Sun, Sea and Sangria Read online

  It’s an act of imagination and intrigue, apparently. Whatever that means; so far it’s two crumbly old blokes and a woman who wouldn’t look out of place in a care home.

  ‘This should be interesting,’ Jay whispers. In time to the music, bang on the chorus, they all dramatically drop their red satin cloaks to reveal red-and-gold Lycra. Lots of Lycra.

  ‘Those guys up there are revealing more package than I ever have, and I’m a stripper,’ Jay says. I cast him a sideways glance. ‘Sorry, exotic dancer.’

  He does have a point, though. The short, chunkier man with a dark wavy ponytail has a modest bundle, but with the taller man, it’s hard to know where to divert one’s eyes. When he stands on his tiptoes to balance on the handle of a sword, I honestly don’t know how he keeps his legs together.

  ‘I think we should offer him a job with the Hunks,’ I whisper to Jay, who looks significantly alarmed.

  The start of the Eurythmics’ ‘Sweet Dreams’ refocuses my attention on the stage. The petite golden-haired lady in a red-and-gold leotard brings out a clear Perspex box and places it on a table at the centre of the stage. She dances around it, flailing her arms about in a dramatic and controlled manner. It’s not until she shoves her foot inside that I realise what she’s about to do.

  ‘No …’ I draw out the word with disbelief. The box can’t be much more than a foot and a half high and a similar depth. The woman must be knocking on seventy.

  My eyes are glued to the stage. I can practically chew the atmosphere it’s so thick with tension. Her arm’s in now and she’s jimmying her shoulder in too. I have to admit it’s a little bit gross to watch but somehow so compelling that I can’t look away. She pulls in her other leg. There’s a lot of yanking and easing and there’s nothing remotely graceful about it, but she’s determined to get in that box and I think she’ll do it too.

  ‘Jeez,’ Jay whispers and I glance down our row. Everyone is transfixed. When I look back at the stage, the woman is wedged inside the box. Papery skin squishes up against the clear sides, and if that wasn’t enough, she sticks her arm out and swings the door shut.

  ‘I feel a little bit sick,’ I whisper. My torso feels like it’s been through a mangle.

  The audience applaud her and there are a few whoops from people near the back – obvious friends of the entertainers.

  The next few acts are really quite good. So good in fact, I start to worry. A sparrow-like opera singer with a hurricane-force voice, and a flame-throwing acrobat who definitely wouldn’t pass a UK fire-safety inspection. When the music turns more dramatic, I start to get butterflies. I know what’s coming. A large flaming hula-hoop is suspended mid-air. The acrobat eyes it with intent, rubbing his palms together. As the intensity of the beat increases, he throws himself into a series of flips, before hurtling through the ring of fire and landing with more grace than I could manage if I wasn’t on fire and really tried.

  ‘God, he’s really good,’ I whisper, feeling a little queasy. I’m not sure how well we can compete if the rest of the acts are as good as the last two. It suddenly dawns on me that we might not get through to the next round of auditions and if we don’t, I honestly don’t know what we’ll do – I think somewhere in my subconscious, I believed we had a real chance of winning the money and the trip and it would solve our short-term problems. Looking down the row, I see that everyone is watching the show. It’s difficult to read their expressions. Are they worried too? We’re on soon and I don’t want nerves to ruin it for us.

  ‘I’m going to the loo,’ I whisper to Jay.

  When I get inside the bathroom, I stare in the mirror. My stage make-up looks fluorescent under the harsh lighting and the foundation has started to gather in my emerging lines. To top it off, my face is so shiny it looks like I’ve spent the last forty minutes doing Bikram yoga – which I’ve only heard of because I spent a zillion pounds on an imported copy of Heat magazine a few years ago when all the celebrities were doing it. I blend the make-up in a little with my finger and blot the shine with a square of loo roll. I look a bit better but I don’t feel any more confident. With a deep breath, I head back out just as we’re called up.

  My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed a brick whole. I’ve pinned my hopes on winning this stupid competition when what I should have been doing was working harder at securing some gigs by contacting new venues and increasing our social media presence. I look at the guys bouncing around excitedly. I’ve let them down.

