‘Well, I wish she wouldn’t,’ Zoe said. ‘I don’t want her hanging around with us, you know that. And the more we put up with her, the more she’ll keep plaguing us. I’m being cruel to be kind, that’s all. I keep hoping that one day she’ll get the message.’
We kept marching, because it was so chilly, and I tried to push the memory of Kerry’s face out of my mind. And Luke’s face, too.
There was a small crowd at the entrance to the university bar, all looking like the kind of people who hung around Dead Bouquet, their usual heavy, sweet smell fighting the dampness in the air. A student wearing a T-shirt, with Gothic Winter, the name of one of the bands, on the front, came up and offered us tickets for a fiver each.
‘You’re joking,’ said Zoe. ‘I paid twenty quid last week.’
The girl shrugged. ‘I know, but there aren’t many people here. We’re just trying to get more bodies in through the door.’
We pushed our way in and Zoe spotted someone she knew from the shop. She had a word with them and came back to me with a grin. ‘They’re going to get us some drinks,’ she said. ‘We’d never get served otherwise.’
‘What’re they getting?’ All I wanted was a long drink of cold water.
‘Wait and see.’
Zoe’s friend came back after quite a while with two tall glasses full of black liquid. ‘Two Gravedigger cocktails,’ she said, laughing, and gave Zoe some change.
I sniffed at mine and wrinkled my nose. ‘What the heck’s in here?’
‘Best not to ask,’ Zoe said. She took a sip, swallowed and screwed up her eyes. ‘It’s nice. Just don’t drink it too fast.’
I took a tiny taste and winced as the sourness burned the back of my throat. ‘That’s unlikely.’
There was a loud, grinding squeal as the next band tested their mikes and, as the music started, people started moving forward towards the stage. Zoe grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the front, where the sound was ear-splitting, but she didn’t seem to care. Then Zoe started to dance.
I’d never seen her dance before – just sometimes nodding her head along to a track. It was like watching a different person. Zoe, who was always so cool and so careful, was like a mad, beautiful sprite, her long hair around her face, the black lace of her dress fluttering around her like moth wings. I was bobbing around next to her, feeling about as graceful as a lump of wood. In the middle of the song, the singer reached his hand down from the stage and beckoned her to come up. She leapt up without a second’s pause and danced on the stage. People were whistling and clapping. I stopped even trying to dance and just sort of shuffled my feet, my gaze never leaving Zoe.
At the end of the set, the lead singer slipped his arm around Zoe’s waist and leaned over to kiss her, so that she fell backwards in an old-film-style swoon, and he held her up. Then she took her own bow. I was clapping and shrieking louder than anyone. I had half an urge to turn around and yell out to everyone that she was my friend. I was so proud to know her. When she stepped down from the stage she ran straight towards me and we hugged.
‘That was amazing. You were fantastic,’ I told her. We went to get some water and I used the edge of my sleeve to wipe the little black smears where her eyeliner and mascara had run. Zoe’s eyes widened and I turned to see the singer from the band heading towards us. He was wearing a black dinner suit, a top hat and pale face make-up, streaked with sweat.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘That was pretty good. Can I get you a drink?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Two Gravediggers,’ she said, ignoring the way I was wrinkling my nose. When he turned towards the bar, she opened her mouth in a silent, excited scream. I made a face back at her. I liked all the gothy clothes and music and everything, but I found the guys a bit creepy. I didn’t think I could seriously fancy anyone who went to all that trouble to dress like a Victorian undertaker. But Zoe obviously did.
The singer came back with two more tall glasses of the dreaded black stuff. He asked our names and what we were studying. He thought we were university students. Zoe told him, without batting her heavily crayoned eyelids, that she was doing an art degree.
‘I thought you might be a professional dancer,’ the guy said. I stuck my tongue out at Zoe, but she was too busy gazing at him to notice. He said his name was Tom and for some reason this made me want to laugh, because it was such a normal name for a weird-looking guy. ‘Do you fancy coming along to some more of our gigs and dancing on the stage? It just went down really well. We’ll give you a few quid – can’t be more, because we don’t get that much ourselves. But it goes with the whole act.’
Zoe looked like she’d won the Lottery. I watched as she scribbled Tom’s number on her hand. It was definitely not the time to remind her that her mother would never let her out to be the dancer in a student band. Or that it was only a matter of time before Band-Boy realised she was only just sixteen.
There were other people standing around with us, including the band’s two guitarists and some girls who were closer to them in age. I listened in to some of their chat, but it was pretty hard to hear anything properly, because there were so many people there by now and another band had started their set. I turned to see if Zoe wanted to move back towards
