It wasn’t, and he sounded great, she thought taken aback but quickly gathering herself in time to lean into the mic to sing her line. A feeling of euphoria at her pure pitch filled her. Rhodri was superb, she thought as he minced it up and she played the cool blonde, er blue, to his Sir Tom. By the time the song finished she’d relaxed into the rhythm enough to let her body move to the beat. Their performance had gone over well; she could tell by the audience’s faces, and she grinned up at Rhodri who put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. They’d done well!
‘More, more!’ A group near the stage began to chant, and the rest of the crowd joined in. Rhodri inclined his head and whispered in her ear, and she nodded great idea. She was surprised to find she was as eager to do another song as the audience was to hear one and she disappeared back behind the karaoke machine to locate the track Rhodri had suggested, “Mustang Sally.”
He was brilliant, and a group of young girls began to dance near the stage as he growled his lines. Isabel did her bit, even incorporating a bit of a twirl, as she harmonised alongside him. She’d forgotten she was channelling Celine and pretending Rhodri was Andre. She was happy just being themselves, doing their thing at the Rum Den on a Friday night. And most of all she was enjoying herself. By the time the music wound down, Isabel was buzzing and was reluctant to let Rhodri leave the stage or give up the microphone. Brenda’s plan had worked though, and people were lining up to request songs.
‘Thanks for joining me Rhodri,’ she said into the microphone. ‘Give him a round of applause everybody!’ He took her hand, and they took a bow to the cacophonous applause before he jumped down and headed back to the bar getting his back slapped on the way. Isabel checked her playlist before introducing Joy, an older lady with a steel coloured helmet of hair who wanted to treat them all to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” Next, it was a young fellow who decided to crucify “Livin’ on a Prayer”, and the Island’s answer to Cher, Freddy Mercury, and Ed Sheeran kept the night humming along.
By 9 p.m. Isabel was ready to take a short break. This karaoke business was hard work, she thought searching out Rhodri. He was easy to spot with his height and was flanked either side by Delwyn and gorgeous Nico. That the two women looked like groupies flitted across her mind, and she dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t nice, and Rhodri was nice; look what he’d done for her tonight. It was his inherent niceness which made beautiful women like Delwyn and Nico hang off his every word. She couldn’t blame them.
She made her way over to the trio, gratefully accepting the orange juice. Brenda slid her way. She had a strict no drinking policy when on duty, which was fine by Isabel. She’d enough trouble remembering who’d ordered what and how much change she was handing over without being tipsy on the job too.
‘I’ve already told Rhodri—you guys rocked,’ Delwyn gushed, passing Isabel her mobile. ‘Your parent’s are going to love it.’
Isabel grinned. She was still floating on a high.
‘Hey Isabel,’ Nico said appraisingly. ‘You looked great up there.’
‘Thanks. Have you put your name down to have a go?’
‘No way. I can’t sing to save myself. I have to say, you’re a woman of hidden talents, though. Your voice is fabulous. Have you ever sung professionally?’
‘Oh.’ Isabel was taken aback by the genuine comment. ‘No, and you, by the way, are a dark horse.’ She turned her attention to her flatmate. ‘You’ve got a fantastic voice. You gave Sir Tom a right old run for his money.’
Rhodri raised his pint glass. ‘Strictly for in the shower,’ he winked at Isabel, ‘or the bath and for karaoke. Here’s to us nailing it.’
‘To us.’ She clinked her glass against his and was filled with a warm sense of pleasure at the way the evening was progressing. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a woman around her age. Her dark curls framed a round face with endearing dimples and warm brown eyes. She reminded Isabel of a currant bun, and she liked currant buns. She couldn’t help but smile back at her. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi, I’m Alice. I’m with that lot over there.’ She gestured over to a nearby cluster of women who varied in age. They waved, and Isabel raised her hand back at them.
They were probably out on a work do, she guessed given they were behaving far too civilly to be on a hen’s night, and she was betting Alice was about to ask whether Beyonce’s “Bootylicious” was on the playlist.
‘We’re the Angels of Wight Acapella Group.’
‘Oh right. I didn’t know there was an acapella group here on the island.’ It was a silly thing for her to say given there was no reason she should’ve known. She wondered where the conversation was going.
‘Acapella singing’s barber shop style, is that right?’ Delwyn interrupted having overheard.
‘Sort of but basically it's singing without musical accompaniment,’ Isabel explained. She’d seen Pitch Perfect. ‘So, are you going to get up tonight and do a number?’
‘Of course. A bit of Little Mix never goes amiss, but we’ll do it with the music tonight!’ Alice laughed.
Isabel smiled. ‘Good for you. I’d love to hear what you sound like together.’
‘The reason I
