Lucy in the Sky

morning when I wake up. In the shower I actually sing it out loud.
    ‘Lucy, shut UP!’ James shouts from the bedroom.
    We like a Mockah Chockah
    Like the way you move …
    ‘I’m not joking,’ he calls.
    But I can’t stop. I’ve got to hand it to them; this is catchy shit.
     
    ‘You didn’t just call Q magazine?’ I gasp in horror on Tuesday morning, as Gemma hangs up the phone. How embarrassing. ‘What did they say?’
    ‘No, thank you.’
    ‘Now there’s a surprise.’
    It’s quite possibly the most surreal week of my life. In between accompanying what is surely the campest, cheesiest band on the face of the earth, to every magazine and newspaper office that will allow us through the doors, I also keep remembering that Nathan might be coming to the UK. Nerves sweep through me every time I think of him, but I’m trying not to obsess about it too much. It might never happen.
    On Thursday, Chloe and I accompany Alexei, Varvara and Regina to begin a four-day tour of the clubs in Manchester, Birmingham, Glasgow and Cardiff. We watch in amazement as they manage to get entire dance floors joining in with their insane dance routine.
    Back in London on Sunday night, we’re both exhausted, and we haven’t even started on the television and radio promotion yet. The single comes out the following morning.
    That next week is the same, passing by in a promotional blur. We’ve had over 150,000 hits on the YouTube website and the momentum is really picking up pace. Mandy calls me over to her desk on Tuesday morning. She can’t keep the smile from her face.
    ‘Check it out,’ she says, pointing to her screen. The midweek single results have come in. Titteesh and their ‘Mockah Chockah’ song are heading straight into the top spot. They’re 30,000 copies ahead of their nearest competition, which is sensational.
    ‘I think it might be time to crack open the champagne, don’t you, Lucy?’ She grins up at me.
    ‘I don’t know.’ I smile. ‘We don’t want to jinx it…’
    But the single just keeps flying off the shelves, and download sales are sky-high. Radio DJs moan and groan every time they play it, but they have to because it’s on every station’s playlist. The whole of the United Kingdom seems to have gone ‘Mockah Chockah’ crazy.
    On Friday, Mandy announces there’s no way a few glasses of champagne can jinx anything; nothing is going to keep this single from the Number One spot on Sunday. She cracks open a bottle and even cracks a smile as it fizzes all over the carpet.
    ‘To Lucy,’ she says, raising her glass at me. ‘If anyone could do it, I knew you could. And to Chloe and Gemma, as well. You girls have all done an outstanding job. Truly. Outstanding.’
    By the time I catch up with Karen and Reena after work that night, I can’t stop buzzing from all the champagne and praise coursing through my veins. We’re off to see Dirty Dancing and we meet outside the theatre at 7.15, just before the show starts. The interval is short and sweet, so it’s not until later, when we’re safely ensconced in a dark corner of a Soho bar, that we can talk properly.
    ‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner!’ Karen shouts, as she arrives back from the bar with three Seabreezes. Reena and I cringe and peek at the other punters with embarrassment.
    ‘What have you been up to this week, then, girlies?’ Karen grins. She’s changed her hair again. Now she’s got blonde extensions underneath her dyed-black real locks. I’m still not keen.
    ‘Well, you know the “Mockah Chockah” song?’ I say, sipping my vodka, cranberry and grapefruit cocktail.
    ‘I hate that song!’ Karen throws her hands up in the air.
    ‘What song?’ Reena interrupts.
    ‘You know the one.’ Karen groans. ‘Whatcha! Whatcha gotta? Gotcha! Mockah Chockah! Know you! Like a lotta! Mockah! Mockah Chockah!’
    ‘Very good.’ I laugh.
    Reena nods her head in recognition. ‘I know the one you mean…’
    ‘It’s so shit. What about it?’ Karen turns to me.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, giggling.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I’ve been doing the PR for it. It’s going to Number One on Sunday.’
    ‘Please, God, no! I can no longer call you my friend!’ she cries, getting a few sidelong glances from the people nearby.
    ‘Oh, it’s not that bad.’ Reena laughs. ‘It’s pretty catchy. I quite like it.’
    Karen looks at her with contempt.
    ‘No, no, it’s okay, Reena, you don’t have to be nice about it,’ I say. ‘I