Page 6 of Another Lucky Number

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 ofI 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 ofSweet 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 ofLimp Biscuit.’

‘It’sLimp 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.

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