by Fiona Leitch
“Sylvia’s not happy about it, though?”
“No. This was meant to be a girls’ trip. It still is, it’s not like I’m spending that much time with him. I think she disapproves of casual sex.” Heather giggled again. Blimey, it was starting to become a habit. “Although there is nothing casual about sex the way he does it - let’s just say I know what I was missing, all those years with Colin. God, he was boring. Karl makes me feel young and reckless again. Not that I ever was bloody reckless to begin with.”
“There’s nowt wrong with being old and reckless,” I said. “It’s never too late to start.” Will nodded.
“We’re old and reckless all the time,” he said. Heather smiled gratefully.
“I knew you two would understand. But Sylvia’s been my friend for years. We met at primary school, we got married the same year, had babies the same year, got bloody divorced the same year. I’ve never not known her! So please don’t think badly of her.”
“I don’t,” I said, although I kind of did. The woman had accused me of murder, bribery and being an evil, manipulative old slapper. “I would like her to stop accusing me in front of everyone though…”
Heather nodded. “I know. I told her she was out of order. We had a big argument and she flounced off and I’ve not seen her since.” She stood up. “She’ll come round. I’ll have another word with her later. I just wanted to apologise.”
“No need,” I said, smiling warmly at her. “But thank you anyway.”
She turned to go, then turned back. “Oh yeah, Zoé wanted to me to tell you there’s karaoke on this evening and that you have to go.”
Will groaned.
“Don’t shoot me, I’m just the messenger,” said Heather. “Zoé would have my guts for garters if I didn’t pass on the invitation. She seems to think that you’re the Karaoke Queen…?”
I grinned at Will and he groaned again. I have mentioned a few times on social media that I like a good singalong. Just putting it out there, in case…
“Oh we’ll be there,” I said. What better way to prove I wasn’t hiding away, wracked with guilt, than by belting out a few bars of ‘Copacabana’?
Chapter 21
The karaoke was taking place in yet another venue we hadn’t come across before - the Gatsby nightclub. The Art Deco theme that ran throughout the ship was given full rein here. Plush, padded, intimate seating booths, perfectly contoured for illicit rendezvous and clandestine champagne drinking, were raised above an eating area full of dining tables and high backed, studded leather chairs, and were separated from the diners by a sleek brass railing. A long, sinuous bar, made from one solid piece of walnut so highly polished that it glowed warmly and reflected the lights of the ornate chandelier above, hugged one side of the dance floor, leaving plenty of room for doing the Charleston or (more likely) un-coordinated jigging about and general Dad dancing. At the other side a sweeping staircase lined with a brass and walnut balustrade mirrored the curve of the bar, circling upwards to a VIP area.
Right at the end of the room was a small stage, with a DJ booth stuck incongruously at one side. And on the other side was the karaoke screen.
I am a bit of a karaoke queen, I have to admit. I used to be in a band at university - it was the only reason I lasted there as long as I did, and I spent my grant money (yes, I’m old enough to have had - and wasted - not only free tuition but a full maintenance grant) on a synthesiser rather than text books. I couldn’t read music but the band’s singer was a genius who could go from playing Chopin to Black Sabbath to Gary Numan without missing a beat, and he would show me how to play stuff. I was quick to pick it up - I think I must actually have had some musical talent lurking there after all - so when we played gigs I would play the guitar on some songs and keyboards on others; and I wrote lyrics to the music he would come up with. But I never sang. I grew up listening to the likes of Toyah and Blondie and Kate Bush; when I was 9 I desperately wanted to be Pauline Black in The Selector. But I was never brave enough to sing.
And then in later years I discovered alcohol, karaoke and that art of not giving a damn that comes with age, and I made up for it. But that was in pubs and wine bars, usually with Susie who would be equally (or more) drunk. This was like singing at Wembley Arena in comparison.
And of course past karaoke audiences hadn’t suspected me of being a killer, although I had been known to murder the odd 1980s chart hit.
