Chapter 24
As the sun rises, we are still craving each other.
We’ve hardly said a word since our naked Jacuzzi because we’ve been locked in a frenzy of desire for each other.
Every time we’d try to fall asleep, one of us would get a lustful urge to go again.
I’ve come over all insatiable for this man.
He only has to touch me and I get stirrings to make love to him.
Our lips are swollen from all the kissing, and I feel swollen down below, and I bet he’s sore, but we don’t seem to care.
I feel drunk with desire for him and I’m pretty sure he feels the same.
He’s made it abundantly clear several times.
I don’t even want to sleep because I never want this dream to end.
When it gets towards midday, Matteo says, ‘I better go or I’ll never be able to function later. I’ll be walking with a limp as it is.’
He’s so funny. And dreamy.
I blink slowly and try to act cool, convincing myself that’s fine, of course he should go. I mean, this is just a holiday fling. It doesn’t mean anything. I can’t seem to keep the disappointment from my voice. It seems unthinkable that we should separate as we lie wrapped around one another.
‘Of course, you should go to work,’ I fib smoothly, ‘and don’t feel, you know, that you have to call me or anything. I understand.’
‘No,’ he says, stroking my cheek, ‘you don’t.’
He kisses me so gently I am immediately lost in a swirl of feelings.
We move rhythmically together, never once breaking eye contact, and soon he is slipping on a condom and slowly entering me again.
We lose ourselves in each other as our orgasms build from this slow, grinding pace.
This must be making love in that very painstaking, tantric way that Ged and Liam told me about, but that they haven’t got the actual patience to do.
It is tender and loving and I’ve never felt anything so all-consuming in my life.
I am smitten. I have completely and utterly fallen for him.
When we are done, he slips out of bed and leaves me with the promise of seeing him later as we exchange numbers.
‘I’ll come for the start of your set,’ he says, which has me tingling all over.
We have our final two gigs on The Strip tonight and tomorrow, at Voices. It’s the biggest entertainment venue outside of Benidorm Palace. It is a big, big deal. My phone rings, interrupting us. It’s Nancy.
‘I saw you weren’t yourself yesterday at the festival,’ she rasps.
‘Not myself?’ I echo.
‘No, thank goodness. We all noticed the huge improvement, so whoever it is you’re bumping bones with to get your pipes to sound that good, keep it up.’ She cackles out a gravelly laugh.
How does she find these things out? How? Dark magics?
‘Now put him down…’
Matteo and I look at each other in alarm.
How could she possibly know?
‘…and get yourself round to do a soundcheck at Voices because the manager has heard the rumours about you and the Dollz being a right handful. He’s not happy.’
‘Has he?’ I say, feeling shocked.
‘Yes. It was me that told him. Meh. Meh. Meh.’
While she’s trying to laugh, Matteo gives me a lingering kiss to remember him by and disappears out of the cottage. I am high on endorphins, and I don’t care who knows it.
‘I just feel so different,’ I tell Nancy. ‘It’s like he has flicked a switch in me and now my drab, grey life has burst into glorious fireworks just like the festival last night. I want to fling open the creaky doors to my mind palace and let in the light.’
‘Jesus Christ, mind palace? Are you on drugs?’ She pauses to wheeze between puffs on her vape.
‘Well, whatever it is, glad to hear you sounding full of beans, pet. I knew Benidorm would be much more up your street. Give me two more brilliant shows and I’ll have a surprise for you and the Dollz when you get back. ’
I squash down the dread of going home in a couple of days.
I’ll definitely need a selfie to remind me of Matteo and that this is not a dream.
It could be my wallpaper for everything.
I will get a quilt cover and matching pillowcases made with it on and perhaps a rug and a lampshade and definitely some mugs for Ged and Liam.
Unless, a thought pops into my mind, I want to stay .
I slide into denim shorts and a vest top and go through to the main house, stepping carefully round the pool area strewn with clothes, bags, shoes and hairpieces.
It is completely silent. I take a moment, wondering whether to wake the Dollz.
They won’t have got back until after me this morning, so it is probably a bad idea.
As I approach The Strip, I see an army of cleaners picking up bottles, cans, serviettes, burst balloons, tinsel and various items of discarded clothing in a bid to restore it to glory for the night ahead.
I spot Voices immediately. It’s taller than the bars around it and has a ginormous red sign spelling out its name in light bulbs.
