PART 1

LOCKDOWN

RED DUST – ZERO 7

The Judges:

Jasmine Jarisa: She's been there since the year before me, and got a winner first time, judging the Boys. She's my mentor – and the one everyone wants. Beautiful, lovely, and light as a feather, she is a brilliant judge, but can't stand to say no. She's married to football player Kelsey, but I would never call her a WAG. Part of the successful group 'Mix and Match', she is famous in her own right, and woe betide anyone who claims otherwise.

Melodia Dure: New this year, but she was on American Idol for a while, so she and Daniel are at least acquaintances. Hopelessly intimidated by Jasmine, she does her best to avoid her – all company in fact, except her Over 25s, who she idolizes. She has a steady boyfriend and a shady past, as it is often rumoured that her Dad used violence to get her into the fame-game. But she ignores these for the most part and does her thing. Well, she's done alright so far.

Oliver Scuttish: Old as the hills by today's standards, but an excellent ear. Despite many reports of biased behaviour over the years, he is still held in a certain respect. Single, so naturally many old ladies fancy him, and he has many close friends among his fans. Although mild by nature, he can get nasty when the press cross him, and makes a point of not getting too close to his contestants. Which is why it was such a surprise when he befriended Triple K.

Daniel Cowell: Descended from the notorious Simon, ownership of the show has fallen into Daniel's all-too-capable hands. Years of fame have left him frozen, dating three supermodels a month and stopping at nothing to keep his contestants in the hot-spot. Many reports have wondered at his affiliation with his female fellow judges, but he doesn't take the bait, happily insulting anyone who doesn't meet his standards. He is as much a part of the X Factor as the cameras, and his motto is 'Never quit'.

Michael & Molly: Co-hosts. Possibly the nicest people on Earth, they cope fabulously well with fame and are always there for the auditionees; whether a shoulder to cry on or a torso to hug in pure delight.

CHAPTER ONE

A MOMENT LIKE THIS

26th of September

X Factor house

Dear God

You know Chris, right. I mean, you made him. Tell me: did you intend him to meet me? Did you place us in each other's paths so we did a double take? Or was it the work of your old golf buddy, Satan? Even I, knowing the story, could not tell you, let alone the press. Maybe it was one of your Tests. The real question is, who was it for? 'Cause if it was the classic: 'Is Diana Jones Really A Bitch, Or Just A Wildchild?' I bet I turned out to be the former.

…It's almost that feeling that we've met before

So tell me that you don't think I'm crazy

When I tell you love has come here and now…

Why did you make the British Isles so crappy? I'm not complaining, really, but seriously, we're not the ones who butchered your son. If you're gonna punish a country, what's wrong with Rome?

The British Isles was a crude shock after the sunny sands of Barcelona, but having spent a week away from my own country, with none of my family by my side (although Jasmine and the Girls were perfectly willing substitutes), I was thrilled to have the prospect of home looming in front of me again, even if I'd be locked up in the X Factor house.

That's why I was a little perturbed when I looked out of the window of Jasmine's jet, and saw a mass of rain-soaked green.

'Where the Hell are we?' I demanded.

Jasmine yawned wearily. 'There's been a change of plan,' she slurred. 'Last year some over-the-top fans broke into the house before lockdown was over and nicked a load of the contestants' stuff. From what Oliver says, it's much easier to find a place in Ireland that's pretty much isolated, so basically we're gonna be living in some old country house for the next week.'

'But –' Before I could even begin to protest, Jasmine's honeyed head had slumped backwards and she had begun, ever so gently, to snore.

'She sounds like she's purring!' giggled Robyn Boyle.

'Aw, she's so sweet!'cooed Lorane Wing.

These were my fellow Girl finalists (That Girl with a capital G to specify the category). We got on quite well; particularly Robyn and Lorane, and I sincerely hoped that none of us would be leaving for at least a couple of months.

'So didn't you hear about last year?' asked Lorane in surprise. 'They stole Bluebell Zed's last bottle of perfume and cut off one of C.S Sunshine's dreads!' Lorane was getting more animated now; she loved a good gossip. 'Daniel was furious;promised to hunt them down and personally retrieve every item.'

Robyn stretched lazily. 'Did he deliver?'

'Uh-uh. The very next day he found out that his Dad's best friend had had a heart attack.'

'Poor guy,' I said feelingly. 'It's awful when someone close to you dies.'

Lorane nodded knowingly. 'I lost my grandfather to lung cancer.'

'Pneumonia,' I rejoined.

'My cousin committed suicide,' spoke up Robyn, her eyes shining. 'He always used to love my singing – he's the whole reason I signed up for this.'

There was a long, mournful silence.

'Well, life goes on,' concluded Lorane.

Yes it did. In fact, as we were to find out, life could withstand a lot more than we'd ever wanted it to.

The minute we landed, we all piled out of the plane. It seemed we were early as the place was virtually deserted. Maybe if I hadn't been so pissed off at being sent off to the most boring place in the world, I might have seen just how beautiful it was.

