Page 20 of When We Were Young

Liv

When I tell Tom I want to move to Amplify magazine, he’s not annoyed, he looks relieved. I take him to meet Paul Raymond, then he rings Dad, saying, ‘To be honest, mate, I didn’t know what I was going to do with her.’ Then he wishes me luck before hurrying back to his office.

And just like that, I’m working at Amplify .

Paul doesn’t waste any time. No coffee runs here. He has me listening to a new hip-hop album and tells me to have a go at writing a review.

I panic. What the hell am I going to write? But once I listen to the music, I realise I have a lot to say about it. By home time, I’ve written 722 words. I email my review to Paul and wish him a good night.

The following morning, I arrive early. My new pass lets me into the office with a happy beep. Paul is at his desk, wearing headphones.

I do a dorky wave to get his attention.

‘Liv – you’re here!’ he shouts.

‘Hi.’

He slips his headphones onto his shoulders. ‘I read your review.’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly I’m boiling.

‘It’s not bad. Not bad at all. How old are you again?’

‘I’ll be sixteen next week.’

‘In that case, it’s great. Well done. I’m going to send you some suggestions – see if you can make it even better, okay?’

‘Okay, yeah.’

‘There are a few others you can have a go at as well.’

I spend the first couple of days practising writing reviews, then Paul introduces me to the marketing assistant, and I help her come up with a month’s worth of social media posts. She even lets me write a few.

The rest of the week is a mixture of social media and fake writing projects.

It’s such a buzz whenever I get a like or comment on any of the posts I’ve been involved with, and my writing must be improving because Paul is sending it back with fewer edits.

There – I used the word ‘fewer’ in my own head.

I’ve learned more in the last week than all the years in Miss Baker’s English class.

On the Monday of the second week, Paul asks me to join the features meeting.

I recognise the permanent staff members, and he introduces me to the others who are freelancers.

I take the furthest seat. Paul goes around the table asking everyone for ideas.

He must be getting desperate because when he gets to me, he says, ‘What about you, Liv? Do you have any ideas for a feature?’

‘Me?’ Heat creeps up my neck to my face. ‘Uh, I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘Well, think about it now. What kind of article would you want to read in Amplify ? We’re targeting a younger audience.’

‘Er…’ Everyone looks at me.

‘There are no wrong answers, Liv. This is a brainstorm.’

‘Okay… er, well… I like to read reviews, and I like to know what the next big thing is, but you’ve already covered that…’

‘Uh-huh.’ He’s still looking at me.

‘But I guess I’m also interested in artists’ influences. You know, where they get inspiration from, the bands they listen to.’

He writes something in his notebook, then looks back at me.

‘And, er, something that’s always coming up on the social media channels, what gets people talking, is the meanings behind songs.

You could do a regular feature explaining where the ideas for songs came from, influences, what they’re about.

Do some research, maybe interview the artist?

Readers could get involved on social media and request the songs they want you to cover. ’

Everyone looks from me to Paul.

‘What would we call it?’ he asks the entire table.

‘Tracks Decoded?’ suggests a girl with a cool sixties-print top and Harry Potter glasses.

‘Yes! Love it, Tumi!’ says Paul. ‘Why don’t you come up with guide questions for this feature? Liv, give Tumi a hand with that.’

Tumi smiles at me. Her nose wrinkles, lifting her glasses up on her face.

I like her already.

The alarm goes off and when I open my eyes, it’s cool blue serenity everywhere. I’m not expecting that. I’m expecting the dusty pink clutter of my room at home – I mean, Mum’s.

Then, I remember it’s my birthday.

I’m sixteen.

I’ve waiting ages for this day but now it’s here, it already feels like an anti-climax.

My phone buzzes beside my bed.

Chloe: Happy sweet sixteen! May your playlists always be full of hits! Can’t wait to celebrate with you. Love you loads x.

She signs off with cupcake and sparkles emojis and it warms my insides.

Dad knocks on the door. ‘Morning birthday girl!’ he trills. ‘Can I come in?’

I sit up. ‘Yeah.’

Carrying a tray, he sings ‘Happy Birthday’ out of tune the whole way across the room. Before I even see it, I know what’s on it: pancakes and hot chocolate with squirty cream – my birthday breakfast request since I was five. As he places it on my lap, the cream avalanches over the side of the cup.

‘No! I kept that balancing all the way up the stairs!’ He rescues a little present from the spillage and hands me the box.

‘Now, I know you asked for Beatland tickets, but Mum said no way and I didn’t know what else to get you…’

I knew Beatland tickets were a long shot. ‘Can I open it?’

‘Go ahead.’

I tear off the paper to find a gold box, and inside is a roll of twenty-pound notes tied with ribbon. ‘Ah, thanks, Dad.’

‘This way, you can buy whatever you like.’

‘Except Beatland tickets, right?’

He pulls a comedy grimace. ‘Yeah, sorry.’

On the train into London, I check the Amplify Twitter account.

Yesterday, I tweeted asking for requests for the Tracks Decoded feature.

There are 363 replies. Tumi squeals when I tell her at the office.

She asks me to come up with a shortlist. As I go through them, I notice there are a few requests for Will Bailey’s ‘Fever’ – probably because of the movie trailer, but I put it at the top of the shortlist when I show her.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she says. ‘A friend of mine did a special on him a few years ago on the anniversary of his death for Mojo magazine. I’ll drop him a message.’

She taps on her phone with lightning thumbs and, as we finish the list of potential songs, Tumi’s phone lights up.

‘My Mojo contact has sent through the details for Will Bailey’s brother. Apparently, there’s an archive of notebooks, letters, and photographs. I’ll call him now.’

I listen as Tumi arranges to view the archive that Friday morning. The moment she hangs up, I ask if I can go with her.

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘I’m not trawling through that lot on my own.’

Back at my desk, I try to concentrate on researching the songs on the Tracks Decoded shortlist, but Chloe keeps messaging because she’s bored at her dad’s office, and I can’t stop thinking about Friday and the chance to look through Will Bailey’s stuff.

I wonder if there will be any trace of Mum there.

The next time my phone buzzes it’s not Chloe, it’s Dad. He wants to know where I am. We were supposed to meet downstairs twenty minutes ago. I say bye to Tumi and Paul, and dash out.

It takes ages for the lift to come, and when it does, it stops at every floor. I’d forgotten all about my birthday celebrations. When I said no to a party, Dad suggested dinner and a West End show with him and Mum.

Outside, my parents are chatting away and don’t see me coming.

Things have been weird between Mum and me since I moved out.

Dad arranged a couple of dinners, but it’s been like making polite conversation with a stranger.

We used to be so close, but the last year or so she’s been so frustrating.

Not letting me do anything. Always wanting to know where I am.

It’s suffocating. Mum spots me, our eyes meet, and she beams at me.

For a split second, she looks like the girl in the old photographs, and I’m reminded of her old life as a cool artist with a rock-star boyfriend and it’s so confusing because the woman in front of me couldn’t be further from that. I wish she would talk to me.

‘Happy birthday!’ Mum says in a high-pitched voice.

Her mouth is smiling, but her eyes are sad. She throws her arms around me and squeezes me so tight it hurts my bruised ribs.