Sun, Sea and Sangria Read online

  I smile at the memory. At the time, I was sure I’d made a mistake taking on Sammy. I thought he’d fly back home the minute he felt a little homesick or something didn’t quite go his way and I’d have to rejig all the choreography again. He’d surprised me.

  After our food, we head to a bar on the strip for a drink with the guys, but slowly they’ve all dispersed. Marcus is slow-dancing with a blonde, Pauw has gone home with Phil and I have no idea where the others have got to. There’s an older guy at the other end of the bar who keeps staring at me and I’m starting to feel quite uncomfortable. His back is stooped as he clutches his small glass of dark brown liquid. This is my cue to leave. I throw back the last of my beer and make my way to the exit.

  As I step into the inky-black quiet, I feel a spindly hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Where are you going?’ It’s the man from inside the bar.

  ‘Home.’ I peel his hand away, but he steps forward so his warm, pungent breath fills my airspace.

  ‘Don’t I get an invite?’ he slurs.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I say, trying to move past him.

  ‘How about a dance before you go?’ He presses himself against me.

  ‘Excuse me.’ I try to sidestep him but he mirrors my movement.

  ‘You haven’t even let Billy show you a good time yet.’ He licks his cracked, dry lips.

  ‘I don’t know who Billy is, but I don’t need him to have a good time, thank you.’ Something inside is screaming at me to stay calm and not anger this man.

  He steps forward again, pinning me to the wall, pressing himself into my pubic bone. ‘Oh, I think you do.’

  I glance at the bar. People are inside, dancing, lost in their own fun. Nobody gives us a second glance. My chest tightens.

  ‘Get away from me!’ My voice comes out with a small tremble, and he laughs. That enrages me, so I shove him back as hard as I can and slam my knee into his crotch. He doubles over in pain. I contemplate going back inside to tell the others what happened, but I know they’ll make a huge scene. In the split second it takes to contemplate my choices, Billy is upright again. He grabs my arm.

  ‘You bitch!’ he spits, and for a second I don’t know what he’s going to do. I’m frozen.

  ‘Get your hand off her.’ A firm, male voice sounds from behind us. Billy looks up and his eyes widen. Immediately, he releases me.

  ‘If I see you treat a woman this way again, you’ll be sorry.’ The voice is a low growl and Billy scurries off. I turn, surprised to see Jay, all six feet, two inches of solid muscle. No wonder Billy backed off so easily.

  ‘Thank you. Not just for chasing him off, but for not causing a scene,’ I say. The last thing I want is for the Heavenly Hunks to make the front page of the Canaries Today for being involved in a mass brawl and that would have happened if any of the other Hunks had come over.

  The corner of Jay’s mouth curves into a grin. ‘You seemed to have it under control.’

  ‘It’s not my first encounter with a drunken idiot.’

  ‘I’m sure dealing with drunken idiots is a regular occurrence being the manager of Marcus.’

  I smile. He’s not far wrong. ‘Have you settled into the apartment all right?’ Jay is now bunking in with Marcus.

  ‘Yes, Marcus is a messy sod but he makes a great coffee in the morning.’

  I agree on both counts.

  ‘Are you heading home?’ He tilts his head to the side.

  ‘Ahh, I forgot you needed someone to escort you,’ I tease. ‘But yes, I’m going for a taxi if you want to share?’

  We set off to the taxi rank and chat about how well the show went and how great the Hunks have been at showing Jay the ropes. When we arrive at the apartment complex, Jay holds out his hand to help me out of the taxi. His sleeve rides up revealing the script tattoo on his arm.

  ‘What does it say?’ I ask, pointing to it. I’ve been dying to read it.

  ‘Oh, that. Nothing really. It’s just something from my past.’

  I squint, trying to read the cursive font, but he moves his arm down by his side, covering it. I’m all the more intrigued now but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore so I don’t press him.

  We reach the staircase that leads up to my apartment. ‘Thanks again for dealing with Billy in such a civilised way and not just punching his lights out like the others would.’

