Sometimes - when the Spice rucks, gay probing, rum wedlock and rollicking rock solo album get too much - a Spice Girl has to escape. So Mel C took off to the Caribbean and, gamely, took Q with her. Cue intimate banter: drugs, sex, Geri, oil, weights, Robbie Williams and - oh, go on then - even more gay probing. "Spice Girls, for me, is a hobby", she tells Nick Duerden.
The pink-lensed sunglasses are lowered a fraction down the nose, and a pair of bambi brown eyes peer out. They see, in no particular order, a hammock tied to two leaning palm trees, acres of soft golden. sand, the gentle waves of electric blue Caribbean sea, a whole host of exotic fauna, and a cobalt sky that goes on forever. Down the beach there lies an attractive honeymooning couple, Courteney Cox and David Arquette, who appear so much in love it must be scripted. Otherwise, this slice of heaven is practically empty, as late June is out of season on the island. The heat is sultry, intense, and every drink comes with ice and a little straw umbrella.
The pink-lensed sunglasses are pushed back into position, and the eyes blink. "Nice this, isn't it?" says Melanie Chisholm, a mistress of understatement, uncoiling her nearly naked body until she resembles a human compass. "Think I could get used to it."
It is afternoon on the island and, much like morning and evening, it is therefore siesta time. The pop star stretches and yawns, and in doing so, swallows a fly. "F***ing s***!" she spits. "I could do without the f***ing insects, though." Her face is the picture of revulsion. "Urgh.'
Mel C is on holiday. Initially she'd plumped for Costa Rica because it sounded like the perfect place to unwind after a three-month slog in Los Angeles recording her debut solo album. But Costa Rica stank. It was not an ideal holiday location, explains her travelling PA Ying. The hotels weren't nice and there were no gyms. After six hours there, they'd had enough. A travel agent was sought, and an atlas perused. An educated finger then fell on St Martin. a tiny island in the Caribbean, Anguilla's Adam's Apple an hour to the south, and a place so laid-back that today very often doesn't occur until tomorrow. "Ideal," beamed the singular Spice Girl, boarding the plane. And it was. It is.
Four days in, and Mel C has reached a plateau of relaxation that has been alien to her world for the past five years. Rarely does she, her PA and her stylist Jenny, leave their bungalow at all. Instead, they've created a kind of permanent pyjama party atmosphere-all girls, no boys-and they do things with hairdryers, facial creams, nail polish. They drink herbal tea and make up sexual pseudonyms for one another. Mel's alter ego is Mairy Hinge (transpose the first letters of both words, then laugh out loud; they did). If you don't count the two hours a day Mel pumps iron with her personal trainer, then she's doing a whole lot of nothing.
Padding around her temperature-controlled front room, wearing nothing but a pair of football shorts and a micro black bikini filled with muscle, she boasts an even tan and several ornate tattoos. She's dyed her hair blonde, and in the small hubcap of her tiny nose, there sits a tiny stud that catches as much light as her gold tooth.
Mel G has described her bandmate as having recently gone very LA, darling, While living in California, she has dined with Madonna, hung out with Adam Sandler, and has purportedly slept with Robbie Williams and Anthony Kiedis. She has been up on stage at The Viper Room with the Neurotic Outsiders (former Sex pistol Steve Jones, two former Guns N'Roses members, and Duran Duran's John Taylor). And she's currently making music with Rick Rubin and William Orbit, two of Beck's band, and Bryan Adams. And now she's holidaying on an island where many a rich Yank holidays, under a voluptuous sun.
"When I think about it it's all very freaky, the world I move around in these days," she says, sipping her tea, while on the coffee table a stick of incense that smells like a hippy's armpit slowly poisons the room. "Very f***ing freaky." Her grin is huge, teeth everywhere.
