30. Thirty

“And what did you say?”

Chloe is drinking a miniature bottle of Frexinet through a straw, but she’s so intent on listening to my story that she keeps missing her mouth and poking the straw up her nose.

“Yes, what did you say, love? I hope you gave her what for, the cheeky mare. Imagine turning up like that!”

Rita and the rest of the Crone Crew are gathered around a table in the bar, waiting for the karaoke to start. I have no intention of taking part — especially not now — but going back to the room next door to Alex and Rebecca didn’t seem like a great option either, so I came running blindly back down here, the whole sorry story frothing out of me like the bubbles in Chloe’s Frexinet.

“No, of course I didn’t give her ‘what for’,” I reply, cringing as the scene starts to replay itself in my mind yet again. “She’s his fiancée, Rita. Or his ex-fiancée. I don’t know what she is. But I was the one who just barged in unannounced. I do know that.”

“No,” says Alice firmly, slamming her first down on the table, and obviously regretting it. “Well, I mean, yes, you did do that. But who can blame you?”

She looks around the table. Everyone stares at their hands. No one, it would appear, is willing to blame me.

“I blame me,” I wail, putting my hands over my face. “I can’t believe I went swanning into his room like that, as if I had every right to be there.”

“You did have every right to be there, though,” points out Chloe unexpectedly. “He told you the relationship was over, and he wanted nothing to do with her. So if that’s not true, and they’re back together, then he’s the one at fault here, not you.”

“That’s right,” agrees Julian. “It’s Alex who’s to blame for this. I feel very let down by him, let me tell you. He let us all think he was a thoroughly decent young man, when in fact he was some kind of international playboy all along.”

“The swine,” declares Rita, much too loudly. “Sorry,” she adds, seeing the look Alice gives her. “But he is. He’s a right swine for treating our Summer like that. You didn’t deserve that, love.”

“No, you didn’t,” says Alice, nodding. “And you’re absolutely right, Rita. He is a swine.”

“Oh, now, you can’t say that,” says Gerald. “That’s offensive to swine, that is.”

“He’s not a swine,” I interject feebly. “He’s just—”

They all wait for me to finish, but I realize I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t know why Alex kissed me last night, if he was still hoping to get back together with his ex. I don’t actually know Alex at all, really. And now it looks like I never will.

“If we could ask for quiet, please, folks,” booms a disembodied voice from the speaker above us. “The karaoke is about to start.”

“Okay, I’m going,” I say, standing up, and then sitting abruptly back down again when I realize I don’t have anywhere to go. My room, with its thin walls and its proximity to Alex, is out of the question, obviously, and I’m not really in the mood to head into town.

“Oh, come on, Summer,” says Chloe, taking another sip of her drink. “Don’t let Alex and his fish-faced fiancée put you off. What do you care about them? You’ve only known him for a week. It’s not like you’ve just lost the love of your life, is it?”

This is undeniably true. Alex and I had one kiss: that’s it. I don’t think that even qualifies as a holiday romance, let alone anything more than that. Getting upset over it would be silly, really. It would be the exact opposite of ‘cool’, which is what I’m allegedly trying to be; and the fact that I do feel upset about it, and I’m not ‘cool’ — or even close to it — is neither here nor there.

“She’s not ‘fish-faced’, whatever that means,” I say sadly. “She was beautiful, actually. I can understand what he sees in her.”

“Oh, bollocks to that,” says Rita, fiercely. “You’re beautiful too, Summer. And you don’t have a clue what he thinks. None of us do. He’s played us all for fools, just like Julian says. So the best thing to do is to put him out of your mind, get up on that stage, and give us all a song.”

“That’s what Taylor would do,” nods Chloe.

“That’s right, he would,” agrees Julian, who still has no idea who ‘Taylor’ is.

I’m not sure I agree that singing karaoke to a bar full of holidaymakers in Tenerife is the best cure for a broken heart — or even the best way to get over the discovery that the man you’d recently started to think you might be falling for is still with the fiancée he said he never wanted to see again, as is the case here. But it’s all I’ve really got.

Jamie turned out not to be The One.

It looks like Alex isn’t either.

So I’ll be going home tomorrow without having found the love of my life; which is disappointing, but then again, I suppose it was always a bit ambitious thinking I could do that in a week.

Next time, I’ll book a fortnight.

For now, though, I’ve checked off everything on my list that was ever actually possible … with the exception of singing on stage.

I know what I have to do. And if Taylor can do it with a broken heart, then I can definitely do it with a slightly maimed one.

“First up,” booms Disembodied Voice Man, “We have a young lady called Summer. Give it up for Summer, everyone!”