  Jay frowns.

  ‘Billy was the idiot in the bar.’

  ‘Ahh. Not a problem. I’m just glad you’re okay.’ Jay’s eyes linger on mine for a moment and I feel some sort of connection. It makes me feel uneasy so I try to ignore it. My phone pings, letting me know an email has come in, so I open it for a distraction. It works.

  ‘That’s weird,’ I say under my breath.

  ‘What is?’ Jay asks. I’d not realised he was still standing there.

  ‘Oh, it’s a cancellation for the Hunks.’ I try to make it sound less dramatic than it is. The hotel that’s cancelled has been booking us for years. Only last week the manager was talking about slotting in some more gigs soon. It makes no sense.

  ‘I’m sure there’s a good reason,’ Jay says optimistically.

  ‘Yeah, he just says that holiday bookings are down on last year and he can’t afford to staff the large auditorium through the winter season. It will be fine,’ I add, not wanting to worry him in his first few days of employment. He nods in agreement and not wanting to get caught in his headlamp eyes again, I turn to leave.

  ‘Goodnight, Jay,’ I say, before heading up to my apartment.

  ***

  Despite having such a terrible night’s sleep last night and being absolutely shattered, I still find myself tossing and turning, replaying the incident with Billy in my head.

  To take my mind off things, I pick my phone up and start scrolling through mundane Facebook updates to try and empty my head. There are a few posts that make me sit up straight.

  RIP Tommy xxx

  Best lad. You’ll be missed, brother xxx

  Too young Tommy xxx

  Tommy? Tom Mitchell? I rub my eyes and read the statuses again, then I click on the tagged name ‘Tommy’. Sure enough, it’s Tom Mitchell’s profile. He was in my year at secondary school. He was a bit of an idiot back then: the kind of kid who’d spread embarrassing rumours or call you a name just to get a laugh. He had everyone calling me ‘the minger’ for about six months but I wouldn’t wish death on him. He can only have been thirty-seven or thirty-eight. God. I sit back against the cheap imitation pine headboard and keep scrolling. There are hundreds of comments along the same lines. People are shocked, sad and so on. His last status was only a few days ago – he’d booked a holiday to Majorca with his wife and son.

  ‘Jesus,’ I say aloud.

  I click on the local newspaper feed and look for any articles covering what happened. I know I shouldn’t – it’s morbid and none of my business whatsoever – but he was my age. I feel almost duty-bound to find out what’s out there killing people off so young. We’ve not hit heart-attack territory yet, and if his death was so sudden, I’m guessing it wasn’t a long-term illness.

  Bingo.

  Father of one, killed in collision at accident black spot

  Local campaigners say it was only a matter of time before a fatal accident occurred on this popular A-road and expressed anger that local councillors ignored their campaign for traffic-calming measures last year.

  ‘Oh God.’

  His profile picture is of him, his wife and his little boy, who looks about four. Poor thing, it’s going to be so hard for him to understand. Before I realise what I’m doing, I’m scrolling through Tom Mitchell’s photo albums. Going off his pictures, he had so much to live for. There are pictures of stag dos, nights out with huge groups of friends, him at several weddings, him sky diving, him and his wife at a quaint little Cotswolds’ spa. In the most normal and slightly enviable of ways, this guy really lived. It’s the life I thought I’d have with Iain. Sharing
a life of minibreaks and experiences, perhaps even a few kids running around.

  I put my phone down on the duvet. Tom looked to have had this wonderful life that’s now been torn apart. It’s heart-wrenching. I know I haven’t seen him in years and he was never really a friend at school but through the pictures, you can tell he had a lot to lose and his family will forever have a hole ripped out of it where he should be. To distract myself, I get up for a glass of water before sitting back down on the bed. Selfishly, I start to think of my own life. If I died right this minute, what would I have to show for it? To the outside world, I suppose the pictures of the dancers and me might look as though I’m living my best life but, really, I’m like their adoptive mother and those pictures generally mark some occasion, like Jay joining the troupe or Marcus’s birthday. My entire time here has been mostly work and very little play and if you look between the work pictures on any of my social media accounts, there are just stray cats and sunsets. Should I be thinking about doing something more? Having a focus that stretches beyond work?