Back in early March, 1999, the Spice Girls did something they don't often do. As directed by a year-old schedule, they took some time off. The timing turned out to be perfect. One had already left to educate the uneducated world in matters of safe sex and boob health and to launch her own solo career, two had settled down with men, had babies, and, in the case of Mel G, hot-headed rows, and one went shopping with her mum. Ever since Wannabe sold four million copies around the world, rapidly elevating the Spice Girls into the most successful and famous British group since the Beatles, Mel C - born Melanie Chisholm, in 1974 in Widnes, Cheshire - has harboured dreams of doing what she describes as her own "stuff". "Spice Girls, for me, is a hobby. But my solo stuff is my proper job. This is the real me."
And so, four months ago, she left her native, tabloid swamped island for the smog and partial anonymity of Los Angeles to lay down tracks for the rubbishly titled Northern Star, which comes out in the autumn. Every time she'd look up from recording a vocal, producer Rick Rubin - who talks about her in much the same way Diana used to talk about Mother Theresa - would stare back, beaming, his thumbs aloft. He describes her talent as "undeniable, instinctive", and Mel herself as "lovely". The pair had become great friends a year earlier when the Spice Girls were supposed to record a track with Blackstreet for the South Park album, before legal wrangles intervened. Rubin was to be at the helm for that track, and when he heard of Mel C's own songwriting ambitions, he offered a hand which she promptly grabbed.
"He's perfect for what I had in mind," she says. "Very few people so far have actually heard my solo stuff, and there has been a lot of initial cynicism, which I kind of understand, because of the Spice Girls. But then, that's unfair really because Spice Girls make brilliant pop music, only it's not considered `serious' by people who like Oasis and The Verve. Thing is, my stuff is quite different, so it's going to surprise a lot of people."
Why? Is it any good?
"It's f***ing excellent, if you want my opinion." And then she folds herself, yogi-like, on the floor by Q's feet and slips a CD of work in-progress into a small music box that Dixons would sell off for £29.99 in a post-Christmas sale. She cracks her knuckles then presses play.
Since Geri Halliwell's solo album Schizophonic delivered so few surprises, and Mel G's excellent Missy Elliott collaboration, I Want You Back, was followed by a pointless version of Cameo's Word Up, expectations aren't necessarily high for Mel C's effort, despite the fact that she's widely credited as the Spice Girls' best singer. Yet between Going Down (rocking hard but measured like I Wanna Be Your Dog meets Skunk Anansie), Closer (wafting, balladic, like expensive perfume), Ga Ga (Garbage, basically) and Follow (co-written by Bryan Adams and sounding nothing like Bryan Adams) there's much to admire. Throughout the airing of these songs, Mel C keeps her eyes closed and sings along. Occasionally she glances up at Q to gauge reaction. She plans to debut them at this year's V99 festival, then, come October, she'll undertake a typically small tour for a Spice Girl, taking in London, Liverpool, New York, Toronto, Tokyo and Sydney.
"These songs are probably a very fair indication of who I am," she says. "I've always been a massive fan of indie rock."
Indie rock?
"Y'know Blur, early Oasis, Suede, Cardigans. I love Hole, and I'm still in awe of everything Madonna has ever done."
She must hate Spice Girls records, then?
"No, not at all. They're not me, but they're a laugh, they're fun."
The all-important Spice schedule has dictated that Spice Girls will reconvene in August to record their third album. Mel C must surely be reluctant to rejoin her "hobby" now the "real her" has emerged from its pupa?
"I hope not," she says, hesitantly "No, I'm sure it will be fine." Her face folds in on itself, deep in thought. An analogy's coming. "It's a little like when you're contemplating that hellish f***ing flight across the Atlantic, when you'll be stuck in a small seat for nine to fourteen hours. The thought is horrendous. But when you're actually on that plane then it's really not that bad at all. We've had it scheduled for so long now anyway, and I'm used to living by schedules."
Come on, confess. She's not going back, is she?
"Me not rejoining the Spice Girls isn't even an option," she says with emphasis. "It will happen."
