The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,89

She was the act after the next one and prayed that the next act wouldn’t be as high octane because they would be a tough act to follow.

‘You sure you want to do this?’ asked Gabe as she drained the last of the third highball.

‘Yes,’ she gave him what she hoped was a confident smile, doing her best to squash the squirmy wriggling running wild in her stomach. Come on Fiona, you can do this. You’re planning to sleep with him! This will be much easier. There, she’d admitted it to herself, she was going to sleep with him. Maybe like being on stage, once you were there, it would all be fine. It was the physical act of stepping onto the stage that made her knees shake so much.

‘Are you going to tell me what you’re going to sing?’ asked Gabe for possibly the tenth or maybe it was the eleventh time.

‘No, I told you.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘You have to wait.’

‘Well, the waiting is over,’ he nodded as the teenager hit the closing high notes of his song to polite applause.

Fiona got to her feet. Why had she chosen to do this? Why? But it was too late to turn back. She straightened. Ever since she’d known Gabe, she’d felt a like a small child trying to keep up with an adult. Despite her nerves, she knew she could do this. It was her chance to shine, to show him another side of herself. With her back to the audience, she approached the stage and undid a few buttons on her jumpsuit. She could do this.

Four steps to the stage. She counted them. One. Two. Three. Four. Steadied her breathing. Gripped the microphone. Took another breath, a deep breath pushing down on her diaphragm. She could do this.

The first few strums of guitar played and without having to check the words on the screen, on the fifth one, she opened her mouth, the familiar sensation of being right at home filling every cell in her body. Her voice rang out, ‘Everybody screamed …’

She gave Gabe a dazzling smile.

‘… when I kissed the teacher.’

She wished she could have taken a picture of his face. And then she pulled her jumpsuit down to bare one shoulder and gave a suggestive shimmy, still focusing her attention on Gabe as she sang the next few lines flashing her eyes at him. As the beat picked up, she began to twirl and dance around the stage and the crowd began to clap and cheer.

Fiona grinned at the audience stage channelling her inner Lily James for all she was worth. Mamma Mia, Here We Go Again was one of her favourite films. Copying her moves and singing along had proved positive therapy. And now, under Gabe’s astonished gaze, she sang and danced her heart out, revelling in the music and the song. For some bizarre reason she had never managed to fathom, when she was singing, Fiona felt truly at home. Perhaps because she could pretend to be someone else. Singing came naturally to her and she loved it but she’d never had the confidence to do anything with it.

Now the crowd were joining in the refrain, clapping along, and Gabe along with many others was on his feet.

She beckoned to two girls on the front row, who were already having the time of their lives and invited them on stage. Without needing a second invitation, giggling together, they bounded up the steps to join in the chorus and copy her dance steps as she took two steps to the right and kicked up a leg and two steps to the left.

When the song finally came to an end, the whole place erupted clapping, cheering, whooping, and, grinning like a loon, Fiona took her bows and came down the steps, shaking her head as the wolf whistles and shouts of ‘more, more’ continued. She wended her way back to Gabe and as she came up next to him, he threw his arms around her and kissed her.

‘You were awesome.’ His eyes danced. ‘And seriously hot. The crowd loved you.’

She laughed. ‘Thank you.’

‘Seriously Fi, you were incredible.’

‘Thank you.’ Now the shyness and embarrassment started to creep in. She ducked her head, although she couldn’t stop smiling.

‘Oh no you don’t. Don’t get all modest and retiring on me now.’ He kissed her again and he might have carried on if they hadn’t been interrupted by a polite, ‘ahem’ – or the Japanese equivalent.