Berlin Calling

Lilo Moore Berlin Calling First published by LM Books 2022 Copyright © 2022 by Lilo Moore All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Lilo Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. Cover design by Cover Ever After First edition ISBN: 978-3-910607-00-2 This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com Contents Author’s Note Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Epilogue European City Breaks Series About the Author ‘You only get one life, so you’d better make it fabulous!’ -Conchita Wurst, winner of the 59th Eurovision Song Contest, 2014 Author’s Note This is a work of fiction and satire, with the very best intentions to bring back rainbows and unicorns in the face of a changing world. The ‘European Song Contest’ is fictional, a tribute created with much love and respect. Chapter 1 ‘There will be sequins and pyrotechnics and my hair will be enormous!’ I sang out, grabbing Benji’s arms before the door of the record company had even closed behind us. ‘I’m getting up on stage at the European Song Contest!’ I stretched onto my tip-toes, right in his face. ‘Champagne! We need champagne!’ It would take a few days – weeks, lifetimes! – for this to sink in. My little song was representing the United Kingdom at this year’s song contest in Berlin. I would be singing backing vocals, making daring costume changes with increasingly blinding sequins, smoke machines raging all around me. Maybe not the sequins and smoke machines, not for my twee little love song, but, boy, I hoped for a few sparkles at least! ‘You’ll have the biggest hair in Berlin,’ Benji said with an indulgent smile, gently disengaging my hands. He brushed at the sleeves of his pristine wool coat and adjusted the lapels. Tall, Black and gorgeous, Benji was my secret weapon in a sharp suit. ‘You are the best funking agent ever! I love you so much right now!’ Benji grinned. ‘It was all you, my girl. I just read the contract.’ Contract! How sweet that word sounded. It was almost as beautiful as ‘European Song Contest’, but nothing was quite as beautiful as the contest. I’d dreamed of conquering that stage since I was eight, watching it on TV in Canada with my British grandpa. Now, I was a songwriter – a real one, not just a girl who chopped up audio in her bedroom. I could have grabbed the next stranger and performed a dance number from a West End musical, I was so happy. As if on cue, a man emerged from the classy Georgian terrace we’d just exited and turned up the collar of his jacket. He looked the part, tall and lean, with shoulders for days and cheekbones to die for, along with a dramatic swirl of brown hair that looked like churning chocolate. I would absolutely have taken him for a twirl in a heartbeat – if life had been a musical, something I had to constantly remind myself it was not. The temptation faded when he completely ignored us, squeezing past to hurry along the footpath, hands shoved into his pockets. ‘Since I’m the best ‘funking’ agent in the world, I’ll buy the bubbly,’ Benji announced. Benji was the greatest blessing London had brought me. His friendship had meant everything, when I’d arrived five years ago from Down-and-Out, British Columbia, with a guitar strapped to my back. Okay, that was romanticised. I’m from Vancouver. And my guitar didn’t make it, because I was too young and naïve to realise that airlines have no respect for creative people. Not to mention my music career hadn’t exactly been the reason I’d made the move across the ocean. ‘Nope! My treat. I’ll buy the whole world bubbly!’ I shouted, spreading my arms and doing a twirl all by myself. What a change from that morning, when I’d woken up as usual after two snoozes without a clue that a phone call from Benji and a mad dash to Marylebone to sign a contract was about to change my life. ‘Uh, you did see the number on the contract, didn’t you, Rose?’ I couldn’t quit my day job – well, my temp job – just yet, but it didn’t matter, because it was a start. ‘It’s not about the cash.’ I love Benji, and I had to admit my career up to that point had been a complete joke, but he didn’t have to laugh quite so loudly. ‘It’s about the contest, I know. You live for the contest. It’s only fitting your song’s been selected. I wonder who they’ll get to sing it? I hoped you might sing it yourself after what’s-his-name did so well singing his own song.’ ‘Aw, you know all the right things to say, comparing me to Sam Ryder! But I’m not getting ahead of myself. I only hope they choose someone who won’t take it too seriously.’ It wasn’t that I wouldn’t take it seriously. But what I loved about the contest – apart from everything – was the freedom to be a fun idiot, otherwise known as