Robyn was clearly much deeper than me. She spun around in a slow circle contentedly. 'I'm back,' she breathed.

'Huh?'

'I'm half-Irish,' she explained. 'I spent the first three years of my life here.'

'And you likedit?'

'It's my home,' she said simply. 'London's miserable. Do you like it?'

I shrugged.

'You love it,' she accused.

'OK, you love your homes!' interrupted Lorane. 'Who cares? Hello; we're in the finals!'

The last statement was in italics and when it was done she threw her hands in the air like Melodia Dure had when she'd first heard her sing.

'Speaking of which…' Jasmine squinted up at the sky, where a massive black shape hovered. 'Looks like the Boys are here.'

Robyn squealed girlishly, obviously taking the mickey. We had not yet met the Boys but from the reports of their reactions on being accepted as finalists, they were evidently a bunch of overly-emotional crybabies.

Jasmine didn't notice our disparaging looks; she was too busy waving frantically at the sky, trying to signal the vehicle. 'Oy! Down here!' she yelled.

The ground around us began to shake, dust kicked up as if the wind had transformed into a thousand Kickers. Even the enormous house trembled, and us Girls were shaking by the time the helly had finished its descent.

Lorane collapsed the second it landed. 'That was the scariest thing ever.'

'Nah,' Robyn disagreed cheerfully, holding out a hand to haul her up. 'The scariest thing everwas the auditions.'

'Got me there.'

'When was the X Factor house switched to Ireland?'

The delight in the speaker's voice immediately revealed him as Chris Demure, the loveable lad who came from one of the many, many, overlooked towns of Ireland. Considering (as far as the press were concerned) that he was only a holiday-goer, had been getting a lot of media attention recently. Most of it had been positive. Lucky bastard.

We heard Daniel Cowell explaining the whole sob story just as we saw two other guys emerging from the thing. One of them had a shaved head and a sweet, earnest expression, and the other had a slight scattering of stubble and looked weirdly like Dennis. I'll tell you about Dennis later.

The second Boy took one look at Lorane's ass and whistled like it was his day job. She stuck a finger up at him and turned her back, chatting pointedly to the other.

'Hey, I'm Lorane.'

'I'm Robbie…'

I directed my attention to Robyn and Whistler, who were shuffling awkwardly.

Robyn cleared her throat. 'Uh, I'm Robyn.'

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. 'Thomas.'

There was only one boy – and me – left unaccounted for. That was Chris, the Irish guy.

Looking at him, I saw that he was very cute. He was dark-auburn headed and pale faced, with big hazel green eyes and a rounded chin. His hair was all nice and spiky and he was quite small. In short, he looked a little like me. Just a little. But the resemblance was definitely there.

He smiled. Oh God. That kid had the most heartbreaking smile I'd ever seen. 'I'm Chris Demure.'

Typically, I turned into a melting moron. 'Diana. Jones,' I added hastily.

I noticed that he had a confident pose: best foot forward and thumbs hooked into his pockets. His head tilted ever so slightly to one side, as if he was humouring a baby, and his eyes had a certain wide innocence, like he was five years short of a bus pass.

'So how do you like Ireland?' he enquired conversationally.

I pulled a face. 'I thrive in enclosed spaces.'

He looked puzzled. 'But I read an article…aren't you quarter Irish?'

'Yeah, but Robyn's half English and she hates it there.'

He smiled wickedly. 'Watch out, she sounds like my kind of girl.'

'She's nineteen,' I informed him.

He drooped. 'Damn, and there's me underage.'

'Aw, sweetie.' I found myself ruffling his hair sympathetically.

He pulled away. 'Sorry, I hate that.'

'OK, how's this?' I put my hand on his shoulder.

He relaxed. 'Yeah.' Our eyes met and the world around us evaporated. 'That's great.'

Lorane barged between us and jogged on the spot as if preparing for an oncoming ambush. She raised her eyebrows at me and I wished that I hadn't told her about Dennis.

Then she appeared to let it go, grinning at Chris. 'I It-ed you by the way.'

She darted away and he obligingly went after her, zigzagging left and right if he came across any of the others.

'Hey DJ, you playing?' he called, seemingly unaware that he had just used the nickname that Dennis had laid off weeks ago when I told him it sounded too masculine. And yet when Chris said it…I never wanted to be called anything else ever again.

I hesitated. It was 6 o'clock on Sunday. On any given weekend at this time, I would be out with my friends at the wildest place we could get away with (which, at our age, wasn't really wild at all). And here was a sixteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-three and nineteen year old, offering for me to play It with them.

'Try and stop me!' I shouted, starting to run.

The next half-hour spent weaving in and out of Girls and Boys (eventually joined by the Groups and the Over 25s), It-ting or avoiding, was probably the most fun I'd ever spent in my life.

At last, the fifth and final copter made port, and our hosts, Michael and Molly stepped out. They really lived up to the grand entrances shown on camera, taking high deliberate steps like ponies, and hands loosely clenched at chest-level as if holding imaginary microphones. It was impressive…but kind of sad. It was almost like they'd forgotten how to be normal.

