About the Author

Victoria Cooke grew up in the city of Manchester before crossing the Pennines in pursuit of her career in education. She now lives in Huddersfield with her husband and two young daughters. When she’s not at home writing by the fire with a cup of coffee in hand, she loves working out in the gym and travelling. Victoria has always had a passion for reading and writing, undertaking several writers’ courses before completing her first novel in 2016.

Also by Victoria Cooke:

The Secret to Falling in Love

The Holiday Cruise

Who Needs Men Anyway?

It Started with a Note

A Summer to Remember

Sun, Sea and Sangria
VICTORIA COOKE

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Victoria Cooke 2020

Victoria Cooke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2020 ISBN: 9780008376208

Version: 2020-06-02

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Victoria Cooke

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Andrea’s Sunny Sangria Recipe

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Dave and Adam, who each inspired this book in their own special way.

Andrea’s Sunny Sangria Recipe

One bottle of your favourite Rioja

(I like to have an extra one so I can have a glass whilst chopping fruit)

An orange

A lemon

An apple

A few strawberries

2–3 tablespoons of sugar

A dash of banana liqueur or brandy/rum/gin or whatever you have left over from Christmas

(choose one of these – not all)

A cup of orange juice

Ginger ale, soda water or lemonade to taste

A few frozen raspberries

1. Chop the fruit and squeeze a little of the juice from the lemon and orange pieces into the pitcher then toss the rest of the fruit in.

2. Add the sugar and pour in the full bottle of wine.

3. Add the dash of dusty-shelf booze and chill until you’re ready to serve.

4. Before serving, add ginger ale, orange juice, frozen berries and ice, then give it a stir.

Chapter 1

‘Where the hell is the dry oil spray?’ My chest is tightening. ‘We’re on in ten and Sammy needs to be glistening like an Adonis and smelling of coconut in five.’

‘I’ve got some olive oil from the restaurant,’ Ant pipes up. ‘That’s what I’ve used.’

‘Yes, well you look like a deep-fried sausage and don’t smell much better. Grab a towel and rub it off. It’s the twenty-first century, for goodness’ sake, and nobody here is auditioning for The Full Monty.’

‘Yes, Kat,’ a few voices mumble. I don’t have the time to think about who they belong to, but I do spot one or two other super-greasy torsos.

‘Seven minutes to go. Come on!’ I’m rummaging through my bag, throwing things left and right in a fit of panic. ‘Here.’ I produce an old bottle of Skin So Soft from Avon, which I’ve been using as a mozzie repellent since my mum gave me a bottle in 1997.

‘I want you all shimmering seductively and smelling nose-twitchingly floral in three minutes tops.’ I toss the spray to my lead dancer, Marcus. ‘Go!’

Through the fog and nose-tingling scent of dry oil mist, I check myself in the mirror. My stage make-up looks like Mary Berry has daubed it on with a silicone spatula, but this glam look is for my bold stage persona. It helps me get into the character of a strong, confident woman who knows what she wants. It should look natural under the lights. Anyway, it’s the guys who need to look good out there, not me.

‘Okay, huddle up.’ The guys gather dutifully around me. ‘Right, remember that Sammy has pulled his shoulder, so when you all go into the backflips segment, he will be stage left, grinding. Don’t wait for him. Also, Marcus, that thing you did with the eye contact and the winking last night – the audience loved it. I want to see more. Remember, the crowd loves you. Do your best and let’s blow this thing up.’

There are some whoops from the audience as the amplified beats of 50 Cent’s ‘Candy Shop’ start. I’m up. I wiggle my curvy hips as I saunter onto the stage and pump the mic above my head in time to the music. The crowd whoop and cheer and the excitement is tangible. Under the glare of the bright white spotlights, I can barely make out the hundreds of people who’ve come to see the show, but the energy is electric.

‘Ladies … and gentlemen,’ because there are always a few blokes in the crowd, ‘welcome to the Grand Canarian resort complex where we are going to Blow. Your. Mind! There won’t be a fire hose or PVC thong in sight, because tonight we’re giving you your dream man. Think gorgeous Adonises who can satisfy your deepest desires. Think dreamboat pick ‘n’ mix. Ladies and gents, think the Heavenly Hunks …’

As the crowd goes wild, my five men come out dressed in distressed blue jeans and T-shirts that struggle to contain their abs. Marcus and Ant lift me into the air and turn me around as ‘I Want It That Way’ by the Backstreet Boys kicks in and the boys start to dance. It’s the same routine we do every night, but each show feels a little different depending on where we’re performing. As the boys move to the front, I slip back into the shadows.

‘They always bring the crowds,’ a male voice with a thick Spanish accent says. Gaël, the hotel manager, has appeared in the wings beside me.

I smile. It’s taken a while to get to this point. When we first started up here, there was just me, Marcus, Hugo and Pauw trying to get gigs (Pauw’s real name is Paul but everyone loves to make fun of the fact that despite living in East London his whole life, he doesn’t have a cockney accent – it’s incredibly hard to just call him Paul now). Most of the big hotels wanted tribute acts or magicians and we just about scraped by in seedy bars.

Things changed when Gaël booked us a couple of years ago for his huge, fancy hotel, on a whim, after a spate of complaining Brits rightfully whinged about a geriatric gymnast who took five minutes and two helpers to do a cartwheel and called it a show. After that, people couldn’t get enough of the Heavenly Hunks. The Canaries Today called us ‘The Chippendales for the Modern Woman’. We’re probably piggy-backing off the success of Magic Mike a bit, but I don’t think their lawyers are worried.

‘My favourite part,’ Gaël nudges me. He’s a skinny, six-foot, heterosexual guy but even he can’t help but glue his eyes to the backflips and breakdancing. Pauw does his run of six consecutive backflips as Ant, who’s a trained ballet dancer, leaps across the stage in mid-air splits, his long brown hair billowing behind him. The crowd can’t get enough of his porcelain skin.

The music slows down and the intro to Ed Sheeran’s ‘I’m a Mess’ kicks in. Marcus appears in an open dark denim shirt that reveals enough of his smooth, toned chest to drive the audience wild. The shirt is paired with fitted, dark jeans and chunky boots. His short dark hair and light-brown skin look beautiful under the light, and the whole ensemble is one of my finest pieces of work, even if I do say so myself. He sits on the edge of the stage, making eye contact with as many lucky audience members as he can manage, whilst his silky voice gives its pitch-perfect rendition of the song. I still get chills watching him and I’ve seen this act a billion times.

‘Even I am almost falling in love,’ Gaël jokes.

‘See, that’s the point, Gaël. Women don’t want cheesy hosepipe-stroking and pant-dropping to the beat of “Hot Stuff”. We don’t even want to see any naked bottoms.’ Gaël shifts uncomfortably, but I’m proud of the act I’ve put together so I carry on regardless. ‘Women want sexy all-rounders. Men with talent. Half the time, the Heavenlies are fully clothed, yet you can practically hear the ladies’ ovaries scream.’

‘I admire what you’ve done. You know, if you ever get fed up of managing the Heavenly Hunks, there would be a job here as my entertainment director. I’m terrible at it.’ He laughs.

‘Thanks, Gaël, though I can’t see that happening any time soon.’

I switch my mic back on and step back into the spotlight. ‘I don’t know about you but I’ve come over all hot and bothered,’ I say over the screaming cheers. ‘We’ve had a hard day today, haven’t we, ladies? I mean, I bet some of you even had to fetch your own cocktails from the pool bar, didn’t you? Well, we’re going to slow things down and treat as many of you as possible to your own heavenly massage whilst our talented Hugo plays the piano, just for you.’

The spotlight switches to Hugo, who starts playing ‘All of Me’. As dry ice fills the stage, the rest of the guys filter through the audience giving shoulder rubs to as many audience members as possible. Those not having their shoulders rubbed are fixated on Hugo. His black hair shines under the light and his muscles ripple beneath his tanned skin as he hits the keys, his eyes intent on the sheet music. A ripple of excitement washes over me. We put on a bloody good show even if I do say so myself.

As the song finishes, it’s time for our pièce de résistance, and okay, the song is nicked from Magic Mike but we did our own choreography and I doubt Mike cares. The beat starts and the guys bound across the stage from behind the curtain as ‘Pony’ kicks in at the chorus, and the crowd are up, out of their seats, singing and going wild. Under the blue-white spotlight, with the rising dry ice, they look like mythical beings.

