She remained still as her cheeks reddened and she shrivelled in her chair, ‘Yeh… I’m aware too.’
‘That’s a good thing isn’t it?’
‘I suppose.’
‘So what’s going on with Nick?’ she asked, a little too bluntly for Lucy.
‘Nothing! Can we please stop talking about him!’
‘Fine!’ Amanda said firmly, turning to the tea again. ‘Fine!’
‘Fine!’ Lucy huffed, angrily wrapping her dressing gown tight round her body. A frosty silence enveloped the room, everything trembled on tenterhooks.
Not content that the matter was over, Amanda thought she’d cut the atmosphere with a nerve-splintering chainsaw, ‘I will just say…’ she began with full intent, ‘I’m glad you’re finally moving on, but falling for a man without an emotional marble in his head…’ she paused for effect while Lucy’s mouth lowered like a drawbridge, ‘…with the serious issues that he has…’ she added an octave higher, ‘…would be the most disastrous thing you could do right now!’ Amanda felt better; she blew out a glorious weight-lifting sigh – a sigh similar in magnitude to the Great Royal Sigh exhaled by Elizabeth I after the Spanish Armada came a cropper. For Lucy the words were heard but not absorbed, which was sufficient for her pride to raise the drawbridge, light up the moat and call for archers. Red mist rose behind her eyes; all she felt was pure dislike for her sister and communication had to be broken with immediate effect; she was going to give the most hurtful look she could muster then storm out. Lucy’s assembled archers fired out of her hateful glare into Amanda’s uncertain expression until every arrow was spent; she then marched to her room, slamming the door upon her bed-flopping entrance.
Like strangers in transit, Nick and Konrad were internally occupied and sat in stony silence as the train pulled into Gatwick Airport station on a sunny Friday morning. Zombie-eyed, they collected their weekend bags and moped to the platform alongside hordes of smiling travellers, jaunty in anticipation of their far-flung holidays.
Lucy gazed out of the passenger window as Amanda pulled her Audi SUV into Gatwick Airport’s drop off point. She quickly got out, laboriously lifted her heaving suitcase from the back and dragged it over to a waiting group of musicians without word of thanks to her sister. Amanda shook her head as she peered through impressively-narrowed eyes at Lucy, intentionally standing with her back to the car. She wheel-span away in sibling-induced fury – something she’d soon regret as she immediately ground to a halt behind traffic at the nearby roundabout.
Seated together on the plane, Nick and Konrad continued to ignore each other – much to the pleasure of the young man asleep against the window. Sat in the middle, Konrad sank mini-bottles of red wine with his earphones plugged-in while Nick contentedly drew in his sketchpad. At one point they accidentally brushed elbows, causing great displeasure, but they simply twisted their bodies to affirm their continued dislike for each other.
Occupying the first two seats on a separate flight to Tenerife, a band manager chatted enthusiastically with a bearded roadie about a dramatic lighting sequence he’d envisaged the previous night on a bellyful of tequila and pain-killers. Next to them, lost in another dimension somewhere among the fleecy clouds, Lucy gazed out the window at the brilliant sun-flared blues and whites – oblivious to the conversations and decisions being made by colleagues around her.
Nick calmly sketched in his pad while Konrad fidgeted in his seat, trying to sleep against the headrest. He soon gave up and grabbed the in-flight magazine, Supercelestial, from the seat pocket. The celebrity queen of the day, Corsica Coleman, was splashed across the front cover – plugging her position as judge on a hit British talent show as well as her headlining appearance at the Tenerife Summer Festival. Konrad tutted to himself for so long that it began to sound like a drum roll.
‘Look at this!’ he said with disgust, ‘Another uncreative corporate Barbie headlining a rock festival! What’s the world coming to eh?’ he said loudly, forgetting he was supposed to be ignoring his travel companion. He sat upright and engrossed himself in the article pretending he hadn’t just broken the silent treatment he’d personally prescribed; Nick, of course, heard every word but was pleased he didn’t have to acknowledge it with a reply that’d only prolong the moan.
