Chapter 2
A week later, I’m settled back home in Newcastle, and the Benidorm trip already seems like a world away.
The Sinfonia tour starts tomorrow. I have spent days shopping for gowns to wear on stage.
My credit card is groaning under the weight of the expense.
I even did some financial planning and it looks like, what with all the expense of travelling back and forth juggling my singing jobs, I can retire at ninety-seven and live comfortably for about eleven minutes without having to worry.
Liam snaps me from my thoughts. ‘Connie, love. You’ve got that haunted look again.
Can you stop thinking about Matteo for two minutes while we get through this Sinfonia rehearsal?
I’m sure there’s a good reason why he hasn’t called yet today.
He’s like nine hours behind or something,’ he says, misinterpreting my expression.
‘Besides, Ged and I are in the middle of some very important couples’ vision-boarding for our wedding, and he’s waiting for me to decide on what colour bridesmaid dresses we want for the horses – coral or sage green. It’s all incredibly stressful.’
‘Yes. Sure. Sorry. I’ll start again. From the top,’ I say, restarting the backing music as I open my mouth to sing. Now that he’s mentioned Matteo not ringing, he’s given me something else to worry about alongside my poor finances and learning to ride a dressage horse in time for their wedding.
‘Louder, babe. From the heart,’ Liam says as though he’s directing me in a Netflix movie.
‘Let the audience get their hands on a piece of the real you. Not the wooden you. You’re not half tree.
I’m thinking use your arms more. Wave them around as if you’re juggling very slowly.
That’s what all these opera singers seem to do. Just try to relax.’
Relax?
‘Two thousand sceptical opera lovers are turning out to see who the Sinfonia have replaced their much-loved singer with,’ I snap anxiously. ‘You try being relaxed about it.’
Liam raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Imagine you’re floating in the clouds on a magical, singing breeze,’ he says, waving his wand. ‘Your voice is like a gust of wind wafting through the audience, light and ethereal.’
I try again but my throat sounds dry and scratchy. All the excessive drinking, people everywhere smoking, and me, bawling my eyes out unnecessarily on numerous occasions in Benidorm, have taken their toll.
The living room door opens. ‘Are we role-playing?’ says Ged, eyeing Liam’s wand and cape jokingly. He flicks his gaze over to me. ‘If so, I’d like to play the part of customer demanding a full refund.’
‘Very funny,’ I say, smoothing down the tight bodice of my gown. I ruffle out the heavy velvet ruched skirt to hide my bare feet. It feels like I’m wearing my own bodyweight in silk taffeta and sequins.
Ged blows me a kiss before turning to his fiancé. ‘Liam, darling, is that my dragon’s heartstring wand you are using as a baton? Because you know it’ll only work if you wear the Sorting Hat, don’t you?’
They exchange a mischievous look. They are opposites but they make an ideal couple.
Ged is in the music business but can be very sane and sensible at times.
Liam is a music teacher with a tendency to be outrageous and flamboyant.
And while Ged stacks a dishwasher with the precision of a Swedish architect, Liam throws things in like an ape on crystal meth, but I’d trust them both with my life.
‘I’m so nervous,’ I say, flustered. ‘I’ve had to learn a lot of songs very quickly.
My vocal range might not be up to the job.
Krzystzof Helmuth, the Swiss Maestro, is supposed to be one of the most demanding in the whole of Europe.
The audience will have unbearably high expectations.
And never mind trying to fit into these ridiculous theatrical costumes. ’
They look at one another as though I’m being melodramatic. Which I am. I am terrified. My mother was an extremely successful opera singer. What if I can’t fill her shoes?
‘It’s about confidence,’ Liam says softly. He gives me a gentle, reassuring look. ‘You’ve got this, Connie Cooper. You have nothing to worry about, my lovely.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile, grateful for the reassurance, but it’s like telling water not to be wet. At that moment, my phone bursts to life, causing me to drop it.
‘Connie, babe, you really must stop dropping your phone every single time Matteo calls,’ says Liam. ‘Surely you can’t be that nervous around him?’
