Chapter 17
‘Things escalated exponentially,’ Luke is whispering to me the following evening. ‘I can only apologise. I wasn’t myself. It was the drugs. Please forgive me.’
We are standing at the side of the stage ready to embark on the final performance in York.
I have been ignoring Luke’s persistent stream of apologies all day.
He has been sending them in the form of bouquets of roses, a giant cookie with ‘I’m sorry’ spelled out in chocolate, and Lord knows how he managed it, but I received a ten-second voicemail from Justin Bieber singing his ‘Sorry’ lyrics down the phone.
It doesn’t matter how secretly impressed I could tell Ged and Liam were, I am never speaking to him ever again.
I am furious.
And I am not the only one.
The Maestro is also furious. He is still recovering from our shambles of a finale yesterday. Dolly told me he was on the verge of quitting. He has erupted in boils. He is complaining of hair loss, and his twitch has become more pronounced.
I refuse to make eye contact with either of them, which will rather impact on the performance, but I’m past caring. I’m tired, hungover and homesick. I need my friends around me. Thank goodness we will be going back home to Newcastle tomorrow for our final performances of the tour.
‘I couldn’t sleep for feeling so guilty,’ Luke persists. ‘Well, that and because of the cocaine. It was an unusually high grade.’
He couldn’t sleep? What about me?
‘Please, let me make it up to you.’
Dolly races over to tell him off. ‘Keep your voices down. What is going on?’ she hisses.
I stare straight ahead. I am not getting involved.
‘Well?’ she asks Luke but gets no response. She lets out an audible sigh. I hear her muttering under her breath before bustling away. ‘Every time, Luke. Every frigging time.’
It does nothing to cheer me up.
‘She’s wrong,’ Luke hisses to me. ‘I’m not like that.’
The Maestro introduces us on stage to enthusiastic applause. Poor audience.
* * *
An hour later, during the interval, I am backstage in my dressing room.
‘I can’t work with him,’ I say to Dolly.
She is helping me out of one gown and into my grand finale costume before she needs to race off.
‘Thanks for this. I know it’s not your job to help me get dressed. Or to listen to me moan on.’
‘I did try to warn you, didn’t I?’ She is yanking my dress down my legs so that I can step out of it. ‘Didn’t I say, “Stay away from Luke”?’
‘Yes,’ I sigh as I go over the memories of last night. How over the course of minutes, we went from harmless flirting to him flinging drugs and marriage proposals at me. Ending in him holding out a sock begging for a handjob. Bizarre doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Dolly stops what she is doing. ‘Is this about the hotel?’ Her tone has changed to very serious.
I let out a frustrated groan. ‘If only the Sinfonia had never bloody upgraded me and Luke in the first place, I’d have been with everyone else and none of this would have happened.’ My voice is rising along with my blood pressure.
Dolly looks shocked at my outburst, but I am sick of always being caught up in other people’s messes, so I continue my rant while she helps me into the finale gown.
‘I didn’t ask to be upgraded. I didn’t ask to be part of a love triangle.
I didn’t ask for Luke to fancy me instead of the chorus girls.
’ I plop down into my seat at the dressing table.
‘I just want to do my job without all this drama.’
Dolly purses her lips. ‘I see. I see.’ She clips a few strands of hair away from my face. Her hands land with a heavy thump on my shoulders as she talks to me through the mirror.
‘So, Luke told you that the Sinfonia was paying for the hotel upgrade, did he?’
‘Yes. Aren’t they?’
She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You didn’t think that was strange? That only the two of you are staying there? Alone?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Sinfonia would never upgrade the talent. Not even the Maestro. The bottom line comes first. Always.’
‘So why did they upgrade me and Luke this time?’
Dolly rolls her eyes at me.
‘If it wasn’t the Sinfonia then…’
‘Wait, don’t tell me. Even at such short notice, the hotel “managed” to get you two adjoining rooms?’ She does air quotes. ‘What a coincidence.’
Oh. My. Fucking. Word.
