You Again?

by Spalding, Nick

  I’ve waited on her hand and foot all day, and left her in as much peace as I can, without making it seem like I’m being inattentive. This appears to have been successful in the respect that by early evening Cara looks blissfully chilled out, but it doesn’t mean she’s talking to me that much more than she was this morning, when we both woke up with the horrors of yesterday still lingering fresh in our minds.

  Is she still just in stunned silence about the whole thing?

  Or is this some sort of precursor to the breakdown of our relationship?

  I have no idea.

  Cara remains pretty quiet throughout dinner this evening, only speaking to me when I try my hardest to start a bland, inoffensive conversation – largely about the food we’re eating. I should just force the issue, and confront her ongoing coolness towards me, but I have to confess I’m just too scared to do so. I’m terrified that if I do push it, everything will unravel completely, and I will discover that she does indeed want out of this relationship, and just hasn’t voiced that thanks to the fact she’s trapped on this island with me for another three days.

  In the midst of this evening angst, I see Amy and Ray come into dinner looking quite happy and relaxed with each other. They clearly had a better day than I did. They also both pointedly ignored me like the plague, which is much to be expected, given the circumstances. I have no idea what they’ve been up to today, but it quite obviously doesn’t consist of either giving the other the cold shoulder.

  Given all of this, and given that I see no way of rectifying my issues anytime soon, you can hopefully understand that by the time dinner is over, I am in the mood to get good and drunk.

  Happily for me – or perhaps incredibly unhappily, depending on who you ask – Wimbufushi Island Resort and Spa is all inclusive, which means I have access to an unlimited supply of booze.

  Therefore, once dinner is over, and I have finished off the last of my profiteroles, I suggest to Cara that we move from the restaurant over to the monstrous and extremely comfortable main lounge bar of the island, which is called Blue Horizon.

  Unlike the tiny Reef Bar, which is designed to look as much like a hastily erected beach bar as is humanly possible without actually being one, Blue Horizon is meant to come across as the most luxurious drinking establishment possible – and boy does it succeed in that.

  Built underneath a gigantic domed roof, the circular lounge is dominated by the enormous edifice of the bar itself. The rows and rows of drink bottles stretch all the way up to the ceiling on glass shelves that wrap around the thick central pole that holds up the roof, and can only be reachable by ladder or Spider-Man.

  Think of a drink . . . any drink.

  It’s here, trust me.

  If you have a hankering for a kumquat-infused vodka, then look no further. If you’ve always fancied a fermented yak milk and lime cocktail, then this is the place for you.

  I just intend to throw as many Sin Cities down my neck as possible – but what else can I possibly do to entertain myself, when my girlfriend is not really speaking to me?

  She seems quite content to sit here quietly in the booth we’re occupying in a cool, dark corner of the lounge, sipping on her Manhattan – which must mean that she’s not so sick of my company yet as to want to get completely away from it.

  I’m going to take that as a good sign, in a day of signs worse than the ones that tell you dangerous rock falls are ahead.

  By the time I have finished the second Sin City, my nerves have calmed considerably, and when the third one is dispensed with, I’m starting to actually feel relaxed for the first time today.

  You see?

  Getting drunk is a good idea, isn’t it? You can tell by the way I’m sat here smiling at nothing.

  Even Cara seems to be enjoying herself. She’s on her second Manhattan, and has actually just engaged me in a proper conversation for the first time since I asked her if she’d like to go kayaking. Okay, it was only to ask why I thought there were large speakers and a PC monitor being set up on the other side of the circular lounge, in front of the enormous OLED TV that often plays music videos for the entertainment of the bar’s patrons, but it’s a conversation starter nonetheless, and better than stony silence.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I reply, looking over at where a couple of Wimbufushi staff are erecting two tall columns of speakers, with the monitor in front of them on a plinth, facing away from us. Underneath this, a small computer is being tucked on to a shelf in the plinth.

  I may say that I have no idea what’s going on, but deep down inside me, there’s a small part of my soul that has just started to do cartwheels.

