Page 4 of Another Lucky Number (Lucky Number #2)

Chapter Three

‘ T his is freakin’ amazing! ’ Amber is like an excited toddler as we emerge from the taxi near the waterfront in Nassau.

There are several bars around us, all brightly lit and filled to bursting point, a mix of music filtering across the tropical breeze, from more mainstream pop music to the heavy bass of reggae. The atmosphere is infectious and it’s not long before we’re mirroring Amber’s enthusiasm.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘This is what it’s about. The resort is awesome – obviously – but we have to do some of this too.’

‘Agreed,’ Cat and I reply in unison.

Happy for Amber to take the lead, we follow on as she checks out one bar after the next.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask… How’s Lottie recovering from her fall?’ Cat asks me. ‘Is she still in hospital?’

‘She is.’ I nod. ‘I was chatting with her on FaceTime this morning. She’s looking a lot better and she’s even getting home tomorrow.’

‘That’s such good news. It could have been so much worse. She’s staying with James’ s parents, right?’

‘No, she’s staying at her own place, in the downstairs bedroom and James’s mum is supporting her with everything she needs. It’s totally bonkers. I still can’t believe my sort-of new man’s parent are Lottie’s neighbours.’

‘ Score! Karaoke .’ Amber fist-pumps the air ahead of us.

‘ Oh, no .’ I tune into the raw vocals coming from the bar. ‘Anything but karaoke would have done.’

‘Just go with it.’ Cat smiles and puts her arm around my shoulder. ‘We can pretend we don’t know her.’

‘We might have to.’

We enter the jam-packed open-air bar where there’s a middle-aged woman standing in front of the karaoke screen bellowing out a faltering – but reasonably in-tune – rendition of I Will Survive .

Despite her intense concentration, she’s slightly off time, her vocals lagging just enough to make the whole performance sound a bit odd.

Despite this, I can’t help feeling a swell of respect. Rather her than me.

We grab a bench-style table, the previous occupiers of which vacated as we arrived, and I’m pleased to note that it’s far enough from the makeshift stage that we can still have something resembling a conversation.

Once we’re settled, a cheerful waiter saunters across to take our order, and within minutes, two Bahama Mamas and a Mango Daiquiri are delivered to our table.

‘What are you going to sing then?’ I ask Amber.

‘It’s a surprise.’ There’s a slight glint in her eye, which unsettles me.

‘Can I make a suggestion? Maybe go for something a bit more audience-friendly than your usual karaoke choices? They might be ill-matched to the chill atmosphere here.’

‘I agree,’ says Cat. ‘How about some Bob Marley?’

Amber raises a defiant eyebrow and fixes us with her well-worn don’t-think-for-a-second-that-had-any-influence-on-me-at-all look .

‘Back soon.’ She climbs out of her seat and skips off to the DJ box.

Cat and I sit quietly, soaking up the ambience while watching the brave and probably well-inebriated punters consecutively murdering or doing justice to the songs we know and love.

There are now four American men singing a tuneless, but very lively, version of Sweet Caroline, arms draped across each-others’ shoulders, forming a human chain.

They manage to get the whole bar singing along with them, including me and Cat.

After a lengthy absence, Amber returns to our table, and after sitting impatiently for another half an hour, her turn finally arrives.

‘OK, who do we have next…’ The karaoke MC’s voice comes over the PA system. ‘Up you come… Amber .’

‘Later, ladies.’ She wastes no time in climbing back out of her seat and bounding across to grab the mic.

‘Here we go,’ I say to Cat. ‘Cross your fingers it’s reasonably clean.’

We watch as the song name and artist appear on the screen.

‘Don’t think I know this one,’ I say. ‘Do you?’

Cat shakes her head. ‘I’ve never heard of Limp Biscuit .’

‘It’s Limp Bizkit ,’ I correct her, reading the screen.

Amber looks over, giving us a little salute as the intro starts to play and I hold my breath.

‘Hang on, isn’t this the Mission Impossible theme tune?’ asks Cat.

‘Ah yeah. I think it’s a proper song that was featured in one of the films – quite good from what I remember.’