'Hi guys!' Hmm. Molly had clearly studied for years on the art of talking with every one of your perfect teeth on display.

'Great to see you again!' As, indeed, had Michael.

'Is it me or are they a li-ittle bit creepy?' Chris hissed in my ear. I jumped at his proximity – how had he managed to sneak up on me so fast?

'Marginally,' I managed to reply. 'But you know they're really nice.'

'Finalists…Thisis the X Factor house!' announced Michael.

'And this…is the key,' finished Molly, holding a tiny silver key aloft.

'I take it back,' I told him. 'They're creepy.'

Suddenly, Chris's face turned the colour of wax paper. 'Duck,' he whispered. Then he knocked me to the ground.

'What – ?' I started indignantly.

'Ssssh,' he shushed me. 'Remember how they came in a plane bigger than ours?'

'Uh-huh.'

'They brought company.'

Before I could even register his words, a flash went off in my right eye, effectively blinding me. 'I see.'

'Hey, let me go!'

Half a second after Chris yelled this, I felt myself yanked into the air by the back of my T-shirt, and I found myself choking in the grasp of some random big guy.

'Let the Hell go of me!' I shrieked, aiming my stiletto where the sun don't shine.

'Little brat!' he grunted, holding me at arm's length. 'We got a bitch here, Britney!'

'Alex, put her down,' instructed Molly briskly. 'And you know Britney's been putting on weight. Lisa's taking her place as executive producer.'

Alex smirked and Michael rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, we all know you fancy her. Now please let go of Diana.'

Alex moaned – but dropped me all the same. I fell a little too far and my knees crumpled before I could steady myself. Alex set me back on my feet irritably and I jerked away, vowing to teach myself single-combat before the week was out.

Chris (who had just been slammed down by another thug) took my hand protectively and glared daggers at Molly and Michael.

'Why in God's holy name did you bring them?'he demanded. 'We're supposed to be on Lockdown!'

Oliver Scuttish looked at him perplexedly. 'Yeah, but they need a headstart on photo files, don't they?'

'No.' Chris scowled. 'Not when they're manhandling little girls.'

'Excuse me,' I snapped, 'Mr. 'And there's me underage'!'

Chris looked at me. 'I'm trying to help you, here.'

'Yeah, well maybe I can look after myself.'

'GIVE ME THAT!'

Our heads turned immediately to see Jasmine and a girl wrestling over a camera just about in front of our faces. It had to happen, didn't it? The girl let go, Jasmine, not being ready, did likewise, and the camera flew through the air before clonking Chris square on the forehead. Well, I always did like boys (or Boys) at my feet.

'Chris, I am very sorry,' apologised Jasmine, almost in tears. 'She was taking pictures of you and…'

'It's fine,' Chris assured her. He seemed, luckily, to be unhurt. 'Should heal before the Live Shows, right?'

'Sure.'

'Phew.' He wiped his forehead theatrically – wincing as he brushed the purple bruise – and gave her a thumbs-up.

Molly and Michael trooped into the house, looking exhausted. 'We just got them settled in the adjoining house; they'll be back soon.'

I folded my arms grumpily. 'Excellent.'

Michael smiled gently at me, but Molly muttered something that sounded like 'Spoilt cow.'

'Molly!' Daniel scolded. 'OK guys, how about the Grand tour?'

'Er…sure!' agreed Dylan (Over 25s) enthusiastically.

Daniel tapped Michael on the shoulder. 'I'll leave it to you, mate.'

Michael, presumably used to this type of thing, kindly took us inside. It immediately opened out into an enormous sitting room with about six doors leading off on either side. It looked incredible; cosy and fitted with comfy sofas and all the latest high-tech gadgets.

'Cool,' I breathed.

Michael nodded knowingly, looking around. For some reason, he seemed sad. 'Cool indeed.'

He didn't have to do much. All we wanted to do was be shown our bedrooms and who we would be sharing with. Turned out that I had Lorane and Robyn as roommates, and Chris was placed with Robbie and Thomas. The dormitories were every bit as brilliant as the main room, and by the time we had seen all of them, our eyes had misted over with awe.

Michael laughed at our inexperience of the high life. 'Come on, let's have some dinner. I'm starving!'

He rubbed his stomach pantomime-style and Lorane giggled, batting her eyelashes sweetly. By this time I had learnt that she flirted effortlessly with everyone, and anyone who thought she was serious was in for a bit of a shock. When I asked her how she did it she simply chuckled mysteriously.

We had a pleasant dinner, scoffing pizza and sending jibes and jokes by the bucketful up and down the enormous table until our stomachs hurt with suppressed laughter. Michael simply beamed around at all of us, clearly in his element. As for the judges, they had left somewhere in the midst of the tour. They had better things to do than watch their contestants settling in.

That evening I learned something about you. When you close a door, you sure enough open at least twelve windows, and give me the combination for my heart. That was coming from an atheist, by the way.