My route back to my room takes me through the hotel foyer and past the door of the huge entertainment area, where tables are groupedaround a small stage, on which a very orange looking gentleman in a suit is singingMy Wayin a style that would probably be described as ‘crooning’. Just in front of the stage is a dance-floor, upon which a group of under 5s are skidding around in their socks, and off to one side is a long bar surrounded by holidaymakers, all in various states of inebriation.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, I notice a series of low, squashy sofas near the back of the room, on which Alice and Julian are currently reclining, like the Lord and Lady of the Manor, with Rita on a seat opposite them, wearing so many bracelets it’s a wonder she can raise her arms.
“Coo-eee, Summer! Over ‘ere!” she shouts, catching sight of me hovering uncertainly by the entrance. “The waiter’s just taken our drinks order,” she adds as I go over to join them. “If you hurry, you can still catch him.”
“I’m fine, thanks, Rita,” I reply, sinking into the seat next to her. “I had a bit too much sangria with dinner, so nothing for me.”
“At dinner, did you say?” says Alice, leaning forward so she can hear me over the music. “But we didn’t see you at dinner, did we, Julian? That young Alex was there all on his own, poor thing, wasn’t he?”
Julian nods obediently.
“So, if you weren’t at dinner withhim,” Alice finishes, an excited glint in her eye, “Does that mean—?”
I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
“I was with Jamie,” I confirm, wincing in pain as Rita squeals with delight right next to me. “We had tapas.”
“Tell us everything,” says Julian, shuffling forward in his seat. “Actually, no, better wait for Gerald. He’s going to want to hear this, too.”
“Gerald’s gone to put his name down for the karaoke,” Rita replies impatiently. “We’re not waitin’ for him.”
“I’m notlisteningto him, either,” agrees Alice. “I had enough of that at dinner. And who invited him to sit with us, in any case?”
“It wasn’t me,” Julian protests. “He just turned up, like a bad penny.”
“Well,Iwasn’t sitting with him,” says Rita. “I had to put up with him all day on that bus tour. Like a limpet, he was. I don’t want to have to listen to him singingUnchained Melody,either.”
Over by the stage, Gerald — resplendent in another Hawaiian shirt — looks over and gives a cheery wave. A sudden wave of sadness washes over me as I watch him standing there on his own, while we all sit here like mean girls, talking about how he can’t sit with us.
“I think he’s just a bit lonely,” I begin, but Alice is reaching over to grip my arm tightly.
“Summer, you could sing it with him!” she exclaims. “You said you wanted to be a famous singer, didn’t you? Well, here’s your chance.”
I stare at her, horrified.
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” I tell her hurriedly, looking around the cavernous room, which is larger than some theaters I’ve been to. Up on the stage, the orange singer has finished his set, and a giant screen has been pulled down, with the lyrics of the first song projected onto it. It looks like the karaoke is about to begin.
“Idefinitelycouldn’t,” I repeat, sinking a little lower in my seat. “Absolutely no way.”
“Ofcourseyou could, love,” says Rita. “If Gerald can do it, you can. You could be just like that Taylor Swift. Here, they’ve even got some of her songs for you.”
She points at a navy ring-binder that’s sitting on the table in front of us, its laminated pages filled with song titles.
“Here you go,” says Alice, picking it up and flipping through it until she finds the right page. “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together; Shake It Off; You Belong With —”
“No,” I tell her firmly, thinking about Jamie, and how he’d laughed at my teenage vocals. “I’m not singing anything. It’s been years since I did any singing. And I’m… I’m no Mariah Carey.”
“But then how are you going to become a famous singer if you won’t actually sing?” asks Alice, her eyes wide with confusion. “How’s that going to work, then?”
I cringe all the way to my toes, wishing I’d never told any of them about my diary and that stupid list of resolutions.
“Well, it’snot, obviously,” I admit, shrugging. “Look, I was 13 when I wrote that list. I was young and stupid, and I thought I could do anything I wanted. But I can’t. I know that. And I know I told you all I came out here to work my way through the list and do some of the things on it, but I didn’t meanallof them. Some of them are just totally unachievable; like the one about seeing Taylor Swift, for instance. Come on, guys; none of you thought I was seriously expecting to do that in Tenerife, did you?”
“I did,” says Julian earnestly. “I’m still not 100% sure who Taylor Swift is, though, so…”
“You said you were going to do all of those things, young lady,” says Alice stubbornly. “All of them. You never said you were going to just miss some of them out.”
“That’s right,” nods Rita. “I feel misled now, Summer. You said you would do it. And as your stand-in Fairy Godcrone, I think I owe it to you to make sure you follow through with it.”
