As I stood at the door, I thought about how I would miss this. There’s nothing like the chat-up lines of a drunken Scot: ‘Yo, Ruby Lips, are we shagging?’ (Not so as I had noticed).
Or the joy of separating the fights between grown men who thought that they were Rocky and Van Damme.
Or the inevitable cries of ‘Do you know who I am?’ when we refused entry to all males wearing white socks with black shoes.
I felt two arms circle my waist from behind and lift me into the air. Obviously a strong man. I was just about to give my assailant a reverse kick to the nether regions when a voice shouted, ‘Holy shit, Cooper, you need to cut down on the Christmas puddings – I think I’ve slipped a disc.’
Mickey Quinn! One of my favourite people in Glasgow. Mickey owned the trendiest bars in the city and would invariably come to the club for a nightcap after his pubs had closed for the evening.
‘Cooper, meet Jack McBurnie, one of my oldest mates. McBurnie, meet Carly Cooper, the best looking female nightclub manager I’ve ever met.’
‘Mickey, I’m the only female nightclub manager you’ve ever met.’ Gender equality hadn’t quite reached the world I worked in yet.
‘My point exactly,’ he grinned, enveloping me in another bear hug.
I extricated myself and shook the stranger’s hand.
‘Excuse the deluded ramblings of this old man, Mr McBurnie. At his age, he gets very jealous of the younger generation.’ Mickey clutched his heart in mock anguish as I continued, ‘He’ll be much happier when we get him in to a home with people of his own age.’
Jack McBurnie roared with laughter as I ushered them both to the VIP suite and sat them down with Kate, Carol, Jess and a bottle of Bollinger. Sarah wasn’t with them – she was still living in Edinburgh, had moved in with her boyfriend there and hadn’t been back since my first week at Tiger Alley, when she helped out behind the bar.
‘Voluntary work for Help The Aged,’ I informed them to more howls.
Across the room, I could see Tom laughing with Callum. My heart flipped. My fiancé was stunning.
He caught my eye and winked. I watched him for a few moments and realised how stupid I’d been. I realised I’d been neglecting him in my obsession with this club. No, I wouldn’t let it get in the way of the best thing that ever happened to me any more, I decided. Okay, so life wouldn’t be a roller coaster of excitement, but this was an artificial world I lived in.
That’s it, I decided – I’d resign first thing tomorrow morning and by the end of January I’d be picking hay off my Jimmy Choo boots and having girls’ nights out with Daisy and Ermentrude. I was heading for a new, stress-free, hassle-free, loving, happy life with the man I adored.
Ten, nine, eight…
The countdown continued.
I headed over to Tom, who pulled me in to his chest.
‘I love you, Cooper,’ he promised.
‘I love you too, Tom McCallum,’ I replied. And I did. At that moment, I really did.
I woke next afternoon with ringing in my ears. Bloody tinnitus, I thought.
Tom gave me a kick under the duvet and told me to answer the phone. I scrambled for the receiver, knocking over a redundant alarm clock and a bottle of anti-wrinkle cream.
I groaned a hello in the general direction of the mouthpiece.
‘Carly, hello. This is Jack McBurnie. We met last night.’
I struggled for some kind of memory to kick in.
‘I was with Mickey Quinn.’
Ah! A vague but definite flashback was forming.
‘I wonder if we could meet for a chat later today,’ he continued.
‘But it’s New Year’s Day.’
‘I know, but I have to catch a flight later tonight and I really would like to speak with you before I go.’
Now I was intrigued. A flight? To where? The Christopher Columbus inside me woke up and sniffed a new adventure. I gave him directions to my house, trying desperately to remember what condition I’d left the lounge in when I’d come to bed.
An hour later, after I’d had just enough time to take Tom a cup of coffee in bed, evict Callum and four of his mates, shove a mountain of beer cans into bin bags and run a brush through my hair, the doorbell rang. I invited Jack in and offered him a coffee. While the kettle boiled, he filled in some of the blanks.
Jack McBurnie, it transpired, despite being born and brought up in Glasgow, was the Food and Beverage Director of the Windsor International Hotel (part of the extensive and prestigious global chain) in Shanghai. The hotel catered predominately for business people, which was why he’d taken the opportunity of a quiet Christmas season to return to Glasgow to visit his family and friends for the first time in five years.
A recent dilemma for him, he explained, was what to do with the hotel nightclub, Champagne, which was under his charge. It was old, shabby and run-down and, due to a lack of control, had become a magnet for criminals running prostitution rings. Mickey Quinn had filled Jack in on my success at Tiger Alley and now Jack was offering me a position in Champagne.
Gobsmacked, I opened my mouth to explain to Jack that, much as I was flattered, I couldn’t take him up on his offer, as I was about to get married, and run off to be a farmer’s wife in Ireland, where there wouldn’t be a nightclub or a vice crime in sight.
He looked at me expectantly.
Say no, Cooper, say no.
‘Jack,’ I began, taking a deep breath, ‘I’m sorry, but there’s a couple of things you should know.’
My mind was racing.
Say no, Cooper, say no.
But… what