The doors are wide open, the walls plastered with posters of bands, tribute acts and singers from all over the world.
It appears very professional from the outside and I feel nervous excitement race through me as I walk in.
I’m immediately staggered by the size of the place.
It must easily hold a couple of thousand people.
Its vast floors and mezzanine levels are crammed with wooden tables and chairs with several bar areas specialising in cocktails or beers, or both.
There are signs everywhere advertising drinks packages, performances, food menus, themed nights.
There is something for everyone, every night of the week, every week of the year.
It is a very busy place. There’s a huge circular stage in the centre, and I make my way to it.
I’ve never performed on a circular stage before.
‘You have to make sure you turn around regularly otherwise people think you’re ignoring them. It can take quite a bit to get used to.’
I spin round.
‘Hi, I’m Dan, best known as Jolly Murs,’ he says, pointing to a huge poster of himself. ‘And you must be the Ariana Grande tribute act. You look just like her. Loving your high pony.’
Shrieks distract us both as a horde of children races in our direction. I assume they must be huge Jolly Murs fans but, as they thunder towards us, they leap at me, almost sending me flying. The last to arrive, panting, is a little girl I’d recognise anywhere.
‘It’s you,’ I say, grinning from ear to ear as she leaps into my arms. ‘Hello there. How are you?’
‘Mammy, it’s the woman!’ she screams at the top of her lungs. ‘It’s her!’
I see a glamorous woman approach, battling her way through the children to scoop me into a hug.
‘How did you find us?’ she asks, looking me over in wonderment. ‘We’ve been hoping to run into you so we could thank you properly for what you did. For saving Lucie’s life. You and your boyfriend.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘Oh, I see. He’s your husband, is he?’ She winks at me. ‘I wouldn’t step over him to get to Ryan Reynolds if you know what I mean. What a pair of heroes you are.’
I nod vacantly.
Why am I not correcting her?
I imagine being married to Matteo. I’d get nothing done on a daily basis. It would be one continuous loop of wake up and make love. Wake up and make love. Wake up and make love. Over and over for eternity.
‘Why do you look all funny?’ Lucie is asking me, an inch from my nose, her small hands ruffling my hair. I must get a grip.
‘I was performing at the festival last night,’ I say, shaking myself out of the trance. ‘I haven’t been to sleep yet.’ Not the most professional thing to admit. It causes a flurry of admiring comments from the children.
‘Oh, you’re the singer for tonight?’ Lucie’s mother says.
‘What a coincidence! Connie, is it? I’m Martha.
I own the place with my husband Rody.’ She turns to the children.
‘Okay, you lot back to the kitchen for lunch.’ She looks back at me.
‘You want to do a quick soundcheck before you go back to bed?’ Martha laughs. ‘Oh, to be young and in love.’
I blush. I should correct her. I really, really should. But before I know it, Rody is bounding over to scoop me up in a bear hug.
‘Thank you,’ he booms. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Connie’s singing here tonight. Can you believe it? Is your husband coming? We’d love to thank him personally. Maybe have you over for dinner some time?’
My husband. Okay, this time I am definitely going to put her right. I open my mouth to speak when they are distracted by some squealing and fighting.
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Martha says, grabbing her husband. ‘Don’t leave without giving us your number. Dan, can you sort Connie out, please?’
‘You’re like part of the family here,’ I say to Dan, smirking.
‘That’s because I am part of the family here. Oldest son. Born and raised in Benidorm. In this bar, to be precise.’
‘One, two, one, two,’ says Dan, grinning at me as he hands me the microphone. ‘Fancy a duet?’
‘I haven’t warmed up my vocals. I haven’t slept for almost two days, I’ve done nothing but drink alcohol and eat pizza, but sure, yes, why not?’
Dan picks one of his favourite pop duets and sets up the backing track.
Within seconds we are belting out a tune that brings the children hurtling back through the bar to see us performing together.
I’m in surprisingly good form considering.
I think the buzz of having just made love to Matteo must be giving my voice an extra edge as I out-sing Jolly Murs at the end, to the extent that he doesn’t look quite so Jolly any more.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘That was very unprofessional of me. I’m not usually that, erm, loud.’
He is standing open-mouthed. ‘No. Don’t apologise. That was awesome.’
The children start barking requests.
‘They can be little tyrants. You best do at least one,’ Dan says good-naturedly.