‘Eeeeuw,’ I said out loud, not that anyone heard me or took any notice. I didn’t quite know where to put myself, so without really needing to, I made for the toilets. It took ages to squeeze myself through the crowd and then there was a queue. It was when I’d finally got myself into a cubicle that I heard my mobile ringtone. I pulled it out of my bag and the display read: Mum. It also said there’d been six missed calls – all from Mum. My heart started thumping. I started to dial her back, my fingers shaky, when I realised I’d better talk to Zoe first. If someone had checked up on us, then we’d better get our stories straight.
I clicked the mobile off and pushed my painfully slow way back towards the bar, craning my neck to see if I could spot Zoe and grab her attention as fast as possible. I couldn’t see her anywhere – or the singer. After a few minutes of searching, I started to panic. I tried skirting round the dark corners of the hall to see if she and Tom were tucked away somewhere together, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. The noise of the band, the flashing lights and smells of beer and sweat and hairspray were making me feel shaky and sick. Eventually I recognised the Gothic Winter guitarist, next to a girl with an Elvira-style hairdo. I tapped his arm and tried to ask where his lead singer was, although I had to yell at him and wave my hands about and he didn’t seem very bothered or interested. He smiled and blinked blearily, as if I’d just woken him up.
Elvira shook her towering hairdo at me. ‘He’s probably taken her back to the van. Your friend should know she’s just one of a long list of notches on his bed post, darling.’
‘Where’s the van?’ I shouted.
Elvira took my arm and steered me towards a fire exit. I followed someone with a guitar case out of the double doors and into a small car park. Outside, the cool air felt like water. I took a huge breath and wiped my sweaty, grimy face. I could only see a couple of vans. The guy with the case went towards one of them and threw open the back, which was full of boxes and stuff. I ran over to the other van, but it was dark and empty. I rapped on the window, but I could see there was no one inside. The rest of the cark park was deserted – no other vehicles, apart from a battered motorbike. My stomach felt as if a brick was sinking deep down into it. I fished out my phone and texted her. Wr r u??? I waited a few moments, muttering at the phone as if that would make it ping, but there was no reply.
I turned back to the stuffy concert bar, the music pounding in my head and the smells of booze feeling overpowering. The guy behind the bar said he hadn’t seen her, nor had the girl on the entrance door and she wasn’t in the toilets. Elvira scribbled Tom’s number down for me on a flyer and I tried calling that, but I just got some spaced-out voicemail message. My own phone said there’d now been eight missed calls and they were all from Mum. I was going to have to call her back.
Outside, I could hardly tap in the numbers because my fingers were trembling so much. She was going to go absolutely wild with me. And I couldn’t think of a way to speak to Mum without getting Zoe into a shed-load of trouble too. I tried texting her again. Crisis, nd 2 spk 2 u asap.
The phone at home rang and rang. There was no answer. I tried again, but the ringtone just kept going. I could see the battery on my mobile getting low.
I started trudging away from the concert hall, without any real idea what I was going to do. Rain spat down on me. I was going in the direction of the bus stop, but I wasn’t even sure there were any buses running, because it was well after midnight. There were plenty of people around, but all in big groups, staggering between bars and clubs, their shouts coming in waves of sound. I was cold through to the bone and shuddering. I felt like the slightest thing would make me throw up.
As I stood at the bus stop, shivering, blinking back tears, ignoring the drunken lads lumbering past, I heard a car horn beeping and looked up. It was Dad’s car and I could see that Mum was in the passenger seat. They pulled the car up into the bus bay and Mum gestured for me to get in.
As soon as I threw myself onto the back seat, with its fuggy warmth and familiar Dad-smell, I burst into tears. I don’t really know what made that happen. Dad started the car again and we drove off towards our house. Dad said nothing at first. It was Mum who fired off all the questions.
‘What on earth did you think you were doing? Why didn’t you tell me where you were really going? And where’s Zoe? Her mother is going out of her mind with worry too, just like us.’
I sniffed and swallowed, trying to summon up the sense and the energy to answer. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. Sorry, Dad.’
Dad just gave me a look in the rear-view mirror and shook his head.
I tried to explain that we just went to a concert and we’d planned to stay with a friend. But she hadn’t turned up, I said. I was making it up
