And Still to Come

Some years from now

The nation had watched Shaiana cry so many times. Heard her voice crack as she struggled to complete her sentence.

‘I just want this so much. I really, really want it so much. It’s all I ever wanted. Since I was a little girl. . . It’s my. . . It’s my. . . ’

She couldn’t do it. Words failed her. Her lip quivered, her nostrils flared and a watery film spread across her eyes. The lids closed in an agonized grimace and squeezed out a glistening tear.

Just a tear, a single tear, but such a tear. One of the most scrutinized tears that was ever shed. Few tears in all history would be seen by so many and so often. Over and over again it had teetered momentarily upon the thickly mascaraed lashes of Shaiana’s lower lid before tipping forward and rolling heavily across the downy expanse of that now nationally familiar cheek, tracing its course through the heavy blusher with which the make-up artist had struggled in vain to cover the tiny blemishes on Shaiana’s quivering face.

The people in their millions had absorbed this scene immediately before the last break and also before the break which preceded that. They had seen it at the very beginning of the programme and in the trailers that had played throughout the earlier part of the evening. Those with access to the digital channels had been able to watch the tear for nearly a week already and grainy stills of it had appeared in the press. It was also possible to download it to one’s mobile phone by accessing the ‘preview highlights’ section of the Chart Throbwebsite.

But despite all this massive exposure, up until now that tear had always been a future tear, a tear which, in the endlessly repeated phrase of Keely the presenter, was ‘still to come’.

‘And still to come, it’s all too much for Shaiana. ’

‘Still to come, Shaiana struggles to keep it together. ’

‘Is Shaiana’s dream turning into a nightmare? All that and more, still to come. ’

And so the tear had teetered. A maybe tear, present and entirely familiar but nonetheless a tear in waiting. But now finally it had arrived. No longer a tear that was ‘still to come’ but all of a sudden a clear and present tear, a tear that was on its way. And for the first time (but most certainly not the last) the viewing millions saw it disappear beneath the square white plastic nail of Shaiana’s outstretched finger as she rested her chin upon Keely’s gorgeous skinny shoulder, and failed to find the word for which she was struggling.

‘I just want this so much, ’ she repeated. ‘I really, really do. I want it so much. It’s all I ever wanted. Since I was a little girl. . . It’s my. . . It’s my. . . ’

At the very last linguistic hurdle, emotion defeated Shaiana and words failed her.

‘Dream? ’ Keely coaxed. ‘Is it your dream? Is that what you’re trying to tell us? That it’s your dream? ’

‘That’s right, Keely, ’ Shaiana sniffed. ‘That is so right. It’s my dream. ’

Keely’s bronzed, cadaverously muscular arms enfolded Shaiana’s shoulders. Momentarily entwined, they made quite a contrast: the golden girl and the girl with the dream. It all looked slightly uncomfortable as Shaiana’s arm (the one which she had raised to wipe away the famous tear) became trapped in Keely’s skeletal embrace. BrieflyShaiana’s hand rested in the hollow of Keely’s armpit and Keely’s teeth rattled against Shaiana’s big hoop earrings. Neither woman seemed to notice the awkwardness or if they did, they did not care. Emotions were running too high. It was all too much.

‘You go, girl, ’ Keely whispered. ‘Just you go, girl. ’

‘Yeah, ’ Shaiana sniffed, raising her eyes towards what would have been the stars had it not been daytime and had she not been indoors. ‘God gave me this chance and I’m going to rock their asses! ’

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