  It knows what those speakers and that monitor means, even if my conscious and half-pissed mind doesn’t quite yet.

  Let’s see how long it takes for the rest of me to catch up . . .

  ‘Maybe there’s a band playing tonight?’ Cara wonders. ‘I forgot to look at the island’s activities for today.’

  I nod sagely. I also didn’t bother to look at the island activity roster today. It’s a white board nailed up in reception that changes information on a daily basis, letting us all know what’s on the schedule. It’s a convenient way to find out what trips, activities and entertainment are on that day, when you can’t be arsed to look in your welcome pack.

  I’ve been so concerned with my relationship, and strange obsession with Ray Holland, that I forgot to even glance at it. It’s a little hard to get excited about scuba-diving lessons when your ego is being slowly torn to shreds.

  ‘Well, I guess we’ll find out what it is pretty soon. There’s quite a few people congregating around it now.’

  And indeed, that’s precisely what’s happening. There are a plethora of squat wicker tables set up in front of where the speakers are, surrounded by deep, comfortable wicker armchairs. These are rapidly filling up with holidaymakers, all of whom look quite expectant. Some even look a little nervous.

  That little part of my soul that knows what’s going on is running around like its hair is on fire, because it knows what’s coming.

  One of the Wimbufushi staff then erects two microphone stands just behind the monitor, and everything falls into place.

  Karaoke.

  It can only be karaoke!

  . . . or bingo.

  But can you see bingo being played here on one of the Maldives’ most luxurious island resorts?

  No, neither can I.

  Far too tacky for such exalted clientele. I doubt anyone within a thousand square miles wants anything to do with clickety click or two fat ladies.

  You’d think the same would hold true for karaoke, but for some bizarre and unexplained reasons, the popularity of it extends right up and down the social spectrum. From the poorest, most downtrodden of households, to the mansions of the rich and famous – everyone likes a bit of karaoke! And it’s therefore perfectly reasonable to expect to see it occurring in a place like this.

  ‘Cool!’ I exclaim, staring at the microphone stand.

  I say this because I have now caught up with that small, excited part of my soul, and know full well what the future now holds.

  I fucking LOVE karaoke. It’s a bizarre and odd obsession of mine that I’ve never been able to move past, no matter how much I try.

  To clarify, though, I only love karaoke when I’m drunk. I can take it or leave it if I’m stone cold sober. The drunker I am, though, the more I’m into it.

  Because I have not been that much of a drinker across my adult years, I have actually conducted karaoke on only three occasions. On each and every one of those occasions I have been comprehensively blotto.

  They are, in chronological order, my mother’s fiftieth birthday, the Christmas my uncle got a karaoke machine as a present, and my wedding reception.

  I have never completed an entire song.

  At my mother’s birthday I got about sixty-five per cent of the way through ‘Killing In The Name Of’ by Rage Against The Machine before I fell off the stage. The
Christmas ordeal of having to listen to me destroying ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ was ended when I inadvertently yanked the plug out of the wall, while kicking my legs up like the last chorus girl in the shop.

  And at my wedding, I was dragged off stage by an equally drunk Amy Sinclair née Caddick, who thought that her married life probably shouldn’t start with her new husband attempting to sing, ‘My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,’ at the top of his voice.

  So, I have never finished an entire song when performing karaoke, and it’s been a thorn in my side ever since.

  ‘It’s karaoke, Cara!’ I tell my girlfriend in an excited voice. ‘They’re setting up for a nice bit of karaoke this evening.’

  ‘Oh. I’ve never done karaoke. Always fancied giving it a try, though.’

  ‘Really? ’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stay right there.’

  I jump to my feet, and make a beeline for the guys setting up the equipment. If Cara has never done karaoke, that is an oversight that must be rectified immediately!

  ‘Hi there,’ I say to the first bloke I manage to distract from his work. ‘How the hell are you this evening, my friend?’

  ‘I am very well, sir,’ he replies, a bit taken aback by my enthusiasm.

