Page 36 of Benidorm Again

‘I suppose it’s better than nothing.’ Dolly comes over to give me a hand. ‘The dresses will be the least of your worries tonight anyway.’

I put down my mascara wand and make eye contact through the mirror as she teases my hair up into an elaborate chignon.

‘What do you mean?’ I frown.

‘The Maestro is livid that you and Luke have disappeared off to stay in Gray’s Court Hotel. Livid. And so are the chorus girls. Mind, they have been bitching behind your back since the newspaper scandal. They’re jealous of all the attention Luke is paying you.’

‘But I didn’t ask for his attention. If anything, I have spurned him.’ I feel flushed at the memory of today in the hot tub and how close we came to doing something I’d bitterly regret.

Dolly gives me a disbelieving huff and helps me into the first of my three disgusting gown options. We hear the bell ring to indicate I’m due on stage in three minutes. We scurry down the rabbit warren of corridors and take the stairs two at a time, just as the Maestro introduces me. Out of breath, I take two steps forward onto the stage, only to feel Dolly pull me sharply backwards.

‘A word of caution,’ she says. ‘That dress is completely see-through under these stage lights.’

Fuck me!!!

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Chapter 14

There’s a collective inhale of breath as I walk onto stage. Not just from the ensemble of musicians visibly doing a double take, but the audience’s applause is delayed just a fraction. Enough for me to realise that Dolly is one hundred per cent right.

The Maestro seems as though he is going to explode with fury from this distance. His eyes look like two boiled eggs. I have no idea just how see-through my champagne mist dress is, but now I’m equally regretting having put nude-coloured underwear on.

I glance over to the chorus girls who are supposed to sing me in, but they are falling about laughing. The musicians have also come in late because they too have been distracted by my walking onto the stage practically naked. They all have their jaws hanging open. This has made a vessel in the Maestro’s neck turn blue, and his angry eye-tick hasreturned. The whole intro has been a cock-up. Everyone is out of time.

I will style it out. I make the brave decision to start singing in order to give the ensemble and the chorus girls some time to get over themselves and start acting professionally.

The Maestro glares at me. I have made the wrong decision. I am now so terribly out of sync that we all sound dreadful.

The chorus girls keep coming in too soon, cutting me off. The brass section is out of sync with the strings section. The screeching sounds like they are warming up, not playing a beautifully crafted, two-hundred-year-old piece of music.

The audience has no idea how to react to this farce. And they clearly have no idea how to react to the Sinfonia’s lead classical singer appearing on stage in the nude. A low rumbling can be heard emanating from the back row and the upper galleries.

I keep singing, swaying my hips and wafting my arm at the musicians to encourage them to speed up. Some of them have cottoned on and are doing what I need them to do, others are religiously following the Maestro out of fear. It is painstakingly clear that he has no such plans to speed anything up.

It’s a complete disaster. The more we try to attune ourselves, the worse it gets. The rumbling gets louder and louder until even the Maestro begins to peer about to see what is happening.

Please let the ceiling be caving in, I think to myself. Anything to end this humiliation.

But the rumbling is nothing to do with the place being on the verge of collapse, unfortunately. But it does have everything to do with the audience belly-laughing at us.

I stop singing. They are howling with laughter. Some of them have tears running down their cheeks. They are creased up. They are nudging one another and nodding their heads in disbelief.

Slowly, the hilarity of the situation dawns on me and I begin laughing too. Most of the musicians have had to put down their bows and are joining in until, eventually, the laughter fizzles to a stop.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say to the audience. ‘Artists are always told to picture the audience naked. I guess this takes things in a whole different direction.’

I wait as another wave of laughter engulfs the theatre.

‘I’m going to get changed into something less distracting… and let’s see if we can’t start this evening all over again. How would you like that?’

The audience goes wild, clapping and cheering.

‘But I must warn you that my next outfit might not be much better. While York is a magnificent city, your drycleaners leave a lot to be desired. They are quite ‘The Shambles’. Thank goodness you have so many charming boutiques that are willing to oblige.’

My little joke goes down very well. The Shambles is the best preserved medieval cobbled street in the whole world. The audience will be familiar with its plethora of atmospheric independent shops and bakeries.

‘I’m sure Maestro has something he can play for you until my return. Thank you for your patience.’

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