Katey Lovell - The Singalong Society for Singletons

I peep around the doorframe, mock horror on my face at Hope rejecting my favourite film of all time. ‘ Frozen ’s not a fad, it’s a way of life! It’s a story of sisterhood and love for all ages. And it’s one of the best films to sing along to. There’s nothing like belting out ‘Let It Go’ at the top of your lungs to make everything better.’

‘Excuse me if I’ve not quite got your level of optimism,’ Hope mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

I can see her shivering from here, and I’ve a sneaky suspicion that it’s not just her body responding to the chilly temperature in the house. Maybe the realisation that she no longer lives with her gorgeous girlfriend in a modern, city-centre apartment but is crashing out with her baby sister in what is little better than student digs is hitting home.

‘Anyway, I’m not sure the neighbours will thank us,’ Hope says wryly. ‘We’re hardly Little Mix, are we?’

‘Ah,’ I reply with a smile, ‘but that’s the best thing about living near the university. Everyone else on the street is a student. Most of them aren’t even back until the end of the month, and the ones that are will either be out in town or having a party involving something far more raucous than the three of us pretending to be Elsa.’

‘I think you secretly love it,’ Issy says breezily, attempting to stop Hope snuffling. She wafts a box of pastel-coloured tissues in Hope’s direction. ‘Even you’ve got to admit that despite being the bad guy, Hans is a hottie.’

Hope pulls a lemon-yellow tissue from the box, a rose-coloured fan appearing as if by magic to take its place.

‘I’m a lesbian,’ she states, in case anyone’s forgotten. ‘And even if I wasn’t, I don’t think I’d be resorting to animated characters.’

She blows her nose noisily into the tissue. It sounds like a steam train heading into a tunnel.

‘I’ve always had a thing for Flynn Rider,’ I admit, handing my sister the full-to-the-brim glass of wine I’d poured her. ‘I think it’s his chiselled jaw. Maybe if I grew my hair a bit longer and threw it out of my bedroom window I’d get someone like that to climb up it. Mind you, it’d take years to grow. It’s the one major downside of curly hair, every centimetre in visible growth is actually three.’ I finger a strand of hair ruefully.

‘I don’t think there are any Flynn Rider lookalikes wandering around South Yorkshire looking for plaits to climb up, so the slow growth of your hair is the least of your worries. Anyway, you’re not looking for a man, are you?’

‘I’m most certainly not,’ I reply brusquely.

Issy’s mentioned on more than one occasion that she thinks getting ‘under a man to get over a man’ might be a step forward, but it hasn’t occurred to me. I’ve not so much as looked at another male that way. I don’t want to, because no one else can possibly compare to Justin. How could they? We’ve got ten years of shared history. He’s my first love. My first everything, in fact. Anyway, we’re on a break, we’re not broken.

‘After what happened with you-know-who, I’m not putting myself out there,’ I say. I’m not sure of my status anyway, there’s no noun to describe someone who’s on a break. ‘I’m not ready to lay my soul bare to any man, not if all they want to do is trample over it.’

I’ve said these lines so many times that it’s a well-rehearsed speech, but the doubtful looks on both Issy and Hope’s faces make me wonder how convincing I actually am. Maybe I should say them with a bit more oomph.

‘Come on, let’s get this film back rolling,’ says Issy. ‘And is this wine mine?’ she asks, gesturing to the full glass sitting on the mantelpiece. ‘Because I can feel myself sobering up by the second, and tonight I plan to get very, very drunk.’

*

We’re all glued to the television screen as the tinkly piano starts up and Elsa sadly climbs the snow-covered mountain, her purple cape trailing through the snow behind her. Even Hope’s transfixed, although she’d never admit it.

‘I love this song,’ Issy says, pulling a cushion closer to her stomach. ‘Even though I must have heard it a million times, it still gets me right here.’ She points to the centre of her chest, pulling an over-exaggerated sad face.

‘That’s why Elsa’s so popular,’ I say. ‘She gives up everything to be true to herself and doesn’t give a damn what everyone else thinks. She’s a much better role model than the sappy princesses of old. She’s spunky.’

‘Did you seriously just use the word spunky?’ Hope shakes her head in disbelief. Her eyes already look hazy; the crying and the wine a lethal combination. ‘That’s cringe-worthy, no one uses that word any more. Plus, it’s one of those icky words that makes my skin crawl. That and ‘moist’.’ She grimaces.

‘But Elsa is spunky. It’s the perfect word to describe her.’

‘Whatever.’

The misfit princess runs through the snow-covered land singing about her new-found freedom and how she can finally be the person she truly is rather than who everyone else expects her to be, and before long all three of us feel every ounce of the ice queen’s angst as we sing along to ‘Let It Go’. Elsa removes her glove and conjures magical wisps of ice from her hands and we shout the rousing chorus at the top of our lungs, well past caring what the neighbours think. We’re out of tune and Hope isn’t entirely sure of the words, but we don’t give a damn. It’s fun.

‘It feels good to sing, doesn’t it?’ Hope says out of the blue. Her cheeks are flushed now, the pinkish hue making her appear much less frail than she’d looked when she arrived. ‘To let rip and shout. Kids do it all the time, but as adults we’re expected to have found other ways to express ourselves. But the truth is, nothing compares to getting everything out of your system by having a good old yell.’

‘Letting go,’ says Issy solemnly, before realising what she’s said and dissolving in a fit of drunken giggles.

‘I read something somewhere about singing being good for the soul,’ I recall. ‘Didn’t it say people who sing live longer? Or were happier? I can’t remember, but it was all positive.’ Funnily enough, I’m feeling better for singing too and my words are spilling out at an incredible pace. ‘We’ve all had a tough year. I’ve been low since Justin went to America, even though the sensible part of me knows that taking a break was the only option. That doesn’t make it any easier though, I’m still wondering if he’s on a date with some American beauty or out on the pull. And Hope, who knows? Maybe Amara will come round and realise you need to be together in time, but right now you need to put yourself first. Don’t look at me like that! I know you think I’m fussing, but I want my only sister to be happy.’

I reach over and squeeze Hope’s hand, one small pulse that carries an infinite amount of love.

‘And Is, I know you’re happy being single, but I saw your face when your sister told you about her latest scan.’

Issy swallows, and part of me wishes I’d kept quiet. This is a sensitive subject. But it’s too late now, it’s already out there, so I carry on regardless. ‘You’re going to be the most amazing mummy one of these days, when the time is right. The best.’ Issy’s lips form an O, and I think she might cry, so I quickly move on. ‘But for now, all three of us need to pick ourselves up and take control of our own happiness. It’s like Elsa says, we’re free! Who knows where we’ll be in a month, let alone a year. We need to increase our happiness, channel the good emotions.’ I’m on a roll, fire in my belly and well-lubricated by the wine. There’s no stopping me now.