The Crones turn as one to look at me, their faces tense in anticipation of me choking again, like I did last time. So I take a small amount of satisfaction as I watch their expressions change to surprise, and then pride, as I stand up and straighten my shoulders, as if I’m about to go into battle.

“Go on, Summer,” yells Gerald, as the crowd applauds politely. “You show ‘em!”

I don’t know what, exactly, I’m supposed to be showing anyone, but I can only hope it’s not how to walk in high heels, because my legs are trembling so much as I make my way to the front of the room that it’s hard to stay upright. Before I know it, though, I’m walking up onto the stage, and the orange-faced compere is handing me the microphone, beaming at me with teeth so white they light up the room.

“Right,” he says, turning to the karaoke machine. “Shallow, coming up.”

He starts fiddling with the buttons on the machine, and I stand there waiting for the music to start, a sea of expectant faces staring up at me.

So, absolutely no pressure, then.

“Go on, Summer!” Rita yells into the void, her voice echoing around the vast room, and making everyone shuffle around in their seats to see who my single supporter is. After a second, they all swivel back to face me — but there’s still no music.

“Sorry, love,” says the compere. “Having a bit of trouble getting this thing started. Maybe you could tell a few jokes or something while you’re waiting?”

I gape at him, horrified. The only joke I can think of is the one that involves me standing up here imagining I’m going to be able to sing for everyone; and the punchline is — yet again — probably going to involve me running out of the room again, close to tears. I can feel them gathering already.

The crowd starts to murmur impatiently. There’s still no music, and there’s even less chance of me telling any jokes — or not any funny ones, anyway — so it looks like the joke’s on me.

Again.

I glance hopelessly over at Orange Face, who’s resorted to switching the machine on and off repeatedly, in the hope of making it start up. The lights on the front, however, remain as blank as my memory as I frantically search it for the lyrics of the song.

You’re no Mariah Carey, whispers the ghost of Jamie Reynolds instead. And I listen. I crumple inside. I get ready to run.

But then there’s a sudden movement at the back of the room, and someone steps forward.

“Tell me something, girl…” says Alex, in a loud voice, which carries all the way to the stage, silencing the crowd, who turn and look at him as if this is all part of the act: him walking slowly towards me, his ocean eyes fixed on mine.

The entire room seems to hold its breath, although it’s probably just me. Alex is looking at me as if it is just me, though.

Just me in the room. Just me in the world. Just me, listening to him speak the opening lines of Shallow — the Bradley Cooper bit — and feeling like it’s the first time I’ve really heard them.

I didn’t realize those first lines were made up of three separate questions.

It didn’t occur to me that each one of those questions feels like it’s directed right at me.

Alex did, though. He hasn’t even known me for a full week yet, but Alex somehow saw me in the lyrics of this song, and in the questions it asks me. He doesn’t break eye contact as he stands there, looking up at me as if I’m the only person in the room, so when he reaches the end of the verse, and the last of the three questions, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to answer him.

I do it without thinking, the lyrics coming out of my mouth as if they’ve been lined up, waiting for their cue.

Three more questions, this time directed at him. It’s almost as if we’re having a conversation via the words of this song. There’s a small gasp from the crowd as I reach the chorus and somehow hit the high notes, my voice soaring out over their heads to fill the room. Somewhere back there I know my friends are cheering me on, but I keep my attention fixed completely on Alex, who smiles up at me, never moving from the spot, never dropping his gaze as I sing just to him; singing as if there’s no audience, no pressure, and, most of all, no Rebecca waiting somewhere in the wings.

But I’m not thinking about Rebecca, or what’s going to happen once the music stops. All I’m thinking about is the way Alex is watching me as I’m something he finds special; as if I am something special to him.

So I sing as if I believe that too; all the way to the end of the last chorus, which is when the audience suddenly reminds me they exist by erupting into applause. At the back of the room, Chloe is climbing up onto a table, cheering. Rita and Gerald are on their feet, hugging, and Alice leans hard on the horn of her electric scooter, adding to the chaos.

But I only see Alex.

“That was amazing,” he mouths up at me, his words lost among the cheers. “I knew you could do it!”

Then he holds out his arms, and I throw myself into them for the second time this week; only this time, rather than instantly putting me on the ground so we can make a run for it, he catches me and twirls me around before our lips meet in the kind of kiss that I used to believe only ever happened in movies.

But no: apparently they happen in real life, too, because here we are, arms wrapped around each other as we stand in front of the stage, kissing like no one’s watching … and then suddenly pulling apart in horror as we realize that, actually, everyone’s watching. Literally everyone in the room.

“Oh my God,” I say, clapping my hand over my mouth as Alex finally releases me. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” His brow creases in confusion, his green eyes filled with questions. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this,” I say, my eyes filling with tears as I back away from him.

Then I turn and sprint for the door.