The lyrics appear on the screen and Amber starts rapping to the smooth melody.

‘This is OK,’ says Cat and I give an optimistic nod.

We sway to the music, relieved at Amber’s acceptable song choice.

However, it quickly becomes clear that we’ve relaxed too soon when the mellow verse culminates in a chorus of loud, shouty metal, and we watch in horror as Amber starts moshing on the stage, throwing herself around violently, while aggressively yelling the lyrics.

Glancing around the bar, all I can see are slightly shocked and bemused faces.

There’s certainly no one clapping, cheering or singing along, like they did with the other songs.

The chorus comes to an end and Amber powers down, returning to the smooth rap: which now feels like a lullaby in comparison to what we’ve just witnessed.

‘What on earth was that?’ I say to Cat from behind my hands. ‘I can’t bear to watch it again.’

‘Me neither.’ She’s sunk so low in her seat that she’s almost under the table. ‘The whole bar looks shell-shocked.’

I try to stifle an embarrassed giggle and accidentally let out a little snort. It’s followed by more in quick succession as Cat and I are reduced to tears, irrationally howling our way through the rest of the song.

When Amber’s moment of glory comes to an end, there’s a stunned silence in the bar, interrupted only by Cat’s and my failed attempts to get a hold of ourselves.

Amber takes a proud bow, which prompts a smattering of applause that dies out almost instantly.

At this point the Sweet Caroline guys take pity on her and start whooping and cheering – which only makes the lack of collective appreciation starker.

Amber doesn’t seem to notice any of this though. She bounces off the stage and springs across the silent bar, a huge grin plastered on her face. Cat and I instinctively hide behind the drinks menu to avoid judgement by association.

‘That was awesome .’ Amber insists on a high five from each of us. ‘I’ve never done that one before.’

‘It was… different,’ I say.

‘Yeah, different,’ agrees Cat. ‘That’s… a good way to describe it .’

Thankfully, Amber’s victims (i.e. the entire bar) have recovered and are no longer staring mutely in our direction.

‘I might try another one by that band.’ Amber reaches for one of the song request slips on the table, and Cat and I share an unmistakable look: we have to get out of here – fast.

But before we’re able to put our plan into action, things go from bad to worse.

‘Well, that was a unique performance from Amber.’ The karaoke MC’s voice comes over the PA system after a crowd-pleasing filler of a music track, which I suspect was selected for therapeutic effect. ‘Now, let’s see who’s next… Emma , you’re up. Come and join us.’

Oh. Shit . My stomach lurches uncomfortably. I’m desperately hoping there’s another Emma in the bar, but I know I’m not going to be that lucky.

‘Why did you do that?’ My steely eyes meet Amber’s. Her smile is even broader than before.

‘Your turn,’ she says to me, then stands up and points at my head. ‘ She’s over here .’

All eyes turn to us once again.

‘ Amber, I could kill you. Go and tell him I’m not doing it.’

‘Can’t do that.’ She resolutely shakes her head.

‘Maybe you could go up again instead, Amber?’ Cat suggests. ‘You really enjoyed the last song.’

‘Not my kind of music, Cat.’

While Amber sits there smugly, the karaoke MC makes another appeal, this time aimed directly at me. ‘ Emma , up you come. Don’t be shy, girl.’

I stay exactly where I am and pretend he’s not there.

‘My good people, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ The karaoke MC then appears to address the whole bar. ‘That we have ourselves a Coconut Beach Bar virgin?’

‘ Break her in! ’ yells one of the crowd.

‘This your first time here, Emma?’ I’m asked over the mic, causing me to squirm uncomfortably because everyone’s now looking at me expectantly, some with amusement.

‘Erm… yes, it is,’ I call out in a strangled voice.

‘Didn’t quite catch that,’ the karaoke MC booms playfully over the mic. ‘Say again?’

‘ I said … yes, it is .’

‘That explains it then. You don’t know the golden rule. Everyone, shall we share it with Emma? Ready… and...’

‘ If your name’s put up, you gotta come up! ’ the entire bar singsongs at me.