Konrad read on, ashamed to find himself drawn into the rags-to-riches story of the blonde beauty from Birmingham who was chosen above thousands to lead the manufactured girl-band, Zesty! He hated himself for being interested in how she’d overcome her obese, nerdy childhood and blossomed into a competition-winning stunner who had four consecutive number ones with the group before going on to judge the popular talent show, The Future? He physically pinched himself for reading the trivial section on her personal life and how she’d recently separated from fellow celebrity, Jo-E Williams, and sought help for cocaine addiction, recently leaving rehab a brand new person. Konrad stuffed the magazine back in the seat pocket after learning that an autobiography was due out for Christmas. He rocked angrily in his chair, frustrated at not being able to vent. The man by the window suddenly woke, fluttering his eyelids as he gathered his bearings following a satisfying slobbery doze. He wiped his mouth with the sweatshirt he’d used as a makeshift pillow and Konrad was on him like a shot; he took out the magazine and thrust it under the man’s face, pointing at the photo of Corsica Coleman leaving rehab wearing a stunning dress and radiant smile, ‘Look at this!’ he whined, ‘Another uncreative corporate Barbie headlining a rock festival! What’s the world coming to eh?’
Lucy was enthralled in the same article, admiring the photo of Corsica’s love-rat boyfriend, Jo-E Williams. He looked a lot like Nick, she thought, and weighed up the comparisons; she concluded that Nick was probably more attractive as Jo-E appeared a little too prim and metrosexual. She soon snapped out of her daydream and internally berated herself for such insanely girlish thoughts.
Stretched out on their beds in the simple whitewashed room of Hotel las Arenas, a three-star hotel overlooking the main beach and boulevard of El Médano – a small resort in the south of Tenerife – Nick and Konrad stared at the ceiling in silence as sunlight poured through the balcony doors. When Konrad burst into rage at a particularly persistent fly Nick decided to go on the balcony, leaving his friend to fence his winged foe with a rolled-up copy of The Guardian. Nick looked down at the plaza and main section of bars and restaurants. Already a small group of neo-hippies had congregated along the beach wall, mingling with tourists and locals. They were selling handmade trinkets and artisan jewellery; some were playing guitars and bongos, trying to make enough money for food and wares. His father wasn’t there though. Nick looked at the string of bays that ran the length of town, concluding at the foot of the imposing Montaña Roja and surrounding reserve. Somewhere around there, after the final row of bars and windsurf centres, lived his dad; he was probably there now, washing clothes in the sea or preparing an early evening fire. Nick planned to visit him after the festival but didn’t fancy staying in the room to be ignored by Konrad, so he grabbed his belongings and headed out for a stroll. Konrad only realised he’d left after the door slammed, pausing from his fly-ruckus to reflect on the ridiculous situation they found themselves in. They were on a weekend break in Spain to celebrate Nick’s birthday, Konrad was supposed to support him make contact with the father he hadn’t spoken to in years, yet here they were childishly ignoring each other. As he reflected, the fly attempted an audacious attack on the inside of his right ear, coming in fast and low for maximum irritability. It felt it had the better of Konrad as it neared, commencing its noisy fly-by upon arrival at the auditory canal, but was sent tumbling by a rolled-up newspaper and the instincts of man who needed to finish his train of thought without interruption. Unaware of his Jedi-like disposal of the irksome insect, Konrad grabbed the room key and went to find Nick.
Lucy was also feeling antisocial as she unpacked in her upmarket hotel room while band members frolicked loudly next door. The sun was settin
g on a pensive day of low energy and she went to the balcony overlooking the sprawling Costa Adeje to enjoy the vibrant natural display painted across the sky. Lucy’s knots eased as the sea breeze caught her breath. Her hair blew softly as she gazed at the tiny lights sparkling up along the coastline and she smiled for the first time that day. Darkness began to descend over the colourful remnants of an indifferent period and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. She dashed inside, snatched the key off the bed and went to enjoy a stroll in the balmy night air. In the lift on the way down she took out her phone and sent a single-worded message to Amanda. It simply said, ‘Sorry.’