  I stare at the ceiling for a little while more but I’m wide awake now and can’t lie here any longer. Tommy’s death and the whole ‘questioning my own life choices’ thing is hardly the equivalent of swigging half a bottle of Nytol. After slipping on some shorts and a hoodie, I slip outside and walk down the steps to the small, glowing turquoise pool at the heart of the complex. I sit back on a plastic lounger, the cold of it beneath my still bed-warm skin makes my bones ache but the contrast to my warm, cosy bed is welcome. The air is cool with a hint of moisture in it, and goose bumps pop up on my legs but still, I refuse to go back inside. Instead, I welcome the lack of comfort as a distraction and relish the feeling of my head finally clearing with each deep breath I take. The water-churning sound of the pool filter is strangely therapeutic and as I close my eyes, my head clears and I start to nod off.

  ‘I know Europeans like to get up early to reserve sun loungers, but I think you’re playing it a bit too safe.’

  I dart upright, eyes wide open.

  ‘Jay?’ My mouth is thick and dry with doziness and the syllable is a mouthful.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ He sits down on the lounger next to mine and hands me his bottle of water, which I take gratefully. After a long sip, I rub dried drool off the corner of my mouth. Sexy!

  ‘I couldn’t sleep so came out for some air, which must have worked wonders.’ I laugh softly, handing him back the water.

  ‘Me neither. I head outside a lot during the night,’ he says. The droop of his shoulders and the way his eyes drift to the ground make me think there’s more to it than just a rough night’s sleep.

  ‘Is there something you want to talk about?’ I ask. If anything is bothering any of my boys, I want to know about it so I can help.

  He shakes his head. ‘No, I’m fine. Just a bit of an insomniac. I’m really happy I came out here – to Tenerife, I mean – though I’m also happy I came out here tonight too.’

  The bit he adds to the end jars me. What does he mean he’s happy he came out here tonight? Politeness. It has to be.

  ‘Good, but if anything does ever bother you, promise that you’ll talk to me,’ I say, ignoring what he said about being glad to be out here.

  ‘Will do. How about you? You’re out here in the middle of the night. What’s on your mind?’

  I’m about to brush it off as he did, but when I glance at him, the moonlight catches his face and he’s looking at me with the burning intent of someone who actually wants to listen. It’s a strange feeling to trust someone who you hardly know, but it’s been a while since I opened up to anyone, so I try it for size.

  I draw a deep breath. ‘Do you ever wonder if you’re truly satisfied with your life?’

  He regards me for a moment, perhaps checking that I’m asking a serious question, and then lies back on his lounger and rolls onto his side to face me.

  ‘Of course. It’s one of the reasons I’m out here – the pursuit of happiness.’

  ‘But do you think it will make you happy? Like, if you died tomorrow, would you close your eyes and float into the blackness feeling like you’d done enough with your life?’

  ‘Blackness? Why isn’t there a light?’ He looks alarmed.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Light, if that makes you feel better.’

  ‘It does.’ He smiles. ‘Er, I don’t know. I don’t really have any ambition career-wise. I just take each day as it comes. Obviously, I won’t be a Heavenly Hunk when I’m a wizened old geezer, but I’d be game for the Aged Adonises if the opportunity arises.’

  I laugh softly. ‘The Aged Adonises; I like it. What about putting down roots, like a house and family and all that normal stuff?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I think I’m going to like being on the road. The Canaries has year-round sun and I’m a simple guy so that will do me. Just because it’s normal for other people to settle down and have a family, doesn’t mean it has to be for us. We define our own normal in the confines of what makes us happy. How long have you been out here, Kat?’

  It takes me a minute to run the calculation. ‘Eight years.’

  ‘And you’ve been happy all that time?’

  I nod.

  ‘So why change it?’

