Page 27 of Benidorm Again

‘No need,’ she says.

Crap.‘What do you mean? Am I getting sacked? Because, honestly, none of it is true. Well, the pole dancing bit is, but the rest isn’t. Except the singing covers in Benidorm, that’s true too, but… we’re not having an affair, and I’m not afterLuke’s money, and I absolutely do not want to milk him like a cow.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Luke appears behind Dolly, waving a copy of the newspaper. His comment stops us both in our tracks. He flicks his hand against the photo. ‘Is that outfit… the George designer you mentioned yesterday?’ he says drily.

‘Very funny,’ I say, turning back to Dolly. ‘If the board don’t like the fact that I have a life outside of the Sinfonia, then too bad. I’m just sorry they are making up all these lies about us.’

‘No worries. My family is squeaky clean to the point of tedious,’ Luke says. ‘They’ll be loving all of this salacious attention.’

Dolly faces me. ‘And so are half the Sinfonia Trustees.’

‘I’m not following,’ I say, confused.

‘Sex sells. So do scandalous headlines. Did you know that thanks to you, the rest of the tour has now sold out?’

They’re both smiling at me.

‘So, I’m not being sacked?’

‘Far from it, my dear,’ says Dolly.

I gulp. I’m not sure this is what I had in mind when I joined.What will my dad think? What will Matteo think?

‘Well, I’m not deliberately doing anything at all. I just want to finish the tour and go home. I’m afraid you can tell the Board that there will be no further spicy headlines from me.’ It’s time to be firm. ‘Unless the headlines are about how fabulous the show is and how brilliant the musicians are, I’m not interested in making a spectacle of myself in front of the entire country.’

‘Fair enough.’ Dolly makes her way back down the aisle, barking orders and counting heads. She informs the driver we are all on board.

Luke remains where he is.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asks, his voice thick with concern. He is about to sit down next to me. ‘If you want to talk about it, I’m…’

‘No!’ My voice is ten octaves higher than it should be. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I just need a bit of time to get my head round it, that’s all.’

He takes the hint and heads back down the aisle. Now, it is as though I have leprosy because everyone is sitting in the front half of the coach, and I have the whole of the back half to myself.

I text Ged and Liam the link to the tabloid gossip only to get an instant reply that Tash was way ahead of me and has informed everyone. They tell me to check out her socials asshe is mining her close celebrity contact for all it’s worth.Charming.

I text Dad to warn him. He too, has received Tash’s memo. He rings me immediately while we hurtle along the M62 towards York.

‘Connie, love, don’t worry about it, because things have a habit of working out well in the end.’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say, relief flooding through me. ‘That’s exactly what I need to hear.’

‘Just concentrate on your singing and getting through the tour. I can even drive down to York for the day to keep you company if you need a shoulder to cry on, love.’

Oh, my dear, sweet, lovely father. He’ll be worried that I can’t cope with it all. It’s essential that he believes I can. Even if I feel at times, I can’t.

‘Thanks, Dad, but I’ll be too busy rehearsing. And it’s only a few days until we’ll be back in Newcastle at The Glasshouse. I’ll see you then.’

He seems happy with that.

I love him. He has such a kind-hearted, generous soul.

By the time I carry out all the different WhatsApp group messaging; Cherry has agreed to give her husband’s hair a second chance, Tash is experiencing an exponential growth in followers, Liberty has bought us all pink ginghamBarbie dresses (for Cherry to alter and make them extra, extra short) to wear in Las Vegas, Big Mand has delivered fourteen babies in one shift, Big Sue has reported three domestic abuse violations and a heartbreaking story about an abandoned toddler on their social services doorstep, we have arrived in York.

We pull up outside the very grand Gray’s Court Hotel overlooking York Minster Cathedral, which towers above it into the glorious blue sky. My gaze is drawn to the fabulous, manicured hotel gardens. They are dotted with peculiar-shaped trees and bushes in vibrant greens, ancient stonework and sumptuous garden furniture sprawls across neatly clipped lawns. This can’t be our hotel. It is way too upmarket and expensive. I wonder if the Maestro is being upgraded.

‘First stop!’ yells Dolly down the bus, staring directly at me.

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