Chapter 12 #2
While another beautician deftly works her magic on my neglected nails, I check online for dresses in Zara.
All the while my thoughts flash back to Matteo and the way he looked at me while I was making a fool of myself on stage.
I feel a surge of panic swilling in the pit of my stomach.
Trust him to be the head of Jezebel Music.
It’s like the universe has really got it in for me.
I fight back the instinct to run away from it all, fly back to Newcastle and hide in my bed.
I need to turn this negative spiral around.
I sit upright and square my shoulders as I stare at myself in the mirror.
It’s time to be the woman I know I need to be, not the invisible woman I often want to be.
When it is time for my hair to be washed and conditioned, I turn my phone on to ‘do not disturb’ mode, close my eyes and force myself to daydream that I’m excellent on stage.
And at the end, Matteo is so impressed he asks for my bloody number.
In fact, he’s desperate for my number; he begs me for my number. Begs!
Two and a half hours later and I can’t believe what I am seeing.
The woman in the mirror is sophisticated, elegant, and really quite stunning.
The girls at the salon have managed to make my black eye disappear behind professional make-up.
They’ve given me extremely flattering contouring and have styled my hair with subtle highlights.
It shines as I swing my head from side to side.
I leave in a cloud of coconut-scented hair mist and air kisses and, even though they protest, I leave the girls a huge tip.
I walk on air across the bustling square, almost strutting as I pass tables laden with tourists sitting outside in the sunshine having tapas and drinks.
People are laughing, chatting, sharing time together.
It’s such a happy and uplifting environment, it’s infectious.
I check my phone map and see the store I need is just up ahead.
In Zara, I pick out a sparkly, dark ruby-red dress which complements my newly sleek and glossy hair.
It has shoulder cap sleeves that show off my toned arms and is short enough to show off my legs without being tacky.
I also treat myself to some high black shoe boots that finish the outfit off perfectly, and some pretty underwear because I need all the confidence I can get.
I send the girls at the salon a photo as requested, and a huge thanks and some emoji love hearts for squeezing me in to make sure I was ready on time.
I send the same photo to my father, Ged and Liam with the same emoji love hearts.
I have never ever looked this good in my entire life.
This is confirmed in capitals by Ged and Liam almost instantly.
I feel like I might just be able to pull this off.
Once back outside, the warm air hits me.
Luckily, the evening sun is low, and the heat is not so harsh.
I peer down one of the narrow cobbled lanes towards the sea twinkling away.
I have just enough time to make it to Tiki Beach for 8p.m. I can’t wait until the girls see me.
Not that I need their approval in any way, obviously.
I am a strong, resilient woman, as of an hour ago.
I walk along to the bar we’ve arranged to meet in to find it is rammed full of (I’d love to say boisterous and good-natured) lager louts. I stand outside to wait for the Dollz.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I suddenly remember my phone is on ‘do not disturb’. It beeps the second I turn it back off. I have thirteen missed calls, all in the last five minutes.
Shite.
I feel instantly panicky as I return the call.
Tash screeches down the phone, ‘Connie, I’ve been trying to ring you for fucking ages!’
Five minutes.
‘What’s wrong?’ I yell back desperately. ‘Is it your ankle? Has it burst?’
‘Who switches their phone off before an important gig?’
I wait to hear what the emergency is, hovering on the verge of hyperventilating.
‘We have no tequila,’ Tash whines. ‘Or lemons. We have no lemons.’ She sounds drunk.
‘That’s it? That’s the emergency? You’ve rung me thirteen times over a lemon shortage?’ I ask tentatively, unable to fathom her out. It’s as though I’ve volunteered to be in charge of lemons.
‘Yes… No! Wait. No, it wasn’t about that at all.’ I wait for Tash to search her memory. ‘I got the times wrong for tonight. Yes, that’s it. Nancy rang, you’re on in half an hour.’
‘Half an hour?’
Tash giggles.
‘Yes. And it’s not on The Strip. It’s on a boat. Some big boat down at the marina. Fuck knows where that is, but anyway, go on ahead of us and cover until we get there. Hoargghhhay can take you. He’s outside.’
‘Tash. Where do you think I am?’
‘Didn’t I just see you waxing in the kitchen, babes?’
I hang up.
Jesus wept. Where do I start?
I run out of the bar into the street to hail a cab.
As I’m flailing my arms around, I do a double take when I notice Matteo walking down the other side, deeply engrossed in his phone.
The dark-haired beauty from the bar last night is scampering along beside him trying to keep up. I can’t believe it. I need to hide.
Unfortunately, the bearded nuns suddenly round the corner and make a huge fuss about me standing there.
‘It’s the Dollz!’ they yell excitedly. ‘The Dollz!’
‘It’s not the Dollz,’ I say tightly, trying to keep them from making a scene as they break out into The Shopping Cart.
Their heads swivel wildly about before their eyes come back to rest on me and their faces fall.
‘They’re not here! They’re not here! ’ cries Sister Kevin, sounding bereft. Ridiculous really for a group of grown men. ‘Where are they?’
‘They’ll be along later,’ I hiss out of the side of my mouth. This only causes them to cheer as loudly as though England had just won the World Cup. Everyone in the vicinity turns to see what the rumpus is about.