‘I guess I’ll go home, then,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the reality check.’
‘Do you want to go for a drink with me?’ he quickly asks as I make a move.
I cock my head, unimpressed.
‘No, nothing like that,’ he says. ‘My friends are heading home soon. I promised one of them I’d walk her home but then I’m heading to Hades to meet a different crowd – you been before?’
‘I haven’t.’
Of course I haven’t. Hades is a super-exclusive nightclub with a list of impossible rules for entry that change from night to night, if not hour to hour. Hades is notorious for turning people away for pretty much any reason the doormen can come up with – they might just hate your nail polish.
‘Come with me, come for a drink, have a dance. Maybe you’ll meet someone better than the idiot that stood you up tonight.’
I’m not going to go to a nightclub with a man I just met in a bar, am I?
‘I can put your name on the list…’
I am just about in touch enough to know that the only way to get into Hades, without adhering to the super-strict, ever-changing rules, is if you’re on the guest list. I don’t know who/what this man is, to have that kind of power, but if he can get me in, well, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a girl like me, right? Everyone, whether they’re into the club scene or not, who has heard of Hades would do anything to peep inside. Just out of curiosity.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ I say with an awkward laugh.
‘I’m Millsy,’ he says, offering me a hand to shake.
‘I’m Cara,’ I reply.
‘OK, now we’re acquainted, what do you say?’
‘OK?’ I reply, although the hesitation in my voice makes my response sound more like a question than an answer.
‘OK, great,’ he says. ‘I’ll walk my friend home and meet you there?’
I pause for a second. I need to think about this carefully. This isn’t a very me thing to do at all but, I don’t know, perhaps the me I am now just isn’t working. I can’t seem to meet anyone worth hanging around with on Matcher, my friends have outgrown me and I don’t seem to be having much luck making new ones as an adult. Maybe I do need to take a few chances. Try to make some friendly relationships and maybe I can meet new people that way, rather than through apps.
‘OK… OK, sure.’
I keep saying OK, but I’m not sure that it is. Is it OK? Am I making a huge mistake?
‘Cool, I’ll meet you by the bar.’
‘OK,’ I say again. God, I sound like a broken record.
‘What’s your last name?’ he asks. Quickly adding: ‘For the list.’
‘Brooks,’ I reply – I want to say cautiously, but if I were being that cautious I wouldn’t be telling him at all.
‘Cara Brooks,’ he repeats back to me.
‘What’s your surname?’ I ask, levelling the playing field.
‘Mills,’ he says with a laugh, as though he thinks that I think that Millsy is his first name. I haven’t ruled it out. ‘Joe Mills, but my friends call me Millsy.’
‘Am I your friend?’ I ask as a bemused smile spreads across my face.
‘If you don’t stand me up, sure,’ he replies. ‘See you in a bit.’
I watch as Millsy heads back over to his friends. He helps a cool-looking blonde girl with her jacket before they head to the door together. Am I supposed to believe that’s just his friend? That he wants to be just friends with me? I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s way out of my league, but why would he be nice to me? Perhaps I’ve been online dating for too long, but I struggle to believe that genuine men exist at the moment.
You know what though? I am going to go to Hades. I’m not going to sit here moping about Chad, wondering what he might have thought was wrong with me to put him off dating me. I’m going to seize the day, go to Hades, hang out with Millsy and see what the night brings. You have to understand, though, I never do things like this. In fact, I’ve never done anything like this. My idea of a wild Friday night usually involves being locked in a fake jungle, solving puzzles to try and escape.
I hate phrases like ‘you only live once’ but, you do, right? I’d be mad not to go to Hades and see what it’s like. And if anything bad does happen to me, well, at least it will get me out of going to my cousin’s wedding with my ex.
5
‘What do you mean I can’t come in?’ an angry brunette in a barely there dress asks the doorman angrily.
‘No selfies in the queue,’ the doorman insists.
‘Can I still come in?’ her friend asks.
The first girl practically hisses at this betrayal, but then laughs when her friend is turned away too.
‘No, you were dancing in the queue.’
I feel my eyes widen with horror. The list of rules really is super strict here. I’ve been queuing outside Hades for a little while now, and so far I’ve seen people turned away for dancing, smiling, nodding their head to the music, being too enthusiastic about getting in, wearing pastel colours and even for wearing dangling earrings. As I approach the front of the queue, I feel my palms start to sweat. What if Millsy was full of crap? What if there’s no way he could have got me on the list? What if he was exaggerating or messing with me? Why did I just trust him like that?
With no turning back now, I step up to the two doormen. All I can do is give my name, hopefully before the onslaught into my appearance kicks in, and hope that Millsy was telling the truth when he said he’d put my name on the list.
It’s only when I get to the front of the queue that I realise there is a second roped line, at the other side of the door, where people on the guest list are breezing through.
I am just about to open my mouth when the doorman, the shorter of the two (although he’s still at least six foot) nods me through. I hover on the spot for a second, thinking I’m misunderstanding the situation. I mean, what are the chances I can get in on my own?
