Sun, Sea and Sangria

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.’