“Satisfaction” she would scream. She had never liked the song, anyway, never even liked the Rolling Stones. They were wrinklies when she was born.
Chelsea lit a cigarette. She knew they could probably hang on another ten minutes or so if they behaved. If she got home after midnight, things were bound to be quiet by then. She could put her headphones on and listen to the new Killers CD in bed. It had been a good night, and she was feeling a bit woozy and tired. Shane had kissed her on the couple of occasions they had passed each other in the corridor on the way to the loo, and they were still on for The Sage tomorrow. She would have to spend some time thinking about what to wear, going through her wardrobe.
For the moment, though, everyone seemed to be finishing up their drinks and moving on. Outside, the market square was busy, and there were already a couple of female slanging matches and a fight, Chelsea noticed. A police van stood on the other side, but no one paid much attention. The police would only get involved if a fully f ledged gang fight broke out.
In front of the police station, one girl was hitting a skinny young F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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man with her handbag, and everyone was laughing except the young man. Another girl, apparently on her own, seemed to be staggering across the cobbles with a broken heel, crying, her mascara running. Occasionally, a whoop went up from some group or other over toward York Road, on their way to the Taj Mahal. Down the alley beside the pub, two boys were sharing a joint. Chelsea could smell it as she passed.
She turned away. She didn’t want them fixing their stoned and screwed-up attention on her. She linked arms with Katrina and Paula and they swayed from side to side, singing an old Robbie Williams song as they headed across the square toward Castle Road. Chelsea hated Robbie Williams almost as much as the Rolling Stones, but you couldn’t get away from him. He was sort of a national institution, like Manchester United, and she loathed them, too. The weather was still mild, and the waxing moon shone down from the clear night sky. The boys walked in front, smoking and shoving one another playfully.
“We could go to The Three Kings,” said Shane. “They’ll probably be open for another half hour or more. Have another drink?”
“The Three Kings is really crap,” said Katrina. “Full of old geezers.
Makes my fucking skin crawl when I walk in there, the way they look at you.”
“Not at this time of night,” said Shane, walking backward as he spoke to them. “All the old geezers will be home and tucked up in bed by now. What about The Fountain? They’re usually open till midnight.”
“No,” said Chelsea. “That was where the girl was. Hayley Daniels.
The one who got killed.” Chelsea didn’t know Hayley, but she had seen her now and then in one pub or another on a Saturday night. She used to play in The Maze when she was a child, and the thought of someone being killed there was really creepy to her.
“Spoilsport,” said Shane, turning and accepting a cigarette from Mickey.
“What’s up?” Mickey said to Chelsea in that mocking, challenging tone she hated. “Scared of being too close to The Maze, are you?
Scared of the dark? Of the ghosties? Hannibal the Cannibal?”
“Oh, shut up,” said Chelsea. “I’m not scared. It’s all taped off, anyway. Look at it.”
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“That’s only the Taylor’s Yard entrance,” Mickey shot back. “You can get in easily from Castle Road, or the car park at the back. I bet you daren’t. I bet you’re well scared.”
“What do you mean?” said Chelsea, feeling the ground under her wobble. She
wasn’t sure whether it was because she was drunk or afraid.
“You heard me,” said Mickey, with a wink at his mates. “I bet you daren’t go in there, in The Maze. By yourself.”
“Of course, I dare,” said Chelsea.
“Go on, then.”
“What?”
They had all stopped now, and Mickey turned to face the girls. “I dare you. I dare you to go in there for just five minutes. Alone.”
“What do you bet?” Chelsea asked, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.
“If you do it, I’ll take you back to my f lat and give you a good tonguing.”
“Hang on a minute, Mickey . . .” Shane said. “That’s out of order.”
“Sorry, mate,” said Mickey, laughing. “But they just can’t say no.”
He eyed Chelsea again. “What do you say, love?”
“You can keep your tongue for the slappers you usually go down on,” Chelsea said, “but I’ll take ten quid off you for five minutes alone in The Maze.”
“You don’t have to do it, Chel,” Shane pleaded. “He’s well pissed.
He’s being an arsehole, as usual, that’s all. Just ignore him.”
“So what’s new?” Chelsea stood her ground, hands on her hips.
“What about it, then, big boy?” she said. “Or can’t you afford to lose a tenner?”
