Chapter 21
A few soul-searching hours later, we are on the minibus on our way to the festival just outside the town centre and the Dollz have confirmed my suspicions that ‘Take care then’ is definitely a sign of a fizzled-out, non-romantic attraction.
I am gutted.
Absolutely gutted.
Liberty has reached deep into my soul to discover that I do really, really like Matteo. ‘Connie, pet. I think you’re ready for something to happen between you that is not, as has been the recent case, anything to do with great disappointment, fear or near-death experiences, am I right?’
I nod.
‘But you must acknowledge the truth that he might not feel the same way and be okay with it. You’re a big girl. It happens. Even though I’m sure he is into you. I saw the way you looked at each other before you sliced his eye open with your stiletto.’
She is being polite. This is what any expert would call ‘unrequited love’.
‘We told you to be brave and bold, and you were. There are loads of people out there for you to meet, honey. Lots of adventures to be had.’
It makes me think of my dad dipping his toe in the Lakes with Madge, and I suddenly realise that I’m finally ready. I’m ready to fully commit to meeting new people and trying new things. It feels like a revelation.
‘This isn’t just about Matteo,’ I tell her. ‘It’s about being present in the moment. With everyone and everything.’
Liberty beams at me. ‘Finally. She gets it. Hoes before bros.’
‘Hoargghhhay, darling. You can drop us off here, pet,’ Cherry yells down the bus. ‘At the performers’ VIP entrance.’
We arrive suited and booted to find the music festival is in full swing.
We draw cheers as soon as we step off Jorge’s minibus and the security guards let us through without even checking the passes we are wearing on lanyards round our necks.
We crowd into a massive tent and register our names.
Someone says something in rapid Spanish that I don’t catch and jabs at a big chart.
It’s the festival layout. There are four stage areas, a food zone, a drinks zone, and a chill-out zone.
He is very stressed and frantically pointing out the stage areas, pointing at me, pointing at the Dollz, pointing back at the chart then pointing to the exit and waving us to go through as a queue builds behind us.
We step outside to see the nuns have us tracked down within minutes of our arrival as though they are wearing homing beacons.
‘Did any of you catch that?’ I ask, scurrying to catch up with the Dollz and the nuns who are marching in a determined manner through the crowd, past the many marquees lit up with fairy lights, past the stalls with colourful bunting and the many glorious smells rising from sizzling hotplates and burger stands.
We come to a stop in a very lively area.
I consult my map to see we are in the drinks zone where a band is singing drinking songs in both English and Spanish.
Everyone at the festival appears absolutely paralytic.
We can barely move for bodies, and I still have not worked out which stage we are supposed to be on and when.
The details are all in Spanish, so the Dollz are relying heavily on me to be in charge and tell them where to go.
Not only that, but because of the ‘Take care then’ incident, I am dreading bumping into Matteo.
I am so embarrassed at flinging myself at him when he is clearly no longer interested and, even worse, his scary business partner Alex will find out and fire me on the spot and make sure I will never work within the whole of Europe ever again.
I should take the hint and leave him alone.
I snap back to the job at hand. The Dollz look stunning in a matching array of black rubber suspenders, bra tops, Lycra basques, fishnet body stockings and a selection of killer heels with studs, peep toes and gladiator straps.
I have poured myself into the black, wet-look bodysuit with plunging neckline and cut-out waist. To me it screams dominatrix, but Ged and Liam assured me on FaceTime that it really screams hashtag boss lady.
‘Just make sure you wear the bodysuit,’ said Ged, ‘and not the other way round. Confidence, darling. Have confidence.’
An hour later, I’ve already been round all four stages to see when we are on and not one person has managed to tell me.
The Dollz have wandered off so many times that I’ve had to create a WhatsApp group so that I can keep track of them to tell them where to meet.
It has been like herding cats since the moment we arrived.
We haven’t even done our performance yet and I am already exhausted.
Despite all their promises to behave, the Dollz are clearly living their best lives and are not giving a flying fuck about their intentions to focus and be prepared.
I feel myself beginning to panic. It’s happening all over again.
I’m going to end up late and unprepared and make a mess of the whole thing.
It’s okay for the Dollz. They’ve all got stellar bloody careers, and this shared interest in singing is simply a way of bringing the group of friends together in the same way a book or knitting club or building a gin shed in the garden might work.