‘No,’ I say, scooping down to pick it up. ‘Of course not.’
I jab at the phone, trying to press accept, and accidentally reject the call.
It immediately rings again. My fingers have turned to mush.
This is so stressful. I take a beat. You’ve got this, Connie Cooper.
He’s just a man. A magnificent, dark-haired, brooding, multilingual overachiever with the instincts of an MI5 special operative, the brains of a Nobel prize winner and the looks of a movie star. Why be nervous?
‘Oh, hi,’ I say, trying to sound light and casual – the sort of woman who doesn’t sound on the edge of a substantial breakdown each time the very new love of her life calls her.
‘Did you drop your phone again?’ Matteo says with a hint of amusement in his voice. Thank God he can’t see me. My face has gone full coal furnace.
‘No, no. I just… I mean, yes. It’s… slippery.’
Ged and Liam are shaking their heads at me. Unfortunately, they’ve had to witness this low-level deception more than once.
‘Slippery?’ Matteo asks.
Yes. Just like my slide into insanity.
‘So, how are things in LA?’ I say, anxious to change the subject.
Ged and Liam inch forward in their seats. They, too, are intrigued to hear how things are going in LA.
‘I’m going to be working in the studio for the next week or so and might not get another chance to ring. How are you feeling about the Sinfonia tour?’ he asks. ‘I know you have some doubts about fitting in, but you’ll be great. I know you will.’ His comforting words immediately put me at ease.
We talk for an hour as I ask him all about LA and the artists he is working with, and he asks about my dad and how the hiking weekend at the Lakes went with his new girlfriend, Madge.
It is a development that I am still trying to process.
It keeps me from obsessing about our relationship and whether I’m merely Matteo’s ‘rebound’ or, preferably, whether I’m his ‘the one’.
But more than that, our time together in Benidorm was so short, I’ve convinced myself it would be insane to expect him to commit to being exclusive with each other at such an early stage.
If only I were brave enough to ask him. But, of course, that would cause any man to run screaming for the hills – like my last boyfriend did.
‘Say hello to Ged and Liam for me,’ he says as our conversation draws to a close.
I glance over, smiling.
They are still on the sofa listening in, riveted.
I entertain the idea of introducing them to a new hobby.
Crocheting hats or making their own sausage or something.
Liam fancies Matteo as much as I do because he is so ridiculously good-looking.
Which is something I am absolutely not going to do (any more): judge Matteo on his superior looks.
‘As soon as I’ve finished in the studio, I’m taking a few days off. Would you have time in your busy schedule to fly out to see me in Vegas?’ Matteo asks suddenly. I instantly drop the phone again, cutting him off in the process.
Ged swoops down to pick it up. He gives me a baffled look and calmly rings Matteo back, handing it over when he picks up.
Matteo is laughing. ‘So, is that a yes?’
Oh my life. Just the thought of seeing him again is knee-trembling.
‘Yes, she’d love to!’ yells Liam across the room.
And just like that, I’ve arranged to go and meet the absolute love of my life in Las Vegas.
* * *
Later that evening, the full reality of it all hits me as I stand at the mantelpiece in our living room.
I go over the plan once more in my head.
I leave Newcastle tomorrow for a one-week tour with the Sinfonia.
We are performing in three major cities in the north of England.
First is Manchester, then York, then back to Newcastle.
Immediately afterwards, I resume my residency at Voices in Benidorm.
The management are happy to be super flexible with me while I juggle all of my singing commitments.
God, it sounds so exciting. I can barely believe it is me who I’m thinking about.
I blow my cheeks out at the thought of the mammoth task ahead.
I will need decent clothes for Las Vegas.
Standout, fashionista-type attire. Not the elaborately bouffant gowns I’ll be wearing for the Sinfonia.
Not the tiny, stripper, pole-dancing costumes the Dollz insist I wear in Benidorm as part of the ‘look’, and definitely not the dowdy, dark, wine-stained rags I’ve been moping around in for two years since my beloved mother passed away.
My mother.