***

‘That was awesome, guys. The manager is really pleased with us and has booked us in for an extra show next month when we’re back from Gran Canaria, as well as the bookings we’d already secured for early next year.’ The guys cheer and there’s a bit of back-slapping. ‘We have the show over in Playa de las Americas tomorrow, which is going to be huge, and there’s a British newspaper doing a piece on the resort – they want to include a short review of our show, so I want you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the rehearsal tomorrow. That means one drink tops in the bar tonight then bed, okay?’

I glare pointedly at Ant and Hugo. Ant looks sheepish and Hugo looks downright confused. He speaks English fairly well, but he doesn’t always catch what I’m saying if I go off on a rant and sometimes I wonder if it’s ‘selective’ understanding. I’m hoping a stern glance in his direction is enough to stop him going home with an audience member or two, tonight at least.

‘Love you, Kat.’ Pauw leans in for a hug.

‘You too. Make sure you get yourself to the doctor’s tomorrow and have that mole on your back checked,’ I say, unhappy with the raised appearance it’s taken on recently. He gives me a salute and blows me a kiss. I shake my head as he walks away.

‘Marcus, you left your driver’s licence in the dressing area,’ I sigh, holding it out to him between my fingers.

‘What would I do without you, Kat?’

‘I honestly have no idea,’ I say drily as he wanders off.

Hugo gives me a sheepish look and waves goodbye as the rest of the guys give me hugs and disperse. When I’m alone, I take a deep breath, gather my things and walk out through the hotel’s reception on a high.

Chapter 2

As I walk out into the crisp silence of the early hours, my skin bristles. I feel on edge. A man is loitering across the street. He has a messy bun and a giant camouflage-print Puffa jacket on. Granted, it can get chilly here at night in September but it’s hardly the Arctic Circle. My body is tense with apprehension; each nerve ending senses danger. He’s watching me whilst sipping something from a bottle. I tuck my bag under my arm and walk briskly past. It isn’t until I’m much closer that I realise he’s sipping some kind of smoothie drink. I relax a little, as though it’s a given that muggers don’t really worry about their vitamin intake or care much for liquefied kale. It’s silly how our perception of people works sometimes, but right now it’s making me feel safe.

Something grabs my shoulder, and my heart catapults out of my chest. I spin, fists clenched, ready to pound seven bells out of Smoothie Man or whoever it is.

When my eyes focus on the person in front of me, I get quite the surprise.

It isn’t the camouflaged man-bun-man I was expecting. It’s a dark-haired man I don’t recognise. Something about his soft-brown eyes, fixed with concern on my clenched fists, stifles my alarm.

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He holds his hands in the air. ‘Just realised how bad it was to touch your shoulder. I didn’t want to just shout a random “excuse me” down the street at half twelve.’

‘But grabbing a lady on a dark, lonely street at half twelve is okay?’

‘Like I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through, I just really wanted to talk to you and you left the hotel before I got a chance. Can we start again?’ He grins a wide smile and two small dimples form either side. He may have terrible etiquette but he is handsome. That thought is quickly overshadowed. What could he possibly want to talk to me about at this hour? I’d send him away but I’m too intrigued.

‘What is it?’

‘I saw your show tonight and thought it was great …’ He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the longer-on-top side-parting thing that seems trendy these days. ‘Anyway, I think I have what it takes and I wondered if you might have an opening for another dancer? I’ve just moved out here and I’m looking for work. I think it would suit me.’

I get a pang in my stomach. He certainly looks the part despite perhaps seeming a little older than the others, but that’s not a problem. The age range of our audience is eighteen to anything goes. I just can’t take someone on at the moment. ‘Look …’ I look pointedly at him, hoping he’ll furnish me with a name.

‘Jay,’ he says, taking the cue.

‘Jay. It’s not that I’m trying to brush you off. You certainly look the part and if you can dance I’d definitely audition you if I had space … The thing is, our profit margins are small and I’d not budgeted for taking on another dancer this year. I’m sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hijacked your evening. It was just an idea. I’ve just got out here and I’m looking for work. It looked like fun, that’s all.’ He drops his head and turns to leave.

I feel really bad, not that he’s my responsibility or anything but when I first arrived out here, desperate, I was given a chance and it indirectly kick-started the Hunks. Perhaps I’m just shattered after back-to-back gigs but I want to throw him a lifeline. I’m sure we probably could afford another body on stage and it will give us an excuse to update our posters and fliers.

‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come along to a short audition tomorrow and I can keep you in mind.’

The dimples reappear. ‘Yes, great. Tell me when and where you want me.’

I shiver. Must be the arctic conditions. I rummage in my bag and pull out a tatty old business card for the bar we rehearse in. ‘We practise at three so come at two. Prepare a routine to “Pony” and we’ll take it from there.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there …’ he gestures to me with an open hand.

‘Kat,’ I say and take his hand in mine sealing the arrangement with a firm shake.

‘Nice to meet you, Kat.’

Chapter 3

We rehearse in a dance bar about a ten-minute walk away. The owner, Andrea, is a Spanish woman in her mid-forties who lets us use it for free. I suspect it’s for the view, but I like to think it’s because she’s my friend. I like Andrea a lot; she takes no nonsense from anyone.

When I get to Andrea’s bar my insides are twisted in all kinds of knots. In the heat of the moment when I’d invited that guy in for an audition, I wasn’t thinking. If he turns up and does a routine and he’s really bad, I’ll feel terrible for giving him false hope.

A cheerful hello breaks through my anxious thoughts.

‘Jay, you made it,’ I say, forcing a smile. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white tee and there’s a khaki bag slung over his shoulder. He’s got a certain Channing Tatum look going on – I can definitely picture those promo posters.

He shuffles awkwardly and points to the small dance floor area. ‘Should I just get straight to it?’

‘Yes please, then we’ll chat after. I have the music set up ready to go when you’re ready.’

He’s nervous, I can tell. I don’t think he’s done this before and I have butterflies on his behalf. Plenty of blokes think they can dance and look sexy simultaneously but it’s not as easy as it looks. Oh God, I’ve been here before with blokes who think they can but really can’t. As the music starts, I’m braced for something terrible.

He walks forwards bending his knees to the beat with each stride, tugging down on the hem of his T-shirt as he does. It’s not dancing but he’s got presence.

Then, he tears the T-shirt down the front exposing his smooth, tanned chest then throws the tattered tee to the ground. I almost gasp. I don’t know why; I watch the guys do this every night. I suppose I just wasn’t expecting it. Then he jumps down into a one-armed push up and turns it into a humping action, then he leaps in the air and does a backflip – all in time to the music. It definitely grabs my attention and I thought I was immune to all things hot-guy.

When he finishes, he picks up the tattered remains of his T-shirt and dabs the sheen from his forehead and neck before looking at me sheepishly.

‘That’s pretty much it,’ he says.

‘Have you danced like this before?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘No, I did gymnastics as a kid and a bit of street dancing when I was a teenager but mostly, I just watched a load of YouTube videos this morning.’

I smile at his honesty. ‘Well, you pulled it off. You did well.’

He breathes a sigh of relief and his body visibly relaxes. ‘So, did I make the all-famous Heavenly Hunks?’

I ponder this. A few minutes ago I was certain he wasn’t right for us, but now I’m on the verge of sacking the guys and having him as a solo act. I have to be sure that it’s my brain and not my very distracted eyes that wants this guy. I’ve calculated the costs – we can afford him and it will give us a new edge. His brow is furrowed; I’m torturing him here. ‘How about a month’s trial to see how you get on?’

He smiles and I notice a clean, straight set of teeth and those dimples again. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Great, I’ll go over all the details with you, contracts and whatnot, and then you might as well stay on and rehearse. We’ll introduce you into the show tonight if you’re up for it?’

The rest of the Hunks start to pile in and Andrea breezes over in a multi-coloured, floor-length kaftan and hugs me. Her musky perfume envelops me as her long, wavy blonde hair tickles my face. ‘Kat, my dear, it’s so good to see you.’

‘You too, Andri.’

I turn to Jay. ‘If you want to stay for the rehearsal, we can try and squeeze you into a small part of the show in Playa de las Americas tonight if you like?’

‘I’d love to.’ He’s visibility excited.

‘Grab a drink and you can meet the guys,’ I say, and he walks over to a table where Andrea has placed some iced water.

‘So, a private show hey?’ she says, giving me a wink. ‘Does he do them for all the girls?’

‘It was an audition,’ I say drily. ‘I’m thinking about expanding the group and making the Heavenly Hunks even bigger and better than we already are.’