Although Nick was in a bar twenty metres from the hotel chatting to a group of dark Canarian girls in broken English, Konrad failed to find him – mainly because he didn’t make it out of the hotel. Instead he found himself mesmerised by the receptionist as he skipped down the steps into the small foyer. She consumed his attention and all thoughts of patching things up with Nick evaporated with every facial expression as she pleasantly dealt with guests at the front desk. He watched her for an uneasy amount of time, his head tilted like a mentally-challenged poodle. It was incredible; she was exactly like Penny Albright. He’d never encountered a strong association between his ex and someone else before. She was utterly lovely to him; for the first time in years Konrad was spellbound, his legs lost all stability and he felt as dizzy as a stoned squirrel. He gathered himself when the guests left reception and the Penny-lookalike returned to her typing; he had to speak to her but what would he say? He searched his mind for a tourist-related question to break the ice, something related to excursions or local events. If she was friendly enough maybe he could swing the conversation round to the festival and subtly introduce a social element. As he approached the desk he decided on boat trips, he was going to ask about whale and dolphin tours and slowly build-up the conversation to extract basic information and deduce interest.
‘Wanna go to the festival with me tomorrow?’ he blurted out instead, wearing the same gormless poodle expression as when he first saw her. She looked up from her keyboard and made eye-contact – Konrad’s pulse quickened double-time. Expressionless, the girl held her gaze, sizing him up and testing his nerve. He had to bashfully look away several times but always returned to meet her eyes, which she liked. He was nice, she decided. He wasn’t exactly James Dean – not by a longshot – but he seemed sweet and had an intense energy that she found interesting.
‘I’m already going.’ she said sharply with an East European accent.
‘Oh.’ he replied, sensing disinterest.
‘Saturdays are my day off.’ she said and returned to her computer. Konrad delayed, unsure how to take the remark. He concluded that both her comments, although vague, were a rejection and lightly tapped the desk with his fingertips and turned to leave. ‘Although I finish in an hour if you fancy a drink and discuss going together?’
The words took a moment to sink in but when they did Konrad wore a smile only seen on dancers in cabaret spectaculars; he leaned over the desk, ‘Then I’ll see you in one hour!’ and he shot upstairs to shower and spruce. He sent Nick a message on the way to his room:
You won’t believe it – I just pulled! Going for a drink. Sorry about before.
Lucy also failed to leave her hotel. She got as far as the reception bar where a smart Spanish barman with spectacles and a side-parting served her daiquiris until the early hours of the morning.
Act II
Chapter 8
Rock & Rot
Nick arrived at the restaurant table sporting a jaunty expression and over-heaped plate of oddly-matched breakfast types.
‘Gotta love a good buffet!’ he said as he sat opposite Konrad, wearing dark sunglasses and pushing a few pieces of fruit around his plate. ‘What’s up with you? I thought you went out with a girl last night?’
‘I did’
‘So what happened? She discovered you’re a one-armed cretin and went home?’ he teased. Konrad signalled to a passing waitress who rushed over with a steaming coffee pot.
‘Black.’ he croaked at her.
‘So?’ Nick pressed as the waitress left to serve the next delicate man wearing sunglasses at a nearby table.
‘Er… not sure.’
‘Why? She rough?’
‘No!’
‘So what’s the problem? Did you get to…?’
‘Oh for god’s sake, Nick!’
‘What?’
‘It’s nothing to do with her appearance; she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. It’s more…’
‘Yeh?’
‘Everything else!’ he said wearing a disappointed expression; Nick looked at him confused. ‘I suppose it’s everything she says, her general attitude, her every thought and opinion – she’s just the most appalling person!’
‘Oh.’ Nick offered as consolation.
‘Problem is she’s so damn attractive. I’ve been up all night trying to rationalise my feelings. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Are you sure it’s not just you being you!’
‘Nick, she insulted a disabled boy near our table and continually made offensive remarks about anyone fatter or darker than she is!’
‘I see, well to you she must seem like the devil!’
‘Exactly! This is my dilemma – she’s one sexy Satan.’
‘Okay, gather round everyone.’ Lucy said to a group of musicians and crew members gathered on the pitch inside the stadium of Playa de las Américas. ‘Soundcheck is about to start so I won’t keep you long. There’s been a small line-up change so I have confirmation of your performance times here; as before Loaded come on at 5pm, but afterwards is a recently-added Jamaican band which means Sacred Simplicity do their set at seven instead of six, Okay guys?’
