Chapter 25
We stare open-mouthed at Nacho’s bombshell. How did Matteo fail to tell me that he is working with an ex-girlfriend? Surely, he has had plenty of opportunities to tell me (yes, yes I can hear myself).
‘So, I think we can guess what the ‘not great’ news is that he was trying to tell you,’ Ged says drily.
I spend the rest of The Dollz’ set in a daze. Horrible delusional fantasies of Matteo and Birdie together poking me in the brain, taunting me (she’s in a clingy vest top without a bra, constantly fanning herself because the studio is baking hot, and Matteo has yet to realise that it’s because she has tampered with the heating controls). I’m dying to probe Nacho more, but we have received numerous glares from The Dollz for not paying enough attention. Plus, Ged and Liam are annoyed with me because I have had to finally admit to not yet telling Matteo that they are all gatecrashing our romantic break.
Eventually, it is my turn to wow the crowd. The Dollz have given a stellar performance, as usual, and now it is time to give them a less crowd-pleasing and far less energetic show. We clap them off stage, but they do not seem impressed.
‘What’s so bloody important that you couldn’t be bothered to watch us?’ yells Tash. ‘You missed every single one of my vertical splits.’
‘We were. We didn’t,’ I say. ‘You were great. Very bendy.’
‘You know that hot French music producer that Matteo is locked away in the studio with?’ Liam supplies readily. ‘Turns out Birdie is his ex-girlfriend. And Connie is having a giant meltdown over it.’
My best friend, the uncontrollable gossip.
‘Understandable,’ says Liberty. ‘Connie is the rebound from the cheating ex, so that makes Birdie the one that got away.’
I am speechless.
‘Don’t blame me for having a degree in Psychology. Blame Sigmund Freud.’ Liberty gives me a mean smile.
‘It’s a friggin Mood Management degree,’ tuts Cherry. ‘Don’t listen to her, pet. She’s just jealous.’
‘And she hasn’t even told Matteo that we are coming,’ Liam says, clearly miffed.
‘My God. Are we twelve? Why are you telling tales like this?’ I don’t mean to snap, but it’s like my feelings don’t matter now that my best friend has become consumed with all things weddings and pre-moons.
‘Is that true?’ Big Sue booms. ‘What about Kylie? I promised Mandeep that we’d see her.’
Big Mand gives her a doting look.
‘And what about all the VIP tickets to the best clubs? The hottest parties? The frows?’ Ged is asking. His voice rises to a shriek. ‘Or did you forget about being best woman?’
‘CONNIE!’ yells Dan from the stage. ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR CONNIE COOPER EVERYONE!’
Perfect timing. I dash away to the side of the stage and immediately apologise to Dan.
‘I’ve put your setlist up for you. You’re good to go. Is everything okay?’ he asks.
‘Fine. Fine,’ I say. ‘It’s all fine.’ I quickly grab the microphone off him and prepare to dazzle the crowd. All that opera singing has really sharpened my vocal range, and it shows. I launch into a power ballad to smooth the transition from the electric sizzle of The Dollz’ sexy performance. It instantly casts a wave of calm across the sea of bald heads. I lure them in with my hypnotic sounds until you can hear a pin drop, before I build the song up, and bring it to a crashing and dramatic crescendo. Halfway in, and the crowd seem over the moon with my set. I’ve put loads of sing-along tunes in there, as well as some of the Benidorm favourites from last time.
All the way through, I can see my friends bickering among themselves. It’s all I can do to keep my mind from reflecting on Liberty’s comments. Technically speaking, I am Matteo’s rebound. What if she is right, and Birdie is his ‘the one that got away’, which caused him to almost go down the aisle with his cheating ex in the first place? It’s another reminder of how much Matteo and I don’t know each other. A movement distracts me from this depressing thought. Nacho, trapped between Liberty and Cherry, appears to have had enough and stands up to leave looking bewildered at them both. I’m going to have some serious damage control to do when I get off stage. I finish my set to rapturous applause – thank goodness. Martha and Rody, the bar owners, come over to greet us.
‘Wonderful, wonderful,’ Martha says excitedly. ‘So lovely to have you all here.’ She sweeps her gaze across the group after hugging me tight. ‘Are you all pleased to be back again?’
Tash smiles weakly. ‘Yeah. I suppose so.’ She lets out an enormous sigh, which makes everything uncomfortable. ‘It would be better if some of us would grow a pair and stop sulking.’
She screws her eyes at Liberty, who is quick to retaliate. ‘It would be better if some of us would grow the fuck up.’
‘Maybe it would be better if some of us would just shut the fuck up.’ Tash is furious.
‘No, pet. It would be better if some of us learned to live in the real world. And FYI an unplanned baby is not a friggin surprise. It’s a friggin honey trap.’
‘I think you’ll find that some of us need to chill the fuck out,’ says Big Mand stepping in between them. ‘Although she’s right about the honey trap.’