But for me, well, it’s all I’ve got. I have no money coming in, no safety net, and now no clue about career goals.
I’m beyond frustrated with myself. How did I let this happen?
Being jobless, soon to be homeless and on the verge of throwing away the only chance I have left of singing for a living is not where I thought I’d be at nearly thirty.
Oh, and single. Very fucking single, especially after the way I have behaved this week.
And even if Liberty is right, I’d be amazed if Matteo dares come anywhere near me unless he has a thing for weepy psychos.
And now I’m in a mood.
Suddenly, I hear a shriek nearby. I’d recognise that pitch anywhere. It’s the closest any of them has come to a vocal warm-up. I squeeze through the crowd to find Tash.
‘Connie. Over here, babes!’ She draws in a lungful of air and fixes me with a wild stare. ‘BAAAY-AAAY-AAABES!’ she yells, even though I am clearly fucking coming, in fucking stilts, across lumpy fucking ground, full of lethal fucking potholes.
‘What now?’ I ask with more patience than she deserves.
Not one of them has offered to help me find the right stage or the tent where the organisers might be. Actually, to be fair, I do know where that is. It is clearly indicated on the map with a huge arrow, but I have been so terrified of bumping into Matteo that I have not wanted to go near it.
‘It’s gone,’ she sobs.
Bug-eyed, she announces to me and Sister Kevin that she has lost her phone.
She will not be able to take selfies of herself or the giant curly pink straw that came with her drink.
She’s already a few sheets to the wind. I’m sure Instagram can survive with fewer images of Tash doing the peace sign into the camera while holding up yet another cocktail.
‘And the backing tracks. We can’t go on stage without the backing tracks. They’re all on my phone.’
Fuckety fuck fuck.
‘Our selfies are on your phone!’ Sister Kevin wails.
‘They are, babes. I feel we have incredible chemistry, don’t you?’ Tash responds, clearly distracted. ‘You look ready to settle down with a special someone.’
Sister Kevin looks overjoyed.
Oh Christ. Now is not the time for a proposal.
‘Where did you last have it?’ I butt in. ‘Does it have a tracker on?’
We wait patiently as Tash takes an age to register this barrage of complex questions.
‘No, but I definitely had it in the toilets!’ she blurts.
‘Good, Tash. Very good. This phone,’ Sister Kevin demands, swiftly taking charge of the investigation. ‘Were you in the toilet taking an intimate photo of yourself as promised?’
I shake my head in despair. He’s as drunk as she is. Tash licks her lips extravagantly in answer.
‘Right, let’s get it back,’ he declares as though the Hope Diamond has gone missing. ‘You!’ he barks at me. ‘Check every Portaloo there is.’
He checks to see if Tash is loving how adept he is in a crisis. And from the way she is hanging off his neck, she certainly is.
‘Twice!’ he yells at me, milking the situation for all it’s worth.
I stare at him wide-eyed. I am not checking every stinky toilet. Besides, I’m too British, I’d have to queue politely for each one. It would take days. Weeks. Tash squeals and gives me wide, childlike eyes.
‘Fankoo, Connie. Luvvoo,’ she says. It certainly does something for Sister Kevin all right as I observe their open exchange of saliva. He hoicks her leg up onto his hip.
‘And which toilets are you two going to check?’ I put my hand on my hip. ‘ Twice? ’
They stop clawing at each other as Tash, removing her tongue from his ear, gives me a sharp, ferrety look.
‘Connie? We are clearly sharing a special moment?’
Rather than focus on Tash’s special moment, which seems a lot like all the other moments that she’s experienced since we got here, I search for the rest of the girls. Not one to be seen, and less than an hour before they are on stage.
I give up.
I head towards the designated Portaloo zone where a thousand cross-legged women stand chatting and vaping while they wait in lines for the loo.
I make my way through the crowd, trying to ignore the ungodly smell of urinal cakes while shaking off a barrage of shouting from women who think I’m pushing in.
‘ Mi teléfono en el toiletto plástico! Emergencia grande! ’ I yell, beating on the doors with sheer embarrassment that I’m making this seem much more of a crisis than it actually is. Why is the Spanish for Portaloo not adequately covered in the A level syllabus? Why?
I keep calling Tash’s phone and strain to listen out for the ringtone against the festival music blaring out.