  ‘You look like you’re doing a very fine job setting all of this stuff up . . . er . . . ?’ I trail off, looking at him expectantly.

  ‘Hassan,’ he replies, obviously quite surprised that I want to know his name.

  ‘Hassan! Nice to meet you, my friend.’ I point at the speakers. ‘All of this . . . it’s is for karaoke, yes?’

  He nods his head and offers me that patented Wimbufushi hospitality smile. ‘Yes indeed, sir.’

  ‘Great! How are people putting their names forward to do it?’

  ‘Speak to Rajesh over there, sir.’ He points to another Wimbufushi man, this one dressed in white trousers and a dark blue shirt with sequin dragons down the lapels, standing over by one of the speakers, chatting to a couple of his colleagues.

  I say thank you to Hassan, giving him a friendly pat on the back as I do so, and make my way over to Rajesh, who has the most closely cropped beard I’ve ever seen, and a fair amount of product in his hair. All of this screams master of ceremonies to me.

  As I approach him, I see the massive TV on the wall burst into life with the legend Couple’s Karaoke on it, in large, friendly letters.

  Hah! Perfect!

  ‘Hello there!’ I say to Rajesh, interrupting the conversation. I tend to get a bit interrupty when I’ve had a few drinks. It’s not one of my good points.

  ‘Good evening, sir!’ Rajesh says, looking like he’s incredibly happy to see me. I’m sure he’s not, though. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Well, Rajesh, I’d really love to be a part of the karaoke tonight. How do I put myself and my girlfriend down for it?’ I ask in an expectant voice.

  ‘Very easy, sir.’ Rajesh beams. ‘Just give me your names and I will put you on my list.’

  ‘Thanks very much!’ I reply, shaking Rajesh’s hand vigorously.

  I then give him my name and Cara’s, which he pops on to an iPad, and then I walk at an excited pace back to Cara.

  ‘What have you done?’ she asks, when I plonk myself back down on the chair.

  ‘I’ve put us in for the karaoke!’ I tell her.

  Cara’s eyes go wide. ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did! It’ll be fun! You said you’ve never done it before, so here’s your chance!’

  Cara giggles. Actually giggles. This is the most positive I’ve seen her towards me all day. ‘What song will we sing?’

  ‘Oh. I’m not sure,’ I reply, then wave a hand. ‘I’m sure they’ll let us choose one when we get up there.’

  ‘Okay!’

  I’m so pleased Cara looks this animated and happy. Thank God for the miracle of karaoke, eh?

  A few minutes later, Rajesh takes to the ‘stage’ and introduces himself.

  ‘Welcome, everyone, to tonight’s very special karaoke session,’ he tells us. ‘Those of you who know the island well will know that we’re famous for our karaoke nights, and we’re so pleased you’ve joined us all for this very special Randomiser Karaoke evening.’

  Wait . . . what? Randomiser Karaoke?

  ‘It’ll be lots of fun getting you on stage to sing songs that our computer picks at random for you.’ Rajesh chuckles. ‘You’re all very brave for putting yourself forward for it!’

  ‘Randomiser?’ Cara says with a doubtful voice.

  I wave a hand again. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ I tell her, trying to avoid the look on her face.

  Rajesh then taps away on his iPad – which is obviously connected by strange and technological means to the karaoke system – and on the TV screen behind him Trevor & Sandra appears.

  From over to my left, Trevor and Sandra roar their approval at seeing their names come up first (they look like they’ve had their fair share of Sin Cities as well) and come over to stand next to Rajesh, who greets them with a huge smile, and then leaves the stage for them to occupy on their own.

  ‘Evening!’ Sandra says in a broad Essex accent.

  Trevor and Sandra are quite clearly working-class folks done good, and are the couple I saw chatting to Ray and Amy on the speedboat to the island.

  Trevor has got a beer gut you could bounce pennies off, and is covered in amateurish tattoos – and Sandra’s definitely had some work done. They scream salt of the Earth from every single pore, and I guess the used-car business or scrapyard is doing very well for itself, hence why they are here on Wimbufushi.