  The compère takes to the stage. He has the charisma of a turnip and I can’t help but wonder if he’s just here because he owed someone a favour.

  ‘Please welcome the Heavenly Hunks.’ He sounds like he’s auctioning off defective coffins.

  There’s a polite round of applause as our music kicks in. It’s not quite the same without all the big speakers as I can’t feel the bass pumping through my body, and it’s a bit stark without all the fancy stage lighting, but I have to get out there and pull this off. I lift my chin up high and strut out.

  Somehow, we manage to pull off a good, albeit compact version of our show and when we sit back down, I get the usual little after-show buzz that I’ve come to relish.

  ***

  ‘We made it to the quarter-finals!’ Ant bounces excitedly as we leave the hotel. I’m still in shock that we made it. The acts seemed to get better and better. There was an impressive magician and a violinist who smashed it. It was touch and go for us and I can’t say with confidence that we’ll make it through the next round.

  ‘We’d better get practising,’ Sammy says.

  As they talk about improvements they could make to their performance, I drift off into my own head, trying to formulate a plan to secure more bookings.

  ‘You don’t think we can do it, do you?’ Jay’s voice jolts me from my thoughts. I glance around, relieved to see everyone else is out of earshot or not listening.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ I ask, putting a hand on my hip.

  ‘You’re chewing your bottom lip and don’t seem at all excited about the fact we got through the first stage of the competition. The other acts were better than you anticipated and now you’re worried we won’t make the next round.’ He looks smug.

  ‘What? You got all that from a bit of lip chewing?’

  He cocks his head to the side and the moonlight catches the side of his face, which sports a mock-serious expression.

  ‘Fine!’ I sigh. ‘I’m worried. A little bit. The gigs are drying up, Jay, and I thought this stupid competition could create a bit of buzz around us again. And then there’s the cash …’

  Jay places his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face him. ‘Stop worrying about us. I’ve told you, we all just want to work in the sun. We love the Heavenlies but we’re all more than capable of working two jobs. You’re the only person you should be worrying about.’

  I fall into his kind, chestnut eyes. They’re deep and calming and somehow I’m able to absorb what he’s saying. I take a deep breath and nod. I’ve come this far and I’ll be damned if I let everything crumble around me now. We can make it work together. We’re a team.

  ‘Thank you, Jay.’ We look at one another for a moment. In his white vest, with the post-show sheen on his body, Jay looks every bit the movie action hero who has just averted some huge crisis. Which I suppose in some small way, he has. I realise his hands are still on my shoulders and once I notice, I can’t think of anything else but the weight of them. I want to wriggle free, but at the same time, the warmth of them feels nice.

  ‘Kat.’ I spin round to see a smartly dressed, handsome man running up behind us. Jay’s hands fall to his sides.

  ‘Alonso? I thought you’d gone back to Tenerife.’

  ‘I did, but I wanted to come and support you tonight. I got here late but I managed to watch you perform. Congratulations on getting through to the quarter-finals. I thought you were great – a very professional act.’

  Jay shifts his weight from one foot to the other.<
br />
  ‘Sorry, Jay, this is Alonso, an, er—’

  ‘Her date,’ Alonso says sheepishly.

  ‘We’ve been on a few dates,’ I clarify, although Jay knows this. ‘Alonso, this is Jay, one of my dancers and, er, friend.’ It shouldn’t feel awkward but it does. I cast Jay a sideways glance and feel relieved when he holds out a hand for Alonso.

  ‘Good show,’ Alonso says, giving it a firm shake.

  There’s an awkward moment of silence. What on earth am I supposed to do now? Alonso is smiling. I think he’s waiting for Jay to leave but Jay is smiling too; I think he wants to carry on our conversation. I can’t tell either of them to go, and my entire vocabulary has fallen out of my head.

  ‘Kat.’ Alonso touches my elbow gently. ‘Would you like to join me for a drink?’

  I can’t think of a reason to say no, so I nod. ‘Is that okay, Jay? We can catch up tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure.’ He glances at Alonso and then down at his feet. ‘I’ll get going then.’

