Page 62 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

And wait.

My eyes spring open.

Apparently, I’m very much in the minority because Matteo holds me at arm’s length and says, ‘Take care then.’

He throws a leg over his scooter and takes off.

My mouth is hanging open.

Take care then?

Take friggin’ care then?

‘Take care’ is what you say to a friend, to your grandma, to the fella in the shop behind the counter. He must think I’m a raving lunatic. I’ve blown it. Spain’s most handsome man is friend-zoning me because I’m an emotional wreck – which he is not finding sexy. Let’s face it, the list of reasons not to be interested in me could be endless.

I am beyond frustrated with myself. But most of all, I am tired of always being sad. I need to find a way to live with it so that it doesn’t swamp everything I do.

21

A few soul-searching hours later, we are on the minibus on our way to the festival just outside the town centre and the Dollz have confirmed my suspicions that ‘Take care then’ is definitely a sign of a fizzled-out, non-romantic attraction.

I am gutted.

Absolutely gutted.

Liberty has reached deep into my soul to discover that I do really, really like Matteo. ‘Connie, pet. I think you’re ready for something to happen between you that is not, as has been the recent case, anything to do with great disappointment, fear or near-death experiences, am I right?’

I nod.

‘But you must acknowledge the truth that he might not feel the same way and be okay with it. You’re a big girl. It happens. Even though I’m sure heisinto you. I saw the way you looked at each other before you sliced his eye open with your stiletto.’

She is being polite. This is what any expert would call ‘unrequited love’.

‘We told you to be brave and bold, and you were. There are loads of people out there for you to meet, honey. Lots of adventures to be had.’

It makes me think of my dad dipping his toe in the Lakes with Madge, and I suddenly realise that I’m finally ready. I’m ready to fully commit to meeting new people and trying new things. It feels like a revelation.

‘This isn’t just about Matteo,’ I tell her. ‘It’s about being present in the moment. With everyone and everything.’

Liberty beams at me. ‘Finally. She gets it. Hoes before bros.’

‘Hoargghhhay, darling. You can drop us off here, pet,’ Cherry yells down the bus. ‘At the performers’ VIP entrance.’

We arrive suited and booted to find the music festival is in full swing. We draw cheers as soon as we step off Jorge’s minibus and the security guards let us through without even checking the passes we are wearing on lanyards round our necks. We crowd into a massive tent and register our names. Someone says something in rapid Spanish that I don’t catch and jabs at a big chart. It’s the festival layout. There are four stage areas, a food zone, a drinks zone, and a chill-out zone. He is very stressed and frantically pointing out the stage areas, pointing at me, pointing at the Dollz, pointing back at the chart then pointing to the exit and waving us to go through as a queue builds behind us.

We step outside to see the nuns have us tracked down within minutes of our arrival as though they are wearing homing beacons.

‘Did any of you catch that?’ I ask, scurrying to catch up with the Dollz and the nuns who are marching in a determined manner through the crowd, past the many marquees lit up with fairy lights, past the stalls with colourful bunting and the many glorious smells rising from sizzling hotplates and burger stands.

We come to a stop in a very lively area. I consult my map to see we are in the drinks zone where a band is singing drinking songs in both English and Spanish. Everyone at the festival appears absolutely paralytic. We can barely move for bodies, and I still have not worked out which stage we are supposed to be on and when. The details are all in Spanish, so the Dollz are relying heavily on me to be in charge and tell them where to go. Not only that, but because of the ‘Take care then’ incident, I am dreading bumping into Matteo. I am so embarrassed at flinging myself at him when he is clearly no longer interested and, even worse, his scary business partner Alex will find out and fire me on the spot and make sure I will never work within the whole of Europe ever again. I should take the hint and leave him alone.

I snap back to the job at hand. The Dollz look stunning in a matching array of black rubber suspenders, bra tops, Lycra basques, fishnet body stockings and a selection of killer heels with studs, peep toes and gladiator straps. I have poured myself into the black, wet-look bodysuit with plunging neckline and cut-out waist. To me it screams dominatrix, but Ged and Liam assured me on FaceTime that it really screams hashtag boss lady.

‘Just make sureyouwear the bodysuit,’ said Ged, ‘and not the other way round. Confidence, darling. Have confidence.’

An hour later, I’ve already been round all four stages to see when we are on and not one person has managed to tell me. The Dollz have wandered off so many times that I’ve had to create a WhatsApp group so that I can keep track of them to tell them where to meet. It has been like herding cats since the moment we arrived. We haven’t even done our performance yet and I am already exhausted. Despite all their promises to behave, the Dollz are clearly living their best lives and are not giving a flying fuck about their intentions to focus and be prepared.

I feel myself beginning to panic. It’s happening all over again. I’m going to end up late and unprepared and make a mess of the whole thing. It’s okay for the Dollz. They’ve all got stellar bloody careers, and this shared interest in singing is simply a way of bringing the group of friends together in the same way a book or knitting club or building a gin shed in the garden might work.

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