Page 63 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

But for me, well, it’s all I’ve got. I have no money coming in, no safety net, and now no clue about career goals. I’m beyond frustrated with myself. How did I let this happen? Being jobless, soon to be homeless and on the verge of throwing away the only chance I have left of singing for a living is not where I thought I’d be at nearly thirty. Oh, and single. Very fucking single, especially after the way I have behaved this week. And even if Liberty is right, I’d be amazed if Matteo dares come anywhere near me unless he has a thing for weepy psychos.

And now I’m in a mood.

Suddenly, I hear a shriek nearby. I’d recognise that pitch anywhere. It’s the closest any of them has come to a vocal warm-up. I squeeze through the crowd to find Tash.

‘Connie. Over here, babes!’ She draws in a lungful of air and fixes me with a wild stare. ‘BAAAY-AAAY-AAABES!’ she yells, even though I am clearly fucking coming, in fucking stilts, across lumpy fucking ground, full of lethal fucking potholes.

‘What now?’ I ask with more patience than she deserves.

Not one of them has offered to help me find the right stage or the tent where the organisers might be. Actually, to be fair, I do know where that is. It is clearly indicated on the map with a huge arrow, but I have been so terrified of bumping into Matteo that I have not wanted to go near it.

‘It’s gone,’ she sobs.

Bug-eyed, she announces to me and Sister Kevin that she has lost her phone. She will not be able to take selfies of herself or the giant curly pink straw that came with her drink. She’salready a few sheets to the wind. I’m sure Instagram can survive with fewer images of Tash doing the peace sign into the camera while holding up yet another cocktail.

‘And the backing tracks. We can’t go on stage without the backing tracks. They’reallon my phone.’

Fuckety fuck fuck.

‘Our selfies are on your phone!’ Sister Kevin wails.

‘They are, babes. I feel we have incredible chemistry, don’t you?’ Tash responds, clearly distracted. ‘You look ready to settle down with a special someone.’

Sister Kevin looks overjoyed.

Oh Christ. Now is not the time for a proposal.

‘Where did you last have it?’ I butt in. ‘Does it have a tracker on?’

We wait patiently as Tash takes an age to register this barrage of complex questions.

‘No, but I definitely had it in the toilets!’ she blurts.

‘Good, Tash. Very good. This phone,’ Sister Kevin demands, swiftly taking charge of the investigation. ‘Were you in the toilet taking an intimate photo of yourself as promised?’

I shake my head in despair. He’s as drunk as she is. Tash licks her lips extravagantly in answer.

‘Right, let’s get it back,’ he declares as though the Hope Diamond has gone missing. ‘You!’ he barks at me. ‘CheckeveryPortaloo there is.’

He checks to see if Tash is loving how adept he is in a crisis. And from the way she is hanging off his neck, she certainly is.

‘Twice!’ he yells at me, milking the situation for all it’s worth.

I stare at him wide-eyed. I am not checking every stinky toilet. Besides, I’m too British, I’d have to queue politely for each one. It would take days. Weeks. Tash squeals and gives me wide, childlike eyes.

‘Fankoo, Connie. Luvvoo,’ she says. It certainly does something for Sister Kevin all right as I observe their open exchange of saliva. He hoicks her leg up onto his hip.

‘And which toilets are you two going to check?’ I put my hand on my hip. ‘Twice?’

They stop clawing at each other as Tash, removing her tongue from his ear, gives me a sharp, ferrety look.

‘Connie? We are clearly sharing a special moment?’

Rather than focus on Tash’s special moment, which seems a lot like all the other moments that she’s experienced since we got here, I search for the rest of the girls. Not one to be seen, and less than an hour before they are on stage.

I give up.

I head towards the designated Portaloo zone where a thousand cross-legged women stand chatting and vaping while they wait in lines for the loo. I make my way through the crowd, trying to ignore the ungodly smell of urinal cakes while shaking off a barrage of shouting from women who think I’m pushing in.

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