Chapter 10
The next morning, I skip breakfast because I cannot bear to face Luke, Dolly, the Maestro or anyone else.
And also because I had such a troubled sleep.
Plagued with terrible visions and sordid dreams where Matteo was doing delicious things to me.
He’d bring me to a sweaty conclusion, only for me to open my eyes and see Luke.
I woke up panting, with an ache between my legs, and couldn’t get back to sleep for the guilt.
I toy once more with ringing Matteo. But it is three in the morning over there. I’d truly love to hear his voice. See his face. Hear him tell me again how excited he is to see me in less than a couple of weeks.
Less than a couple of weeks.
A girl should be able to withstand a mild attraction to her singing partner and not put her brand-new relationship in danger for the sake of a ten-day wait.
I can’t help wondering if Matteo is experiencing the same attraction to Birdie.
They will be huddled over a mixing desk together.
Speaking into the microphone. Their lips inches apart.
Their hands might accidentally touch. Their faces might be cheek to cheek.
They might be sharing inside jokes and becoming very close.
These things can happen.
Ping.
It’s the Dollz group chat. Cherry thinks she may have gone off her husband.
She has awoken this morning to a startling realisation that he is thinning on top, and she very much prefers a man with a full head of hair.
She is wondering if she should get out now while she still can.
She is wondering about the suitability of Luke and asking about the likelihood of his being a step-parent to her two feral offspring.
Big Sue demands more information. What does Cherry mean when she says ‘while she still can’? Big Sue wants to know if Cherry feels unsafe in the marriage or trapped in any way.
Cherry explains that while she is still in her prime, looks-wise, and her two children are young and barely recognise her husband, because he is always playing fantasy football when not at work, her chances of securing a richer, second husband with more hair are substantially higher.
Liberty warns Cherry to stay put. She has been through all of the dating apps, and there are no decent men on the market, especially not ones who are rich and good-looking with lots of hair but who are also legally unmarried.
We find out that her last date had declared upfront that he’d just come out of a three-year relationship with an inflatable animal (she never said what type and no one dared to ask) and the one before that had produced an engagement ring before they’d even arranged a second date.
The long and short of it being that Luke is off limits because Liberty has already put in a prior claim.
She is making out that there’s some sort of waiting list, and I am in charge of it.
This is exactly the kind of distraction I need.
I have been extremely lucky to find Matteo at just the right time in my life.
I should not be throwing away this opportunity on a whim.
I send him a message to say that I am missing him and really looking forward to seeing him soon, and that I hope he and Birdie are managing to make some great music together.
Then I delete the last part in case it puts ideas in his head.
I make a coffee in my room, pack up my things and go down to reception before anyone else.
The concierge meets me with all my cases and helps me to the coach. It is completely empty, so I walk towards the back, putting my handbag next to me to discourage anyone sitting beside me. I slide down in my seat and do a search for the local news headlines.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
The Manchester Evening News is running with the headline, ‘Star of the Royal Northern Sinfonia threatens to milk her leading man like a cow’.
I scan the article, a lump the size of a turnip in my throat.
It says the Royal Family have the hump. It makes out I am chasing Luke down with the intention of ‘nabbing myself an heir to the throne of Norway’, and that I’m a ‘gold-digging nobody’ after the advancement of my singing career.
‘Where has she come from?’ they are asking.
Someone has leaked that I am nothing but a two-bit, cheap covers tribute act from Benidorm, way out of my league, with unrealistic working-class aspirations to fit into the elitist classical music crowd.
Someone else is accusing the classical music industry of being classist and that I am not to be treated like cheap meat just because of where I come from.
Feckedy feck! They have illustrated the article with a picture of me pole dancing in Benidorm wearing one of my carefully selected stripper outfits that the Dollz made me wear.
They have taken it straight from Nancy’s website.
Tash must have snapped it moments before I accidentally kicked Matteo in the face and sent all the drinks on the table crashing to the ground.
Now, that would have made a good front-page picture.
Thank goodness for small mercies, I suppose.
I sink lower into my seat as people start to get on the bus. I’ll be lucky if I’m not sacked from the Sinfonia for this and sent packing.
It’s a proper shitshow.
I stare at the image. My leg is hooked high around the pole, while I lean as far out as possible, my hair tumbling down into people’s drinks.
My boobs are straining against the flimsy bustier, and my sky-high stripper gladiator sandals are screaming, ‘Have sex with me right now – up against this pole’. It is a very provocative image.
Dolly is thumping her way up the aisle towards me, peering at the seats as she goes. ‘Is she here? Is Connie on board? Where is she?’
I let out an enormous sigh. Here we go. Might as well face the repercussions. I sit back up and pop my head above the headrests. She spots me immediately and hurries sternly up the aisle to fling the newspapers down next to me.
Is there any point in denying it’s all lies?
‘I can explain,’ I say before she starts on me.
‘No need,’ she says.
Crap. ‘What do you mean? Am I getting sacked? Because, honestly, none of it is true. Well, the pole-dancing bit is, but the rest isn’t.
Except the singing covers in Benidorm, that’s true too, but…
we’re not having an affair, and I’m not after Luke’s money, and I absolutely do not want to milk him like a cow. ’
‘That’s a shame.’ Luke appears behind Dolly, waving a copy of the newspaper. His comment stops us both in our tracks. He flicks his hand against the photo. ‘Is that outfit… the George designer you mentioned yesterday?’ he says dryly.
