Page 22 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

‘From the moment we heard the news that she had cancer, and the doctors wouldn’t be able to cure it, I started suffering panic attacks.’

I check to make sure he is comfortable with this reveal because my experience is that generally people are not. They often make an excuse to leave or tell me about lots of other people who have died of cancer and isn’t it such a shame, but it’s just part of life and don’t we all just have to learn to get on with it and make the best of every day because it’s a gift and you owe it to everyone, especially yourself, to live your best life. Matteo does neither. He sits, listening.

‘At first, I would have them at the hospital worrying about my mother while we watched her waste away,’ I say quietly, fiddling with my napkin. ‘Then I’d have them at home worrying that my father would die too. I know it sounds silly.’

Matteo still doesn’t move or say anything.

‘But now I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine,’ I say, taking another gulp of wine. It really is helping to loosen my tongue. ‘And my father is moving on with Madge. Ged and Liam are engaged too,’ I continue. ‘They’re my lovely friends. We moved in together after uni, but I suppose I’ll need to move out now.’

Matteo tilts his head, encouraging me to go on. Just like my lovely live-in therapists. I feel a wave of calm come over me.Maybe it’s the tablets or maybe it’s him. His eyes really are the deepest pools of kindness I’ve ever seen. I top his glass up before continuing with this detailed chapter-by-chapter account of my autobiography.

‘And then I lost my job. I ruined Nancy’s friend’s wedding anniversary because I’m so weighed down with sadness. And finally, I fluffed my audition for the Royal Northern Sinfonia. Again. I think they expect me to live up to my mother, who was the best soprano they’ve ever had. But I just had them all in tears. They practically shooed me out of the place. Not that I can blame them. I’ve spent the last five years in chronic free fall, especially after I helped nurse my mother through cancer… only to lose her. I’ve been devastated ever since.’

I lean over to top my own glass up. I’m acutely aware my life is no page-turner, but I’m having difficulty stemming the tide.

‘And now Nancy has given me this one last chance to stop boring my audiences with sad songs, but the thing is, I’m not even sure if I’m capable of singing happy songs any more. How could I when I’m not even capable of being happy?’

Matteo leans across to me and gently strokes his thumbs across my cheeks to wipe away the tears. I hadn’t even realised my face was wet. I’m immediately embarrassed and apologise. I feel like I’ve been crying non-stop for years.

‘That’s quite a voice you’ve got,’ he says, changing the subject. He must have heard me singing in the shower. And the song choices, could I have sounded more tragic?

‘Oh, erm, I was practising my two-octave pitch. For tomorrow. I’m not the manic depressive you probably think I am. Despite what you’ve heard me sing. And say. And do.’

Sweet baby Jesus.

Our eye contact suddenly feels a bit intense, so I clear my throat and reach for my wine glass. I’ve demolished the bottle, and there’s only a thimbleful left.

‘Finish it,’ he says, smiling.

‘You’ve not roofied it to sex-traffic me off, have you?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Sex again? Honestly, what is wrong with me?

‘Anyway. I shouldn’t really drink so much the night before a performance,’ I say, slightly embarrassed at the irony. ‘Not when I am under strict instructions to impress the “music guys” Nancy is working with. Though, from what I’ve seen, the place is full of drunks who’d be happy with any old shite.’ I’m babbling. ‘No offence, but there’s no culture here. How can I put it without sounding too…’

‘Judgemental?’

‘Yes. But you must know what I mean.’

Matteo tilts his head. ‘It’s a wonder you came all this way.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t so desperate. For a classically trained singer with a wide vocal range like mine, this is so beneath me, but I’ll never set foot in the place again after this week. No offence.’

Please shut up now.

‘Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s the alcohol. I just mean someone like me doesn’t belong somewhere like this. I’m not that sort of entertainer.’

‘And what sort of entertainer are you?’

The wounded animal type.

‘Oh, I guess you could say I’m…’ A full minute goes by as I stare wildly around for inspiration. In the end, I look Matteo square in the eye. I might as well be honest about this too. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I can sing, but I have no voice. Does that make sense?’

Part of me is now relieved that I’m not out binge-drinking with the Dollz if this is the way I behave, and just as I wonder what they are up to, I hear an almighty commotiongoing on. A thunderous clacking of heels against ceramic tiles is accompanied by much hooting and cackling.

‘I should go,’ he says quickly.

I blink slowly, realising how much I’ve enjoyed his company. He’s as good as any therapist I’ve seen. And a million times better-looking. Something in the way he stands up and shakes the hair from his eyes draws me in like a magnet. He’s magnificent. He rakes a hand casually through his hair. Of course he does. He checks his phone before putting it back in his shorts pocket. He’s about to leave.

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