Chocolate Box Girls: Bittersweet by Cathy Cassidy

Sometimes, your life can change in a moment and you might not even know it.
    You could be sitting on a beach at sunset with a bunch of friends, playing guitar and singing while people laugh and chat and toast marshmallows, a party going on all around you. You might not notice the tall bearded guy listening intently, or know that he has the power to turn everything upside down for you. Doors could open, opportunities could unfold. Fame and fortune could hook you in, and nothing would ever be the same again.
    My friend Finch jabbed me in the ribs, grinning.
    ‘See that guy with the beard, over there?’ he asked. ‘He’s a friend of Mum’s, from back home in London. She told him about your playing, and he said he’d come down one weekend and listen. He’s called Curtis Rawlins. You should say hello.’
    ‘Yeah?’ I echoed, peering into the twilight. ‘You think?’
    Things had been crazy lately – a TV company was making a film in the village, and Finch’s mum Nikki was the producer. She and Finch had beenstaying with my girlfriend’s family for the summer, but the film was all wrapped up now. Nikki and Finch were ready to head back to London – the beach party was a kind of goodbye get-together.
    Nikki had heard me play a few times over the holidays, though I’d never thought anything of it. The guy with Nikki looked like your typical film-crew type, youngish and London-cool with a goatee beard and a red trilby hat. I lifted a hand to wave at the two of them, and they grinned back.
    ‘Curtis is a talent scout for a record company,’ Finch said into my ear. ‘Wrecked Rekords … you’ve heard of them, right?’
    I blinked. Everyone has heard of Wrecked Rekords – some of my favourite bands are signed to them.
    ‘Hang on, Finch,’ I frowned. ‘Did you just say …’
    ‘Curtis is a talent scout, yeah,’ he repeated.
    ‘Wow. But no, the other bit …’
    ‘Right. The bit about Mum telling him about your playing?’ Finch checked. ‘Yeah. She sent him a copy of that CD you made for me, and a link to your online stuff, and he liked it and decided to come down and meet you. He’s been listening to you for the last hour. So … are you going to say hi?’
    He nudged me forward.
    ‘Hey, Nikki, Curtis,’ I said politely.
    The beardy guy grinned and shook my hand, and up close I could see he had about a dozen piercings in one ear. ‘Shay, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Nice playing. And they’re all your own songs?’
    I said that they were, and Curtis asked if I’d ever recorded anything or if I might like to. Wrecked Rekords were always on the lookout for new talent. According to Curtis, I was just the kind of thing they were looking for.
    ‘Seriously?’ I remember saying. ‘Me?’
    Curtis was serious.
    It could have been that easy, I swear. I could have had a recording contract right there and then, with a cool London label. Curtis said he thought I had something special – raw talent, awesome songs, an offbeat kind of charm. Plus, I was young and keen and had the right look.
    Me. Really. He said I could have a career, a future. They’d put down a few tracks, arrange some showcase gigs, get media coverage.
    ‘You could be big,’ Curtis told me. ‘That indie-ballad vibe, the bittersweet songs, the surf-boy looks … it’s unique. They’re going to love you!’
    My life could have changed in that moment, but …
    Well, it didn’t. Just my luck.
    Thing is, I am fifteen. I am still at school, and Curtis said that was no problem at all, but thatobviously my parents would have to be on board with the whole thing.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he told me. ‘I’ll talk to them, explain it all. Trust me!’
    That’s when I knew I was doomed. My parents were never going to listen to a bloke with a goatee beard and piercings and a red trilby hat, talking about bittersweet songs with a surf-boy twist. It just wouldn’t happen.
    ‘I’m heading back to London tomorrow, but I’ll call in before I go,’ Curtis