‘Coming in?’ he asks, lighting up a cigarette.
‘What is it?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Well, no.’
Seeing as there’s no sign and I’m not telepathic, I could really do with some sort of clue. He moves aside, letting in a couple.
‘Kink,’ he says.
‘No thank you,’ Lucy answers for me, back by my side. ‘She’s had quite enough of that.’
But I’m already hooked.
‘We could give it a try,’ I suggest.
She shakes her head.
‘Let’s do this the usual way.’ Taking hold of my arm, she drags me further along the road. ‘Dancing. Booze. Maybe a snog. I don’t fancy being manacled to a wall and fucked by a geek in a gimp mask.’
A few more unsteady steps and we arrive at The Mill. Heading straight to the front of the queue, Lucy gives our names, and we’re waved in. We drop off our coats and make our way into the main atrium, coming to a joint halt, stunned by the space around us.
‘Fucking hell,’ Lucy squeals. ‘Why haven’t we been here before?’
To be honest, I have no idea. It’s amazing, like some sort of modern cathedral, a showcase of architectural wizardry, illuminated by a kaleidoscope of colour. Crafted in steel and marble and black glass, it’s sleek, industrial … beautiful. Girders twist above my head, forming a vast, imposing dome, while half way up, a gallery circles the room, lined with silver arches. At the far end of a packed dance floor, a steel platform apparently hovers in mid-air: a futuristic pulpit, the DJ’s station. Finally, I lower my gaze to the bars, and then a labyrinth of seating areas in front of me
‘Wow!’
Lucy drags me into the throng of sweaty bodies, ordering me to stay next to a podium while she wanders off in search of champagne. Feeling distinctly woozy, I do as I’m told. Loud thumping dance music fills my head, the bassline of something I don’t recognise reverberating right through my body. I gaze out over the dance floor. Bathed in a storm of flashing light, shapes intertwine and merge until I’m not sure what I’m seeing.
A hand slips around my waist. Instinctively, I withdraw and find Gordon standing next to me.
‘Hey,’ he smiles. ‘You made it.’
‘So I did,’ I smile back. ‘How did you find us in here?’
‘Saw you come in.’ He nods upwards. ‘I’ve got a pod.’
And razor sharp vision, to boot.
‘Really? Can you take medicine for that?’
He laughs.
‘Oh, that British sense of humour. Gets me every time. No.’ He puts an end to the laugh, a hand on my arm and points up at the gallery. ‘A pod. Up there. Come and meet my friends.’
‘In a while.’ I retreat from his touch. ‘I’ll probably dance first.’
Or shuffle about in a daze. Or worse than that, go completely mad and fling myself around like a whirling dervish on acid.
‘I’ll leave you to it then. It’s the VIP area. Join us when you’re ready.’
As soon as he’s gone, Lucy appears out of the gloom, wielding two glasses of champagne.
‘It’s free, remember!’ she shouts. ‘Get it down you.’
Slugging back her champagne, she eyes the room, in search of more. She’s certainly on a mission to get wasted tonight, and why should I stop her? There’s no point in trying to keep Lucy on a tight leash. If Dan’s moved on, then in all likelihood, so has Clive.
Don’t believe it.
The words spring out of nowhere, returning to taunt me, doing their level best to make me feel like a wavering idiot. But they fail. Instead, I’m angry. Seriously angry. With Dan for his lack of communication. With Boyd for fucking up my life. But most of all, with myself for sitting on a crappy see-saw of trust and doubt.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Lucy demands, wafting her empty glass at me.
‘Gordon’s here,’ I reply quickly. I’m not about to give up the truth. ‘He’s got a pod.’
‘Looks like you’ve found your ride then.’
‘I am not riding him,’ I shout.
‘So, which one would you ride?’ she asks. ‘How about him?’ She nods towards the bar. ‘Bloke in the pink shirt.’
I follow the direction of her gaze, spotting a flash of pink.
‘Not for me.’
‘Okay,’ she shouts. ‘Pick a man, then. Any man. Which one would you shag?’
None of them, I’d like to answer. But I’ll go along with Lucy’s game. I scour the room, squinting through the gloom and finding nothing. My attention wanders back to the nearest bar. One after another, faces appear out of the shadows, and disappear again. Dark meshes with light. Shadows move and collide. And then, like a flare over No Man’s Land, a blinding flash illuminates the scene. It lasts for no more than a couple of seconds before we’re plunged back into darkness. But it’s enough. I blink, not entirely sure of what I’ve just seen. It can’t be. Out of a sea of faces, one in particular, so achingly familiar. My entire body sparks into life. I focus on the spot and wait for the next flash. It’s not long in coming … and my suspicions are confirmed.
Dan.
He’s here.
Finally making contact.
In an instant, everything malfunctions: brain, heart, lungs, stomach. With my legs threatening to give way beneath me, I begin to move.
‘Where are you going?’ Lucy asks.
‘Nowhere. Stay here. I’ll be back.’
Still clutching my glass, I weave an unsteady path through the crowd, homing in on my target. A strange concoction of fear and excitement floods through me. On top of the alcohol, it’s a potent mix. I’m breathing quickly now, and the shakes are back. At last, he’s