The bar was busy and most of the tables were full as Will and I entered. Movement caught my eye from one of the booths, where Zoé, Michael and Harvey were comfortably ensconced, and all three waved us over.
“I’m so glad you came!” trilled Zoé, excitedly. “I remember you saying on Facebook once that you like karaoke. I love it! Maybe we could sing something together?”
“That’d be great,” I said. I normally don’t like to share the limelight - I’ve sung with some truly terrible singers, and prefer to perform on my own - but I wasn’t sure how friendly (or otherwise) this crowd would be, so thought it would be nice to have moral support. Harvey handed me a list of songs.
“Here,” he said. “We’ve already chosen one.”
Will glanced at the list briefly, then stood up. “Drinks?”
While he was at the bar, I studied the list.
“Let me guess - Abba?” Joel stood in front of me. I flushed (why are you going red, stupid cheeks?!) as he slipped into the booth next to me, taking Will’s place.
Zoé looked at Joel with her mouth open, then at me with a gleam in her eye.
“That’s a great idea,” she said. “We could do ‘Dancing Queen’.”
I nodded, not really caring. I’d been looking forward to it in our cabin, while we were getting ready, but now we were here I was wondering how many of the people around us had heard Sylvia’s accusations, how many had read that piece on Twitter, and how many had already decided I was guilty. Perhaps me singing was a little insensitive? But then I’d no more killed Louise than anyone else on this ship (bar one) - should they all stop having fun and hide away in their cabins?
“I’ll go and put our name down!” said Zoé excitedly, and she disappeared.
“I think Will needs a hand at the bar,” said Michael, and he and Harvey jumped up as well. Don’t everyone bloody leave me with Joel! I thought, but of course I didn’t say anything.
Joel grinned at me. “Was it something I said?”
“No, you smell.” Ooh, great come back, Bella…
Joel took the list from me and studied it, but I could see that he wasn’t really reading it.
“So…” he said eventually. “Have you had a chance to think about what I said the other day?”
For a moment I did not have a clue what he was going on about. And then I realised he meant his confession that he still loved me. The one he’d managed to make without actually saying it. To my surprise I realised that I actually hadn’t really thought about it after the initial shock.
“Have they got that Taylor Swift one? The one that goes ‘we are never getting back together’?” I pretended to study the list again. He laughed gently.
“Okay, I probably deserve that.” He looked at me, suddenly serious and intense. God damn it, he did intense really bloody well. And smoulder - boy, could he smoulder. I was almost surprised the seat didn’t catch fire beneath his tight, muscular buttocks stop it Bella!!!
“I really am sorry,” he said. “I treated you very badly.”
“You were a total shit.”
“Yes, I was. And a bloody idiot. I didn’t appreciate what I had. I won’t make that mistake again, Bella.”
“You won’t get the chance to, Joel.”
On stage, the MC tapped the mike in the way of MCs, roadies and sound engineers the world over, then welcomed everyone to the Great Gatsby Karaoke night.
“And kicking us off tonight with our very first song, we have Will!”
Not my Will? There must be loads of Wills and Bills a
nd Williams on this ship. But no. I looked over at the stage and there he was, the last person I’d expected to sing tonight. He smiled over at me as the music played and opened his mouth - and then I was lost in his song. Somewhere beyond the sea… He never even sang in the shower at home - I sing everywhere - and I was amazed to discover that he had a lovely, mellow singing voice, just right for the old 50s number.
I watched, enchanted, aware that Joel was watching me in return. I heard him sigh.
“He’s got a good voice.”
“He’s got an amazing voice,” I corrected him. “I had no idea…” I turned to Joel. “That’s the sort of surprise a woman wants from her husband, not the type that involves finding another woman’s pants in his car.”
He smiled, and there was definitely a touch of regret in it - not an emotion I’d ever really connected with him.
“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” It was a question, but he could already see the answer on my face.