‘Well the more hot guys you want to bring into my bar, the better.’ She flashes me a grin. ‘I actually thought he might have been your date.’

‘What, in the middle of the afternoon to a bar that isn’t open yet? Give me some credit. Besides, you know I don’t date.’

She shrugs. ‘I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind – that’s all.’

I roll my eyes. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Noted. I’ll feel less guilty about ogling the new guy then.’ She grins.

‘You’re still married,’ I remind her, laughing.

‘And I’ve done nothing wrong.’ With that, she disappears.

‘Okay,’ I shout to the Hunks who are in the process of welcoming Jay. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

Chapter 4

On stage, each dancer is honed to perfection, but something about Jay catches my eye. Obviously, he had the full-body appraisal in his audition earlier, but to my shame, I’d taken little notice of his face other than a fleeting acknowledgement of his celebrity doppelgänger. His flawless tanned skin looks like caramel under the light and his jaw is chiselled to perfection. Even from a distance, you can see a depth in his eyes. As he dances, I’m drawn to him. I can’t tear my eyes away no matter how hard I try. There’s a tattoo, a quote of some sort, on his inner bicep that wraps itself around and emphasises his muscles. I wish I could read it.

He’s a bit older than the rest; maybe that is what’s making me feel so captivated. There’s a maturity in him that I don’t see in the others – like each fine line on his face tells a story of something deeper. It makes me feel weird. I don’t look at the dancers this way; it’s wrong. In the end, I convince myself that I’m watching in a professional capacity – I have to see how the new guy gets on and get a feel for the audience perception; nothing more.

The cameraman I’ve hired to get some new promotional shots of the Hunks stays behind to give me a flavour of what he’s captured. He’s taken reportage-style shots so they’re not posed. Instead, he’s captured the Hunks doing what they do best – showcasing their talents on stage whilst looking good. Ignoring the hideous photos of me (think shiny face and hair plastered to my head), I think we’ve got some great material. I’m excited about making the Hunks an even bigger name in the Canaries.

***

‘Jay!’ I exhale, loudly. ‘For fuck’s sake stop sneaking up on me in the early hours.’ After Jay’s first show, we’d gone for a drink not far from where we live to celebrate but now I’m ready for home.

‘Sorry, Kat, I didn’t mean to scare you. I found these in the dressing room and thought they might be important.’

I glance at the clear squidgy things in his hands and almost drop dead with embarrassment.

‘Thanks,’ I say, as heat floods my cheeks.

‘What even are they?’

I swallow hard and croak, ‘Chicken fillets.’

His brow furrows with confusion. Seriously, what person has never seen these before and why are my cheeks hot? The guys all know I wear these on stage.

‘You put them in your bra and they give you a bit of extra va-va-voom. It’s part of my stage persona.’

‘Ahh.’ He glances away and I think the awkwardness is over.

‘But why?’

Okay, the awkwardness is not over.

‘Just to give me a bit of shape while I’m on stage.’ I can’t believe I’m explaining gel breast enhancers to one of my employees whom I barely know. I look at the sky, wishing a giant meteorite would hurtle down from space and land on me.

‘Ahh.’ He nods. ‘Well, you don’t need them. You have a great figure.’

Seriously, a meteorite, please!

I swallow hard and it takes me a second or two to compose myself. In future, I’m booking a taxi to take me home after a show to avoid any more run-ins like this.

‘At least one of you is heading home,’ I say changing the subject. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Hugo left with a couple of older women, and Pauw went home with his partner, Phil. Ant was with Sammy drinking cocktails in the bar with an attractive brunette, and I haven’t seen Marcus since the hotel foyer.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Typical. So how come you’re heading home? It sounds like the night is just getting started for the others.’

‘I’m just obeying orders,’ he says, fluttering his eyelids in an attempt to look virtuous.

‘We’ve another gig tomorrow but I said you could go for one drink.’

‘I know. I just need my beauty sleep.’

‘Is that so?’ I give him a sideways look. This is the first glimpse I’ve had of his sense of humour and for some reason, it surprises me. What else do I need to know other than how his muscles make his T-shirt strain and how his intense brown eyes can cause a lower-abdominal stir in the back of a crowded auditorium?

‘Do you always go home alone?’ he asks.

‘That’s a bit personal.’

He laughs softly. ‘I don’t mean like that. I meant … don’t you mind wandering the streets by yourself at this hour?’

‘I’m used to it.’

‘I get it. It’s the twenty-first century, you’re a modern, independent woman who doesn’t need a chaperone—’ I cut him off with a warning glance and he holds his hands up in surrender. ‘All I’m saying is I might appreciate someone walking me home at night. That guy with the smoothie the other day was pretty dodgy-looking.’

Nice backtracking.

‘If you’re feeling vulnerable, I’d be happy to walk you home.’ I humour him even though he’ll be out until all hours having fun with the rest of them in no time at all, once he realises his soon to be acquired ‘minor celebrity status’.

‘You did well tonight,’ I say. He did too. I must admit I was on tenterhooks putting him up there after only one rehearsal. He only danced to one track – right at the end – but I was nervous as heck as he went on stage. I needn’t have worried: the crowd seemed to love him.

‘Thanks, Kat. When I saw all those screaming women, I was terrified going out there.’

‘Those YouTube videos have really paid off,’ I tease.

We walk in silence for a little while, and I ease into the feeling of having company on a walk I’m so used to doing alone. My ears still have a soft ringing in them from the loud music of the show, so it feels good to let them recover.

‘So, Kat, how come you’re not out hitting the bars and chatting up the fellas?’ Jay asks unexpectedly. Initially, I bristle, then relax. Somehow, his northern accent – he’s from Manchester, I think – makes him sound friendly and cheeky rather than too direct. Besides, he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know this is a topic that’s not up for discussion.

‘I’m here to focus on the business. There isn’t time for much else, and I have my work cut out playing mum to the guys. Do you know I had to show some of them how to use a laundrette?’

Jay shakes his head and laughs softly.

‘I can’t really be doing with another man in my life,’ I say honestly.

Fair enough,’ he says.

‘So what brings you to Tenerife anyway? The world-class entertainment?’ I ask, glad to get the focus off me.

‘Nah, I’m just here for the career prospects.’

I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

‘To be honest, I’m here for a quiet life. I didn’t have all that much to stay in the UK for, and I love the sunshine, the dancing and the buzz of being on stage. During the day, I’m happy just reading by the pool. Boring really, aren’t I?’ He laughs.

I smile. ‘Only as boring as me.’

We arrive at the budget apartment complex that we use as our base here in Tenerife.

‘Right, see you tomorrow for the Los Christianos gig,’ I say.

‘Night, Kat.’

When I get inside, I slump on the bed and soak up the thick silence. My stomach churns with unease. I haven’t thought about him in a very long time and I don’t know if I want to pace around the room or crawl under the covers and hide. After all these years, how can he still have this effect on me?

***

The warmth of love is consuming. My muscles absorb it. It courses through my veins, soaks into my bones and fills up any hollow cavities it can find. It’s all-encompassing as I lie here with Iain beside me. I’m safe. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Even though he can be a bit possessive and sometimes I sense a hidden darkness in him, a mood that he doesn’t share, I know it’s his insecurity. He worries he’ll lose me, that’s all, and that’s normal, isn’t it? It just means he loves me and that’s a wonderful feeling.

I understand his fear. I spent so much time feeling like I wasn’t good enough for him that I know what he’s going through. This is love and our love is so strong that the fear of losing one another is too. I almost hyperventilate when I think about losing Iain, so I know exactly how he feels. Once we’re married and he knows I’m his forever, he’ll calm down.

***

I sit bolt upright. Sweat is trickling down my head. I check the time and it’s just after four. I get up and flick on the air-con before getting back into bed. After all these years, Iain is still in my head and I’m annoyed with myself. My marriage ended over eight years ago. Since then I’ve picked myself up, moved away, built a business and I don’t rely on anyone. I like being in charge of the Hunks. It gives me the confidence to be able to be around hot men without feeling inferior – if anything, mothering them makes me feel stronger. I’ve come such a long way since Iain and thinking about him makes my scalp prickle. He doesn’t deserve a place in my memories.

When I push aside thoughts of Iain, I find myself thinking back to the conversation I had with Jay. It felt weird to be asked about dating twice in one day. It’s been just me for so long and everyone who knows me understands that. I get that Jay is new and I shouldn’t read anything into it, but I can’t help but wonder if he thinks I’m broken. It’s not like I’ve actively avoided men, not in recent years anyway; I’ve just been happy in my own company and haven’t really looked. Nor have I been found.