Cherry scrapes her chair noisily and clambers onto it. She puts her hands on her hips, flicks her flaming red hair before turning her thin wiry frame in our direction.
‘I THINK SOME OF US SHOULD TAKE SOME RESPONSIBILITY INSTEAD OF LIVING IN A DREAMWORLD WHERE THEY THINK HAVING A BABY WILL SOLVE ALL THEIR PROBLEMS. THEY DON’T ALWAYS LEAD TO ETERNAL BLOODY BLISS. AND FYI, BEING SLICED OPEN TO HAVE A SCREAMING HUMAN YANKED OUT OF YOU WHILE FULLY FUCKING AWAKE IS NOT AS FUN AS IT SOUNDS!’
We all turn to see Cherry, her face bright red, her eyes filled with tears, her voice filled with pain. But she is not finished. She rounds on me. ‘CONNIE STOP PROCRASTINATING. DO WHAT YOU NEED TO FUCKING DO AND STOP PEOPLE PLEASING.’
She faces Liam and Ged. ‘BOYS I LOVE YOU BUT CHILL THE FUCK OUT ABOUT THIS STAG DO.’
They gasp.
‘YEAH, I SAID IT. IT’S A FUCKING STAG DO. GET OVER IT.’
The whole bar has gone quiet.
‘YOU’RE LIKE A COUPLE OF EXTREMELY NEEDY brIDEZILLAS,’ she adds unnecessarily. We all saw it coming.
She spins round. ‘AND LIBERTY. LUKE IS NOT FUCKING INTERESTED IN YOU. HE WANTS CONNIE, AND HE CAN’T HAVE HER. END OF. SO BACK OFF.’
Tash blinks slowly as Cherry swivels slowly to pin her with a steely gaze. Her voice low. ‘Babies are for life. You better be fucking sure it’s what you both want.’
We all stare mutely while she charges to the doors at the back of the room, flaming red hair swishing violently, everyone in the place scraping their chairs to make room and clear a path through the crowd. All in complete and utter silence. She stops briefly at the bar to give Nacho a disappointed look before disappearing outside. It’s a few moments before any of us can speak.
‘That’s it. I’ve had enough of her stealing the limelight.’ Liberty marches off towards the doors too. ‘None of you care about me. None of you!’ she yells as she dramatically picks her way through the tables. The crowd seem very invested in the scene. No one has moved a muscle.
I shrug apologetically at Martha. ‘It’s fine. We’re just having a few issues. I’ll make sure everything is good for the next performance.’
The following morning, I wake up after yet another horrendous night’s sleep. Not only have I missed another call from Matteo because I’d gone to sleep with my phone on silent, but no one has dared comment in the WhatsApp group about anything. Radio silence and plenty of it. We all pretty much went our separate ways after the show. I made the grave mistake of Googling Birdie and discovered that she has a habit of becoming romantically involved with co-workers and singer-songwriters. There was an article in the LA entertainment section of the What’s Hot website saying she was locked away in production in a secret location because the star she’s working with is HUGE. There’s a photo of her going through a doorway with a denim jacket over her head. Her long, wiry body is all you can see underneath. And I’m not proud, but I signed up to the notifications so that if any articles appear about her, I will get pinged.
I’m just about to put my breakfast dishes away when there’s a knock on my door. Cherry is standing there looking very rough and stinking of booze. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Have you been out all night?’
She shakes her head sadly. ‘No. Just until four. Can I come in?’
‘Of course.’ I step aside. This is most unusual. ‘Fancy a coffee on the roof terrace?’
She nods, and I take her up to the sweetest little outside space. It has potted plants and baby palm trees, lovely table and chairs and a couple of sun loungers, but the best thing about it is the view from the veranda. She stands clutching the white balustrade, staring down the pedestrianised strip to the sea. The sun sparkles on the calm sea like diamonds. It is a glorious morning. I take in a deep breath of fresh salty air and wait for Cherry to tell me what’s wrong.
It takes her a few minutes.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she says, her voice dull, her face sad.
‘Congratulations?’ I venture, unsure if that’s the right thing to say. ‘I guess you’re feeling pretty ill with morning sickness.’ That would explain the mood swings but not why she’s boozing.
Cherry shrugs. ‘I haven’t taken a test, but I’m pretty sure.’
‘How does…’ Christ Almighty, what’s her poor husband called again? She’s constantly slagging him off. I should know his name. ‘Erm, how has the news gone down with…’
‘He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him. And to be honest, I’m not sure if he’s the…’
BANG. BANG. BANG.
We jump as someone thumps loudly on the door.
‘Wait here,’ I say, running down the steps and through the tiny living area to the front door. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Tash. Hurry up, I’m bursting!’
I fling open the door to see Tash looking very worse for wear. ‘The bog, babes,’ she announces. ‘Where’s the bog?’
I point to the bathroom through a little archway. ‘First on the left.’
