Chapter 20
I lean on the kitchen bench and take a few seconds to get my thoughts in order. The Evening Chronicle has posted a series of photos. They have been taken wildly out of context.
One is of Tash pretending to take me from behind.
Another is of me being sandwiched between Big Sue and Big Mand with a startled expression on my face.
Another is of me standing over Liberty while she does the splits and licks my leg provocatively.
The worst one, by a mile, is of me and Cherry.
Somehow, we ended up doing the cancan on the bar.
The photo shows angry bar staff, bouncers racing towards us and a huge pile of broken glasses on the floor.
The newshounds are speculating whether the Sinfonia’s female lead vocalist is on recreational drugs.
And spiralling out of control. Hot mess.
They are wondering if Count Nikolai or the Royals know about this sordid secret life that I am leading.
Goody-two-shoes classical diva by day, flamboyant go-go dancer by night.
Or is it because I have been dumped by the Count, who has clearly come to his senses at last?
I am never drinking ever, ever again. ‘Fuck,’ I say, putting my head in my hands. ‘My classical career is dead.’
I am unusually quiet for the rest of Sunday.
My stomach is churning at how to put this right and come up with a win-win scenario before I have to face the entire Sinfonia ensemble, who I may have accidentally upset on our last day of what had been a successful tour, with my shenanigans.
It has put me off wanting to go shopping for my Las Vegas outfits.
It has put me off contacting Matteo. It has put me right off planning any drunken nights out for Ged and Liam’s pre-moon spree.
Instead, I run a hot bath and lie there for two hours having a word with myself.
* * *
Luke has a smug look on his face when he joins me on stage that afternoon for the matinee. Apparently, word has got round that I am in big trouble. Bigger trouble than him, so he is pleased that the attention is back on me.
‘Touché,’ he says simply. ‘We all do things we regret when drunk, it seems. Or were you high? You looked very high to me. And to think you gave me such a hard time when I was coked up to the eyeballs, and yet here you are… splashed all over the tabloids once again.’
‘No. Of course I wasn’t high,’ I retort, keeping my voice low.
‘But you were inebriated. And you did do things you now regret. I was both. I committed a cocaine-fuelled faux pas which never would have happened if I’d not taken it. What are you not getting?’
‘That’s still no excuse.’
This seems to have an immediate effect on Luke. ‘Christ. It is an excuse… Perhaps if you were high, you’d understand how out-of-control horny and obnoxious it can make you. How many times do I need to apologise?’ he pleads.
‘I don’t want your apology. It wouldn’t mean anything anyway,’ I whisper loudly. ‘I can’t trust a word you say.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘The locket?’
‘It was a joint endeavour but, yes, Dolly did most of the work. But the locket is a family heirloom. That part is true.’
‘The hotel?’ I add.
‘Have you never heard of a grand gesture?’ He looks at me with an incredulous expression.
‘Telling me that you are being forced into an arranged marriage?’ I put my hands on my hips as we square up to each other. ‘Asking me to be your fake wife?’
He continues to stare rigidly at me, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Fake? You think I wanted a fake wife?’
I give him a steely look.
‘If I wanted a fake wife, I can have Hermione. Why would I want you to be my fake wife? I meant what I said.’
Dolly’s words about him being full of charm and not to be trusted ring in my ears. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’
As the Maestro brings the orchestra to life, Luke and I begin to treat the audience to what I’d comfortably describe as the worst performance ever.
We are so angry at one another that we can barely get the words out.
And once he starts over-singing at me, well, I can’t help but retaliate.
Then, when he deliberately begins to cut me off, I have no option but to do the same.
We are cutting the songs so short in our attempts to outdo each other that the Maestro’s arms are flinging about trying to keep up with us, which sends the brass section into overdrive. The overall effect is a cacophony of screeching and parping, and out-of-time sequencing.
‘Dreadful,’ the Maestro mutters to the audience at the end. He contemplates me and Luke standing side by side ignoring each other. ‘Simply dreadful.’
My blood is boiling as I stomp off stage.
* * *
‘What were you thinking?’ asks Dolly for the millionth time as she helps me out of the gown. ‘We finished over thirty minutes early. That’s never happened before.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ I say. ‘I was…’ How to explain that I now regret my lacklustre performance very much? We were childish and extremely unprofessional. And it very much was my fault.
‘There’s no denying that the two of you have explosive chemistry,’ she says. ‘Sure, you hate each other now, but your voices work incredibly well together. Do you know how rare that is?’
