worry, Holly; that gives you seven days exactly to transform yourself into Mariah Carey. No problem at all,’ Denise said, smiling at Sharon.
‘Oh, please, we would have a better chance teaching Lennox Lewis how to do ballet,’ said Sharon.
Holly looked up from banging her head, ‘Well, thanks for the encouragement, Sharon.’
‘Ooh, but imagine Lennox Lewis in a pair of tights, that tight little arse dancing around …’ Denise said dreamily.
Holly and Sharon stopped growling at each other to stare at their friend.
‘You’ve lost the plot, Denise.’
‘What?’ Denise said defensively, snapping out of her fantasy. ‘Just imagine those big muscular thighs …’
‘That would snap your neck in two if you went near him,’ Sharon finished for her.
‘Now there’s a thought,’ Denise said, widening her eyes.
‘I can see it all now,’ Holly joined in, staring off into space. ‘The deaths column would read: “Denise Hennessey, tragically died after being crushed to death by the most tremendous thunder thighs after briefly catching a glimpse of heaven …”’
‘I like that,’ she agreed. ‘Ooh, and what a way to die! Give me a slice of that heaven!’
‘OK, you,’ Sharon interrupted, pointing her finger at Denise, ‘keep your sordid little fantasies to yourself, please. And you,’ she pointed at Holly, ‘stop trying to change the subject.’
‘Oh, you’re just jealous, Sharon, because your husband couldn’t snap a matchstick between his skinny little thighs,’ teased Denise.
‘Excuse me, but John’s thighs are perfectly fine. I just wish mine could be more like his,’ Sharon finished.
‘Now you,’ Denise pointed at Sharon, ‘keep your sordid little fantasies to yourself.’
‘Girls, girls!’ Holly snapped her fingers in the air. ‘Let’s focus on me now, focus on me,’ she gracefully motioned with her hands, bringing them towards her chest.
‘OK, Ms Selfish, what are you planning on singing?’
‘I have no idea, that’s why I called this emergency meeting.’
‘No, it’s not, you told me you wanted to go shopping,’ Sharon said.
‘Oh, really?’ Denise looked at Sharon and raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were both coming to visit me on my lunch break.’
‘You are both correct,’ Holly asserted. ‘I am shopping for ideas and I need you both.’
‘OK, OK!’ Sharon exclaimed excitedly. ‘I think I’ve got an idea. What was that song we sang for the whole two weeks in Spain and we couldn’t get it out of our heads? It used to bug the hell out of us?’
Holly shrugged her shoulders. If it bugged the hell out of them it was hardly a very good choice.
‘I don’t know, I wasn’t invited on that holiday,’ muttered Denise.
‘Oh, you know the one, Holly!’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Oh, you have to!’
‘Sharon, I don’t think she can remember,’ Denise said frustratedly to Sharon.
‘Oh, what was it?’ Sharon put her face in her hands, irritated. Holly shrugged her shoulders at Denise again. ‘OK, I’ve got it!!’ she announced happily, and began to sing loudly in the café. ‘“Sun, sea, sex, sand, come on boy, give me your hand!”.’
Holly’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the surrounding tables turned to stare. She turned to Denise for support in silencing Sharon.
‘“Ooh ooh ooh so sexy, so sexy!”’ Denise joined in with Sharon. Some people stared with amusement but most with loathing while Denise and Sharon warbled their way through the tacky European dance song that was a hit a few summers previously. Just as they were about to sing the chorus for the fourth time (neither of them could remember the verses) Holly silenced them.
‘Girls, I can’t sing that song! Besides, the verses are rapped by a guy!’
‘Well, at least you wouldn’t have to sing too much,’ chuckled Denise.
‘No way! I am not rapping at a karaoke competition!’
‘OK, well, what CD are you listening to at the moment?’ Denise got serious again.
‘Westlife?’ She looked at them hopefully.
‘Then sing a Westlife song,’ Sharon encouraged. ‘That way, at least you’ll know all the words.’
Sharon and Denise began to laugh uncontrollably. ‘You might not get the tune right,’ Sharon forced out between hacking laughs.
‘But at least you’ll know the words!’ Denise managed to finish for her before the two of them doubled over at the table.
First Holly was angry but looking at both of them crouched over holding their stomachs in hysterics, she had to chuckle. They were right, Holly was completely tone deaf and hadn’t a note in her head. Finding a song she could actually sing was going to prove impossible.
Finally, after the girls had settled down again, Denise looked at her watch and moaned about having to get back to work. They left Bewley’s, much to the other customers’ delight. ‘The miserable sods will probably throw a party now,’ Sharon had mumbled, passing their tables.
The three girls linked arms and walked down Grafton Street, heading towards the clothes store where Denise was manager. The day was sunny with just a light chill in the air; Grafton Street was busy as usual with people running around on their lunch breaks while shoppers slowly meandered up the street taking full advantage of the lack of rain. At every stretch of the road there was a busker fighting for attention from the crowds, and Denise and Sharon embarrassingly did a quick Irish dance as they passed a man playing the fiddle. He winked at them and they threw some money into his tweed cap on the ground.
‘Right, you ladies of leisure, I’d better head back to work,’ Denise said, pushing the door to her shop open. As soon as her staff saw her they scarpered from gossiping at the counter and immediately began to tidy the clothes rails. Holly and Sharon tried not to laugh. They said their goodbyes and both headed up to Stephen’s Green to collect their cars.
‘“Sun, sea, sex, sand,”’ Holly quietly sang to herself. ‘Oh shit, Sharon, you’ve got that stupid song in my head now,’ she complained.
‘You see, there you go with that “shit Sharon” thing again. So negative, Holly.’ Sharon began humming the song.
‘Oh, shut up!’ Holly laughed, hitting her on the arm.
Chapter Thirteen
It