‘Suppose so.’ said the singer in a gruff northern accent.
‘It’s a much better slot. The stadium should be more or less full by then so be sure to give it your coolest!’ she enthused naively. The frontman scoffed and whispered something derogatory to the drummer.
Loaded’s band manager stepped forward with his arm wrapped around their guitarist’s shoulders, ‘If we give it our coolest can we get a better slot?’ he said sarcastically.
Lucy ruffled as the group laughed and dug deep, ‘This is the organiser’s confirmed line-up and is final, any further questions?’
‘What time’s the bubblegum-queen on?’ asked the manager.
‘The headline act will be performing around midnight.’
‘And she’s obviously too important to soundcheck with everyone else?’ sneered Loaded’s guitarist.
‘She doesn’t need to, she’ll be miming to a backing track.’ joked the manager.
‘Do the sound guys know to turn off the mics and put her CD on?’ yelled a hairy man at the back unknown to everyone else, presumably tagging along out of confused curiosity. They collectively turned and acknowledged him with a polite nod.
‘Seeing as this place will be rammed later and that the event’s getting tremendous exposure as a direct result of Corsica Coleman’s attachment, I’d quit complaining if I was you!’ Lucy said angrily. ‘Now make sure you’re all here at least one hour before you go onstage.’ Her phone beeped with a message from Nick as the group splintered into their preferred cliques. ‘And don’t get wrecked from now till then!’ she shouted as she opened the message:
What time and where we meeting later?
Lucy smiled to herself; she already picked out the perfect meetup point when she arrived. She typed back:
Meet at the enormous lookalike… 4pm!
Lucy’s message was made evidently clear when the gleaming taxi pulled up outside the small stadium’s entrance, dominated by a white statue of the eponym, Antonio Domínguez Alfonso – a smart, bespectacled man with a pristine side-parting. Nick grinned and paid the fare as Konrad got out looking concerned.
‘Lucy’s meeting us over by the statue.’ Nick said, ‘And stop looking so worried, Littl
e Miss Lucifer’s not getting here till later!’
‘I know but I’ve never been so conflicted. I’m dreading seeing her!’ Konrad said as he dabbed his already perspiring forehead; the afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, ensuring perfect conditions for revellers who like hot, sweaty festivals crammed to the rafters. The pair carefully crossed the road – trying to avoid reckless taxis and local drivers hurtling along the opposite side to their familiar streets in Camden – and saw Lucy emerge from inside the stadium.
‘There you are!’ she said, elated to see them both. Nick quickened his step and planted a couple of impassioned kisses on her cheeks, inheriting one of the Spanish customs he’d observed and incorporated into his armoury of charm. ‘Gosh, how European!’ she said blushing.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, ‘Great to see you!’
‘Great to see you too! Like the meetup point?’ she asked, gesturing to the statue that closely resembled her ex.
‘Perfect.’ he said with a Hollywood smile and eye-twinkle usually found in airbrushed lifestyle magazines. The pair remained locked as Konrad grew anxious and interrupted.
‘Hello Lucy… nice to see you too!’
‘Hi Konrad. Nice flight in?’ she offered embarrassedly.
‘Not really. Many people here yet?’
‘Just a hundred or so, the first band’s only just started.’ she said as the hollow mumble of acoustic rock echoed around the stadium’s interior walls. ‘One of the groups I represent is on next.’
‘So let’s go in and get started!’ Nick said and led the way to the entrance.
‘Hang on! Backstage passes!’ She searched through her bag and placed the lanyards around their necks, ‘Now we can get the party started!’
‘You got another one of those?’ Konrad asked timidly.
‘Who for?’
‘He’s got a girlfriend!’ Nick teased, pulling at Konrad’s cheeks like an excitable grandmother. Lucy looked as stunned as Julia Roberts when she thought she lost a finger to a jewellery box in Pretty Woman.
Double Ex: A Romantic Comedy about Lost Love & Lookalikes Page 7