Page 71 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

‘You, babes,’ says Big Mand.

‘No, I don’t.’

They squabble over who had the key last and where they might have put it.

‘What were you all doing just before we got here?’ I say, already losing their attention.

‘I was doing your Hollywood bikini wax on the kitchen table, wasn’t I, Cherry?’ says Big Mand. ‘So I’m definitely not a suspect. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘She was,’ says Cherry, showing off her smooth bikini line. ‘But I did request a Brazilian Desert Island to be fair. Tony will be so disappointed.’

‘I’ve had the lot lasered off. Permanently. I’ve got NO hair at all,’ Tash says. ‘It’s, like, sofreshdown there now.’

And before? Not so fresh?Matteo gives me a withering side-eyed glance.

‘I like all mine off too, just in case.’ We all turn towards Liberty.

Just in case of what?

Tash runs her hand soothingly up and down her friend’s arm. ‘Understandable, babes.’ I feel a prickle of worry that the girls are once again veering off-topic.

‘I prefer to go natural. How a real woman is meant to look,’ says Big Mand.

‘But I’ve had fake pubes tattooed on, though,’ Tash says sharply, causing a bit of an ugly spat to break out.

‘For fuck’s sake. It doesn’t matter.’ Matteo tuts loudly. ‘Sorry, but you’ll have to come with me while I manage the rest of this festival.’

I swallow. He’s even incredible when he’s being moody. He runs a hand through his glossy locks and over his stubble as though he’s thinking of how to solve this latest catastrophe we’ve caused.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, trying not to sound like I’m about to rip his T-shirt off with my teeth. ‘I’m sure the key will be back in the villa somewhere. We’ll find it later.’

I feel like he needs some hope to cling to.

‘This is Connie,’ Matteo says, introducing me to his management team.

They are trying not to smirk as he makes no mention of the fact that we are shackled together. I listen as he debriefs them on what is still to do, and they feed back to him about rigging, performers, schedules and problems. It is fascinating. There is so much involved in the festival’s management. I wonder he isn’t more apprehensive about us being stuck together. He’s so cool in a crisis. I must stop staring at him though. I’d hate to put him off.

‘Here’s your walkie-talkie, boss,’ says the gorgeous girl from earlier, flicking her eyes down to our wrists. Probably checking to see if we’re holding hands. She gives me a tight smile before he dismisses the team and orders them all to keep in touch.

We spend hours going from stage to stage, talking to performers, checking on sound equipment, lighting and microphones. It has been enlightening. For all I have amusic degree, the reality of performing live at a festival is completely different to the theory and the behind-the-scenes nature of theatre performances. I am hooked. There have been pyrotechnic explosions, glitter bombs going off, ticker-tape cannons and bursts of powder paint spraying crowds as an assortment of rock and pop bands drive them into a frenzy. The atmosphere has been turbocharged and now, even with a new day dawning, it’s still showing no signs of letting up.

‘I had no idea how much is involved for a singer to perform on stage,’ I say as we walk back towards the management tent. He has been so focused we’ve barely had time to talk. ‘You’re quite the workaholic.’ I’ve had to take my shoes off, and when I stumble over a lump in the ground, he swoops to catch me, taking hold of my hand firmly.

‘I know what you need,’ he says, stopping by a stall selling flip-flops.

It’s borderline heroic how thoughtful he is, isn’t it?

‘Pick some,’ he says, taking out his wallet. I immediately realise I have very poor decision-making skills. They are all exquisite. So many pretty colours.

‘What do you think of these?’ I say, holding up a pink and orange pair. ‘Or do you prefer the blue and green?’

‘The green matches your eyes,’ he says, taking me by surprise. It’s like it’s the first time he’s noticed me attached to him for the last three hours. ‘Sorry I’ve had to drag you round like this. I really appreciate it.’

I immediately blush and say nothing as Matteo hands over a twenty-euro note and helps me slip them on. We bend together as he gets down on one knee while I lift each foot. It’s a very fairy-tale and outlandishly romantic gesture in my mind, even if I am dressed in bondage gear and look like I charge by the hour.

‘They seem to fit perfectly, Cenicienta,’ he says.

I feel the excitement building between us. I’m lost in the moment when a familiar voice breaks the mood.

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