Chapter 1 #2
‘Hello? Is that Jezebel Music? Nancy asked me to call. I’m the replacement for Ted Sheeran.’
‘What sort of act are you?’
This simple and very reasonable question throws me. I should know what sort of act I am.
Not very good.
‘Well, erm, I guess you could describe me as taking my audience on a deep dive into the very essence of?—’
‘Can you sing?’ she asks abruptly.
‘Yes, I can definitely sing. I’m classically trained in all forms of?—’
‘We need someone to entertain a lively crowd. Can you do that?’
‘I’m from Newcastle,’ I say by way of explanation. ‘All crowds are lively.’
Well, that’s how they start off, anyway.
‘We need someone with great stage presence. Someone who can get the crowd singing along.’
Ah. Nancy’s words echo in my mind. Wounded animal. Reducing grown men to tears.
‘Erm, I’d definitely say I’m more of a musical experience.’
‘Oh?’
Please refrain from talking.
‘I mean, I take my audience on a journey. Of enlightenment.’
Jesus Christ.
‘We just need a singer to do covers. Is that you or not?’ She’s beginning to sound annoyed. I confirm that singing is what I do best, and she proceeds to give me all the necessary information before hanging up.
A short while later, Ged and Liam wander through, dressed in their outlandishly skimpy jogging gear, to see why I’ve suddenly gone so quiet. I can’t move. My mouth is gaping open.
‘I’m going to Spain. To perform in clubs. I’ll be on stage in Benidorm for a whole week,’ I say dazedly, barely able to take it in.
‘Benidorm as in the party capital of the Costa Blanca?’ asks Ged.
‘Benidorm as in where all the drunks go to holiday hard?’ supplies Liam.
My voice is barely a whisper. ‘I have to meet my support band at Newcastle Airport to fly over to Alicante together. I’m replacing Ted Sheeran.
’ I crumple to the floor while the boys leap about excitedly.
There’s a huge knot of anxiety twisting around in my stomach.
‘Oh God. Talk about a fish out of water.’ I bury my face in my hands.
I’m a moronic fool. An imposter. An impulsive charlatan.
‘The flight leaves first thing tomorrow morning. What have I done?’
You’ve oversold yourself. That’s what you’ve done.
Moments later, we’re flicking through images of my new support band on Ged’s phone. ‘I love them,’ Ged says. ‘I mean, “The Dollz”, can you believe it? Love the name, love the outfits, love the tribute vibe. It’s so Benidorm.’
‘Look at them singing and doing upside-down splits at the same time. They have a lot of complex choreography going on,’ Liam says, browsing through the video clips of the lead singer exuberantly twerking her huge thigh gap an inch from an audience member’s nose.
‘Christ, they’re amazing. Absolutely stunning. ’
‘How do I follow that?’ I wail, panicking.
I could never imagine an occasion where I’d need to wave my thigh gap in anyone’s face.
‘I’ll be booed off stage if that’s what they’re expecting.
I mean, I’m classically trained, for fuck’s sake.
’ I hear an ugly hint of indignation creeping into my voice.
‘I take my audience on a musical voyage. I give them a feeling of deep connection, human depth, tortured souls. I prefer my audience to leave having learnt something. Surely that’s got to count for more than flashing my knickers and singing cheap covers at them? ’
‘They have Instagram down to a fine art,’ says Ged admiringly, ignoring me and my incredible moment of musical integrity.
‘It takes real skill to seem like you either have something terribly important on your mind or like you’re greatly surprised to find, once again, you’ve woken in full make-up wearing only a thong and some oversized earrings. Real skill.’
This is so not helping.
‘The lead singer looks like she’s just walked naked through a silvery mist,’ says Liam.
Neither is that.
‘I hope they don’t expect me to wear costumes like that.’
Liam peers at me over the top of the phone. ‘We keep telling you to dress up and make an effort on stage, but will you listen? No, you won’t. You have award-winning legs, Connie. You can’t turn up in Benidorm dressed for an archaeological dig.’
‘I’m a pitch-perfect classical singer. I don’t belong somewhere like that,’ I say, trying to keep the terror from my voice. ‘Singing cheesy covers to a sea of bald heads. It’s like scraping the professional barrel. Maybe I should ring Nancy back and explain I made a mistake?’
‘What other options do you have? I don’t hear the London Philharmonic knocking and you have no money coming in,’ says Ged bluntly. ‘Connie, you need a bit of a reality check. Life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect.’
‘I know that,’ I say tightly. ‘I know that more than anyone.’
Ged puts a comforting arm around me. ‘Sorry, hun. I just mean that perhaps it’s time to let go of this perfect life you had planned and embrace the one that might be waiting for you instead.’
‘There is nothing waiting for me in Benidorm. Have you seen the state of the place? Besides, I only know one Ed Sheeran song.’ I let out a worried groan. ‘Everyone will hate me, won’t they?’
Ged and Liam exchange sympathetic noises before completely backtracking. ‘No, of course they won’t hate you. All you need to do is style it out. Just tweak a few things.’
I blink at them and feel relief flooding through me as Ged pushes a glass of wine into my hand. No matter how difficult I can be, they always have my back.
‘Just change the way you dress, the way you sing, the way you dance… Oh, and smile at the audience more,’ Liam says. ‘Your nerves can come across as a bit stand-offish at times.’
Shitting hell.
I can feel a panic attack coming on. This is so far out of my comfort zone. Nancy may as well have asked me to charter a private jet and fly it to Taiwan blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back while singing ‘I Will Survive’ in Welsh.
‘It’s no good. I can’t do it.’ We all take a beat to stare at each other while I flounder for words, my mind awash with dread at the thought of going. ‘I can’t be that type of bubbly, joyful person they need me to be.’
And just like that, their faces collapse.
‘We know how difficult things have been since you lost your mum,’ Liam says, stepping in close. I hear the break in his voice as he continues softly. ‘But, honey, sometimes it feels like we lost you too.’
‘You’ve become this numb husk muddling through life.
Moping from day to day,’ says Ged, suddenly sounding like David Attenborough describing an endangered species, ‘without a shred of desire to make new friends or to fall in love.’ He pauses to sigh elaborately.
‘We just want to see you happy, Connie. Living your best life. Having the odd shag from time to time. You know, dust off some cobwebs once in a while instead of watching the Bridgerton buttocks scene every night.’
‘He’s right, babes.’
FFS. I’ll just add that to my growing pile of emotional and professional wounds, shall I? I mean, no one likes to hear the actual truth about themselves, and this is very close to the bone.
‘I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one of us watching horny aristocrats having sex in manicured gardens and on ornate staircases.’ I throw an accusing stare in Liam’s direction.
Liam shakes his head at me.
He’s right, I’m being petty.
‘And,’ Ged tells me firmly, ‘just because Benidorm has been voted the cheapest place in Europe for watered-down beer, blow jobs and designer knock-offs, and just because you’ve seen The Dollz on TikTok, dry-humping each other while wearing less than you’d wear to the beach, does not mean you should fall to pieces. ’
‘You’re right. I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ I must remain positive. ‘Hopefully, the crowds will be small, the standards really low, and they’ll be too drunk to notice what I’m singing or what I’m wearing.’
Ged looks up from swiping with wide eyes.
‘Your stage costumes won’t be the biggest problem anyway,’ he announces. ‘It says here Ted Sheeran has over eight hundred thousand followers. He sells out every night of the week in Benidorm. It says he’s… the best tribute act since Adam Lambert joined Queen.’
Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!