Heard

Sitting on the edge of the stage, she looked out across the sea of empty chairs. Strewn along the ocean floor were the remnants drunken holiday makers had left in their wake – empty plastic cups that could suffocate sea creatures, shiny plastic wrappers and confetti that would confuse a magpie, and a plethora of bottles, none of which contained a message. She pulled out her hair grips, letting the loosened curls fall gently onto her shoulders, hoping it would help ease the tension in her scalp. It didn’t. Although this had been the biggest venue she’d played at, Alesha couldn’t help feeling deflated that none of the audience members had come to hear her. And from the lack of an applause, maybe no one did. She wondered whether anyone would have noticed if she had vanished while on stage, never to be heard from again.

She didn’t realise that one person had come to hear her.

Alesha Delaware, thanks to a decent voice and a fake ID, had started singing in nightclubs at the age of just sixteen, having left her parent’s restrictive household and moved onto her friends’ tattered sofas. By nineteen, she had moved from clubs to cruise ships, switching upbeat pop hits for romantic ballads, and from audiences of students downing absinth shots to middle-class menopausal women sipping gin-and-tonics. Alesha had always imagined that singing would be a dreamy lifestyle, but it didn’t take her long to learn that the reality was far from it. She was constantly dancing between the drunken hagglers, discontent bosses, jealous co-workers and predatory men; the cruise ship providing a petri dish in which they could fester.

Now twenty-two, after three-and-a-half years at sea, she had taken an opportunity to be the supporting act for a little-known pop group during their tour of holiday destinations across the UK. The group’s lead singer was, quite simply, a jerk. Alesha realised this from the moment she had first met him, and soon discovered the other members were not much better. Each night she stood up in front of the crowd with her mic and guitar, then hid in her tiny motel room watching unrealistic rom-coms and drinking vodka from the bottle. Her parents had not once tried to make contact, nor responded to any of her attempts, and her friends had all moved on with their lives. Without her. They were all doing sensible jobs or university courses or starting a family; one was studying law, another was an engineering apprentice, and a third working in a pre-school. None of them had space in their lives for a cruise ship singer they’d gone to school with a short lifetime ago.

She sat on the beach, scrolling through the social media pages of people who had forgotten she existed, and others who didn’t know that to begin with. There were just over three hours to go until the show this evening, the sun was still scorching in the almost cloudless sky, and she figured she had time to stay on the seafront a little longer before having to begin the laborious process of making herself presentable for the biggest venue of the tour so far. Brushing the sand off her legs, she walked barefoot to the ice-cream stand a short way along the promenade and ordered a Mr. Whippy, then sat back down on a bench overlooking the sea.

She’d only taken a couple of licks before she had to sweep her hair out of her face, the wind having decided to pick up as if deliberately to cause Alesha problems with her ice-cream. Having just managed to get her hair out the way, a seagull swooped down on the breeze, plucking the cone out of her hand as it went, and carrying it off along the beach. Drips of melted ice cream had fallen mockingly on her legs and sticky strawberry sauce trickled through her empty fingers. She cursed.

“Here, let me help you with that.” She turned her head to see a reasonably tall man, about her age, with floppy blonde hair and piercing grey-blue eyes. She stared at his face for a moment before realising he was holding out a tissue in his hand. Blinking a couple of times, she smiled, and took the tissue from him with a murmured thanks.

“I’m Jake,” he said, sticking out his hand to shake, realising his mistake, then shoving it back in his pocket as Alesha tried to wipe syrup from her skin.

“Alesha,” she replied. “Thanks for the tissue.”

“No problem,” he said as he sat down beside her. “You live here?”

She shook her head.

“Holiday?” He tried again.

“Work,” she stated, scrunching up the tissue into a ball.

“Oh yeah? What d’ya do?”

She smiled again, taken aback slightly at the fact he was asking about her. No one ever cared enough to bother. “Singer. Supporting act for Triple Seven.” At his impressed expression, she scoffed. “Trust me, it sounds a lot better than it is.”

“You’re talking to someone who spends all day watching small children – on the carousel,” he added hastily. “I work at the fun park. I’m not a creep, I promise.”

Alesha chuckled as his face turned from peach to cranberry.

“It’s okay, I knew what you meant.”

“Thanks,” he replied, a little sheepishly, as he stood up again, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I better get back. It was nice to meet you, though.”

“You too." She stayed sat there, watching, as the first person in years to have interacted with her as a human and not a commodity or a nuisance walked off along the prom.

Hours later, once the show was over and night had begun to fall, Alesha couldn’t help feeling even more alone than before. She'd perched on the edge of the stage overlooking the rows of seats, as if searching, somewhere, for an answer about where everyone in her life had gone. And why no one had bothered to stay.

She sighed, picturing the drab motel room and half-empty bottle of vodka that would be waiting for her. When social media showed everyone else being welcomed home by a loving spouse, excited children or yappy dogs, it made her scene seem all the more pitiful. 

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she jumped down from the stage, and made her way back through the matrix of empty corridors. She was about to leave the deserted foyer, when a small “erm, excuse me” stopped her in her tracks. The girl behind the front desk, who Alesha reasoned must be the person who had just spoken, had dark hair, pale skin, and lipstick as red as Snow White's poisoned apple. She slid an envelope across the desk towards her. “Someone left this for you.”

Alesha smiled and thanked her, and told her to have a nice evening as she waved goodbye. Tearing open the envelope, she found a handwritten note, which she read quickly before looking up and scanning the horizon before her. 

“You came?” She asked the figure sat on a bench a short distance away. “I didn’t even tell you where I was performing.”

“I have my ways,” he replied smoothly, producing a bouquet of pink carnations from beside him.

“What are you doing here?” Every syllable was seeping in astonishment.

“It’s nice to see you again too.” Jake smiled, stepping towards her. “I came to hear you sing... and to ask you for a drink.”

She blushed deeply as she took the flowers. “I’d love to."