With my terror intensified by this unwanted attention, I throw a helpless look at Cat, who looks back at me with sympathetic eyes. This is my worst nightmare. It’s a karaoke cult. And I’m not getting out alive.

‘ Up. Up. Up. Up, ’ the crowd continue their chanting.

Glaring at Amber, I climb out of my seat and head for the DJ box, prompting the chanting to turn into cheering applause and foot stamping. Not such a chilled crowd after all then.

‘How you doing, Emma?’ The karaoke MC gives me an inappropriate slap on the back when I reach him. ‘The hardest part is getting out of your seat.’

Though I’m generally a pacifist (or more accurately, an avoider of conflict) I want to kick him in the balls for this. Hard. I’d also kick Amber in the balls if she had any.

He hands me the microphone and I shuffle over to the stage, where the song title materialises on the screen: Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani.

Typical bloody Amber. She’s intentionally added to my discomfort with her own private joke.

I throw a you’re-so-dead-if-I-make-it-through-the-next-three-minutes warning in her direction.

Cat looks dutifully humiliated on my behalf, but Amber simply whoops: ‘Sing like it’s real, sister! ’

Deciding it’s best to ignore her, as well as everyone else in the bar, I fix my eyes on the screen.

The intro starts and before I know what’s happening, I’m tunelessly expelling the lyrics.

Similar to the woman who was singing when we first arrived, I’m faltering and off-time, but without the saving grace of being able to sing in key.

My off-pitch warbling fills the bar, every inch of me consumed by humiliation.

As I reluctantly murder line after line, I become more aware of my surroundings, realising only when the second verse starts, that everyone is singing and clapping along.

I dare a quick glance at the nearest tables, which to my surprise, are full of smiling, encouraging faces.

Their support is like a drug. Now I’ve discovered it, I need more to keep me going.

Sweeping the sea of faces, I direct a brief cringing smile at Cat, who’s cheering louder than anyone else.

Then, while stumbling through a shockingly bad rendition of Eve’s featured rap – holding out my hands in acceptance of my lack of talent – I inadvertently lock eyes with a man I didn’t spot before now.

He’s older than me, maybe mid-thirties, tall, with mid-brown hair and a well-manicured beard.

His fitted linen shirt perfectly defines his muscular physique and caramel tan.

In that one single look, I feel a surge of electricity between us: his smouldering gaze boring into mine, lips betraying his amusement at my performance, but at the same time, appearing to tease me with the slightest hint of a seductive smile.

Flustered by this exchange, I lose my place and finish the song completely off-time, though this doesn’t seem to bother my onlookers, who roar and cheer as if I’m Gwen Stefani herself.

Finally free from the jaws of humiliation, I scurry back to my friends and climb back into my seat, playfully cuffing Amber across the back of the head as I do.

‘What was that for?’ she complains.

‘As if you need to ask. Thanks for making it even worse with your song choice.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She breaks into a mischievous grin.

‘You did great, honey.’ Cat puts her arm around me, giving me a squeeze. ‘The crowd loved you. ’

‘It seems they did. And I got a lot more applause than you did, Amber.’ I fan myself with a napkin to cool myself down and disperse the residual embarrassment.

She ignores me and wanders off to the toilets.

Now back in a place of relative safety and calm, I remember about the mysterious man, but when I look around for him, he seems to have disappeared. And I’m surprised to find I’m a little disappointed.

‘Hey, when I was up there losing every last shred of dignity, I spotted a majorly hot man.’ I say to Cat. ‘We made eye contact – and if I wasn’t making a complete tool of myself up there – I would have said there was a moment between us.’

‘Really?’ Her face lights up with interest. ‘Maybe there was. Point him out.’

‘Well, that’s the thing… He’s disappeared, so I guess I’ll never know. Probably a good thing anyway. I know it’s early days, but I want to see what happens with James when I get home.’

‘That makes sense. Although remember you’ve only been on one date. You’re not exclusive – yet.’

‘What are you two yapping about?’ Amber says as she rejoins us.

‘About moving on to a karaoke-free bar.’ I climb back out of my seat. ‘Drink up and let’s go.’

‘No bloody fun, you lot,’ she grumbles as she trails out of the bar behind us.