‘Very funny,’ I say, turning back to Dolly. ‘If the Sinfonia don’t like the fact that I have a life outside of work, then too bad. I’m just sorry the press are making up all these lies about us.’
‘No worries. My family is squeaky clean to the point of tedious,’ Luke says. ‘They’ll be loving all of this salacious attention.’
Dolly faces me. ‘And so are half the Sinfonia Trustees.’
‘I’m not following,’ I say, confused.
‘Sex sells. So do scandalous headlines. Did you know that, thanks to you, the rest of the tour has now sold out?’
They’re both smiling at me.
‘So, I’m not being sacked?’
‘Far from it, my dear,’ says Dolly.
I gulp. I’m not sure this is what I had in mind when I joined. What will my dad think? What will Matteo think?
‘Well, I’m not deliberately doing anything at all.
I just want to finish the tour and go home.
I’m afraid you can tell the trustees that there will be no further spicy headlines from me.
’ It’s time to be firm. ‘Unless the headlines are about how fabulous the show is and how brilliant the musicians are, I’m not interested in making a spectacle of myself in front of the entire country. ’
‘Fair enough.’ Dolly makes her way back down the aisle, barking orders and counting heads. She informs the driver we are all on board.
Luke remains where he is.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asks, his voice thick with concern. He is about to sit down next to me. ‘If you want to talk about it, I’m…’
‘No!’ My voice is ten octaves higher than it should be. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I just need a bit of time to get my head round everything, that’s all.’
He takes the hint and heads back down the aisle. Now it is as though I have leprosy because everyone is sitting in the front half of the coach, and I have the whole of the back half to myself.
I text Ged and Liam the link to the tabloid gossip only to get an instant reply that Tash was way ahead of me and has informed everyone. They tell me to check out her socials as she is mining her close celebrity contact for all it’s worth. Charming.
I text Dad to warn him. He, too, has received Tash’s memo. He rings me immediately while we hurtle along the M62 towards York.
‘Connie, love, don’t worry about it, because things have a habit of working out well in the end.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say, relief flooding through me. ‘That’s exactly what I need to hear.’
‘Just concentrate on your singing and getting through the tour. I can even drive down to York for the day to keep you company if you need a shoulder to cry on, love.’
Oh, my dear, sweet, lovely father. He’ll be worried that I can’t cope with it all. It’s essential that he believes I can. Even if I feel at times I can’t. And I must remind him that I’m a lot sturdier now, since my epiphany in Benidorm.
‘Thanks, Dad, but I’ll be too busy rehearsing. And it’s only a few days until we’ll be back in Newcastle at The Glasshouse. I’ll see you then. I mean, how much worse could things get?’ We share a laugh, and he seems happy with that. I love him. He has such a kind-hearted, generous soul.
By the time I carry out all the different WhatsApp group messaging – Cherry has agreed to give her husband’s hair a second chance, Tash is experiencing an exponential growth in followers, Liberty has bought us all pink gingham Barbie dresses (for Cherry to alter and make them extra, extra short) to wear in Las Vegas, Big Mand has delivered fourteen babies in one shift, Big Sue has reported three domestic abuse violations and a heartbreaking story about an abandoned toddler on their social services doorstep – we have arrived in York.
We pull up outside the very grand Gray’s Court Hotel overlooking York Minster Cathedral, which towers above it into the glorious blue sky.
My gaze is drawn to the fabulous, manicured hotel gardens.
They are dotted with peculiar-shaped trees and bushes in vibrant greens and ancient stonework, while sumptuous garden furniture sprawls across neatly clipped lawns.
This can’t be our hotel. It is way too upmarket and expensive.
I wonder if the Maestro is being upgraded.
‘First stop!’ yells Dolly down the bus, staring directly at me.
As I make my way hastily to the front of the coach, no one appears to be moving or willing to make eye contact with me. Except Luke, who is standing at the front grinning.
‘What do you think?’ he asks.
‘It’s magnificent,’ I say. ‘Some upgrade, huh? I’ve never stayed anywhere nearly this posh before, Dolly.’
Dolly arches an eyebrow and purses her lips by way of acknowledgement.
‘I can’t believe this is where we’re all staying,’ I say, jumping down off the last step. ‘The Sinfonia must be really raking it in if they can afford posh hotels like this.’
Dolly gives Luke a strange look.
‘The hotel’s a Grade One listed building with parts of it dating back a thousand years. Just wait until you see inside,’ he says quickly, hurrying me away from the door. ‘The acoustics are miraculous, if you’d like to practise before the performance tonight?’
I nod enthusiastically at him. ‘Who wouldn’t want to show off their vocal chops in a place like this?’
Luke laughs. ‘Come on then, let’s check in.’
The driver lugs our cases from the hold and heaves them over to a concierge who is walking towards us with a rather elaborate gold and dark green velvet-covered trolley. He loads our cases onto it. ‘Reception is this way, sir, madam.’
I spin round at the hissing of the coach door closing. ‘Why isn’t everyone getting off? Wait. Where are they going?’
I make out Dolly frowning at us, and then suddenly, three annoyed faces press up against the window as the coach leaves the grounds.
A huge penny drops in my brain. ‘The Sinfonia only upgraded the two of us?’
Luke shrugs nonchalantly.
My eyes fly back to the coach to see the world’s most famous Maestro twisting in his seat to glare at me.
No. This cannot be happening.