Page 45 of Benidorm Again

He reaches into his dinner jacket and pulls out a small packet with white powder in it.

Oh God.Such an obvious red flag.

He flings it down on the table. His face serious. ‘We need to get high.’

‘No thank you,’ I say.

He shrugs and deftly opens it, rips a corner from the menu, folds it, empties a small mound of the powder onto the back of his phone and bends to sniff it straight up hisnostril. Then he does the same thing again with his other nostril.

I am speechless. Those menus look bespoke. They have gold edging.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping into his eyes and blinks a few times. Luke leans so close to me across the table that I can see a ring of white powder round his nostril. ‘Come on, Connie. I know you want me. I see it in your eyes. All women want me.’

Whaaat?

‘Not me,’ I hiss. ‘What if the waiter comes in and sees you with drugs?’

He laughs as if I’ve made a huge joke. I’m rapidly going off him by the second.

‘It’s just harmless fun.’ He sniffs unattractively and leans back in the chair. He gives me a hopeful look.

I shake my head at him. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘I could lock the door.’ He studies the rug on the floor in front of the fire. I can see his mind ticking over. He is not quite getting it.

‘You’re drunk and high, and I’m going,’ I say, pushing my chair out and reaching down to retrieve my handbag. Not quite the wholesome dinner conversation I had originallyimagined. However, he’s done a brilliant job of putting me off him for ever.

‘No. Wait! Don’t go.’ Luke leaps up, desperately clawing at his shirt and trying to kick his shoes off at the same time. ‘Stay. I’ll show you how good we can be together. I have a ten pack.’

‘I don’t care how ripped you are.’

It’s quite pathetic really, the way he is assuming I’ll simply lie down and think of England. Or Norway. Or whatever post-Brexit free trade agreement we’ve put in place.

‘But I love you,’ he says, hopping on one leg as he yanks off a sock.

Hop. Hop. Hop.

‘I’m in love with you.’ All without so much as eye contact. ‘Why are these socks… so god-damn difficult… to get off?’

‘Luke!’ I bark. ‘Put your clothes back on.’

He freezes as though I’ve pulled out a knife and threatened to stab him with it. He suddenly looks tearful standing there with his trousers round his ankles, his shirt ripped open, a raging hard-on and a sock in his hand. ‘But what about milking me dry?’ he pleads.

How darehe.

Seconds tick slowly by, while he processes what is actually happening. ‘But I thought…’ He lifts the sock towards me as though it’ll make all the difference.

‘You thought wrong,’ I say firmly, slamming the door on my way out.

Chapter 17

‘Things escalated exponentially,’ Luke is whispering to me the following evening. ‘I can only apologise. I wasn’t myself. It was the drugs. Please forgive me.’

We are standing at the side of the stage ready to embark on the final performance in York.

I have been ignoring Luke’s persistent stream of apologies all day. He has been sending them in the form of bouquets of roses, ‘I’m sorry’ spelled out in chocolates on a giant cookie and Lord knows how he managed it, but I received a ten-second voicemail from Justin Bieber singing his ‘Sorry’ lyrics down the phone.

It doesn’t matter how secretly impressed I could tell Ged and Liam were, I am never speaking to him ever again.

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