“Yes. Very. He makes me feel safe.” I saw his mouth open, ready to pounce on that, and I stopped him. “I don’t mean ‘safe’ as in boring, I mean he makes me feel secure. I could trust him with my life, not just my heart.”
Joel looked at me for a moment, then nodded and got up without saying anything. I turned my attention back to the stage, where Will was coming to the end of the song. He looked to be massively enjoying himself, somewhat to his surprise I thought.
He finished to an enormous round of applause, which also seemed to surprise him, then handed the microphone to the MC and diffidently trotted back to the booth. I jumped up and threw my arms around him as the others returned with the drinks.
“That was a-bloody-mazing!” I cried. He laughed.
“I didn’t embarrass you?” he asked. I shook my head.
“Of course not. You know that I’m the embarrassing one in this relationship…”
Up on stage someone began strangling a cat - or possibly singing, I wasn’t too sure - to the tune of ’Take On Me’, as Heather wandered past the booth. Harvey waved, but she was too busy adjusting the buttons on her blouse to notice him.
“Alright, Heather?” I called. She stopped and looked up guiltily, then automatically glanced over to the other side of the dance floor where Karl was loitering. He winked at her and looked away.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, a little breathlessly. I inclined my head towards Karl and she laughed as she sat down, Zoé squeezing along the booth to make room. She turned to Will.
“Was that really you singing?” Will nodded, trying not to look too pleased with himself but failing. If I wasn’t careful he would be trying to wrestle my karaoke crown from me.
“So are you going to get up there?” he asked.
Heather shook her head. “I’m so tone deaf I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” she said. “But I did see that Sylvia’s put her name down.”
Will and I looked at each, surprised.
“Is she here, then?” I asked, looking around. I wasn’t sure if singing would be a good idea if she was. Heather shrugged.
“She must be, but I haven’t seen her since this morning,” she said. “She never could resist karaoke, though. She’s put herself down for ‘I Will Survive’. She always sings that one.”
Several more singers - or ‘singers’, as some of them could more accurately be called - performed with varying degrees of skill but lots of enthusiasm, and the audience clapped and cheered warmly for all of them. Harvey and Michael got up and sang ‘I Got You Babe’, scandalising the older and more conservative half of the crowd - “Margery, there’s two men singing a love song to each other up there! It’s PC gone mad!” - and winning over everyone else with their obvious devotion.
I was complimenting the newly weds on their vocal prowess, when a huge cheer went up for the next singer. I looked up, mid-sentence -
“ - and when you harmonised that bit at the end - ”
- and stopped, mouth hanging open, as I saw the figure on stage. Joel. I wondered for a moment if he was trying to impress or surprise me, the way Will had knocked my socks off with his song; but I dismissed that as being ridiculous. He must know by now I was happy with Will and, looking at him up there, I didn’t imagine that he’d have much trouble replacing me. Not that he should even be thinking about that, not when he should really be mourning Louise. Although I got the impression that had been less of a relationship and more of a convenient arrangement.
Joel looked over at me with that arrogant grin of his - I felt a flush starting but shook it off - then the music started, and I knew I was in trouble.
I’d heard Joel singing before - it had been one of our ‘things’ - singing in the car on long journeys, giving it our all without embarrassment, even with the windows down (although we did normally go a bit quiet at traffic lights). We would take it in turns to choose CDs; sometimes it would be classic rock and pop like ELO (everybody knows and loves at least one ELO tune), sometimes it would be 80s hip hop like the Beastie Boys (I know all the words to ‘Licensed to Ill’), and sometimes - when it was Joel’s choice - it would be harder rock stuff, like Muse or the Pixies. But tonight he wasn’t singing any of our old favourites.
The strains of ‘Back For Good’ by Take That started up, and most of the women in the room, and no doubt a few of the men, were immediately putty in Joel’s hands. I say most, because of course I was completely immune to his charms by now. Honest…
I could feel Will watching me watching my ex-husband, and tore my gaze away from the snake-hipped sex god on stage oh my GOD Bella, you did not just say that! to smile at my gorgeous, wonderful, current husband.