While she’s in there, I race up to the roof terrace. Cherry has overheard and is trying to hide behind a potted plant. ‘Don’t tell her I’m here.’
I sigh. ‘Okay. Got it. I’ll see if I can persuade her to go back to the villa. Looks like she’s been out all night too. Weren’t you together?’
Cherry shakes her head sadly, ‘No.’
I dash back inside just in time to see Tash emerge from the bathroom, pulling at her bum-skimming dress. ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t quite make it.’
Good God.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask warily. She is as white as a sheet. It could have been either end or both.
‘Doesn’t matter. Where’s your mop and bucket?’ She appears slightly cross-eyed and not entirely sober. ‘And we’ll need some bleach. A lot of bleach. And a new bathmat.’
Christ Almighty.
‘Wouldn’t you rather go back to the villa and rest?’ I say, fearful that she will hurl chunks all over the rest of my lovely, currently rent-free apartment.
‘No.’
‘Well, erm, I’ll go downstairs and get a mop. You just…’
‘I’ll get some fresh air on the balcony…’
‘No!’ I say forcefully. Tash stops, surprised. ‘Because… because you need to rest. Lie down.’ I grab her arm gently and guide her towards the sofa.
‘Okay,’ she sighs. ‘You’re right.’
‘What do you think is wrong with you?’ I ask. Ten pints too many?
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she says in a small voice. Her lip trembles. ‘I’m pregnant, aren’t I?’
Oh my God.Can everyone just stop being pregnant for five minutes while I get my head round it all?
‘Pregnant?’ I squeak.
Tash nods glumly. ‘Probably.’
‘Or maybe food poisoning? Or a bad pint?’ I suggest. ‘Or a sickness bug from the plane?’
‘Who’s to know? But I feel pregnant.’ She rubs her tummy.
‘Why don’t you do a test?’ I ask. ‘Just to be sure.’
She is horrified. ‘No! Not here!’
I don’t understand. ‘Why not here? They have great chemists in Spain.’
She shakes her head. ‘No. No way. Not here.’
‘I could go and get you a test right now,’ I say gently. ‘I’ll even wait with you. You can do it here. In the bathroom.’
Once you’ve cleared a path through your own vomit.
She smiles thinly. ‘Thanks, but I’ll have to wait until Vegas.’
‘Why?’
She sighs elaborately. ‘Because if I do the test here, then I’ll have to call my baby Beni or Benners, won’t I? And I specifically told you I want to call it Vegas. Or Casino Royale.’
‘Right. Right. Yes. Of course.’ She is fucking insane. ‘Makes sense.’
‘You best get that mop because I was drinking Bloody Valentines last night, and they tend to stain. Plus, I had extra chilli and garlic sauce on my kebab this morning. I imagine that’ll be tough to get off the blinds.’
I try not to think of the hellhole she has made of my pristine bathroom. ‘Why are you drinking when you think you’re pregnant?’
‘I didn’t think I was until five minutes after I threw up. By the way, get some stepladders while you’re down there and a hose. For the ceiling.’
‘What?’ I say aghast.
Tash swings her legs off the sofa. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I should go sleep this off at the villa. We have that big gig tonight at the Benidorm Palace.’
She’s going to leave me to clean up her vomit. Shitting hell. It’s like history repeating itself all over again. But if she doesn’t go then Cherry is stuck on the roof terrace. It’s a lose-lose.
‘Fine,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll swing by later to see how you are doing. Leave the bathroom to me.’
Tash softens. ‘Thank you, Connie. You’re a real friend. Please don’t tell anyone about the baby.’ Garlicky fumes mixed with rancid alcohol burn my eyeballs.
‘It might not be a baby. It could be a food baby.’
‘Christ, what if they call it the Knee Trembler? Remember our last night in Benidorm, when I disappeared with Kev for twenty minutes?’
I can’t but whatever….
‘We were in The Knee Trembler doing it over the beer barrels out the back. No, I just couldn’t….’ Her hand flies to her forehead. She tears up. ‘I just couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t. That’s no name for a baby.’
Yep. She’s still drunk.Tash throws herself into my arms, enveloping me in a waft of kebab meat. ‘You’re the best.’
I watch her pick her way down the stairs before closing the door.
‘She’s fucking pregnant?’ Cherry yells. ‘And drinking? How irresponsible.’
We take a second to let this land. Cherry looks like she has just emerged from a collapsed building. She stinks of stale booze. She has a vape pen behind her ear and mascara down to her chin.
She sniffs the air and retches. ‘It smells like she’s shat over a bed of rotting garlic.’ She retches a bit more.
‘Quick get to the bath —’ I yell but it’s too late. Cherry leans over and throws up in my lovely potted plant.
‘Sorry,’ she says, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. ‘I’ll have to get back to the villa.’
‘But what about the…’
Cherry pauses at the door. ‘And not a word to anyone about the baby.’
‘Which one?’ I say, not entirely impressed that I’m being left to mop up after these two.
Again.