Eventually, after much tossing and turning, I manage to drift off.

Chapter 5

After the show in Los Christianos, we head to an Indian restaurant for some much-needed post-show sustenance. When the food arrives and we’re happily tucking in, Jay taps his glass to get everybody’s attention. It seems a bit formal and I notice Ant and Marcus raise their eyebrows in surprise. It’s a far cry from the shouting over one another that we’ve become accustomed to.

‘I just wanted to say how grateful I am to you all for welcoming me into the Hunks and making me feel so comfortable, especially you, Kat.’ There are murmurs of ‘no worries’ and ‘great to have you on board’ from full mouths all around the table.

Jay sips his beer. ‘I’m curious, how did you all come to be in the Heavenly Hunks? I saw you guys at the hotel the other night and pretty much chased Kat down the street, but what are your stories?’

‘When I first landed in Tenerife, I met Kat in Andrea’s bar – where we do our rehearsals – when I’d gone in looking for work,’ Paul says. ‘Phil and I moved here because we fancied a new life in the sun, and I thought that with my acrobatics skills I’d get a job performing. Andrea told me, rather bluntly, that she already had a DJ and crappy entertainment wasn’t her thing. She didn’t even watch me perform.’ Everyone snickers. ‘Kat was working in the bar there and overheard. She looked me over and said she had an idea. Hugo used to be a stripper and Andrea had let him perform a few times – Kat thought the three of us could put together an exotic dance act that was part brawn, part talent. She said something like “think the Chippendales meets Diversity with a dash of Bruno Mars”. We did small gigs for a while and built up a bit of a following. Then Marcus joined us and we started to really get the crowds going.’

‘I was at an utter loss,’ Marcus says. ‘Split up from my girlfriend and came over on a lads’ holiday. I was such a miserable twat and when it came to going home, I just couldn’t bear it. I was working as a joiner for a big housing company and I was sick of the sight of cheap skirting boards. I’d made up my mind to stay, but I had no idea how I’d afford it. Anyway, I was sat in a bar and these two losers,’ he winks at Paul, ‘appeared on stage with Kat. After the show, I tried to chat her up. When she looked me over, I thought eyup, I’m getting somewhere here. Little did I know she was sizing me up for a part in the Hunks.’ He laughs.

‘I didn’t even know you could breakdance then, either,’ I say, laughing along.

‘To be fair, I didn’t even know I could still do it.’ He turns to Jay. ‘Throwback from my early teens.’

‘What about you, Ant? How did you come to be in the Hunks?’ Jay asks.

‘My mum and I moved over here when I was ten. She met a bloke and moved back to England a few years ago, but I was an established Hunk by then. I wasn’t giving that up,’ he winks. ‘Anyway, I was working in a bar and saw a poster – Kat was advertising for an exotic dancer. But my dance expertise was a little unconventional – ballet.’ He coughs over the word to hide it.

‘A bloody good one too, and you shouldn’t be embarrassed! Ballet is an art form,’ I interrupt. ‘Sorry, you were saying …’

‘You know what the boys are like!’ He laughs. ‘Anyway, I auditioned and Kat figured out a way to make me use my talents and look sexy. The sexy part was pretty easy though.’

‘Nob,’ Marcus says, and the others laugh.

‘Sammy, how about you?’ Jay asks.

‘Nobody wants to hear my story.’ Sam makes an over-the-top cutthroat gesture with his hand.

‘Oh come on, I want to hear it more now,’ Jay says.

‘I’d been out with the lads, in Playa de las Americas on the bevvies, and we went into this club and these guys came on the stage. Anyway, when “Pony” came on, I jumped on stage and started grinding. A couple of the blokes who worked in the bar came and tried to drag me off stage but I backflipped out of the way. The crowd loved it and thought it was part of the act – women even wanted selfies with me afterwards – so Kat asked me to stay. To be honest, I didn’t have much to go back to in England. I was still living with my folks and I didn’t have a job so I thought I’d do a gap year. That was three years ago.’ He grins.

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 chairs 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.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, taken aback by his sudden clamming up.

‘I’m fine. I’m not the one questioning life – I’m happy to talk through your problems but please don’t try and put them onto me and make out we’re in a similar position. With all due respect, we’re not and I’m fine.’

‘I … You’re right. I’m sorry,’ I stammer and I hate myself for it.

‘No …’ his tone is softer now, ‘… I’m sorry for sounding grumpy. I think moving so far south has given me a bad latitude.’

I cast him a sideways glance and see he’s smirking. I shake my head.

‘That was terrible,’ I say, laughing softly and we fall into an amicable silence. He’s every right to keep his personal life private but I can’t help being drawn to his story, even though it’s obvious he doesn’t want to share it. When we reach the square outside our apartment block I sit on the wall of the fountain and to my surprise, he sits down next to me.

‘It’s normal you know.’

‘What is?’

‘Thinking about having a family and stuff. I’m the one who is probably a bit different.’

‘No, each to their own,’ I say. ‘I have been married before.’

‘Oh.’ He doesn’t pry but I find myself wanting to give a little more.

‘It didn’t work out and I’ve become a much stronger person on my own. I’m independent both financially and emotionally and I don’t want to jeopardise that. That’s why I’m scared to venture back into the world of dating.’

He doesn’t reply; instead, he nods.

‘It sounds silly out loud but I have my reasons.’

‘You could always try it – one date wouldn’t mean settling down,’ he says. I know he’s right but it scares me so much.

‘It’s just all that stuff with Tommy dying that’s made me feel like this. I was fine before that. I guess it’s just shaken me up.’

‘Try it. Plenty of people use Tinder these days for casual dating. It doesn’t have to mean anything.’

‘I guess not,’ I say without conviction. ‘I just don’t think that sort of stuff is for me.’

Jay furrows his brow, seemingly unconvinced. ‘How long have you been single?’

I don’t need to run a mental calculation for that. ‘Almost nine years.’

Jay whistles through his teeth. ‘Have you honestly not been on a date in all that time?’

I shake my head. ‘I’ve not felt the need to. I’ve always had the Heavenly Hunks to keep me busy.’

‘That’s fine if you’re happy. Forgive me for saying, but you can’t have been short of offers.’

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. ‘It’s just not something I’d considered – I love having my independence and being in charge of my own destiny.’

‘Fair enough,’ he says and I like that he respects my choice. ‘I meant what I said last night. I don’t mind listening if you want to talk about it?’

I look him in the eyes to anchor myself to the spot. The conversation is awkward enough that I want to bolt, but maybe talking will be good. I haven’t sat down and talked about this with anyone before and I did feel a little bit better after chatting to Jay last night. I sit on the wall of the pretty fountain outside the hotel, allowing the gurgling patter of the water to momentarily fill the silence. Jay follows.

‘I just don’t know if I’m treading water and going through the same motions without really evaluating if being alone is still what I want, or what I might want in the future. I just worry that maybe one day I’ll wake up older, regretting not doing more of the “normal” stuff.’

‘So, I get it if you’re happy being single, but you’re obviously not as convinced as you thought you were. Why not go on a date and see how things pan out? If you don’t feel comfortable or whatever, no harm done.’

I scrub the soles of my shoes on the crunchy gravel. It makes a satisfying noise. ‘I didn’t really have many friends at school.’

I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t and I realise I’m relieved to be able to carry on.

‘I wasn’t pretty or cool, and most of the kids found it hilarious to call me names. It never really went much beyond that but still … Anyway, by the time I started uni, I’d discovered make-up, highlights, hair straighteners and the joys of buying my own clothes rather than the ones my mum picked up in the C&A sale. I started to get … offers.’ I repeat Jay’s word but almost choke on the awkwardness of it. I glance at Jay who is, to his credit, wearing his best poker face.

‘I met Iain.’

‘Your husband?’

I nod. ‘He was good-looking, a bit of a Jack-the-lad with plenty of charm, but a good laugh. Everyone knew him, and if there was a big night out or a party, the first thing people wanted to know was: would Iain be there? Then at a party one night, he asked me if I fancied going outside so we could chat properly – “21 Seconds” or something was probably rattling out of some tinny portable CD player – and I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed me.’

‘It sounds like you didn’t give yourself enough credit,’ Jay says.

‘Well, I was a young woman, swept up in the affections of one of the hottest guys on campus. We dated on and off. He’d always dump me and then turn up in the middle of the night, crying because he’d made a mistake. After uni, we ended up together properly. He was a bit jealous and possessive then, but at the time I was flattered. I thought it just meant he really cared.’ I wriggle uncomfortably – the discomfort has less to do with the stone fountain wall threatening to bestow haemorrhoids upon me, and more to do with the words falling out of my mouth.

