slowly making a decision.
‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘Look, come with me now and I’ll sort something out. It’ll be safer that way.’
Carol all but jumped for joy, then realised she’d miss the show.
Marcus nodded. ‘It’ll be okay. Trust me.’
He smiled convincingly, without even a smidgeon of lecherousness.
Carol nodded, grabbed her handbag and followed him out.
‘Okey dokey darl’,’ said Walt and tapped Daisy on the shoulders. ‘We’re up.’
Daisy stood, knowing it was the moment of truth and that truth was that she didn’t know how to sing, nor what to.
‘Can’t you…’
Walt led her into the corridor, following Marcus and Carol. They passed a door marked:
Do Not Open – We Mean IT!!‘I can’t remember the songs,’ said Daisy with increasing panic, eyeing the door longingly. She was propelled forwards toward the stage.
‘Oh god,’ said Daisy, a little more panic rising. ‘What are our songs?’
‘Tell you what,’ said Walt, delving into his pocket. He unscrewed a small white bottle, removed the cotton-wool stuffing and tipped the bottle toward his open palm. ‘Take this.’
Two small white pills sat in the palm of his hand before her.
‘What’re they,’ she asked.