  I sigh. ‘I wouldn’t even have questioned my life this morning, but a bloke from my year at school died suddenly yesterday. I read about it on Facebook – I guess that’s why I can’t sleep.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry, Kat.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s sad and everything but he wasn’t a close friend. He was more of a bully back in school if I’m honest. Anyway, he had all the normal boxes ticked – married with a child, and did all these exciting, memorable things – and not only will he be missed by tonnes of people, he also died knowing he lived.’

  ‘You mean hanging out with hot male strippers every day isn’t living?’

  ‘Touché. I suppose to my Facebook friends back in England I’m living the life of Riley – whoever Riley is or was. But, seriously, I’m not really moving forward, if that makes any sense?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jay avoids bringing up marriage again, and I appreciate the sentiment but the prompt for more depth makes my skin prickle with unease.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this “woe is me” stuff. I’m your boss and this is hardly a great introduction into the Hunks.’

  ‘I’m happy to listen. Try me.’ He’s lying casually on his side, head propped up on his arm, eyes on mine. I feel hypnotised, compelled into talking about things I normally lock away. It’s so confusing – it’s not even like he’s pushing me to talk, it’s just something about his energy. All I know is, I need to put a stop to this; it’s unprofessional.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I think I just need a good night’s sleep,’ I say.

  Jay’s face falls. I’ve offended him but better this than getting too close. I say a quick goodnight and head to my apartment.

  Chapter 6

  The following evening, we’re doing a small show in a local bar. It’s an un-ticketed event but the owner pays us a bit of cash and the social media coverage is usually worth it. My only problem this evening is that the place is so cramped that the front row only need to bow their heads slightly to manage a salty lick of Marcus’s abdomen and I have a strict ‘no touching’ policy. There’s no dressing room, so we get ready in the toilets, which means I can go in the ladies and be by myself a while. As I’m walking in, the bar manager calls me over.

  ‘Sergio, is everything all right?’ I ask.

  He furrows his brow as though whatever he’s about to say pains him greatly. ‘Kat, you know we love having the Hunks here? The problem is, our footfall is dropping. I had to send all my bar staff out on the streets to drag people in tonight with the promise of a free shot and the situation is getting worse. I can’t guarantee we can afford to host the Hunks for the next few months.’

  When I look back at the audience, I notice the ch
airs have been purposely shoved forward to make the room look busier and a bar man is wandering around handing out red coloured shots. I manage to nod an acknowledgement but a heavy weight drops in my stomach. This is the second cancellation this week. ‘Oh, okay. I’m sorry to hear things are quiet but I understand. Let’s hope things improve soon.’

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, ‘I’m sorry Kat. As soon as things pick up, we’ll get you booked back in.’

  ‘Of course, thanks for letting me know, Sergio.’

  When I get into the toilets, I slump against the wall and check the booking calendar. We still have plenty of gigs; we should be okay.

  After the show, the guys go off to have some drinks but I spot Jay approaching me as I go to leave.

  ‘Not going out for a drink?’ I ask.

  ‘Nah, I’m shattered. I told you anyway, I’m too old for all of that.’

  I smile. ‘Well that makes two of us. Come on then, I’ll chaperone you home.’

  He grins sheepishly, picking up on my reference. ‘So, are you feeling any better about life?’ he asks as we set off.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, hoping we can draw a line under it, although part of me is intrigued by Jay. He’s the same sort of age as me and he’s just come over here. What’s he running from? Divorce?

  ‘Good, as long as you’re happy, don’t worry about fitting into a box.’

  The truth is, all day I’ve been thinking about my life. In a few years, I’ll be forty and if I do want to settle down with a house and kids and stuff, time won’t necessarily be on my side. I have to be sure the decision I made eight years ago is still right for me.

  ‘I don’t know how to be sure,’ I say. ‘You’re in a similar position – does it not worry you to think this could be it?’

  He clenches his jaw. ‘I made my peace with being alone a long time ago.’

  He picks up pace and I find myself almost running to keep up.