‘I made a mistake. I love you, Kat.’ Part of me is annoyed for opening the door but the other half of me is so glad to see him. When he dumped me, it was like a bear had clawed a hole in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Now that he’s here with tear-stained cheeks and big puppy eyes, telling me he’s sorry, I know I’ll forgive him.

‘Please listen to me, Kat! You know you won’t find anyone better. Most guys like skinny girls with blonde hair. I’m different, Kat, I love you for who you are.’ He takes my hands and pulls me closer. ‘Not everyone can see past looks and really see the good in someone.’

I swallow hard. He’s right. When I go out, I see those skinny girls he’s talking about and when I look in the mirror, I see exactly what he means.

‘Kat, forgive me. I love you.’ He presses his wet, salty lips to mine and I find myself responding. We can put all of this behind us now. It’s our new chapter.

I shake the memory away.

‘He proposed. I was thrilled and we got married. Long story short, I didn’t do the dating thing, ever, so you can see how looking to start now is a little bit scary for me.’

The corner of Jay’s mouth twists. ‘I can, but you can’t let that hold you back forever. Not when you have doubts about whether you’ve chosen the right path.’

‘No. In fact, I’m going to look at my options,’ I say decisively.

‘So, you’re going to try a date?’

Saying it like that makes me freeze. I’m about to protest, but I pause. What do I have to lose? A few hours of my life?

‘Yes,’ I say, taking out my phone. ‘I’m going to try one of those dating app things.’

I can’t believe how easy it is. Download the app, sign in with Facebook and voila, in no time at all I’m flicking through pictures of guys like they’re in an Argos catalogue.

‘You don’t mess about.’ Jay laughs as I’m swiping left through several pictures.

I shrug, then pause with my finger hovering over a photograph of a guy who looks all right.

‘Who is it?’ Jay asks, leaning over.

‘A guy who works in a bar near here.’

‘Sounds like he has all the right credentials,’ Jay teases.

‘I’m going to do it. I’m swiping right,’ I say.

‘Good for you,’ Jay says. ‘Listen, I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Night, Jay … and thanks for listening.’

‘No problem. Night, Kat.’

When Jay leaves, my phone pings. ‘Oh my God,’ I mutter. He’s got in touch already. He’s called Mike, he’s thirty-nine and he’s asking if I want to go out tomorrow.

‘Mike,’ I say aloud, allowing my lips chance to get used to the word. Then I type:

Okay, when and where?

The reply is instant.

Lunch, tomorrow at the La Grande Grill in the Tropicana Resort Hotel.

I nod. Lunch seems quite informal. I can cope with that.

Okay, let’s do it.

Dating aside, it was nice talking to Jay. He’s a good listener but doesn’t take life too seriously. I hope our friendship continues to grow.

***

The next day I am much less calm.

The yellow sundress I’ve always felt half-decent in looks sackish and seems to wash me out. The red one that I thought would bring out the blue in my eyes is too tight, and the beige one makes me look naked from afar, and not in a hot Instagram way but more of an erotic potato sort of way. This leaves the cornflower-blue skater-style dress. The lines are quite flattering but it is a little shorter than I’m comfortable with. I check my watch. I need to leave in ten minutes; I just need to pick something. It’s either the yellow or the blue. I change back into the yellow. No, it adds ten pounds and only a belt could save it. I slip back into the blue. No way. It sends the wrong message. I now have five minutes left so throw the yellow one back on and scramble for a belt. It will have to do.

I spot my chicken fillets on the side and shove them in my bra for some added oomph. The fabric of the dress pulls much tighter than my stage dress does and when I glance in the mirror, I have a certain Dolly Parton vibe. I’m not sure I like it. From nowhere, Jay’s words hit me: ‘You don’t need them. You have a great figure.’ Perhaps I’m sending out the wrong message here. This Mike guy has to meet the real me, not the ‘on-stage’ me. I pull them out and smooth the dress back down. It’s only a first date, after all.

I’m quite close to the hotel entrance when I realise I’m running. I slow down and adjust my dress, which has ruched up and gathered above my belt. When I tug it back down, I realise I was probably flashing my knickers to innocent bystanders at some point, and I’m glad to be of an age where only a full-bottom brief will do. I smooth down my hair and enter through the revolving door. It’s a nice hotel, the kind that smells of something fresh and Jo Malone-y when you walk in, and it has an amazing calmative effect on me.

I ask the concierge where the Grill is and, following his instructions, make my way down some steps and outside onto a terracotta-tiled terrace. The pool is bustling in the heat of the day and the sunlight charges each ripple of water with a bright, sparkling burst. It’s the kind of place Iain would have brought us to in our early days, just so he could take a load of pictures and show them off to all his faux-friends on his MySpace account, or whatever it was back then.

The restaurant is starting to fill up, and a few people mill around the entrance waiting to be seated. My stomach twists. I’d felt okay-ish up until this point, but now the group ahead have gone in and it’s my turn, I’m terrified. I could turn to go, but that would be cruel, leaving someone sitting there alone like a lemon. I couldn’t do that to a person, and besides that, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. I can talk to another human over lunch.

‘Madam, do you have a reservation?’ the waiter asks.

‘I, er, yes. I’m meeting someone. Mike?’

The waiter flips the booking sheet over, dramatically scanning as though he doesn’t quite believe that: a) I have a booking or b) I have a date.

His eyebrows lift with relief. ‘This way, madam.’

I follow him apprehensively, purposely leaving a gap between us. I want to see Mike before he sees me. I’m not sure why – perhaps if I’m not overly enamoured, I’ll have time to arrange my face into something that less resembles disappointment.

‘Damn,’ I mutter under my breath. All I can see is his short, well-groomed blond hair – his back is to me. There’s nothing wrong with his back, but now I’ve lost my advantage. If I’m disappointed it will show on my face and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have that well-known affliction, resting bitch-face. If I’m not forcing a smile, I look miserable, even when I’m not miserable, and any thought that presents itself in my head etches into my expression. Realising I’m starting to panic, I take a breath and move around to face him.

‘Hi.’ I hold out my hand formally. ‘I’m Kat. You must be Mike.’

When I see his face, I’m taken aback. He’s not bad. His bright blue eyes twinkle affably under the soft lighting of the restaurant, and his teeth are white against his suntanned skin. A wave of relief rinses through me.

He’s chewing on some bread and wipes his mouth on his napkin before standing up to hug me.

‘That’s me. Nice to meet you, Kat,’ he says, pulling away. I detect a soft Welsh accent.

We take our seats and he pours two glasses of white wine from a carafe in the centre of the table.

‘So, what is it you do? Sorry, it’s a cliché to ask but it was the first thing that popped into my head.’

I smile. ‘That’s okay. I manage a dance act – the Heavenly Hunks – you’ve probably seen our posters dotted about if you work in a bar.’

‘Oh yeah, the sexy dance group?’ His tone is layered with titillation.

I feel my cheeks flush, which irks me because I’m not at all embarrassed about my work; in fact, I’m proud of it. I’m just not comfortable with the lewd way in which Mike said it.

‘They’re an all-male exotic dance troupe,’ I correct him.

He raises his eyebrows in a way that suggests he doesn’t see the difference. I glug my wine and pretend not to notice.

‘And you’re a barman?’

‘That I am. Been here for the best part of six years now.’

I nod along and sip my wine, hoping that in the few seconds it takes to swallow it I’ll come up with something riveting to say.

‘Will you stay here much longer?’ That wasn’t riveting at all.

‘Probably. We’ll have to see how it goes.’ He takes a drink, and I swear I see him wink at me but convince myself I’m mistaken, for the sake of the afternoon and the fact I’m starving and we’ve not even ordered yet.

‘The seafood platter looks good,’ I say, as one of the waitresses carries one by.

A waiter approaches us to take our order and Mike jumps in first. ‘We’d love the seafood sharing platter please.’ He looks at me for confirmation and I nod, not quite sure if it was sweet that he ordered on my behalf or a little bit controlling.

As we wait for our food, the small talk dries up, and in turn, so does our carafe. We order another, and half of that has gone by the time the platter arrives.