  Without warning, Jay leans in and kisses me on the cheek. Heat surges through me and my chest tenses. He’s never done that before. Was it for Alonso’s benefit?

  ‘Night, Kat,’ he says casually, before walking off.

  ‘Shall we go back inside to the bar?’ Alonso says when Jay starts to jog towards the other dancers.

  ‘Er, yes.’ I’m hardly concentrating. Without realising, I raise my hand to my cheek. I can still feel Jay’s lips there.

  When we reach the bar we take a seat. Alonso ordered drinks as we walked in and I can’t say I paid much attention. Why did Jay kiss me? It must have been a territorial thing, a warning perhaps. A ‘don’t mess with a Heavenly Hunk’ kind of thing. I can see that being his style.

  The waiter puts an ice bucket on a stand next to the table. He shows a squat, podgy bottle to Alonso who nods seriously. Two champagne flutes appear and I’m vaguely aware that a cork pops.

  My hand becomes warm, and I notice Alonso has covered it with his. Our table is tiny and we’re a bit squished together. ‘Kat, I just wanted to say well done and congratulations for doing so well tonight. I was really impressed with the act.’

  A guitar string twangs in my stomach. I haven’t paid any attention to Alonso since he arrived and I should have done. It was wrong of me; he’s been kind and generous, plus he’s come all this way to support me.

  ‘Oh, Alonso, thank you. You didn’t have to buy champagne though. It’s only the first round of auditions.’

  He bats away my words with his hand. ‘Nonsense. The competition is tough. I was genuinely impressed. If we had the space in any of our bars, I’d hire you in an instant.’

  Sensing an opportunity, I try my luck. ‘Actually, bookings have become a little hard to secure. The large hotels we usually perform at are opting for smaller, cheaper acts. They don’t want to book big ticketed events like ours because they’re worried about the uptake. I need a few new venues – we’ll travel anywhere in the Canaries if you know anyone who could help.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I have a few contacts.’

  That’s all it takes to make me feel more at ease. I take a sip of my champagne and, as the fuzzy alcohol feeling floods my veins, I relax into the conversation and realise I’m enjoying myself.

  ‘Wow, you’re quite amazing,’ I say when Alonso finishes telling me the story of how he set up his first bar at twenty.

  ‘You are too, Kat. You started a successful business in a new country. That’s a big deal.’ I watch his full lips move as he speaks and get a sudden urge to kiss him. Without another thought, I do it. I plant my lips on his. He responds and I soon remember the familiar rhythm. It’s been a while but I suppose it’s a bit like riding a bike. I’m concentrating so much on what I’m doing that I can’t say I’m enjoying it. It’s reminiscent of being in the laundrette watching the drum of the machine churn my whites, and I’m worried about the possibility of bad breath and trying not to clang my teeth against his. He pulls away and burrows his face into my hair. I wasn’t expecting the ground to move or anything, but I did expect to feel something the first time I kissed someone other than Iain. Perhaps I’m just nervous. It’s understandable.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’ A huge grin appears on his face and his cheeks have a pink flush. It puts me at ease and makes me remember why I kissed him in the first place. I find myself wanting to try it again. Maybe it will be better the second time.

  ‘I have a room here, and you’re welcome to stay over if you wish.’

  I don’t know if it’s the alcohol but things twinge and tumble beneath my bellybutton. I want to say yes but I should say no. It’s too soon to be staying over and if I couldn’t get into the spirit of a first kiss, I doubt I’ll manage to pull off a first anything else.

  I look him in the eye and whisper, ‘Okay.’

  We don’t finish our champagne. Instead, Alonso picks up the ice bucket and flutes in one hand, and takes my hand with his other, gently leading me towards the lift. He presses the button for the top floor, and when the door closes, he moves closer to me and kisses me softly on the lips. With the buzz of champagne in my system, I tug his crisp shirt, pulling his firm body towards me, before the doors ping open.

  ‘We’re here,’ he whispers, pulling me to an oak door.

  ‘Wow!’ I say, taking in the lavish suite drenched in elegant fabrics and soft furnishings. ‘I wasn’t expecting a palace.’