  Let’s see what song they get to sing . . .

  I see Rajesh playing with the iPad again, and the TV starts to randomly flash through several dozen song titles while a synthesised drum roll plays.

  There’s a loud clash of electronic cymbals, as the flashing names stop on ‘I’ve Got You Babe’ by Sonny and Cher.

  I have to roll my eyes. Maybe this ‘randomiser’ isn’t quite as random as Rajesh made out, given how clichéd and obvious that song choice is. I don’t think Cara and I will have much to worry about.

  ‘Oh, I would have liked to do that one,’ Cara says, a little disappointed.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get something similar,’ I assure her.

  The first chords of ‘I’ve Got You Babe’ start up, and Trevor and Sandra ready themselves.

  When Sandra starts to sing, I immediately call over a waiter to go and get me another Sin City. If everyone involved in this event has a voice like hers, I’m afraid the only things that are likely to survive are the cockroaches and the hard of hearing.

  Trevor’s not much better. His voice drones like a fully laden bomber.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Cara remarks, wincing.

  By the time ‘I’ve Got You Babe’ has mercifully finished, I have my fourth Sin City in front of me.

  By the time the fifth comes, another four couples have had their turn, all by varying degrees of awfulness. Bao and Chun really did a fucking number on ‘Endless Love’. ‘Ebony and Ivory’ did not live together in perfect harmony once Larry and Chad got their hands on it. Sasha and Mitchell should be drowned before they’re allowed to sing ‘Islands in the Stream’ again, and ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is now some kind of auditory nerve agent, thanks to the efforts of Reginald and Susan.

  I’m starting to wonder when Cara and I are going to get our turn. The evening is wearing on, and if I drink too many more of these Sin Cities, I’m not going to be able to hold the microphone up the right way.

  I try my hardest not to let out a groan when I see Amy and Ray walk into the lounge, and move towards the back.

  Can’t I just have one evening where those two don’t turn up to spoil everything?

  Amy looks horrified at the prospect of having to watch karaoke. I assume this is because her last run-in with it involved dragging my inebriated backside away from the mic, before I could do any
more damage. Ray looks like he’s enjoying it, though.

  Oh shit . . . what if they are one of the couples doing a routine tonight as well?

  My blood runs cold.

  What if we go on right after them?

  I know for a fact that Amy can bang out a tune when she feels up to it, and I bet Ray has a set of lungs on him to match those biceps.

  Gah . . .

  It’ll be like yesterday all over again!

  I should pull us out of this whole thing before it gets to that. I’ll just get up now, go and see Rajesh and wipe our names off the list. That way we (I) won’t have the indignity of not being able to compete with Amy and—

  ‘Joel! It’s us!’ I hear Cara exclaim with slurred excitement. She’s on her fifth Manhattan of the evening herself.

  Oh shit. Too late.

  On the huge TV screen, our names have flashed up in those big, friendly letters. They don’t look half as friendly now, though.

  I see Ray and Amy take seats at one of the only spare tables left in the lounge, quite close to the back wall. Good. At least they won’t be in obvious eyeshot.

  I get to my feet and put on a fake smile.

  Even in my drunken state, I know I don’t want to do this anymore. The last thing I want is to perform badly in front of my ex. I did enough of that in the fucking kayak, and the memory of it has not been diminished in the slightest by the heroic amount of hard alcohol I’ve consumed this evening.

  ‘Come on! Let’s go!’ Cara says, grabbing my arm.

  Great. This is the first physical contact I’ve had with her all day, and it has to come at the expense of whatever’s left of my self-worth. I either disappoint Cara by pulling out of the karaoke, and risk a return to the coldness I’ve endured all day, or I go and make a fool of myself, knowing full well that Ray and Amy are probably waiting in the wings to do a much better job of having a public sing-song than I am.

  I allow Cara to drag me to the karaoke mics, my heart hammering all the while.

  I was really looking forward to doing this – until I saw Amy. Now I’m shitting a brick, despite the five Sin Cities.