I’ve been played like a fiddle.
‘You mean…?’
Dolly nods. ‘I thought you knew.’
I’m speechless.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She helps me put on the finale costume and says simply, ‘Leave him to me.’
‘Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’d rather not have to speak to him,’ I say, my fingers going to the locket round my neck. It comforts me to know I have my mother near me. Dolly’s eyes are immediately drawn to it.
‘Where did you get that?’
I hold it out, the delicate chain tugging at my neck. ‘Luke gave it to me. How can someone be so despicable on the one hand and yet so thoughtful on the other?’
Dolly tuts. ‘That’s because he isn’t. The Maestro gave me the locket and I had it made up for you as a surprise. We were all going to surprise you with it on the last night at the farewell party. Krzystzof will be so disappointed.’
‘Luke made out it was from him.’
She screws her eyes, sighing. ‘I bet he did. Typical. Well, I hope you like it.’
‘I love it, Dolly. I love it so much. Thank you,’ I gush, twisting to give her a hug.
She hugs me briefly before her face hardens. ‘I’ll leave you to do the rest. I have some unfinished business to attend to.’
* * *
Minutes later, the grand finale is a huge flop. I couldn’t summon up an ounce of enthusiasm and nor could Luke. We avoided eye contact. I refused to go anywhere near him. When he reached for my hand to take the final bow, I ignored it and left him hanging.
I’m also quite certain that my face was fused into an angry expression throughout the entire performance.
The only people overjoyed at me and Luke giving the worst performance of all time were the three lead chorus girls. Once we were off stage, they pounced all over him. I watched them drag him off to his changing room and file in after him, slamming the door shut behind them.
Dolly came up behind me. ‘You won’t get any more bother out of him.’
* * *
I woke up super early this morning following another restless night. There’s only one thing on my mind. I ring Matteo. I really need to hear his voice. He picks up within a few rings. ‘I’m really sorry to wake you,’ I say, ‘but I just needed to ask you something.’
‘I wasn’t asleep. We’re still up working. It’s great to hear from you,’ he says, sounding pleased. There’s music playing in the background. ‘Let me just step outside a moment.’ I hear muffled sounds before he comes back to the phone. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No. I’m fine. It’s just that I wanted to ask…’ It sounds stupid now that I’m saying it out loud. ‘I just needed to ask you if this is real. What we have. It’s only been a week…’
‘It’s real,’ he says quickly. ‘Very real. And I know it might seem stupid but…’ He takes a deep breath in. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’
I sigh softly, my whole being immediately lighter.
‘You’re my muse,’ he says. ‘All the musicians I’m working with have noticed a fire and passion that wasn’t there before, apparently.’ He sounds excited and it fills me with joy to think it’s because of me.
‘I have to go but… I really can’t wait to see you,’ he says in a low voice. His meaning is unmistakably clear.
‘I can’t wait to see you too,’ I say. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.
’ I take a deep breath ready to rip off the band-aid.
I am going to tell him that Ged and Liam and the Dollz are also coming to Vegas, and that I have to squeeze some other activities into the trip.
I’m going to suggest we meet earlier or stay later after they have gone.
There’s a loud blast of music and some voices yelling his name.
‘I’m sorry, Connie!’ he yells over the noise. ‘I have to go. Can we speak later?’
‘Sure,’ I say as Matteo clicks abruptly off the call. ‘Bye then.’
* * *
After breakfast in my room, reading the local newspapers that were delivered with it, the concierge helps me carry all my cases and costumes down to the waiting coach.
As I climb the steps, Dolly greets me with a warm smile.
As I pass the Maestro, I avoid eye contact.
I’m not in the mood for any hostility today.
The York Press ran with the obvious headline this morning of Royal Rift?
and an article claiming that the whole of the Royal Northern Sinfonia have fallen out.
Stiff. Wooden. Out of key. That we are all at war with one another.
Ugly energy. That we are all having affairs behind each other’s backs.
