Page 4 of The Twelve Days of Christian
My cheer team was my slightly rough around the edges farming family: Mum, Dad, and my two older brothers, forced by my parents to be there. They still can’t understand why I prefer a guitar over a tractor, or why anyone would choose to make music rather than milk cows. Ungrateful bastards.
Meanwhile Ollie’s headmaster dad and head teacher mum flanked this often serious but always pretty young woman, who looked at her brother with the same loving adoration as those two creaky old dogs are giving her right this minute. Even back then, Idecided it would be rather nice if Haley Templeton looked at me like that; which, at the moment, she’s definitely not.
Yes, screwing around with Ollie’s kid sister would not be a great idea. He’s one of the few true friends I’ve ever had—from the first time we met backstage, two scared guys trying to put on enough bravado so the judges and the public might see potential in our music and keep us coming back week after week, and maybe make it to the end.
In a way, not making the finals was a gift. I can’t imagine how it would have felt if either of us had been the last man standing. A weird mix of elation and devastation, I suppose. But while we fell short of making it to the lofty heights of finals night, we’ve reached far beyond that since. Commiserating over a few beers after our simultaneous elimination, Stellar Riot was born, and we never gaveStar Powera single backward glance.
Ollie believes in me—me, the person—not only in my musical talent and my total commitment to our shared goals. I mustn’t do anything to tarnish that belief. It’s all I’ve got when things inevitably get tough. The only wobble we’ve ever had in our friendship of three years involved a woman, so for that reason I need to tread very carefully around this one, much as I’d love to abandon common sense.
I sit up from the jumble of dogs and summon a brave face.
“So, I’m guessing Ollie hasn’t told you,” I say, dragging a hand down my scruffy beard.
“Told me what?” she snaps.
“That I need to stay here for twelve days.”
“No.” Her frown deepens, her mouth tightening as she snatches up her phone, and begins scrolling.
It’s still playing some cheesy Christmas song, a harsh assault on my hungover ears. Please God, never let them suggest the band do a Christmas single. It might be good enough for Springsteen and U2, but the thought of a Stellar Riot Christmas release nauseates me.
“Well, I definitely ran this past him. I spoke to him yesterday, around midday.” I hope the earnest tone encourages her to see the truth in my eyes. “He’s somewhere in Botswana. Said he’d call you straight away.”
“Nope,” she says. “Nothing at all.”
This explains her greeting me with a slightly hostile air of surprise. I’m determined to damp that down a notch. I’m reluctant to ruin the next twelve days with accusations of lies from the start. Although, Iamgoing to lie to her. I have no choice. Or at the least skirt around the truth. But hand on my heart, she’s getting the truth right now.
“The connection was pretty flaky. In some really remote place, apparently. Bumping along a dirt track in a four-wheel drive. He might be out of range. And you know him, Haley. He’s not exactly reliable, not when he’s off on one of his trips. If Ollie said he’d call, he would have tried. I can’t imagine him worrying too much if he couldn’t get through.”
“Guess we won’t know either way.” The thick suspicion in her voice is undisguisable. “OK,” she sighs, “so we’ve established Ollie said it’s fine for you to stay here.”
She believes me. That’s a good sign, because I’m going to need her to trust me, given what I can tell she’s going to ask next.
“But that still doesn’t answer the question of why you’re here, not on some island off the coast of Scotland, winning enough money so Canine Haven doesn’t implodeby Christmas.”
“You’ve been watching? And you assumed I’d win?”
The thought ignites a small flutter of pride. Without reservation, Haley believes—scratch that,believed—in me too.
“Of course you were going to win,” she snorts, throwing me an incredulous look, as if anyone could doubt my ability to outplay and outlast seven other celebrities. Then she tears away my smug self-satisfaction in a heartbeat. “It’s not like you had much competition,” she huffs over a little laugh. “One washed up football player, two girls from a daytime soap no one’s ever heard of, one of theReal Wives Of Watford—who I’m surprised has the brain to make it to her front door let alone all the way to Scotland and back—and three losing contestants they’ve pulled from various reality series?”
“Four,” I say, miserably. “If you count aStar Powersemi-finalist.”
I see it clearly now Haley puts it like that. I wasn’t chosen for the hard-earned success and fame I’ve created alongside my bandmates these past three years. The production company was scraping even deeper into the bottom of the barrel when they invited me. Channel Eight axedStar Powerlast year. It’s not even a current show. Struggling to fill all the spots onWild For The Win—which is no surprise; after all who in their right mind would spend ten days in Scotland, during winter, on an island so far north it’s a wonder we didn’t bump into Santa Claus, for no actual reward except the warm fuzzy glow of helping a charity—somehow they landed on my name.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she says, with an irritated shrug. “But Christian,you’rethe only one of the whole eight with a brain in your head and an ounce of determination. I’ve only watched Episode 1, but it was obvious. The rest of them seem to think they’re at a holiday camp for grown-ups. I can’t understand why they’re still there and you’re here.” She scrunches her eyes, shaking her head.
Here we go. Now dodging the truth begins.
“Because they dumped me. On day five.”
“How can that be? It’s not like it’s a ‘vote people off’ situation. What did you do? It must have been bad for them to toss you out of there.”
The accusation stings. I know she’s hurting over this. My failure is personal to her. I’ve failed her, and all those people at Canine Haven and all the dogs like these two characters sitting here watching our conversation. If it wasn’t such a tense situation, I’d crack a smile at the way their heads swivel back and forth, first to her, then to me, like it’s a Wimbledon tennis final; and now the ball’s in my court. I lob it back as best I can. It’s not going to be easy to keep inside the lines and still make this an honest match.
“It wasn’t what I did, Haley. It’s what Iwouldn’tdo. I know my reputation suggests I’m not exactly a guy who would take a stand on his principles, but this time I had to.”
I can see doubt and mistrust in her narrowed eyes. She thinks I’m spinning her a lie. And I am—and I’m not. In her mind, my dodgy principles must seem like a flimsy excuse on which to gamble the future of the dog rescue.
