Page 36 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

‘Well, don’t look on Facebook, whatever you do,’ he warns, making me frantically scroll through Facebook.

There are endless images of me at the gig in a wide range of anxious poses. I look lost and troubled in each and every single one. A quick swipe down the comments leaves a lot to be desired. I have not exactly been a hit on The Strip.

‘I can sense you scrolling, hun. I told you not to look at it. Just ignore it. People only have one-minute memories these days. They’ll have already forgotten.’

This is the worst I’ve felt in a long, long time. I have no idea what to do with my life. I’ve spent the last six years coasting from one lame job to another as I stayed by my mother’s side and then stayed trapped in a bubble, not knowing what to do with myself other than try to follow in her footsteps to sing with the Sinfonia. Five times I’ve been rejected. I’m technically perfect but don’t quite have the X factor apparently.

‘Don’t give up, Connie. This is just a blip. I know you. You’re capable of great things when you choose to be. Don’t let thatnegative energy cause you to spiral. Rise above it. Do something fabulous to counteract it. I’ll ring you later. Love you, honey.’

He’s right. We’ve been here before.

I clear my mind and concentrate on my breathing. A melody floats through my brain and comes to me in humming form. I scribble down words into lyrics and thoughts into verses, and a chorus emerges. I didn’t get a first in my music degree for nothing and, like a whippet, I add musical notes and play around with chords. I have no instruments with me so I imagine a guitar and some drums and what they might sound like before I remember the big white piano in the lounge.

Lost in thought, playing the piano for longer than I realised, I look up to see the Dollz crowding around me.

‘Are you okay?’ Big Sue asks. ‘You feeling lost and lonely, are you, pet?’

‘A bit,’ I say, feeling self-conscious. ‘And no, I’m not okay. I’m far from okay. Didn’t you see me last night? I totally sucked.’

They all stare at me, nodding in agreement.

‘I can’t go on tonight. I just can’t. It’s too embarrassing.’ I get up from the piano stool and stand tall, gathering up my notes. It’s important to stand my ground.

‘Yes, you will. You’re our warm-up act,’ Tash says forcefully. ‘We did a great job for you yesterday and today you repay the favour. It’s time to get your big girl pants on, okay?’

I plonk myself back down on the stool with a thump at her harsh tone.

‘Not that she gave us any thanks for it,’ says Cherry sharply. ‘If it wasn’t for us, the whole gig would’ve been a complete bloody shambles.’

She’s right. My lip wobbles. I swallow and sniff up the threat of tears. I feel like such a loser. A huge, colossal waste of space.

‘No offence, babes,’ Tash says with a slight unfriendliness to her tone, ‘but I get the distinct impression that you think you’re too good for Benidorm. Too good to be singing with the likes of us?’

‘Yeah,’ chips in Big Mand. ‘You’ve looked down your nose at us since we got here. It’s like you think the audience needs you to “teach” them about “proper” singing with your avant-garde this and your vocal range that. Well, let me tell you, Connie, pet, the audience knows what they want and what they want is not you wailing gloomy tunes at them. They want happy, uplifting melodies because most of them are on holiday from their humdrum lives and just want to get pissed.’

‘That’s right. Those fatties in the audience have earned it,’ Tash says. ‘They’ve retired here to escape their families and to dodge childcare duties. And your job is to help them forget the guilt.’

I nod understandingly. She’s right.

‘Yes. You’re right. You were all brilliant.’ I cast my mind back to their dazzling performance. ‘Awesome, actually. It was a great show. I’m sorry I let you down.’

‘It’s simply a matter of being organised, if you ask me,’ says Liberty.

Well, maybe if you hadn’t fucking abandoned me to twelve fucking nuns at their villa with no way of getting to the gig, I too might have been better fucking organised,part of me wants to scream, while outwardly I smile and suck it up. I need to be better than this. I really do.

‘Now, what are we all wearing tonight?’ Liberty continues. ‘This Red Bull event we’re doing tonight has a very strict dress code. You are warming up the crowd for us, so we need you todress up, sound alive and get them in the mood for dancing. Just like we did for you. Understand?’

‘What sort of dress code?’

While I’m unable to disagree with a single word, I’m praying that I don’t have to dress like a Berlin nightclub dancer. I’m not sure I can take any more humiliation.

‘Cocktail casual. There’ll be famous artists there. Proper singers and lots of talent scouts,’ she reminds us. ‘Plus, Nancy has her spies keeping a close eye on us now, thanks to Connie’s disaster job last night. Who thinks they’ll be able to give her a hand getting ready?’

The group eyes me up and down, sucking in air and shaking their heads in the manner of car mechanics pricing up a job.

‘Thanks, but I can get myself glammed up for tonight. What is cocktail casual exactly?’

When they show me pictures of the glamourous dresses and shoes they are wearing, I feel panic rising again.

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