OK, but will her heart be in it?
"Of course it will, but in a different way. My main love is my solo album. I'm very keen to prove myself to people, to show them just what I'm capable of. Just thinking about it gives me the shivers."
She holds both arms out in front of her, hands curled up into fists. And, hovering atop the muscles are, yes, goosebumps.
Some things about Melanie Chisholm. She was brought up on one of those '70s council estates architects presumed would revolutionise family life for the better. When she was three, her parents split up, then divorced. Both soon remarried, and suddenly there were half brothers everywhere, five at the last count. She also has a half sister who was kindly unearthed by the tabloids only a couple of years ago. Her mother was a singer in the early '70s, with her own dreams of worldwide stardom, and almost landed a record deal herself before Melanie's birth. She continues to sing locally today, although her recent grisly performance of Nutbush City Limits on GMTV suggests that she doesn't do so very well.
At school, Melanie was a model student. She became a prefect, and took an interest in acting and dancing. As a consequence of the latter, she developed muscular legs, which her father joked resembled those of footballers. To this day she hates her legs, and blames him. She adored Madonna, had her first crush on Adam Ant, and spent her entire teenage years convinced George Michael was straight. She has two scars, one on her forehead, the other on her knee, both the results of childhood accidents, and she always wanted to learn how to play the guitar. She also loved the idea of becoming a pop star.
"When I was seven, I was that archetypal little girl singing into her hairbrush in front of my bedroom mirror," she says. "I never thought it would actually happen because I had no idea how to go about making it come true. But somehow it happened. I got into a band and couldn't believe me luck, we got a record deal and I couldn't believe me luck, then we became one of the biggest bands in the world and I couldn't believe me f***ing luck! It's funny. Someone asked me the other day whether I was frustrated that I'd wasted four years in the Spice Girls when I could have been developing my solo career. Hello? What a ridiculous question! How could I possibly be frustrated? I've lived out everybody's childhood dream. I'm a multi-millionairess, and I'm only 25. I'm so f***ing jammy, I've got an amazing life."
Word comes up from the beach. The photographer is ready. Mel C, dressed only in a red vest and a pair of briefs that are as much adjective as they are noun, skips across the sand and takes her position on the shore. As she frolics in the warm waves, her vest riding up to reveal the legend ANGEL on her midriff, a sun the colour of ripe melon cracks on the clouds behind her, then slowly bleeds into the horizon. Outside of the click and whir of the camera, there is silence all around, everyone slowly drinking in the postcard beauty of the view, quietly revelling in the temporary pleasures of a lifestyle not bound by financial constraint.
A day later, the rains come. Unlike British rain, which drizzles, teems and spits and seems to hang around forever, tropical rain is sudden, temporary, and very, very heavy - the mother of all power showers. "F*** me! Rain! Inside, quick!"
Mel C pads into her little kitchen and puts on the kettle. More herbal tea is made, and, infuriatingly, she insists on lighting another stick of hippy's armpit. Then she sits on the floor again, crosses both legs on top of one another in a fashion reminiscent of origami, and smiles widely. Mel C chooses her words less carefully than Sporty Spice.
"It's not that I put on an act or anything," she insists, "it's just that it's more difficult to speak your true mind in a band situation because everything you say represents three other people. I don't want to spout off only to find out I've offended one of the other girls. It's all about respect, basically. Alone, though, I'm my own boss. I can say what I want."
And so she talks about the band and how they split up regularly. She talks about Geri Halliwell, and while doing so wrinkles her nose as if smelling something sour. And she talks about the whole gay thing. But let's take it one step at a time. To her left, the tea goes cold, ignored.
"We're girls, you know, and girls bicker all the time. So there are rows and ructions every other day. There'll always be one of us who flips and says. . ." and here, perhaps not accidentally she slips into a very passable impersonation of Mel G, ". . . That's it! I'm leaving! But it never amounts to anything. I think the rumours of us all hating each other is hysterical. If we really hated each other so much, why would we stay together? We hardly need the f***ing money do we?"
