As the tightness in her shoulders faded, she looked to the table where the two guys had sat. She nodded to herself and thumbed another tweet. Why can’t a #girlalone #lookinggood wear what she likes without #eyerape and hassle from #entitledmen? #metoo. Then she texted Kristin telling her to hurry.
Heavy footsteps and panicked shouts caused her to look up from her phone. Several people ran towards her. Her body tensed as she thought the two guys had returned to give her more harassment. But these people brushed past her with open mouths and wild eyes. One large woman barged into her table. The glasses fell, and the bottle of champagne toppled. It rolled to the ground, broke with a dull crack, and the contents fizzed out in a frothy pool that spread to her heels.
“Hey,” Alice shouted. “Stop. Look what you did.”
The woman ran on without a glance back. The waiter hurried out and threw his hands up into the air. “Not your day, is it?”
Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s supposed to be.”
“Let me talk to the manager. Laurent Perrier, right?”
As the waiter’s footsteps receded, Alice felt drips on her thigh and stood. “For pokker,” she cursed. She rubbed her bare legs with her hand and wiped the liquid from her fingers with a napkin. She checked her phone was dry and tweeted, Stupid people in #SthKensington knock over my #champagne and ruin my #newjobcelebration. No-one even said sorry!! #grr. As soon as she sent it, a pang of regret caused her to reconsider, and she thought about deleting it. But her fingers were still sticky, and as she looked for a dry corner of the used napkin, the tweet slipped from her mind.
2
Extra tables and chairs had been put out on Exhibition Road for the street festival and many were already occupied with people drinking and eating. Red plastic cones and plants in large pots separated a single lane of traffic from the revellers the road, which was now restricted to one way from Thurloe Place.
As Lewis Cole and his brother walked by the tables nearest the road, Lewis kicked at a traffic cone and knocked it over. “You know what, Daz? That Danish bitch dissed us.”
“Chill out, bruv.” Daz bent down and put the cone back in its place.
Lewis stopped and lit a cigarette. “I’m going back.”
“You don't even know what she said, you muppet.”
“She dissed us.”
Daz pulled at him. “She ain't worth it.”
Again, Lewis spat onto the street. “Unfinished business.” He flexed his fingers and twisted his head to loosen the muscles in his neck.
“Let it go.”
Lewis took several deep breaths. “Bint.”
“She don't matter. Okay?”
“Does matter.”
“I talk sense, bruv. Without me reckon I’d be visiting you in the Scrubs and all.”
Lewis took a deep drag and pushed Daz. “Shut it.”
Five minutes later, they sat a table drinking beer. Lewis yawned and fiddled with his phone. Daz poked him in the shoulder. “What did we do before phones? We talk or something?”
Lewis glanced at him. “Supposed to be a festival and all. Where’s all the muff?” He waved his hand around. “Ain’t much happening is there?”
“It’s too early. Later you won't be able to move for all the muff.”
“Yeah, sure.” Lewis Cole turned his attention back to his phone.
The harsh sound of scraping metal followed by indistinct shouting made them look up. Someone screamed and Lewis stood. “Whoa. Some prat smacked into a van.” He shaded his eyes with his hand. “Looks like that Danish bint’s Arab mate and all.”
“Them lot can’t drive.” Daz pointed to his near empty beer. “Anyway...”
“What?”
“Your shout.”
“You sure?” Lewis drained his glass. “All right. Gotta take a leak anyway.”
“Muppet.”
Lewis scowled. “Stop calling me that. I ain't no muppet.”
Daz laughed. “Right.”
Lewis squeezed by tables and angled towards two girls that caught his eye. The dark-haired one in the red mini dress looked to him, all lipstick and heavy eye liner. “All right?” he asked. She looked away, then giggled to her friend.
Lewis stopped and tried to think of something witty to say when angry shouting sounded from further up. The girls jumped to their feet. “What’s going on up there?” asked the girl in red.
Lewis laughed. “Some Arab tosser in a van who can’t drive. Don't look like much.”
“Oh,” she said. The girls turned their backs and ignored him.
“Yeah,” Lewis said. “It ain't nothing. You know what, girls? Can I get you a drink?”
“No thanks.” She whispered something to her friend and they both laughed. He flexed his hands and took a deep breath. Were they laughing at him? From the corner of his eye he saw Daz wave him towards the bar. Lewis let out the deep breath he held and walked away. He struggled to contain his paranoia, and he was convinced they were still laughing at him.
At the bar, he ordered the drinks, then stomped to the toilets. After he finished, he went to open the door but stopped to calm down. As he washed his hands, he thought of the Danish girl, then the other two. While his skin flapped in the dryer's warm blast, he tried to think of what he should have said to them all. Bitches, the lot of them. He muttered the words aloud and nodded at himself in the dirty mirror. Looking good Coley, he thought. Their loss.
When he opened the door, strange sounds drifted into the bar. Like a girl screaming. As he got to the street, he saw the blue van had ploughed into the tables outside, scattering chairs, drinks and people in all directions.
