This is not your best work Chris

-

Vanessa arrives a little late to karaoke, hesitates at the front desk. She doesn’t know their booth number, and she’s not sure of which name it would have been booked under.

“Have you seen a – a very tall, loud – he’s got a beard—”

“You’re in room seven,” the receptionist says. “If you break the microphones again, you’re paying for them.”

Room seven is at the end of a short hallway. Vanessa pauses outside the door, takes a deep breath. She’s intimidated by the idea of singing where other people can hear her. But she’s a part of the drama society now, and she should probably get to know her fellow performers better; she shouldn’t really be skipping social events.

“Vanessa!” Annie exclaims, wrenching the door open and very nearly giving Vanessa multiple heart attacks. “Glad you could make it!”

“Thank you.” Vanessa quickly slips inside; the singing blasting out into the hallway is making her feel selfconscious. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Annie waves her apology away. “It’s fine! Just so you know, Robert and Sandra are gonna hog the mics, so you really have to elbow your way in if you want a turn.”

Robert and Sandra are, in fact, just finishing up a passionate duet of ‘Delilah’, complete with a slightly alarming mime of Sandra being stabbed to death.

“That’s fine,” Vanessa says. “I... I think I’ll probably just watch for a while.”

Annie shrugs. “Suit yourself. Nobody’s gonna complain if you save us from Robert’s singing later on, though. He gets worse as he gets drunker.”

Vanessa takes a seat next to Chris, who has settled in a corner of the booth with a book, clearly with no intention of taking the microphone himself. It’s reassuring; perhaps she won’t be judged for just spectating. In fact, going by the way Robert is currently wrestling with Max to keep the microphone, some people might actively prefer it if others waive their turns.

Robert, Sandra, Annie and Max turn out to be the most enthusiastic singers of the group. Annie will occasionally insist on Dennis having a go; he muddles through the lyrics, mispronouncing half the words, but, to Vanessa’s surprise, he can carry a tune. Trevor scrolls speculatively through the venue’s Duran Duran collection a couple of times, but he never actually performs. Jonathan’s yet to show up, which is apparently normal; they all take turns periodically opening the door to check whether he’s outside.

Eventually, with a little liquid courage inside her, Vanessa approaches Robert and holds out her hand for the microphone. To be honest, she’s half hoping he’ll fight her off.

No such luck. “Ah, the newcomer!” he exclaims, handing it over. “Let’s hear what you’re capable of.”

She chooses ‘Waterloo’ by ABBA: something fun and crowdpleasing, something she won’t have to take too seriously. Most of the room sings along, which helps to take some of the pressure off, encourages her to put a little more power into her voice.

She’s laughing by the time she finishes. Turns around to see who’s waiting for the microphone, finds Chris’s eyes on her. It’s disconcerting; he’s been so quiet that she’d almost forgotten he was here.

“You can sing,” he says.

It instantly brings a flush to her face. “Um, thank you.”

“I was thinking of writing our Christmas play for the BBC myself,” Chris says. “It might include a few songs. Would you be willing to play the lead?”

“Excuse me?” Robert asks. “Vanessa’s brand new to the society; are you really going to offer her the lead over more senior members, on the strength of one—”

“Robert, the lead role is a small girl.”

“And you don’t think that’s within my range?”

“How could I possibly give you the role of Belle,” Chris says, “when you’re the ideal Father Christmas?”

There’s a pause.

“I do make a good Father Christmas,” Robert concedes, mollified. “In fact...”