Page 2 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

‘You did the dreary songs again, didn’t you?’ She exhales loudly into the phone.

Christ.

‘Yes, but they loved them. Even the men were bawling their eyes out at my “Pie Jesu”.’ I can hear myself flapping. ‘That’s what good singers do. They move people. It’s an art form.’ I’m on rocky ground here. Very rocky.

‘Yes, love. You were being paid to move people,’ Nancy says stiffly, ‘to move them onto the dance floor, not have half the guests wailing into their drinks. Sheila’s refusing to pay up, and you’ve put me in a very difficult position, Connie.’

My mind flicks back to Sheila yelling at the DJ to hurry me off the stage and him blasting out dance tracks before I’d even finished the final notes of ‘All Out of Love’.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’ll have to let you go.’ Nancy’s gravelly voice sounds flat.

I take a beat to understand what she’s saying. She’s known me for years. I sang my way through university for her. She found singers to cover for me when my mother was ill, and in turn I dropped everything to cover for her whenever she needed me to.

‘You just haven’t got what it takes any more, pet. Recently I’ve had nothing but complaints that you look and sound like a wounded animal. But good luck with your Royal Northern Sinfonia audition. Is it today? You’d be a perfect fit for that sortof hoity-toity singing. Lord knows you’ve tried hard enough to get in.’

And while I’m sure she has a point to a certain degree – I may have lost my passion for singing and getting crowds going – singing theleadin an orchestra choir and following in my mother’s classical singing footsteps is the only link to her that I have. I will never stop trying.

‘Connie, your phone’s ringing!’ yells Ged that evening. He and Liam have retired to the safe confines of the kitchen while I howl the place down in the living room. My audition for the Royal Northern Sinfonia could only have been worse if I’d shat myself on stage and thrown it at them.

It’s Nancy.

‘Good Lord, you’re not crying again, are you? Honestly, I’m amazed you’re not in some permanent state of chronic dehydration. It’s very ageing, you know.’

‘No. Hi. No. I’m not crying. I’m just?—’

‘Well, whatever, listen to me carefully. I’ve had a cancellation. Total nightmare. Our most popular tribute act, Ted Sheeran, has broken his chin on one of those electric scooters and you’re the only singer I know who is available and desperate. I’m going to give you one last chance to redeem yourself.’

I am desperate. Everyone in my life is moving on except me. I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

‘I’ll do it,’ I shriek. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll do it.’

‘Okay. Ring Jezebel Music. Ask to speak to the boss. Say I gave you her deets and you’re the replacement talent.’

Nancy texts me the details and I ring the number. A woman picks up.

‘Hello? Is that Jezebel Music? Nancy asked me to call. I’m the replacement for Ted Sheeran.’

‘What sort of act are you?’

This simple and very reasonable question throws me. I should know what sort of act I am.

Not very good.

‘Well, erm, I guess you could describe me as taking my audience on a deep dive into the very essence of?—’

‘Can you sing?’ she asks abruptly.

‘Yes, I can definitely sing. I’m classically trained in all forms of?—’

‘We need someone to entertain a lively crowd. Can you do that?’

‘I’m from Newcastle,’ I say by way of explanation. ‘All crowds are lively.’

Well, that’s how they start off, anyway.

‘We need someone with great stage presence. Someone who can get the crowd singing along.’

Ah.Nancy’s words echo in my mind.Wounded animal. Reducing grown men to tears.

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