Lenny said angrily: “Well, I’m very sorry.”

Eric said: “They want the group to appear without you, Lenny.”

“Forget it,” said Lenny. “It’s my group.”

Dave was terrified. He had sacrificed everything for this! He said: “Listen, what if Lenny combs his hair forward and turns down the collar of his shirt?”

Lenny said: “I’m not doing it.”

Kelly said: “And he would still look too old.”

“I don’t care,” said Lenny. “It’s all of us or none of us.” He looked around the group. “Right, lads?”

No one said anything.

“Right?” Lenny repeated.

Dave felt scared, but forced himself to speak. “I’m sorry, Lenny, but we can’t miss this chance.”

“You bastards,” Lenny said furiously. “I should never have let you change the name. The Guardsmen were a great little rock-and-roll combo. Now it’s a schoolboy group called Plum fucking Nellie.”

“So,” Kelly said impatiently. “You’ll go back onstage without Lenny and do the number again.”

Lenny said: “Am I being fired from my own group?”

Dave felt like a traitor. He said: “It’s only for today.”

“No, it’s not,” said Lenny. “How can I tell my friends that my group is on telly but I’m not in it? Fuck that. It’s all or nothing. If I leave now, I leave forever.”

No one said anything.

“Right, then,” said Lenny, and he walked out of the studio.

They all looked shamefaced.

Buzz said: “That was brutal.”

Eric said: “That’s show business.”

Kelly said: “Let’s go for another take, please.”

Dave feared he would not be able to jig about merrily, after such a traumatic row, but to his surprise he managed fine.

They went through the song twice, and Kelly said he loved their performance. He thanked them for their understanding, and hoped they would come back on the show soon.

When the group returned to the dressing room, Dave hung back in the studio and sat in the empty audience section for a few minutes. He was emotionally exhausted. He had made his television debut, and he had betrayed his cousin. He could not help remembering all the helpful advice Lenny had given him. I’m an ungrateful rotter, he thought.

Heading back to join the others, he looked in at an open door and saw Mickie McFee in her dressing room, holding a glass in her hand. “Do you like vodka?” she said.

“I don’t know what it tastes like,” said Dave.

“I’ll show you.” She kicked the door shut, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him with her mouth open. Her tongue had a booze taste a bit like gin. Dave kissed her back enthusiastically.

She broke the embrace and poured more vodka into her glass, then offered it to him.

“No, you drink it,” he said. “I prefer it that way.”

She emptied the glass, then kissed him again. After a minute she said: “Oh, boy, you are a living doll.”

She stepped back, then, to Dave’s astonishment and delight, she pulled her tight pink sweater over her head and threw it aside.