Autumn Leaves

Chapter 6

Copyright (c) 2013. All rights reserved by the author.

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"All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind."

         - Aristotle

After getting told off severely, my mum asked me how it went with the phrase:

       "Did you win?"

       "No," I replied, getting a bit annoyed, "I didn't win, but Charlotte did."

       "Charlotte?" My mum snorted, " Charlotte Brookes?"

       "The one and only."

       "That girl- are you sure?"

       "Yes, mother, I am very sure that Charlotte Brookes, aged fifteen, won my school's talent show by performing an excerpt from a musical. Or something akin to a musical." I sighed sarcastically.

        "Well. Shows you what money can do, eh?"

         She then proceeded to rattle off a list of things that was wrong with the world, including Rebecca Black, but I sort of zoned out and waited for her to stop talking so I could tell her about Mr Roberts.

          She'd been going for ten minutes strong when I couldn't take it any more and just interrupted her.

          "...do they really think-"

          "Mum!"

          She stopped and looked at me. "What?"

          I took a deep breath and said "I may not have won, but something better happened after I came off the stage."

          "Go on..." She said slowly.

          "After I finished my performance, someone called Mr Roberts came up to me and congratulated me on my performance."

          I waited for her to say something, and what came out was: "And? Was that it? Did you have a crush on this Mr Roberts or something?"

        "No, mum!" I groaned, "Just listen! So, after he said well done, he... Offered me a contract with White Tiger, the music records sort of people. "

         I waited and watched her face for a reaction.

        "Emma, you do know that April Fools is in four months, right? In April. Not in December."

         "I'm not joking mum!" I cried, frustrated. Then I remembered the business card. "Here," I said, handing the small bit of paper to her. She took it from me, glancing at it. Her expression changed when she saw that I was actually being serious.

        "Well then," She coughed, "do you think this will be good for you?"

         "Sorry? What do you mean?" I frowned, confused by the question.

         "I mean, is this what you want to do? Do you want to become a singer or a doctor? You can't have both. If you choose to pursue a career in the arts, it may not be very successful. But if you study medicine, you will almost never be unemployed. The will always be a need for doctors." She explained gently.

         "Well, when you put it like that..."

         "However," she carried on, "if you do become successful, then it will be a very rewarding job. And not just in the money sort of sense. I know you've always loved music, and of that's what you want to do... Then I will support you all the way."

          My mum got up from her chair, picked up the home phone and placed it very carefully in front of me. "It's your decision." she said, looking me straight in the eye.

       I paused, taking a deep breath. Then, before I changed my mind, I dialled the number on the card and pressed the call button. I heard it ringing and after three rounds, it was picked up and I heard a heavily-accented voice say, "Drew Roberts speaking."

        "Hello, Mr Roberts? It's Emma White from Sycamore Woods Secondary School. You said to call you?"

        "Ah yes, Emma. Can I speak to a parent?"

        "Yep, I'll just give it to my mum now." I replied and handed the phone to the said parent, who took it and adopted a serious business-like expression.

         "Hello Mr Roberts? I'm Imogen White, Emma's mother" she said in a tone which matched her countenance.

        I couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but from what my mum was replying with, I took it he was trying to arrange a meeting date so we could speak more clearly and so my mum could ask some questions.

        "Thank you Mr Roberts. See you in a week's time." My mum ended the call, looked at me and smiled for the first time that evening.

         "Next Saturday at one, we're meeting up with this Mr Roberts at the Ritz."

         "The Ritz?" I gasped, "Isn't that ridiculously expensive?"

         "Well yes, but he said he'd pay, seeing it was him who'd suggested the meeting point in the first place."

          "Alrighty then! And mum..."

          "Yes, Emma?"

          "Two things. One, please don't embarrass me next Saturday."

          "Hey! I'm not that bad, young lady."

          "Yeah, yeah, whatever. And two, please can I watch How I Met Your Mother?" I asked with pleading eyes.

         "You seem to have forgotten that you're still in trouble. And David Attenborough's on at ten, we always watch that on a Friday!"

        "Mum, the new series only started last week! It's not like it's a tradition!" I groaned, shooting her an annoyed look.

        "But this series is about Africa!" My mum protested, like that made a difference.

        I rolled my eyes and bid her goodnight. She gave me a hug and sent me upstairs with a 'Don't forget to brush your teeth!' I went through my normal bedtime routine, got into bed, and sank into the mattress as I prepared myself for a Doctor Who and Poirot marathon.