Page 58 of Benidorm Again

The silence that follows is ear-splitting.

Oh my God.Even the Maestro coughs with embarrassment.

I have no idea what to say, and my face is burning with embarrassment. Why would he apologise again so publicly?

When I don’t respond, the Maestro shrugs Luke’s arm away to face me. ‘You are both as bad as each other. However, somehow it works. You are both as equally brilliant as you are competitive, as you are impulsive.’ He gazes around. ‘We all knowit. You create something very unique, very special together.’

He turns back to Luke. ‘Only a fool would not respect that. Whatever you did, do not do it again.’ The Maestro’s speech takes the wind out of Luke’s sails. He deflates in an instant, shrinking backwards into the crowd as Dolly yells that the bar is now open.

‘God, he’s gorgeous,’ says Liberty to me for what seems like the billionth time.

‘He isn’t. You’ve got your beer goggles on,’ I tell her firmly.

‘He’s rich, good-looking, posh, and he can sing. What’s wrong with him again?’

‘He’s a manipulative liar,’ I say, pointing at Luke dancing with the chorus girls. ‘And he can’t dance.’

‘Great idea,’ says Liberty, grabbing my hand and dragging me towards him. ‘Let’s show him how it’s done.’

Gah!Let’s absolutely not show him anything! I have successfully avoided him all night. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m deliberately cavorting in front of him for attention.

‘We’ll get his attention, and then he’ll be sorry.’

I am aghast.What is Liberty doing?It makes no sense. I watch horrified, as she bellows over to The Dollz. ‘Hey lasses! We’re doing the TayTay.’

Christ Almighty.

The TayTay is not for the faint-hearted. Plus, you need to be wearing good supportive knickers because there can be a lot of undercarriage on display. Liberty is bold and adventurous. She does not mind her undercarriage being ogled at. Not one little bit. In fact, she says it is her favourite part of her body.

The Dollz leap into action, and out of nowhere, Ged and Liam appear. The DJ starts playing Taylor Swift, and suddenly, we have taken over the dance floor as we perform our much talked about routine from Benidorm.

Ged yells to Liam, ‘I’m so glad we practise this regularly at home. I knew we’d end up doing it again, somehow.’

They had to stand in for Tash and Big Mand on the final night of our tour, and they are still buzzing about it.

Luke is watching with interest.

I. AM. MORTIFIED.

We begin standing with our legs apart and our hands on our hips. When the first heavy beat lands, we all swivel our heads to the left in perfect synchronisation. Soon, we aregyrating our hips. We are twerking. We are bending our bodies. We are waving our arms in time. We are rolling our necks round and swinging our hair. We are dragging our hands down our bodies, copping a quick feel of our own boobs, and trying to appear suggestive while we do it. Then – God help me – we are thrusting our undercarriages at the crowd in a sort of splits meets downward dog kind of move. It’s very complex choreography. Cherry is a huge fan of mixing her genres, especially when it comes to ballet, pole dancing and the Kama Sutra.

It seems to drive the crowd wild.

I try not to make eye contact with anyone. After all, they are my work colleagues. Fellow classical musicians and singers. They are prim and proper and do not necessarily want to see me flashing the insides of my thighs at regular intervals or Big Sue pretending to reverse cowgirl me, or how high I can kick my leg above my head while Tash slides down it to the floor like it’s a greasy pole.

In my peripheral vision, I can sense Luke staring at me. I make the mistake of looking over to see if I’m correct.

Luke is standing with each arm slung over the shoulders of two chorus girls who are gyrating against him. Oh my God, his legs are too far apart again. He’s laughing at something they are saying. They take turns to reach up andwhisper in his ear. Now, he’s flicking his hair away from his face, but his eyes are trained on me the whole time. He’s trying to make me jealous.

Oh, God. Part of me feels sorry for him. He really needs to stop thinking he is still in with a chance.

We are coming to the end of the routine where we all respectfully place our hands on each other’s bum cheeks and rub them round in small circles before doing the same thing to our own bum cheeks. We finish the routine in a variety of poses. Splits. Low twerks. Sun salutations. Downward Dog. And again, with the bum obsession – our bodies twisted, one hand on a boob with the other on a bum cheek.

The crowd burst into applause as we stand, keeping our poses and panting heavily for a few moments. I have to admit, it is thrilling. My heart rate is through the roof, and I’m sweating. I wipe the hair from my face and make eye contact with Ged and Liam. They are bursting with pride. They have every right to feel pleased with themselves.

‘That was so much fun,’ Liam mouths to me before we break formation and start hugging each other. I accidentally lock eyes with Luke.

His jaw is hanging open. He is full-on staring at me. He is not even blinking. I see him visibly swallow as he tries to recover himself, pretending to look elsewhere. Someonecatches his eye, and he forces a huge smile. I follow his gaze to Liberty, who is batting her lashes at him. She’s twirling a long strand of her hair and now she’s biting her lip suggestively. He shakes himself free of the chorus girls and strides towards her like a sailor to a siren call. Just as he reaches her, he glances back over his shoulder to check that I’m watching him.

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