When I look at the prawns, I realise I’m a little woozy. This is not good; I need to keep my composure. I look at Mike, happily holding a prawn by its tail whilst chewing the body. I force my eyes into focus. He is good-looking but there is something off about him and the vibe is all wrong. Perhaps I’m too used to being on my own and I’m being too picky. I can’t expect to meet the perfect guy on my first date. I decide to ignore the twinge of disappointment and give him a chance. Besides that, we’re not kids anymore, so perhaps that spark just doesn’t happen for older people. Perhaps a nice meal and a bit of benign conversation are all I have to hope for.

‘You’re really beautiful,’ he says, all of a sudden.

The back of my neck tingles and I smooth down the hair that covers it.

‘Thanks. You … er, you are quite blessed in the looks department yourself.’

Quite blessed? I’m going to need the rest of the carafe if I’m going to feel less cringe-tastic about saying that!

I steer the conversation to our favourite ‘day off’ activities on the island and how often we visit the UK and such, and before I know it, the platter is finished.

I did it. I went on a date, and aside from a few initial bumps at the beginning, it was actually okay. I allow myself to feel a little smug.

‘So,’ Mike pipes up, ‘you must be quite a saucy little thing putting together your whole exotic stripper shebang thingy?’ He winks. I’m certain this time.

I gawk. There’s no other word for it. Just as it was all going so well.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, come on. I won’t judge, but you’ve got to admit you must be a little bit naughty?’ He skims his tongue across his lips.

A thousand ants crawl across my skin. I almost don’t really blame him. I blame Hugh bloody Hefner and his reputation – he’s tarred us all. Like you can’t work with attractive, semi-clad people and not have them all in your bed.

I’ve gone off Mike. A lot.

‘Mike, thank you for a … mostly pleasant afternoon. Here’s my half of the bill, but I must be going now.’ I toss forty-five euros down on the table, which I reckon is about right, including a tip.

His practically salivating jaw slackens. As if he really did think I was going to start telling him how saucy I am. Midday dirty talk over some discarded prawn tails and clamshells with a guy I’ve only just met? No thanks.

‘Sorry, did I misread the signs? I thought we were having a good time getting to know one another.’

No apology then?

‘I just don’t see a second date on the cards for us.’

‘What about finishing this date properly?’

I have no idea what he means by properly – okay, I do but I’m blanking it out. ‘I’ve got a long day of doing all the accounts tomorrow; I have to keep a clear head. Sorry.’ I bite my tongue before I can automatically say ‘Maybe another time’.

Before he has time to speak, I say, ‘Bye,’ and leave, making a conscious effort not to run.

Chapter 7

The next morning, as I open my curtains, I see Jay sunbathing by the pool. I lather on some sunscreen and throw on a bikini with a kaftan over the top and march down as meaningfully as my Havaianas will allow.

‘I need a word,’ I say, kicking the leg of Jay’s sun lounger to rouse him.

He groans. ‘Kat? Everything okay?’

‘Not really. That guy, Mike, was a real creep.’

He sits up, concerned. ‘Mike? The guy you went on a date with?’

I nod.

‘What did he do?’ Jay sits up straighter.

‘He implied that I must be kinky because of my work, and believe me, If I had a quid for every time someone made an insinuation like that, well, I wouldn’t be rich but I would be able to buy a signature cocktail from the fancy bar down on the waterfront.’

Jay rubs his chin, trying hard to conceal a smirk. ‘Ahh. Okay, so he was a creep. Plenty more fish in the sea. Anyway, why are you narked with me?’

I sigh. ‘Sorry. I guess you were the one who made me feel like it was a good idea.’

‘Because you were curious.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just so annoyed that I gave in to this whim when I’m okay being single.’

‘You’re not going to meet your soulmate after one date, Kat.’

‘I know. Maybe my expectations were too high,’ I say, slumping on the lounger next to him.

‘No, he sounds like a nob. Sorry it didn’t work out,’ he says, patting my shoulder.

‘It’s fine. I guess my only real experience of dating comes from Hollywood movies and not the real world. I’m clearly not the greatest with men.’

‘I know the guys here really respect you.’ He pauses for a second. ‘Has nothing really ever happened with you and one of them?’

‘God, no!’ The thought horrifies me. ‘I’d never mix business with romance. I may need to fire one of you one day.’ I give him a mischievous wink.

‘Bloody hell, should I be worried?’ he says playfully.

I shrug. ‘Maybe.’

‘In that case, I better get myself off to rehearsals.’ He stands up and walks to the edge of the pool before diving in.

Funny place to rehearse.

He comes up for air and reads my expression. ‘What? I haven’t got time to shower.’

As I shake my head, he swims over to the edge and heaves himself out. Water droplets sparkle on his taut, bronzed skin as he rubs his dark hair with his towel. Even though I see his naked torso almost every night, this feels strangely intimate so I look away. As I do, I see Pauw approaching, looking fresh in a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt tucked into navy chino shorts.

‘Morning, lovely.’ He kisses me on the cheek. ‘And hello, sailor,’ he says, giving Jay the once-over.

Jay cocks his head to the side and pouts seductively.

‘Oh come on, you’re not my type. You don’t cut your hair nearly often enough and quite frankly, you’re a bit of a diva.’

Jay raises his eyebrows with bemusement but doesn’t reply.

‘Have you been to the doctor’s yet?’ I ask Pauw as Jay lies back on his lounger.

‘Yes, yes. He’s going to remove it and send it off for analysis as a precaution. He thinks it’s probably healthy and I’ll get a scar—’

‘But if it is anything sinister, you’ll have done the right thing.’

‘Very true. So …’ Pauw clasps his hands together. ‘Where are the rest of our troupe? I didn’t see them at the gym today.’

‘Coming down any moment now if they know what’s good for them.’

Right on cue, Marcus and Sammy emerge followed by Ant and Hugo. All four of them look like they hardly slept.

‘Time to shine. I want you to give it one hundred per cent today, boys. It’s our last show on the island tonight, so we’d better make it a good one.’ I clap three times to emphasise just how wide awake I want them to be.

Marcus rubs his hair. ‘Kat, love, can I grab a strong coffee first?’

I check my watch animatedly. ‘Yes, if you can rewind time, get up fifteen minutes earlier and make yourself one. If you can’t do that, then no. Sorry, it’s rehearsal time.’

Marcus pulls a face but doesn’t argue. No doubt consciously saving himself the ‘this is why we’re the best in the business’ speech I bandy around when I’m stamping my authority.

When we get to Andrea’s, she’s behind the bar putting the float in the till.

‘Hi, Andri.’ I throw my bag down on a barstool.

‘Are we having a drink?’

‘Just coffee please, Andrea. I have to keep a clear head. Can you do me a favour and brew some for the guys too? I think they’re going to need a kick up the backside today.’

She ogles each of them. ‘Their backsides look too good to kick!’ With that, she winks and walks off. I set up the music and drag a few tables away from the edge of the dance floor to create a bit more space.

‘Have you seen this?’ Andrea appears beside me and hands me a leaflet.

I glance at it. ‘The Canary Islands Entertainment Act of the Year,’ I say, reading the bold lettering aloud.

Andrea nods, a huge grin spreading across her face. ‘I think you and the guys are in with a real shot of winning. Look at the prize.’ She turns the flyer over.

I squint at the smaller lettering, then my eyes goggle. ‘Ten grand and a chance to perform in Las Vegas!’

That would be a nice little lump sum for each of us and a great gig. Not to mention the publicity that could help generate some much-needed bookings. I haven’t told the guys business is getting quiet yet, but I’m starting to worry. Aside from the cancellations, we don’t seem to be generating many new bookings.

‘Yes, the prize money is raised by all the tourist businesses across the islands – the hotels, bars – even I’ve donated and the gig in Las Vegas has been put up by some hotshot from the entertainment world. We get some free publicity from a local TV station and the Canaries Today, plus a UK tour operator will tailor a package holiday around your show. I’m thinking hen do packages to see the Heavenly Hunks would be a sure-fire winner.’

‘What do we have to do?’

‘There is an audition in a couple of weeks over in Maspalomas, Gran Canaria. From there, you have to get through a couple of rounds, and there’s a final here in Tenerife, which local people are invited to watch.’

She goes back to the bar for the coffees and I read the leaflet once more. This is a huge chance to really put the Heavenly Hunks on the map. I’ll see what the guys think later.

‘So, what’s new?’ She lays out the cups and makes a broad gesture to the guys to show the drinks are for them before pulling out a chair and sitting next to me.

‘Oh, not much.’ It sounds so dull, so I add, ‘I did go on a date last night.’

‘Kat! On a date! Oh my goodness. With whom?’