  ‘It’s my favourite suite here. I always request this room. Come and see outside.’ He beckons me over to the French doors that lead out onto a large balcony. The moonlight bounces off the inky black Atlantic, and the sonorous sound of waves crashing against the shore heightens the buzz of the champagne. There’s something exhilarating about the power of the ocean. I feel alive and ready for anything.

  ‘Alonso, it’s beautiful here.’

  ‘Sit, make yourself at home,’ he says, gesturing to a heavily cushioned, rather expensive-looking rattan chair set. I sit down as he puts his phone and room key on the table and recharges the champagne flutes.

  ‘You look cold. I’ll get you a blanket.’

  The sound of cupboard doors opening and closing as Alonso hunts for a blanket makes me smile. I take a sip of champagne and rub my arms to warm them up.

  When Alonso returns and takes the seat next to me, he puts his hand on my knee. A familiar and dark discomfort comes back and my skin crawls beneath his touch. His hand is too far up my thigh and it takes everything I have not to hit it away.

  ‘Alonso …’ I start, but before I say any more, he lifts his hand off my knee and holds it up.

  ‘Kat, we can take it slowly if that’s what you want.’

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I think that’s what I needed to hear. I need to let go of my relationship anxieties. I like Alonso and he’s done nothing to make me think he’s anything other than a decent bloke.

  ‘Yes, I think slowly sounds good.’

  Chapter 15

  ‘So, tell me, what happened in Gran Canaria?’ Andrea lounges in her plastic patio chair. The sheer colourful fabric of her kaftan cascades over the acrylic frame, making it look less like an IKEA bargain and more like something from an Ideal Home shoot.

  ‘The shows went well; we got through the first round of the competition, which I didn’t expect, so I’m over the moon, but some of the acts were amazing so we’ll have to pull our socks up.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘I’m talking about Alonso. He was there?’

  ‘Yes, he was there.’

  ‘And? Goodness, Kat, you’re hard work today.’ She lowers her brow accusingly.

  ‘Okay, we met up, we drank champagne …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But, it’s early days. I don’t want to take anything for granted just yet. We’ve agreed to take things slowly.’

  ‘Have you kissed him?’

  I pause. This is starting to feel a little like a high-school conversation I was never a part of, but for the sake of not being c
alled hard work again today, I reply, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he’s not a good kisser?’

  I catch myself grinning. I’m quite enjoying this. ‘The first time was a little awkward, but the second time, when we’d gone back to his room, was better. The next morning was pretty good too,’ I tease her with the information I know she’s dying for.

  She gasps so loudly a few people in the beach bar turn to assess the commotion. One man looks like he’s poised to leap up and perform the Heimlich manoeuvre.

  ‘Shhh,’ I say, glaring. ‘We didn’t do that. We’d had a few drinks, we kissed and he invited me back to his room. We sat and had a drink on the balcony and just talked. All night, in fact – we watched the sunrise and it was so beautiful.’

  ‘Hollywood will be clamouring for the rights to that love story; Fifty Shades of Magnolia, I can see it now.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘So, I guess there will be more dates?’

  ‘Maybe. I hope so. I’m new to all this and now I’ve been reading up on modern dating and the rules all seem different than they used to. All this swiping left and right and hooking up for the night – I don’t know what he wants and, quite frankly, I’m too old to be playing silly beggars.’

  She frowns as she often does when I use idioms. ‘I think you need to give him a chance. Damn, I think you actually need to give yourself a chance. You’ve been single a long time so take your time. Alonso isn’t going anywhere – he was born and raised in Tenerife.’

  I suppose she’s right. Besides that, it’s been almost two weeks since I stayed over in his hotel, as we went straight to Lanzarote after that. Since landing back in Tenerife I’ve been building our online presence, mercilessly uploading teaser trailers to Instagram and YouTube, doing IGTV videos and Facebook stories and trying to make various tweets go viral. Unfortunately, my tweets seem to be about as contagious as a broken arm. All that considered, I haven’t given much thought to Alonso. We’ve sent texts back and forth but it’s no wonder there’s not much romance blossoming between us. Now I’ve thought about the night we spent on his balcony, I have a strong urge to see him again. I pull out my phone.