Page 32 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

‘I’m going to head over to the venue,’ I shout over the music when I can’t bear it any longer.

‘No need,’ yells Big Sue, checking her phone. ‘Hoargghhhay is on his way. Just chill, will you, Connie?’

Suddenly there is a stampede to the toilets and much talk of touching up. As I queue outside the bathroom, I peer down at my appallingly skimpy outfit, thankful that I will soon be able to change back into my sober black dress rather than go on stagelooking like a glitter bomb accidentally blew off all my clothes. We hear Jorge beeping his minibus impatiently outside, which creates a flurry of panic to hurry up.

When it’s eventually my turn, I go into the bathroom to see if I can’t somehow stretch a few more inches out of this dress. It would seem that I definitely can’t. I’d desperately like to change now but as I hear the frantic beeping, I stuff my black safety dress back in my bag, quickly touch up my bright pink glossy lipstick and head back to the pool.

The first thing I notice is that it seems very quiet. The second thing to hit me is that there are no girls here. I cast my gaze frantically around as a dozen nuns turn in my direction.

My chest instantly tightens, and I struggle for air.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

‘You’ve just missed them,’ says Sister Kevin, his voice full of surprise. ‘But you’re more than welcome to stay here with us. Isn’t she, lads?’

I sweep my gaze across the twelve nuns, varying in shape and size, all roasting in the sun as they cast their drug-addled, boozy eyes towards me, hold their pints aloft and let out an enormous cheer.

I am literally going to have a heart attack.

11

I race out of the nuns’ villa as though the place is on fire and head straight back to my cottage. With shaking hands, I wrench open the main gate to our villa. I can’t fuckingbelievethey’ve done this to meagain. I mean, anything could have happened to me.Anything. Not to mention I’m going to be horrendously fucking late!

I need to take stock. I will google a taxi number and order one to come immediately. My lungs are billowing in my chest as I walk towards the pool. The Dollz are on stage before me, so I might even have time to change out of this ridiculous outfit, and I can take a moment to get into performance mode. I can do this.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

I’m just rounding the corner when I see a large figure emerge from the pool. Our private pool. Our safe haven. I’m at the end of my tether with soaking wet, near-naked men everywhere I go. His hands are clutching a sandal and a large clump of hair. Perhaps because I’m in a high state of stress, I let out a blood-curdling scream.

We lock eyes.

I keep screaming.

It’s Nacho. Thank God. I’ve never felt so relieved to see anyone in my life, but he shakes his head disapprovingly. He waves the hair at me, saying in a disappointed tone, ‘You will break the pool if you do things like this.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ I protest, pressing my hand to my chest. ‘It was the Dollz.’ I really don’t need these experiences. I’ve never screamed so much in my entire life as I have over the past two days.

‘I thought you have singing performance tonight,’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I say in a rush. ‘They left me. I need to ring a taxi. I’m late.’ I point to the hair dripping water onto the tiles. ‘I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.’

Nacho brightens, nodding to my outfit. ‘Very blue, very small.’

After a minute of chit-chat, me explaining that I need to get changed, him insisting that there’s no need, Nacho is adamant on driving me to the venue to catch up with the girls.

‘I’ll just get changed and do hair and shave legs,’ he says, winking at me and waggling an impressively smooth, tanned calf in my direction. ‘I come back in one hour.’

‘That’s so kind, Nacho, but really, I need to get there quickly. I go on in less than twenty minutes.’

I simply don’t have the time or the patience for the Spanish and their lazymañana, mañanaapproach. Not today. I’m in need of some ruthless German-type efficiency. I frantically jab at my phone, searching for a taxi number that isn’t Jorge. I’m not in the mood for his lecherous approach either.

Nacho stands watching me with interest.

‘Hola, taxi por favor. Immediatemente. Emergencia grande.’ I wait for someone to take a fucking age to reply.

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