‘We sounded “dreadful”, remember?’
‘I’m not even sure the audience noticed, love. You still got a standing ovation.’
This is true.
‘Well, at least I won’t have to see Luke again after tonight. He’ll probably hop on a private jet back to Norway so he can escape having to marry a royal lesbian. If that’s even true.’
I sound petty.
Dolly smiles. ‘Let’s hope so, eh? Just ignore him at the Sinfonia farewell tour do.’
‘Oh, God. Do I have to go?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you going?’ I ask. I don’t want to go without her. I’m not sure anyone will be speaking to me.
Dolly does an embarrassed cough. ‘It’s at an exclusive club. They won’t let people who look like me in. Too fat and frumpy, I’m afraid.’ She shrugs, her cheeks beginning to redden. ‘You go though. It’s an important tradition. Besides, no one ever notices that I’m not at these things.’
Oh, Dolly. My hearts slumps in recognition. The lack of confidence. The lack of self-esteem.
‘Listen, why don’t we go somewhere else to celebrate instead? Besides, they’ll be relieved I’m not there to cause a scene.’
Dolly sounds pleased. ‘Really? That would be lovely. I’d like to celebrate the end of this crackpot tour before I start my next one with the very down-to-earth Southbank Sinfonia. At least everyone is more friendly there and not as dramatic.’
‘Oh, so you manage other classical tours? Not just this one?’
‘You have to in this line of work. There’s no such thing as full-time, anywhere.’
‘True. I start my Benidorm gigs the day after tomorrow.’
‘So I guess we’ll see each other on the next Royal Northern Sinfonia tour.’
‘If they’ll still have me.’
There’s a loud knock on the door, and in burst the Dollz looking fabulous in full hair, make-up and fake tan.
‘Dolly, meet the Dollz,’ I say. How did I not spot this link sooner?
Their eyes light up.
‘We could do so much with you, babes,’ says Liberty, making a beeline for Dolly. ‘We could do a full face, a high hair and I’m thinking a blurred lip.’
‘You definitely need some of these stretchy wonder pants off TikTok. I carry a spare set at all times. Just in case. It would take years off.’ Big Mand slings a pair of knickers at her. ‘Put them on.’
Dolly regards me with alarm.
‘It might be easier to do everything they tell you,’ I explain.
While Dolly plonks herself down in the chair, Cherry takes out a brush, Liberty unpacks her make-up, Big Mand sorts through the wardrobe of stuff I brought with me to change into, while Tash launches at Dolly with a giant pair of tweezers.
Twenty-five minutes later, Dolly can barely believe her eyes.
She looks fabulous. She’s patting her hair and feeling her face as though discovering her cheekbones for the first time.
She’s smoothing down the dress they have squeezed her into.
It’s the abandoned green gown from York that I bought.
Cherry ripped off the blousy sleeves, put a belt round the waist to hoick up the length and, somehow, made a perfectly lovely dress out of it. Dolly is over the moon with gratitude.
‘Constance,’ she says. ‘I think I would like to go to the end-of-tour celebration after all. If that’s okay with you?’
‘Is there a free bar?’ Tash asks.
Dolly giggles. ‘And goody bags.’
‘Well, count us in too.’
I’m still hungover from last night. But when I see them fussing over Dolly, the way they once fussed over me, and the way Dolly’s face has lit up, and her confidence increased tenfold, I am overwhelmed with love for my friends.
Who wouldn’t want the Dollz in their lives?
There’s another knock on the door, and in troop Ged, Liam, my dad and Madge. Big Sue puts some music on, and suddenly there’s a party in my dressing room. Everyone is chattering away, drinks have been produced, a fuss is being made, and bunches of flowers are being delivered.
My dad puts a gentle arm round my shoulders. ‘You were fantastic, love. Wasn’t she?’ He nudges Madge, who is standing beside him.
‘Oh, yes. Oh, yes!’ she gushes. ‘Astonishing. Especially those bits where you sort of act the song out. So believable. I don’t know how you do it.’
She’s referring to me and Luke singing angrily at each other and me wanting to slap him because he kept battling me for the high B notes when he sang and throwing his arms wide to make himself seem important.
He was grabbing air and pulling it down as though he was singing an eighties rock ballad.
Don’t even get me started on his legs. He was almost doing the splits.
Ridiculous creature. And Liberty is right. He has got a massive fat tongue.
‘You sing so beautifully together. Will the two of you tour often?’
I snap to attention. I’d rather poke my eyes out.