The man narrows his eyes at me.
‘You’re in,’ he says. ‘Chop-chop.’
‘Oh, right, OK,’ I babble as I hurry past him.
Just like that, I am inside the most exclusive nightclub in Leeds, and completely on my own merit too. I might not have been good enough for Chad, but I’m good enough for Hades, and the validation from that gives me a surge of self-confidence.
As the name suggests, Hades exudes wealth. Actually, does the name suggest that, or am I just being geeky, knowing that Hades was the God of hidden wealth? The wealth in this place is absolutely not hidden; everyone here is literally wearing their designer logos on their sleeve. I imagine the place is also called Hades as a reference to the underworld, and the potentially devilish goings-on that take place here.
As soon as you walk through the door you are greeted by an overly bronzed, buff bloke wearing very loose-fitting white robes that don’t leave much to the imagination. He carries a sceptre, just like Hades himself, but it only seems to prevent him from doing his hosting job properly.
As I walk through the large golden gates that lead into the main room I am thrown straight into the heart of the action.
Despite it being a dimly lit room, with dark, almost black walls, the sheer volume of golden furnishings and the fire machines pushing out real flames dotted all around give the place a warm and unusual brightness. There is a woman going around in a gold bikini, swigging from a container before breathing fire in the direction of patrons who seem surprisingly indifferent about her presence. I’m in awe but I don’t show it, just in case it’s against the rules.
I wade through a sea of beautiful people, finally reaching the large circular bar in the middle of the room. I have a look around for Millsy but he’s nowhere to be seen. Then again, I came straight here and he was walking his friend home first, so I can’t realistically expect him to be here just yet.
I squeeze my way to the front and try to look at the menu on the bar top. Yet another cocktail menu that means nothing to me.
‘You doing OK there?’ a friendly barman asks me over the music.
‘Oh, yes,’ I say, pleasantly surprised. I don’t know why but I wasn’t expecting him to be friendly, I imagined the staff here being as hostile as the doormen. ‘Just wondering what to have.’
‘First time here?’ he asks.
‘Does it show?’ I reply.
‘Nah,’ he says. ‘Shall I surprise you?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll pay for this,’ I hear a dreamy-sounding Australian man’s voice next to me.
I look right, to make sure it’s me he’s talking to.
‘My drink?’ I say.
‘Sure,’ he replies. ‘I’m buying a round for my mates. I might as well pay for yours while I’m here. You look a little nervous…’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I reply with a smile. ‘That’s very nice of you.’
Is everyone in here so rich they’re just throwing their money around? Everyone but me, obviously.
‘I’m Jackson,’ he says.
‘I’m Cara,’ I reply.
As Jackson and I shake hands we have a few seconds where we just stare at each other and smile. Jackson is tall and muscular, he has quite short, dirty-blond hair that looks effortlessly but intentionally messy, and a pair of eyes so blue they send a chill down my spine.
‘You’re not from around here,’ I say, rather pointlessly. I’m sure he knows.
‘What gave me away?’ he asks in the strongest Aussie accent I’ve ever heard in real life.
I just smile.
The barman places my drink down in front of me as the hot Aussie hands over his card. I look down at my drink, which is served in a golden cup, and inhale the strong fruity scent. I can’t resist having a sip straight away. As always I have no idea what it is, but it tastes like champagne with some sort of mango jelly inside. It even comes with a cute little golden spoon.
‘I’m over from Australia, for work,’ the man explains.
‘Oh, what do you do?’ I ask curiously before taking another sip of my drink. It’s incredible.
‘I play rugby,’ he tells me. ‘I’m here celebrating with my teammates – we won today.’
Jackson gestures behind us, to a table overflowing with large-framed men.
‘Congratulations,’ I reply. I’m not really into any sports. I have a basic understanding of football to the extent where I could watch a game, but with rugby, I have no idea. I wouldn’t have a clue what was going on, even if I did watch a game.
‘Thank you,’ he replies. ‘You here alone? You wanna join us?’
‘Oh, I’m meeting someone,’ I reply, wondering if I shouldn’t have accepted a drink from him, knowing that.
‘Perhaps I could take you out for a drink another evening, then,’ he suggests. ‘One that we could actually drink together.’
‘I’d really like that,’ I reply.
We swap phones, adding our numbers to each other’s contacts. Is this actually happening? Am I swapping numbers with a man in a bar? A real one – not one from a dating app – with friends and a job. Why on earth is he talking to me? Is this what happens when you go to bars, or is this a thing that happens in nice bars? Perhaps, because the entrance policy is so strict, people feel as if their fellow patrons have been sort of pre-vetted, so it’s safe to just strike up a conversation with whoever you feel like talking to. So the opposite of Matcher, I suppose, where my general rule was to assume everyone was a murderer until they proved otherwise.
Jackson heads back over to his friends’ table. I hug my cocktail with my hands, grinning from ear to ear, because I can’t believe a man just approached me in a bar, but I have no one to tell.
