The show starts and it’s fabulous. The fans are in a frenzy before anything happens so when Gary, Mark and Howard are joined on stage for the opening number by Robbie Williams the place goes wild. I look over at Charlie and she’s in complete rapture, her face shining with joy. I feel my own face may be a little flushed with pleasure too. Nice Paul, I have to say, is watching Charlie as much as he is the band. They’re right in front of us and I can now see why we’ve been here since the crack of dawn. The boys play their new songs and some of their most loved favourites and, by the end of the evening, I’m a Take That convert.
The rest of the evening is dedicated to a range of boy bands competing to take centre stage in a new musical about Take That. They go through two or three numbers each, all accompanied by slick dance routines. I have no idea which of the wannabe boy bands wins and I don’t really care as they all seemed great to me. To this crowd, they’re very definitely the secondary attraction. Then Take That do a final number and a mass of peri-menopausal women go into meltdown. I include myself and Charlie in that. We might be in our thirties, but it won’t be long before our oestrogen leaves the building. We throw ourselves into singing and screaming and dancing with abandon.
Then it’s over. The lights come up, the stage crew start to take away the equipment and break down the set. It’s been a long and happy day. The vodka has kicked in and seems to double in potency as the fresh air hits us. We stagger back to the Tube – me, Charlie and Nice Paul – arms slung round each other singing ‘Could It Be Magic’ at the top of our voices. I’ve had far too much to drink and I’ve only just remembered that I’ve got to be up early tomorrow morning to go on this flipping dive outing. How much am I regretting that I signed up for that now? I’d be much happier staying in my PJs all day watching Take That DVDs with Charlie.
Still, this is what it is to be single and having fun. I’m out there giving it large. I’m not only embracing it, but I’m bloody well enjoying it.
Chapter Fifteen
The alarm goes off and I want to die. Not just die a little bit, but seriously, properly die. I try to lift my head off the pillow. Actually, I think I might have died already. I open one eye and tilt the iPhone towards me so I can check what time it is. I’m sure it’s more blurry than it used to be. Another early start in succession. I’m so not built for this.
I haul myself out of bed and force myself to perform my ablutions so that people don’t think I’m a total skank. The water in the shower hurts. I am meeting lots of new diving buddies today and I wish I was doing it with less vodka in my tanks. It was all happyhappypartyparty last night, but good grief am I paying for it this morning. I think once you reach your thirties your ability to process strong alcohol severely diminishes – yet every time you have strong alcohol you somehow forget that.
I pull on jeans and a T-shirt, then drag a comb through my hair. I can’t do make-up. My face is too hurty. The sheer weight of mascara would just make my eyes close again. Besides, the natural look is fashionable. I think. Maybe that was last year.
While I’m still trying to make myself swallow Weetabix in an attempt to put a layer in my stomach and quell my faint vodka-based nausea, a car pulls up outside and a quick glance out of the window tells me that my ride is here. Maybe I shouldn’t call Joe that, it could be misconstrued. Though I do like punctuality in a man.
Giving him a quick wave from my balcony window – which sounds considerably more grand than it is – I grab my bag and a bottle of water, then run downstairs. To be honest, the running is more akin to a painful tiptoe. But in my head, it’s running. Every movement of my skull makes it throb. I hope I’ve got some paracetamol lurking in the bottom of my bag.
I slide into the car next to Joe and am not so hungover that I fail to notice, once again, that he’s a very handsome man. I also clock that there’s a whole heap of scuba-diving gear on the back seat.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Rough night?’ he asks.
So I clearly look as bad as I feel. It’s a good job that I’m not trying to impress this man. ‘Vodka was taken.’
‘Ah. I remember late nights and getting hammered,’ he says fondly. ‘Just about.’
‘I was in London with a couple of friends watching Take That at the Maida Vale studios yesterday.’
‘Big fan?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod and instantly regret it. ‘Well, I am now.’ It was great fun – apart from the queuing part – and I can see why Charlie and her friends are so dedicated. Up close and personal they’ve got great energy and charisma. Would that someone might say that about me.
‘I’ll drive slowly,’ Joe says. ‘Not too many fast bends. It’s mainly motorway. We’ve got plenty of time to get up there.’
‘I don’t even know where we’re going,’ I admit. Not only did I not read the small print, I didn’t take much notice of the big print either.
‘Quarry Hill Cove,’ he tells me. ‘A nice dive centre in the Midlands. It’s a flooded gravel pit and there’s a sunken boat in the water and the cockpit of a plane.’
I raise an eyebrow at that. ‘Why?’
‘It makes the dive more interesting,’ he explains. ‘There are things to look at and explore. Otherwise, it’s just an exercise in getting wet.’
If you’re like me, you’d have imagined that, once qualified, I’d be diving in aquamarine seas with dolphins and pretty angelfish and shit. Metaphorical shit, not actual shit, obvs. Destinations like the Maldives, the Seychelles and the Caribbean were my dreamed-of go-to places. A gravel pit in this country wasn’t necessarily that high on my list.
Joe laughs, clearly able to read my mind. ‘It’s a great place,’ he insists. ‘Wait and see.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘If nothing else, it’ll give you a good chance to meet some of the other members of the club. They’re nice people. We always have a laugh.’
‘I’m regretting the vodka frenzy now,’ I admit. ‘I wish I was at my sparkling best.’ I start to rummage in my handbag. ‘Painkillers,’ I mutter. ‘I’m sure I’ve got some buried in here.’
‘There’s a packet in the glove box,’ he says. ‘I’m a dad. I can always supply aspirin, tissues and plasters. Though now the kids are getting older, it’s usually only money that they need. Unfortunately, that’s in shorter supply.’
‘Where are they today?’
‘I’ve dropped them off at Gina’s yesterday. She’s got them for the whole weekend. She remembered this time, which is never a given.’ He gives an unhappy snort. ‘Sometimes they come on the dive days with me. Very reluctantly, it must be said. They get bored quickly and I can’t concentrate properly while I’ve got one eye on them. Daisy’s at the age where she just wants to be at the shops with her mates and trying to drag Tom away from his computer is a life’s work.’
‘They sound like most children.’ As if I know.
‘They’re good kids,’ he says, thoughtfully. ‘Though it is nice to have a day to myself for a change.’
I find the painkillers in the glove box, knock back a couple and wonder how long they’ll take to kick in. Not long, I hope.
We turn on to the M1, but swinging left and heading north today rather than right and into London.
‘Close your eyes if you want to,’ Joe says. ‘Have a nap. We can listen to some music.’ He grins at me. ‘I haven’t got any Take That.’