Chapter 7 #2
‘And now Nancy has given me this one last chance to stop boring my audiences with sad songs, but the thing is, I’m not even sure if I’m capable of singing happy songs any more. How could I when I’m not even capable of being happy?’
Matteo leans across to me and gently strokes his thumbs across my cheeks to wipe away the tears. I hadn’t even realised my face was wet. I’m immediately embarrassed and apologise. I feel like I’ve been crying non-stop for years.
‘That’s quite a voice you’ve got,’ he says, changing the subject. He must have heard me singing in the shower. And the song choices, could I have sounded more tragic?
‘Oh, erm, I was practising my two-octave pitch. For tomorrow. I’m not the manic depressive you probably think I am. Despite what you’ve heard me sing. And say. And do.’
Sweet baby Jesus.
Our eye contact suddenly feels a bit intense, so I clear my throat and reach for my wine glass. I’ve demolished the bottle, and there’s only a thimbleful left.
‘Finish it,’ he says, smiling.
‘You’ve not roofied it to sex-traffic me off, have you?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Sex again? Honestly, what is wrong with me?
‘Anyway. I shouldn’t really drink so much the night before a performance,’ I say, slightly embarrassed at the irony.
‘Not when I am under strict instructions to impress the “music guys” Nancy is working with. Though, from what I’ve seen, the place is full of drunks who’d be happy with any old shite.
’ I’m babbling. ‘No offence, but there’s no culture here. How can I put it without sounding too…’
‘Judgemental?’
‘Yes. But you must know what I mean.’
Matteo tilts his head. ‘It’s a wonder you came all this way.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t so desperate. For a classically trained singer with a wide vocal range like mine, this is so beneath me, but I’ll never set foot in the place again after this week. No offence.’
Please shut up now.
‘Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s the alcohol. I just mean someone like me doesn’t belong somewhere like this. I’m not that sort of entertainer.’
‘And what sort of entertainer are you?’
The wounded animal type.
‘Oh, I guess you could say I’m…’ A full minute goes by as I stare wildly around for inspiration. In the end, I look Matteo square in the eye. I might as well be honest about this too. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I can sing, but I have no voice. Does that make sense?’
Part of me is now relieved that I’m not out binge-drinking with the Dollz if this is the way I behave, and just as I wonder what they are up to, I hear an almighty commotion going on. A thunderous clacking of heels against ceramic tiles is accompanied by much hooting and cackling.
‘I should go,’ he says quickly.
I blink slowly, realising how much I’ve enjoyed his company.
He’s as good as any therapist I’ve seen.
And a million times better-looking. Something in the way he stands up and shakes the hair from his eyes draws me in like a magnet.
He’s magnificent. He rakes a hand casually through his hair.
Of course he does. He checks his phone before putting it back in his shorts pocket. He’s about to leave.
‘Hey, I was wondering… If you’re not doing anything tomorrow night,’ I say, emboldened by the wine as I put my hand out to stop him from clearing away the plates, ‘perhaps you might want to pop by The Jolly Roger if you want to hear me sing something more upbeat than shower ballads?’
I allow him approximately one nanosecond to respond before my deep-rooted insecurity takes over.
‘Only if you’re not doing something better. Of course you’ll be doing something better. In fact, absolutely don’t come. It’ll be shit.’ I roll my eyes theatrically. ‘Total waste of time. A musical black hole. Not even real music, really. Forget I mentioned it.’
For the love of God, girl, stop talking.
Matteo sounds confused. ‘Okay.’
That hardly helps. Is that a yes or a no?
We are distracted by a thunderous roar. The Dollz are yelling for Enreeky as though he comes with the place and is just standing around waiting like a human Alexa. I quickly turn off the music and dim the lights.
‘They’ve been boozing all day,’ I explain.
I am such a hypocrite, but all that wine has made me incredibly nosy, so I beckon Matteo to follow me, and we creep down the path and open the gate just wide enough to peek through.
The girls are staggering around by the pool until Cherry suddenly remembers something.
They instantly forget all about Enreeky because they simply must dance.
Immediately. Like their lives depend on it.
‘Enreeky?’ Matteo whispers. Our cheeks are almost touching as we crouch down.
‘Nacho,’ I murmur. ‘The guy we are renting the villa from. He’s insanely hot.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
Our lips are hovering ridiculously close. For a magical second, I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me before I realise something very important. It’s me who is doing the leaning. Me. My lips are pursing, plumping themselves up, ready to make first contact. I feel like a giddy teen.
It’s the wine. Far too much wine.
His eyes widen when he sees what my lips are doing. I should tell him they are acting independently of the main body, but I don’t get the chance.
‘You filthy shower of bastarding whores!’ shouts Tash above the music now blasting out from the main house.
With the magical spell broken, my lips make a hasty retreat.
I don’t even have time to feel suitably mortified because something must have gone terribly wrong in the last two seconds while we were, let’s say whispering , because the truth of what just happened and him looking slightly horrified must never be acknowledged.
I will erase it from my brain and get on with my life as though the moment simply never occurred.
‘I fucking love the lot of you!’ Tash screams, and suddenly there’s lots of hugging. ‘Best friends forever !’
‘Listen!’ Liberty shushes them all. I hope they haven’t heard us. ‘Even though I’m full of drink right now, I want you all to know… that we are…’ Liberty is hanging by a thread. Emotions are getting the better of her. ‘We are best friends forever !’
‘I literally just said that,’ Tash says, sounding annoyed.
‘Did you?’
Next thing, all the girls are parading round the pool just like a fashion show.
Matteo and I exchange a dubious look as the girls strut dangerously close to the pool edge, left hands on hips, right arms swinging in perfect formation.