I fill her in on the Mike situation.

She shudders. ‘Eurgh. Why do men think that’s how we work?’

‘Because, that’s how they work. You know, Andri, I’m not even sure dating is for me after all. It was a bit of a whim really. I’ve been single so long and happy the whole time too. I’ve got all the freedom I want to form my own opinions, make my own choices, go wherever I want …’

Andrea puts her hand on mine. ‘You know, Kat, if you find the right man, none of that should have to change.’

I ponder that thought. It’s a nice idea, and perhaps there are characters on TV who live their free independent lives with their modern-world partners, but it’s not reality. Not in my experience.

‘So, anyway. Why the change of heart? Why start now?’

I draw a breath. ‘An old school acquaintance of mine died suddenly a few days ago. It got me thinking about my life, and I guess I feel like I’m just treading water a little. I’m getting older, that’s for sure. Look.’ I prod at my emerging crow’s feet for emphasis. ‘But I’ve not got much to show for my life. I guess I thought I might like to do the whole settling-down thing, maybe have kids even. It sounds stupid when I say it all out loud.’

‘It’s not stupid, Kat. There’s no harm in trying. Just because the Mike guy was a douchebag, doesn’t mean your next date will be.’ I shake my head at her phrasing. Andrea’s perfect English comes partly from the fact that she watches a lot of American films and TV.

‘I know that. I just don’t know if I want to dedicate any more of my time to weeding out the Mikes.’

‘I have a guy who is perfect.’

Another blind date? Do I really want another night of prawns and perverts? Okay, that was harsh; the prawns were great.

I’ll humour her. ‘Perfect how, exactly? Is he made out of chocolate and huge packets of cheese and onion crisps?’

She casts me a sideways glance. ‘You and your cheese and onion crisps. He’s a local businessman. Never married but he’s had a series of serious relationships. He’s good-looking, wealthy and kind.’

Whilst wealth is obviously an important factor in keeping Andrea in her diamante-encrusted kaftans – which have unfathomable price tags – it isn’t to me. I earn what I need and I certainly don’t want anybody else’s money.

‘He’s kind, you say?’

‘The kindest. He rescued his dog from a shelter and donates lots of money to charity.’

Hmm, I’m not sure that’s the comprehensive, all-encompassing definition of kindness, but there doesn’t seem anything inherently wrong with him thus far.

‘Will he even want to go on a date with me?’ Andrea can sometimes get ahead of herself and I want to be sure this isn’t her own romanticising.

‘He will love you, Kat. I’ve set him up on dates before. He’ll thank me, I promise.’

I frown, not at all convinced. ‘Okay, something casual like sundown drinks or lunch. We’re going on tour tomorrow so it will have to be when I’m back.’ She’s tapping furiously on her phone and I don’t know if she’s even listening. Her phone makes a zoop (for want of better onomatopoeia) sound as a text message sends, and then she looks up and nods.

‘Okay.’

The guys take a coffee break. They’re already sweaty.

‘Might not need the coconut oil tonight, lads,’ Jay says, catching my eye.

‘Pongy blokes don’t get rebooked,’ I say, pointedly.

‘I’m winding you up!’

I flick a towel at him but miss. ‘I’ll get you next time. Now drink up, quick loo break and back to it. I want to wrap up in the next hour so you can all go and get some beauty sleep this afternoon.’

The next hour passes well. The guys are on form and I make a few minor tweaks to the choreography to make things look a little smoother in light of the smaller stage we’re on tonight. When they’re finished, I gather them around.

‘What do you think about this?’ I hold out the competition leaflet Andrea gave me and wait a few moments whilst they all scan over it.

‘I say go for it. It’s over a grand apiece and a trip to Vegas. It looks like it could mean some great publicity for doing what we do anyway. I’m up for it,’ Marcus says.

‘I’m in,’ Jay adds.

Sammy and Ant agree too. I look at Pauw, anticipating another yes.

‘I’m not sure,’ he says.

‘Why ever not?’

His shoulders sag. ‘I have a bit of a phobia of competitions.’

‘You? But you love being on stage.’

‘I love being on stage, but it’s different being up on stage and pitted against other acts.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’ I look at the other guys. ‘Listen, you guys go and get some rest; I’m going to have a chat with Paul.’ I pronounce his name properly to be more sensitive.

‘We’ll be doing the competition together, and I really think we could win,’ I say when the others have gone.

Paul sits down on a chair next to me. ‘I just get super-nervous, Kat. I think if I force myself up there, I’ll screw it up for you all.’

‘Don’t be daft. We’re a team and you’re an amazing performer. Can’t you just tell yourself it’s a show, not a competition?’

‘What if I fall flat on my face?’

‘You’re a trained acrobat and an experienced dancer – if you fell flat on your face it would be incredibly graceful and look like part of the act anyway. Look, it’s never happened before, so why would it happen in a competition?’

He shrugs. ‘I sound ridiculous, don’t I?’

‘A little bit,’ I say, adding a warm smile.

‘I entered a school talent comp when I was in year nine.’

‘Brave,’ I add, thinking back to my own teenage school years.

‘I was doing so well in front of my mirror each night. I sounded good. I was doing Craig David’s “Fill Me In” and I had a little dance routine and everything.’ He clasps his hands together.

‘And what happened?’ I ask softly.

‘I got up on stage and saw all those people. It was the whole school, teachers and parents. I was terrified. Anyway, when the music started, I counted the beats in. My heart was racing and I could hear that too. My hands started to tremble and I took deep breaths but it all got worse. Somehow, I managed to get the first line out on time but it was high-pitched and out of tune. I remember thinking it wasn’t even my voice that I could hear. It was awful but I carried on because that’s what you do. I thought if I pulled it all together and people heard what I’d heard in my bedroom when I practised they’d forget about my ropey start, but it just got worse. For some reason, I couldn’t get into the right key and I kept getting brain-block with the lyrics. In the end, the sight of people laughing was too much. I ran off stage in floods of tears. For weeks after that kids stopped me in the corridors to either impersonate my awful singing or say things like “Bet you wish you’d got someone to fill in for you”.’

I put my hand on his knee. ‘But that was when you were a kid. The pressures are different when you’re that age. You’re a confident man now.’ It seems a bit hypocritical of me to offer this advice when I’ve let my own high-school woes dictate part of my life before now, but I don’t go into that.

‘I know. I guess that fear is just embedded.’

‘We will get through this together as a team. We’ll be there by your side.’

‘I know you will. Thanks, Kat. You know the worst thing about it all?’

‘Things got worse?’ I say with soft humour.

‘The winner was one of the popular football kids who rapped “Slim Shady” – he had no musical talent whatsoever. He knew the words though.’

‘He had confidence,’ I say. ‘Confidence gets you further than any talent or skill. You’ve had a good eighteen years of being on stage in some form. You already have the confidence you lacked as a kid.’

He smiles. ‘Thanks, Kat. I just panicked. I’m going to do this. For you, and the boys.’

‘Good!’ I say, patting his back. ‘Now go and get some rest.’

‘I will. Do me a favour though – don’t tell the guys, will you? Pauw is bad enough – I don’t think I’ll cope with them calling me Craig David for the rest of eternity.’

I laugh softly. ‘My lips are sealed.’

He hugs me and leaves. Whilst I’m gathering my things Andrea comes over, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

‘What’s that look for?’ I ask.

‘Well, I’ve just spoken to Alonso, and he’s free today!’

‘I can’t do anything today. I’m working later and I’ve a tonne of stuff to sort out.’

‘Your show starts at ten p.m. and you already look fabulous. He’s going to be at the Hawaiian Beach Bar in half an hour for sundown drinks as requested.’

‘Half an hour?’

Andrea rummages in her glossy tote bag and pulls out various beautifying items. ‘Here, live spontaneously!’

With that, she walks off. I study the things she dumped on the table. A brush, some bits of make-up (not all fathomable), perfume, antiperspirant and chewing gum. If I didn’t know Andrea was happily married, I’d say spontaneous dates were her thing.

***

The mirror reflects a person I don’t recognise. Sparkling eyes, glossy hair and a healthy glow. The woman is smiling, full of confidence with just a hint of familiarity – a flashback to more carefree times perhaps? I’ve put in a huge amount of effort for tonight. I’ve been to the MAC counter and had my make-up done and even had a blow-dry in a Saks salon. The floaty dress I borrowed from a friend, and the gold strappy sandals were a charity shop steal. It’s not often I feel this confident; most of the time I’m back to being the invisible frumpy kid nobody likes.