The arguments seem generally to revolve around Mel G. Is she really as horrible as the recent Spice Girls documentary suggested? "Melanie is, um, definitely the loudest," says Chisholm, carefully. "And there are some days I don't even bother talking to her, to be honest. But other days we're bosom buddies." Oh. "Honestly! I'm telling you the truth, I'm not just being diplomatic. We really are great friends - you'd have to be after what we've experienced together."
Who's her favourite Spice Girl? "Favourite?" She thinks a while. "Me!" Sorry. Try again.
"Well, Emma and I spend a lot of time together, but then I also... (cue five minutes of approved Spice blather) And I used to be very close to Geri," she concludes.
Geri Halliwell, Mel C insists, left the band without any explanation. The girls have yet to divulge the whole story because, she says, they don't know the whole story. Sure, she had arguments, especially with Mel G, but no more than anyone else. And, yes, they each have several theories as to why she chose to leave. Which were, exactly?
"We'd rather keep those to ourselves," she says.
Oh, go on.
"No, they stay with us."
She will say that Halliwell's very abrupt departure shocked them all greatly. And she will profess ignorance of the breast cancer interview Geri Halliwell alleges the Spice machine made her miss: in Halliwell's version, the catalyst for the split.
"The ball is in her court now" says Chisholm, with a certain resignation. "We've all tried to get in touch with her, but she won't return our calls. She can't seem to bring herself to talk to us. Maybe her wounds are still healing? It's a shame, but whatever. I'm sure she'll get in touch when she's ready."
In her travelling CD case, Mel C has a copy of Schizophonic. She's played it twice, at most. It's unlikely she'll play it a third time.
"I was very excited to hear it," she says. "And I have to admit, part of me wanted it to be awful. But it's a collaboration with Absolute (the team previously employed by Spice Girls), so it didn't shock me in any way. I did wonder about how she'd handle it vocally though."
And her verdict?
"Not great, but alright. I've got loads of advice for her, which songs to release, and just things I'd love to say to her if we were still talking, but we're not, so I'm sure she's not interested."
She reaches over for her tea, and grimaces as she swallows.
"I don't want to offend her, but I find it difficult to take her as a serious artist. For me, she's just cotton wool. She's not a talented musician, and she's not a very strong singer. I think she's ambitious, and I've got a lot of respect for her in that way. She's a great celebrity, but musically, it doesn't come from here (taps heart). It's just hollow"
Does she think Geri will make it to a second solo album?
"She'll probably be good on TV"
Time, as they almost used to say on Pipkins, for the gay thing. Mel C is one of the four most recognisable pop stars on planet earth. She's young, attractive, but emphatically single. The last time she had a serious relationship, no-one knew who she was. She was 21, and Wannabe was yet to happen. She'd like to think she's a "good kisser", but concedes she's out of practice. She says she's not very good with boyfriends and that she's the first to leave. Recently, she's been linked to several men: Anthony Kiedis, Robbie Williams, footballer Jason McAteer and, tragically, pop himbo Kavana. Did she, as rumour would so love to have it, jump between the sheets with any of them?
For the first time during our two-day chat, she blushes. "It's true that I've dated some of those men, but they could have just been one-off dinner dates or completely platonic friendships."
So which were which, exactly? Her nose scrunches up in embarrassment. She looks about six. "I think I'd rather not say" Then, "Well, none of them actually"
Cue, then, the big rumour: that the permanently tracksuited Sporty Spice, someone who wouldn't know glamour if it came up and assaulted her, was constructed specifically to appeal to lesbians. True or false?
Mel C's mouth makes a perfect O, then her lower jaw falls to the floor. The laughter is loud, incredulous.
"Is that what they say? No wonder I've got trouble getting a bloke!" But is it true?
