Page 54 of Benidorm Again

It all comes back to me.

Oh crap.

Chapter 20

I lean on the kitchen bench and take a few seconds to get my thoughts in order. The Evening Chronicle has posted a series of photos. They have been taken wildly out of context.

One is of Tash pretending to take me from behind. Another is of me being sandwiched between Big Sue and Big Mand with a startled expression on my face. Another is of me standing over Liberty while she does the splits and licks my leg provocatively. The worst one, by a mile, is of me and Cherry. Somehow, we ended up doing the can-can on the bar. The photo shows angry bar staff, bouncers racing towards us and a huge pile of broken glasses on the floor.

The newshounds are speculating whether The Sinfonia lead vocalist is on recreational drugs. And spiralling out of control. HOT MESS. They are wondering if Count Nikolai or the Royals know about this sordid secret life that I am leading. Goody two-shoes classical diva by day, flamboyantgo-go dancer by night. Or is it because I have been dumped by the Count, who has clearly come to his senses at last?

Oh, shit.I am never drinking ever, EVER again.

‘Fuck,’ I say, putting my head in my hands. ‘My classical career is dead.’

I am unusually quiet for the rest of Sunday. My stomach is churning at how to put this right and come up with a win-win type scenario before I have to face the entire ensemble, who I may have accidentally upset with my shenanigans. It has put me off wanting to go shopping for my Las Vegas outfits. It has put me off contacting Matteo. It has put me right off planning any drunken nights out for Ged and Liam’s pre-moon spree. Instead, I run a hot bath and lie there for two hours having a word with myself.

Luke has a smug look on his face when he joins me on stage that afternoon for the matinee. Apparently, word has gotten round that I am in big trouble. Bigger trouble than him, so he is pleased that the attention is back on me.

‘Touché,’ he says simply. ‘We all do things we regret when drunk, it seems. Or were you high? You looked very high to me. And to think you gave me such a hard time when I wascoked up to the eyeballs, and yet here you are… splashed all over the tabloids once again.’

‘No. Of course, I wasn’t high,’ I retort, keeping my voice low.

‘But you were inebriated. And you did do things you now regret. I was both. It was a cocaine-fuelled faux pas which never would have happened if I’d not taken it. What are you not getting?’

‘That’s still no excuse.’

This seems to have an immediate effect on Luke. ‘Christ. Itisan excuse… perhaps if you were high, you’d understand how out-of-control horny it can make you. How many times do I need to apologise?’ he pleads.

‘I don’t want your apology. It wouldn’t mean anything anyway,’ I whisper loudly. ‘I can’t trust a word you say.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘The locket?’

‘It was a group effort but yes, Dolly did most of the work. But the locket is a family heirloom. That’s true.’

‘The hotel?’ I add.

‘Have you never heard of a grand gesture?’ He looks at me with an incredulousexpression.

‘Telling me that you are being forced into an arranged marriage?’ I put my hands on my hips as we square up to each other. ‘Asking me to be your fake wife?’

He continues to stare rigidly at me, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Fake? You think I wanted a fake wife?’

I give him a steely look. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

As the Maestro brings the orchestra to life, Luke and I begin to treat the audience to what I’d comfortably describe as the worst performance ever. We are so angry at one another that we can barely get the words out. And once he starts over-singing at me, well, I can’t help but retaliate. Then, when he deliberately begins to cut me off, I have no option but to do the same.

We are cutting the songs so short in our attempts to out-do each other, the Maestro’s arms are flinging about trying to keep up with us, which sends the brass section into overdrive. The overall effect is a cacophony of screeching and parping, and out of time sequencing.

‘Dreadful,’ the Maestro mutters to the audience at the end. He contemplates me and Luke standing side by side ignoring each other. ‘Simply dreadful.’

My blood is boiling as I stomp off stage.

‘Whatwere you thinking?’ asks Dolly for the millionth time as she helps me out of the gown. ‘We finished over thirty minutes early. That’s never happened before.’

‘It’s not my fault,’ I say. ‘I was… ’ How to explain that I now regret my lack-lustre performance very much? We were childish and extremely unprofessional. And it very much was my fault.

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