As drunk as they are, I have to admit it is pretty impressive.
Until, that is, Big Mand catches the back of Cherry’s sandal mid-clomp and sends her crashing into the pool with a loud thwack.
Some hair extensions float to the surface of the water without the owner attached, followed by a cigarette butt and what looks like a couple of round bread buns. Matteo stares at them, baffled.
‘Chicken fillets,’ I whisper, wondering when Cherry is going to emerge. A sandal floats to the surface while the girls carry on with their dance moves, quite oblivious.
Matteo slides his eyes towards me, muttering, ‘Jesus Christ, I’ll have to jump in and get her.’ But at that moment, Cherry splutters to the surface and doggy-paddles over to the steps.
‘Good job I didn’t drown. My poor kids. Their baby daddy is fucking useless.
’ She climbs out and slaps her soaking wet handbag onto the side.
‘But I love being a mother. It’s a real privilege.
I hope they’re okay without me.’ Cherry wrings out some water from her hair and kicks off the remaining sandal. ‘Wherever they are.’
Above the music blasting across the pool area, we hear an unpleasant choking sort of sound. Big Mand says she’s going to be sick and could someone quickly hold her hair back for her as she’d had it imported from China. Chinese virgins, to be exact, and she can’t afford to replace it.
We watch the scene unfold with a mix of morbid fascination.
No one fancies the job of holding back such precious and expensive, bum-grazing hair, and Big Mand is understandably upset.
‘I’ve held everyone’s hair tonight when you’ve all been hurling chunks, and now that it’s my turn, how dare no one do it for me. ’
‘I’ll do it,’ says Big Sue reluctantly as a row breaks out about the communal bathroom and how Big Mand isn’t allowed to be sick in there as it’s a shared area.
In the end, Big Mand emits a quease-inducing, strangled sound and throws up on the patio in front of everyone, before Big Sue can lunge across to get her hair to safety.
‘It must have been a dodgy cocktail.’ Big Mand wipes her mouth on her arm.
‘Or maybe it was that kebab you bought from the man on the bike?’ Big Sue suggests.
‘Kebab?’ This is news to Big Mand. She removes her soiled hairpiece and holds it up.
‘There’s lumps in it!’ Cherry and Liberty shriek, instantly throwing up in unison.
‘You ate food, Big Mand?’ roars Tash incredulously.
‘While out drinking?’ Tash’s face is twisted into an ugly scowl.
‘Can everyone just stop throwing up, please? You selfish fuckers!’ She is hobbling around unsteadily.
I notice her ankle is ballooning out over the tight strap of her high-heeled platform stilettos. It has gone an angry purple colour.
‘Twerk!’ screams Cherry, and everyone suddenly starts twerking, instantly forgetting how outraged they were mere moments ago.
I sense Matteo trying not to snigger next to me.
He rolls his eyes, and I feel a faint gust of butterflies in my stomach.
It appears that he too is happy to draw a veil over the incident with my lips.
The twerking is interrupted by Big Mand slipping in a pool of vomit and landing heavily onto the tiles. Big Sue runs to see if she is okay, slips too and lands on top of her.
‘My arm! It’s broken!’ shouts Big Mand, sounding in real agony but still managing to hold her burning ciggie aloft and out of harm’s way.
‘I’ll get you something for the pain,’ volunteers Tash, making her way to the kitchen. She waves a bottle of tequila at her. ‘Ice and lemon, Big Mand?’
‘Yes, but ring an ambulance. Call 123 or whatever it is in Spain,’ she wheezes.
Tash nods, taking charge. ‘Good idea. I’ll get the shot glasses and the salt first though, hun. And I’ll do a quick wee in case the paramedics are quite fit. I imagine they will be, in those uniforms. In fact, I might get changed.’
This is not her finest hour.
Matteo shakes his head in disbelief. Suddenly it seems that the girls can no longer hear or see Big Mand lying by the pool or remember quite what happened as they stampede into the house, easily leaving her behind.
Then all hell breaks loose in the kitchen when the discovery is made that there are no lemons.
Suddenly, I hear my name, and Matteo and I both freeze.
‘Where the fuck is Connie with the lemons?’
‘Connie? Connie who?’ asks Liberty, sounding genuinely mystified. And literally, two minutes later, they’ve all stampeded off to bed. Even Big Mand manages to haul herself up using only one arm to trail drunkenly behind them yelling that she’s okay, she just needs to sleep it off.
‘Sleep what off?’ Tash yells back.
‘I can’t remember,’ replies Big Mand, stubbing her cigarette out on the patio before she goes inside. She must also have forgotten that she needs an ambulance.
The whole house falls silent. Matteo and I wait a few minutes to make sure no one is lurking around downstairs. Just as we make a move to go, a burning smell drifts over to us, accompanied by a sizzling sound.
‘Jesus Christ, the hair. It’s on fire!’ Like a whippet, Matteo darts over and kicks the burning hairpiece into the pool, quickly checking nothing else is going to go up in flames. I dread to think what Big Mand will make of that in the morning.
With his hands on his hips, he looks over to where I’m hovering by the gap in the wall. He lets out a huge, bewildered sigh.
‘Goodnight, Connie.’
I wait to see if he asks me for my number, but he doesn’t. Of course he won’t ask for my number. Why would he? He’s completely not attracted to me sexually or otherwise. I pull my dressing gown tightly round me.
‘Well, goodnight then, Matteo.’
He gives me a lingering look that fills me full of flutters before he disappears off round the far side of the pool to avoid all the patches of sick. I hear the click of the front gate shutting and the quiet rumble of his old-lady scooter as he drives off.