"Of course it's not true! It's a load of f***ing bollocks! I wore tracksuits because I've always been into sports and I've never been comfortable in dresses. I wasn't `constructed' in any way. And when the nicknames took hold, I could hardly start wearing one of Geri's dresses, could I?"
Why no boyfriend, then?
"Well, I've been a bit busy recently as you may have noticed. And also, the right man hasn't come along yet, that's all. But I'm a patient girl, I'll find him eventually."
Another reason for the rumours is her current build. When she flexes those muscles - and even her veins bulge, as if on the verge of bursting - grown men cower.
"I'm a complete perfectionist, and I'm always striving to better myself in every way. Keeping fit helps me in many ways. I'm a very up and down person, and I suffer a lot from stress. Working out in the gym, I've found, is perfect for working off stress. Also, I feel safe in the gym. When I'm working out, it's just me and the weights: No-one can get to me." She shifts her iron buttocks on the cold marble floor. "A lot of people in this business turn to drink and drugs when they come off the road because they're looking to recapture the buzz. I've got enough problems without turning to drugs." Problems?
"Like most artists, I suppose, I have a lot of highs and lows, y'know? Loads of mood swings. So if I did turn to drugs, I'd completely f***ing lose it, no question. So instead, I put all my energy into keeping fit. That keeps me focused."
But she has taken drugs, hasn't she?
Silence. Pause. A shrug. "Yes, I've dabbled, but no more. These days, I barely even drink."
Two weeks later, in London, Q wonders what's the most bizarre rumour she's heard about the Spice Girls. She answers in a second. "That whole lesbian thing we talked about on St Martin, actually," she says. "Y'know, that really shocked me."
Since we last met, she's cut her hair short and, for the photo shoot, she's oiled up her body. Everything ripples, including her tattoos.
"I suppose that now looking like this, everyone will be completely convinced that I'm a dyke!" She grabs her head in, presumably, mock agony.
And is she?
"What?" Gay? "No" Oh.
Does it worry her when people question her sexuality?
"Not now, no. It would have when I was younger. But there's always speculation about the Spice Girls, it's part of the territory."
Talking of which. Has she heard the one about Geri leaving when her love affair with Mel G goes sour?
Mel C throws her head back and laughs out loud. "Fantastic! I've not heard that one. What a lot of bulls***!"
What about the one concerning Emma Bunton's abortion after her affair with sacked manager Simon Fuller?
"Oh, that's nasty, and it's not true. Emma never had an affair with Simon in the first place." She grunts, the sound emanating from the back of her throat. "The whole time I was in LA, I didn't see one tabloid, and it was so refreshing. That's why I'm no longer bothered about all this bulls*** that flies around the Spice Girls. I'm working hard to ignore the s*** that's written about us."
A week on, and the Spice Girls are slapped over every tabloid in the UK. The occasion, this time round, is the marriage of Victoria Adams and David Beckham. OK! Magazine pay a million for the photos, keep the sexually frustrated Beckhams awake till 5.15am on their wedding night sifting through them, and publish them a week later. The results looked quite vulgar.
"It wasn't vulgar," sniffs Mel C. "It was OTT which, if you know Victoria, is very much her style. She's very tongue-in-cheek, she knows how to have fun, take the piss."
It still looked crass, though.
"No, it was actually a beautiful day. I've never seen two people so intensely in love before." While all the guests gorged themselves on a buffet of Tudor magnitude, Melanie Chisholm played Self Disciplined Spice once more. Not even a smorgasbord of excess such as this could tempt her away from purity. "Being in the Spice Girls is very demanding, and each member is very demanding in themselves," she says, at the airport a couple of days later, LA-bound once more to finish off the album. "To work on my own record I needed a change of scenery. That's why I went to LA. And that's why I'm going back. I had to get away from all band responsibilities and distractions. When I set my heart on something, then I go for it with complete focus."
She walks through the departure lounge and down the ramp towards the plane, and she keeps walking until she becomes, temporarily, a blur.