Page 16 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

I’m not even going to ask.

‘It’s about volume when it comes to men,’ she adds. ‘And keeping them distracted.’

It’s as though she has forgotten our real purpose here. ‘Should we rehearse the handover and compare set lists, before we go out? To make sure we don’t duplicate. Or maybe we could discuss it over dinner?’ I say assertively. ‘Pizza or pasta is good for me. And then I’ll probably have an early night, so I feel refreshed for tomorrow’s performance.’

They all look at me as if I’ve just suggested we eat raw sewage.

‘Who wants to eat in this heat?’ Tash says, horrified. ‘And what do you mean have an early night? We’re in the city that never sleeps.’

I’m pretty sure that would be New York but I’m not going to correct her. ‘Fine, no problem. I’ll eat here before we go out,’ I say. ‘I’ll do a shop for some bits.’

‘I’m quite food-shy when I’m on holiday,’ Big Mand says. ‘So if you could just pick me up some cheeses, maybe a watermelon and some Pringles and some Diet Fantas, oh and a large jar of mayonnaise, make sure it’s Hellmann’s, mind, and maybe a few baguettes… and lemons. Lots of lemons. I’m detoxing.’

‘Yes, we need lots of lemons for the tequila,’ agrees Tash. ‘Thanks, Connie. You’re an angel.’

‘I’ll probably need help carrying the bags if I have to get so many… lemons.’ I wait for someone to volunteer to come with me. Everyone smiles mutely at me.

‘I’ll use some lemons for my hair. I’m thinking of going beach babe, so I’ll need to squirt it all over my extensions.’ Big Sue runs her fingers through her hair. ‘And I’ll need some coconut oil for a deep tan. Or is it olive oil? Connie, get me a couple of litres of each, just in case.’

‘How about some factor 50 instead?’ I ask but the look of horror on their faces is all the answer I’m going to get. ‘Well, why don’t you come with me to choose the oil yourself?’Because you can all seeI’m not a bloody weightlifter.

‘I’d love to, but I can’t. None of us can.’ Big Sue raises her eyebrows at the girls. ‘We have a strict Cyndi Lauper policy, don’t we, lasses?’

Policy?

All becomes clear when they start screeching, ‘Girls just wanna have suu-uuuuu-n!’ at me, nodding their heads from side to side in perfect sync.

Bob, bob, bob.

‘Thas-all we really waaaaaaa-aaaant. Some suuu-uuun.’

Bob, bob, bob.

It’s exasperating. A simple yes or no would have done. And so, after the tenth time, I give up. ‘Fine, I’ll go on my own.’

It will take more than common decency to prise this lot from their sunloungers. They seem welded to them.

‘We should really start getting ready for tonight if we want to be out by eight,’ shouts Liberty from an upstairs window. ‘We’ve only got six hours.’ After some gasping, there’s a stampede back into the villa.

‘Don’t forget the lemons!’ they cry as they disappear.

So much for the Cyndi Lauper policy!

I head off back to my cottage to shower and scrub off the streaky tan from my legs. I put some cover-up foundation on my face and a lot more over my eye and cheekbone. The swelling is going down a lot already thanks to the ice, but it still looks dreadful. I put some mascara and black liquid liner on my good eye but when I try to put some on the swollen one it stings too much. It’s all a bitClockwork Orange, but I can hide it behind sunglasses. I might have to sing with shades on tomorrow which, if you’re not a massive rock icon or registered as blind, is a big no-no for singers in my league.

I throw on my denim shorts, some flip-flops and a T-shirt and slip quietly out of the house, keen to get the food shopping over with so that I can rehearse my set. I feel panicked at the lack of preparation the Dollz seem to require. I, on the other hand, will need a lot of lead-up time to psych myself up. The nerves are already getting the better of me.

Once outside, I have no clue which direction to go in, so I look up a supermarket on Google Maps and find one about a mile away. It all seems downhill from the villa. God knows how I’ll get back up these hills with heavy bags, in this heat. Twenty minutes later, and I’m sweating like a ripe cheese, but I’ve founda supermarket of sorts. Half the shop is given over to the sale of crisps and lemons (hoorah!). The other half seems to be for cans of pop and booze. So much for the healthy Mediterranean diet you hear about. It doesn’t take long for me to pick up almost every heavy, insanely overpriced item on the list and heave the basket over to the lady behind the till. Of course, none of the girls thought to leave any money with their huge list of demands, did they?

It takes me a lot longer to go up the hill in my flip-flops in this heat, so I keep stopping every few minutes to put the bags down and give myself a rest. I feel my eyes stinging as sweat drips into them. I reach a junction and, just as I step out to cross, I dither as to which direction I came from. I take off the glasses, wipe my eyes and juggle the bags so that I can take my phone out of my pocket to check my location.

As the bags slip down my arms, I wrestle with my phone when suddenly, out of nowhere, a moped comes hurtling towards me. I panic, try to step backwards, trip over the kerb and I’m knocked right off my feet. My shopping bags connect with the driver’s helmet and split, sending the contents crashing to the ground. I land with a thwack on the pavement, banging my back, barely managing to keep my shoulders up to stop my head from smashing against the stone. The wind is knocked right out of my lungs. As if in slow motion, the Fanta cans explode all over the place, spraying me in fizzy rain. Lemons are bouncing about everywhere.

Oh dear, everything is whirling around, the sun is beating down, and I feel faint with the heat. I can’t quite catch my breath. My lungs refuse to let in any air. My eyelids feel heavy as they close, blocking out the glaring harsh light and replacing it with soothing, cool darkness. I hear the screech of tyres, followed by running footsteps.

A panicky voice full of concern yells, ‘Hey! Are you okay?’

I feel a body thump heavily down next to me.

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