I hear the front door open and I jump to my feet, smoothing down the wrinkles in my dress and grabbing the cake with ‘3 Years’ written on it in pink icing. Okay, the cake is cheesy, but Iain isn’t big on anniversary gifts so I went for a small gesture that would at least taste good. He works so hard that I want to make tonight special for him. I’ve booked a table at the curry house in town that he loves and filled the fridge with his favourite beers and snacks.

I wander downstairs hardly able to contain my grin. Iain is already slumped into the squishy sofa cushions, so I creep up behind him and hold the cake out.

‘Surprise!’ I bend down to kiss the side of his face. ‘Happy anniversary.’

I walk around the sofa to face him. His expression is more irked than surprised.

‘It’s three years today.’ My voice falters at his expression. He’s almost sneering.

‘Is it? Is that why you’ve done that to yourself?’ He flicks his hand in my direction.

‘I, er …’ My insides squirm.

‘God, you look like a dog’s dinner.’ He laughs at his own joke and slugs one of the beers I’d got him.

‘It’s just a look I was experimenting with. I didn’t do it, it was just one of those free make-up counter things.’

‘Well, I’d be flabbergasted if you’d paid to look like that. Where’s that dress from?’

‘Oh, a girl at work said she thought it would suit me so gave it to me to try on.’ My cheeks burn as I try to play down my efforts.

‘Looks like you’ve spent the day working with the blind.’ He chuckles, and for some reason, I do too.

‘I booked the Bay of Bengal for seven if you fancy it?’

‘A dinner date with Coco the Clown? An offer I can’t refuse,’ he says drily, popping the lid off another beer. I notice a half-eaten box of chocolates on the side and can’t help but feel a little miffed, which I shouldn’t really because he wasn’t to know I’d planned anything special. That’s the risk of a surprise though, isn’t it?

I force a smile. ‘I was going to have a wash and get changed. You were just home a little earlier than expected.’

‘Don’t get changed, love. You know I love you anyway, and at least I don’t have to worry about other blokes giving you the eye at the pub later.’ He winks.

I scurry upstairs as tears prick my eyes. My phone is on the bed, flashing with a text message. It’s from Ellie at work.

You looked stunning today, babe. I bet Iain thought all his Christmases had come at once when he saw you. Have a great night xxx

Hot tears escape. As I feel them taking the oily make-up down my face with them, I hit delete.

***

I head into the ladies and get to work. I don’t bother with much of the make-up, and quite frankly the 72-hour eyebrow liquid terrifies me. I mean, what if I painted them on wonky? Would I have to stay like that for 72 hours? I’m sure the whole eyebrow trend was manufactured by the make-up industry as a way to sell more products. In the Nineties, we all plucked our eyebrows to a pencil-thin line; then, once we’d all bought tweezers, sales must have dropped, so they had to invent eyebrow liquid to sell to us instead. It makes sense if you think about it. Anyway, I’m not falling into that trap. I’ve got enough body parts to worry about without adding eyebrows to the list.

I pop a chewing gum into my mouth and gather up Andrea’s mini-makeover salon.

‘How do I look?’ I say, plonking the cosmetics on the bar. She’s restocking the fridge but stands up to get a good look.

‘How you doin’?’ She winks.

‘Ahh, so you’re binge-watching Friends again.’

She giggles. ‘Yes, could it be any funnier?’

I give her a weary look.

‘Okay, sorry. You look stunning. Now get yourself down to the bar!’

Chapter 8

I can’t believe I’m on my second date in as many days. My mother would say there’s a name for people like me, but I don’t care – I’m here and I’m doing this. Andrea said to look out for a tall, well-built man in a dark navy suit. The bar is quiet given that it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon so I spot him straight away.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I’m Kat.’ Andrea was right; he is incredibly handsome. His hair is probably chin-length but is neatly slicked back with product.

‘Kat! Nice to meet you.’ He jumps up and swiftly moves around to pull out my chair.

Heat flushes my cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re looking radiant.’

‘Thank you,’ I repeat, as the back of my neck tingles again. Weird. I don’t think I’ll ever be one of those women who can take a compliment gracefully.

We mull over the drinks menu in silence, and when the waiter approaches us, Alonso speaks to him in Spanish.

‘Is there anything you’d like, or shall I order you a surprise cocktail?’ he asks. He does seem polite and at least gives me a choice, which is good. Fingers crossed no laden remarks about my work will ensue.

A surprise cocktail? I’m intrigued. Is he a strawberry daiquiri or a Moscow Mule kind of guy?

‘Surprise me,’ I say, and why not? It seems to be the theme of the day.

‘So, tell me about yourself. How long have you been here? Where are you from in England?’ His English is very smooth, beautifully laced with his Spanish accent.

He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, so I settle into my seat.

‘I’m from Yorkshire originally. I got married but that didn’t work out, and I came over here about eight years ago to make a fresh start. I presume Andrea already told you what I do for a living?’

‘She did.’ His face doesn’t slacken into some creepy leer like Mike’s did, which is a start. ‘I think it’s great what you do. I’ve heard all about the Heavenly Hunks and think it’s fantastic what you’ve achieved.’

My chest puffs a little and I look him in the eyes. ‘Thank you, that means a lot. I’ve worked hard and the guys are just fantastic. I really enjoy it.’

The waiter brings our cocktails over and places them down on little white serviettes. He puts some peanuts in the centre of the table and walks off.

‘You know what they say about bar nuts?’ I pull a face.

He frowns. ‘No, what do they say?’

‘That they’re bacteria-ridden because of all the unwashed hands that have been in them. Although, I think I might have learnt that fact from a movie at some point.’ Ben Stiller springs to mind.

‘These here are fresh, I can guarantee it.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘This is my bar,’ he says casually, before grabbing a handful of peanuts. ‘We put out brand-new nuts with each order.’

‘Ahh, okay. So these are safe?’ I grab a handful of my own. ‘I was just about to ask what you did. Andrea said you were in business.’

‘Yes, the bar business. I have a chain of cocktail bars throughout the Canary Islands, so I travel around a lot and work long, unsociable hours. I suppose that’s why I’m still single.’ He forces a laugh, and I find myself warming to him.

‘That makes sense,’ I say. I suppose it would be easy to write a guy like Alonso off as being a bit of a player. I imagine if I ever did settle down, the hours I work could be an issue too. It’s not something I’ve worried about before.

I take a sip of my cocktail. ‘Mm, this is good. What is it?’

‘It’s one I picked up when I travelled to Ibiza. It’s Aperol, soda, cava, mint and orange. An Aperol twist on the mojito. I call it the Aperol Zest.’

We chat over the drinks and Alonso orders us another round. Before I know it, it’s seven o’clock.

‘Goodness, I didn’t realise the time. I’m going to have to go and get ready for the show tonight.’

‘Of course. I’m heading over to one of my other premises too; I have a new manager to meet with, but I’ve enjoyed meeting you. I’d like to do this again if you would?’

I get a flutter of excitement. Mike was attractive until he opened his mouth but Alonso is next-level handsome. It’s hard to believe someone like him is even asking someone like me. I’d half expected him to end the date with a polite ‘I’ll see you around’.

‘I’d love to.’

We swap numbers, and when I stand up, I feel a little woozy. I’ll have to have a strong coffee when I get back to the apartment.

Alonso escorts me outside and stops by a very low, very expensive-looking red sports car. I don’t know or care much about cars but even I know that it’s fancy.

‘I’ll see you soon.’ He leans over and kisses my cheek before opening the door.

‘Bye,’ I say. He starts the engine and there’s a thunderous roar. ‘Bloody hell,’ I mutter under my breath as he drives off.

On my way home, I catch up on all my messages. Ant can’t find his white T-shirt, Andrea is desperate to know how the drinks went, and then there are a few emails.

Dear Kat,

I say this with a heavy heart, but we’re going to have to cancel the next block of shows booked across our chain. Our bookings have really taken a hit this year and I can’t guarantee we’ll sell enough show tickets to break even. I’m sorry. I hope things turn around for us all soon.

Best wishes,

Marco

General Manager

Sunseeker Resort and Leisure group

My heart thumps in my chest. ‘What the …?’ I whisper.

The Sunseeker chain is four hotels. Each one had booked four shows over the winter season. That’s sixteen shows wiped off our calendar before Christmas, coupled with the two other cancellations I’ve already had. Even with the ten per cent cancellation fee imposed, I can’t afford to keep me and the guys in accommodation if I don’t think of something to fix this mess.

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