“He’s not as good as you, is he?” I said. Will shrugged.
“His voice is pretty good.”
“I wasn’t talking about his singing, I meant generally. He’s not as good as you.”
Will gave me a big smile which contained a hint of relief, I thought. I leant over and kissed him hard on the lips.
“What was that for?” he asked, a little surprised but pleased.
“Do I need an excuse to kiss you?” The answer was obviously ‘no’, as he pulled me towards him and leaned in for a proper, full-on, tongues-and-everything pash. We don’t normally go in for big PDAs, but sometimes you just gotta show the world you love each other.
On stage, Joel was singing about how he wanted someone back for good - surely not me - and his voice wobbled slightly. I felt a brief (and completely unaccustomed) rush of power. Maybe it was me he wanted back. Tough. You shouldn’t have thrown me away, I thought. And then I felt a bit guilty, because there’s never any need to be cruel when it comes to people’s feelings. The song finished and Joel disappeared into the crowd at the bar, overwhelmed by a gaggle of over-excited, over-50 divorcées. Never to be seen again…
There was still no sign of Sylvia. I’d looked all over for her, even taking a detour around the entire club when I went to the loo for a pre-performance pee. The MC called her, but she didn’t come up to the stage. Heather asked him to put her name further down the list in case she turned up later; Sylvia had never been known to miss a karaoke night at their local British Legion club, not even that time she’d had bronchitis. She’d forced herself out of bed and had drunk half a bottle of Prosecco on top of her antibiotics. Her performance that night had apparently been so memorable it was still talked about in living rooms all across Chesterfield.
I went to the bar for some Dutch courage (although to be fair it was a rather nice New Zealand Sauvignan Blanc I was drinking, so maybe Kiwi courage would be more accurate). But I’d obviously had more than enough liquid bravery, as I didn’t spot the outstretched walking stick until I tripped over it. Luckily for me (but not for her) the elderly Doris, reclining on a banquette, was there to break my fall.
I leapt up, mortified; I was already in the frame for one murder, and I didn’t want a crushed geriatric on my rap sheet as well. Her daughter, Sarah, leapt up too, reaching out to
tug me onto my feet and fuss over me.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” she said, and it occurred to me that it was the first time I’d actually heard her speak; she was always drowned out by her domineering mother.
“I’m fine,” I said, “it’s your mum I’m worried about.”
Sarah lowered her voice and grinned. “She’s as tough as old boots.”
“WHAT?!” said Doris.
“I’M SO SORRY!” I said loudly. “I HOPE I DIDN’T HURT YOU!”
Doris cackled. “I’m as tough as old boots, me. It’s you young ones I worry about.” She glanced at Sarah then back at me, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Take this one here - ”
Sarah groaned. “Not now, Mum…”
“Wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Too timid - ”
“I’m not timid, Mum, I just don’t think Miss Tyson wants to hear all about us -”
I could feel the beginnings of an awkward and long-running family dispute rumbling towards me, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of a way to get back to my seat without it looking rude (damn you, British manners!!). So I just smiled at Sarah and said, “It’s Bella, please.”
She smiled back, looking absurdly happy, but Doris carried on.
“She’s been trying to find a way to talk to you for the whole cruise,” said the elderly matriarch. I could sense Sarah attempting to sink into the ground next to me and felt sorry for her. “The whole point of coming on this cruise was to talk to you.”
Sarah blushed furiously. “That’s not strictly true - ”
“She’s a crime writer like you.” Doris babbled on, oblivious to or just ignoring the frantic and embarrassed ‘zip it’ motions of her daughter. “She’s a brilliant writer but she just hasn’t got anywhere. Too scared to show anyone her writing.”
“Well that’s not true either!” said Sarah, defensively. “I have sent it out to agents, I’m still waiting to hear back from a few…”
“It can take ages,” I said. “Glaciers move quicker than the publishing industry. It took 8 months for my first agent to read my book.”