Obvious sexual tension. That I am jealous and upset.
Cooper devastated. That the Maestro has lost all control and respect.
Appalling. No clue what is going on. That the leading man has also been dumped by his royal suitor and is humping the entire chorus line every which way imaginable.
Spurned Count seeks comfort in arms of lowly backing singers.
And finally, that we all must think we are in a Jilly Cooper bonkbuster.
Cooper by name, Cooper by nature. I have created a hotbed of sinfonia.
All according to an anonymous source within the Sinfonia itself.
Dolly walks up the aisle doing a headcount before we set off. She stops briefly, leaning down to murmur to me, ‘I bet I can guess who the anonymous source is, can you?’ And without waiting for a reply, she shuffles back down the aisle.
I don’t care. I really don’t care.
This is the final leg of the tour and I have two performances to make everything right. No more ridiculous headlines. No more ridiculous shenanigans on stage. No more naive idiot. I am a part-time professional classical music singer. It’s time I grew up and acted like one.
* * *
It is a huge relief to see the familiar landmarks of my beloved Newcastle appear in the distance.
The Glasshouse glittering against the skyline on the Gateshead Quayside, St James’ Park towering over the city, the mirrored windows of the high-rise hotels reflecting the late morning sunshine, the seven bridges of all shapes and sizes crossing the river.
As we pass by the Gateshead Angel welcoming us back up north, and the coach turns off the road just before the Tyne Bridge to dip down to the quayside, I know I am home.
I text Ged and Liam to announce I am back. They are dying to hear all my news and will meet me off the coach as today is Saturday, and they are off work.
A shadow falls over me. I look up to see Luke standing in the aisle by my seat.
His eyes are bloodshot. His skin is the kind of full-on mottled grey you’d find on someone who died of cholera back in the day.
His hair is sticking up all over the place as though he spent the night hanging upside down like a bat.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he blurts. ‘I’ve never behaved like that in my life. I’m so ashamed. I’m so, so ashamed of the way I acted. I can’t believe I put you through that. Please. I beg you. Forgive me.’
His eyes are wild and desperate. His breathing is raspy, and judging by the alcoholic fumes, he’s at least 700 per cent proof. He steadies himself by grabbing on to the back of my seat.
I turn to stare out of the window, ignoring him.
He hovers silently beside me for a few seconds before exhaling heavily and walking back down the aisle.
We will never recover from this. I’m certain of that.
When the coach pulls up at The Glasshouse, I see Ged and Liam waving at me from the path. Relief floods through me at the sight of them, causing me to instantly burst into tears. All the anxiety of the last few days manifests as big fat teardrops. They stop waving as confusion clouds their faces.
They rush to meet me as I come down the steps.
‘Dear God. You were crying when you got on. Have you been crying this whole time?’ Liam asks, taking my handbag from me while Ged smothers me in a hug.
A tiny burst of laughter escapes my lips.
‘I admit this does look bad,’ I tell them, sniffing up my tears.
‘We don’t care, hun. As long as you’re okay.’ Ged keeps his arm wrapped round my shoulder and guides me away to one side to sit down on a nearby bench. ‘How are you? What can we do?’
I wipe my cheeks, instantly cheering now that I’m back home and in the safe and reassuring company of my dearest friends. ‘I’m just relieved to be back. I’ll tell you all about it when we get—’
I’m interrupted by Luke clearing his throat. ‘I can explain.’ He is standing over us with a pleading expression on his face. I immediately stiffen and grab tightly on to Ged’s arm.
Like lightning, Ged springs up. ‘Don’t bother. You’ve done enough damage by the looks of things. Take your toxic masculinity elsewhere.’
The two men square up to one another. Luke is towering over Ged. Nostrils are flaring. Chests are puffing.
A few prickly seconds go by before Luke seems to deflate. He gives me one last mournful look and hangs his head, before walking back to the coach.
I watch him go.
‘Do not fall for it,’ warns Ged. ‘I can see right through him. It’s all an act,’ he says firmly.