I was in a WhatsApp group chat with the four other girls I was in a clique with at school until a couple of months ago, when I was unceremoniously kicked out by my old friend, Christina. Things started changing after school was over. I went to university while the rest of the gang gravitated towards getting married and starting families. As far as I was concerned, both routes were perfectly valid life choices, each to their own… My friends didn’t quite feel the same way, often excluding me from meet-ups because I was missing one must-have accessory: a baby. It’s great that they love being mums, and doing mummy things, but they made it impossible for me to join in. The same goes for the group chat. I didn’t have a baby to post daily selfies with, or pregnancy complaints everyone understood but me, and without being able to join in, it got harder and harder for me to talk. Christina decided I wasn’t being chatty enough, or that I thought I was better than them, or some rubbish. She pulled the trigger, but I think they all decided they had outgrown me.
‘You’re not allowed to look so glum in here,’ Millsy tells me, sidling up next to me at the bar.
‘I saw a girl get turned away for smiling,’ I tell him.
‘Yeah, there’s a sweet spot somewhere between the two emotions we’re all expected to maintain.’
I laugh.
‘Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,’ I explain. ‘I’m actually in a really good mood. A guy bought me a drink – and he gave me his number.’
‘Ooh, check you out,’ Millsy teases. ‘I didn’t think you were here. Your name wasn’t crossed off.’
‘Erm, yeah, I guess I just got in,’ I say with an awkward chuckle.
Millsy’s eyes widen.
‘It’s safe to say your day has turned around, then. I’ll drink to that.’
My new friend orders a drink. As I watch him chatting with the barman as if they’re old friends, I can’t quite believe I’m here, at this bar, with a stranger.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Millsy suggests, picking up our drinks, nodding towards a seating area.
‘OK,’ I reply. I still feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
We head over to a large area of the room dominated by massive white sofas. Somehow, the music is just a touch quieter over here, making it easier to chat.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks me. ‘You look a little…’
‘Oh, no, I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘I don’t usually do things like this.’
Millsy just laughs.
‘Is it weird that I find it weird that you’re being nice to me?’ I ask honestly.
‘It sounds like maybe you’ve been let down by people,’ he reasons. ‘Although, in hindsight, maybe this does make me look like a creep. I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it that way. You just looked like you needed a friend. I promise I’m not up to anything although, the more I insist I’m not, the more I fear you’ll think I am.’
I laugh. Somehow this puts me at ease.
‘Was that your girlfriend who you walked home?’ I ask.
‘My friend,’ he says, with extra emphasis. ‘My best friend. Well, yeah, I guess we are still best friends, but I don’t see so much of her any more. She’s getting married soon.’
‘Oh,’ I say. I suppose that makes sense. If he has female friends, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about chatting with me. ‘No girlfriend, then?’
Why am I even asking?
‘Are you trying to work out if I’m gay?’ he asks with a cheeky smile. ‘Just because I have female friends and get my eyebrows threaded?’
I hadn’t noticed his eyebrows were so well groomed, which I suppose is testament to the beauty therapist’s work. As part of the bigger picture, they just add to his general good looks.
‘I wasn’t getting at that,’ I insist.
‘I have lots of respect for women,’ he says. ‘I just don’t want a girlfriend.’
‘Fair enough,’ I reply.
It must be hard for him, if his best friend has drifted away from him. I totally get that. I feel bad for questioning his motives now.
‘What do you do for work?’ I ask him.
‘I’m an actor,’ he replies. ‘I’ve done a lot of theatre, and I have a few random gigs I do now and then.’
‘Oh, God, you’re not famous, are you?’ I blurt. It would be so like me to meet someone fam
ous and be totally oblivious.
‘Not really, no,’ he says. ‘I do a lot of local theatre. I made my small-screen debut recently, in a toothpaste advert. I was the man who used the electric toothbrush though, not the before guy.’
'God forbid you would be cast as the person who uses the manual toothbrush,’ I reply sarcastically.
‘Not with these pearly whites. Check them out,’ he insists, leaning in.
Millsy flashes me an enormous, flawless grin.
‘Nice,’ I say.
‘I’m trying to break into movies,’ he tells me. ‘It’s a long game though. What do you do?’
‘I design escape rooms,’ I say.
‘You design what?’
‘Escape rooms. They’re like puzzle rooms. People do them for fun. Did you ever watch The Crystal Maze?’
‘I remember it, sort of, from when I was younger,’ he replies.
‘Not a million miles off that,’ I say. ‘It’s just lots of puzzles in one room.’
‘That’s pretty cool,’ he says. ‘You must be pretty smart.’
‘Naaah,’ I reply – I’ve never been great at taking compliments. ‘Just a bit dorky.’
‘Well, everyone loves a dork,’ he says with a big, reassuring smile. I’m sure that can’t be true and yet somehow he has me convinced.
‘Tell that to everyone in my life,’ I reply. ‘I’m persona non grata in my family. The last man standing on Matcher stood me up.’
‘Ah,’ he says, a knowing look in his eye. ‘Yeah, I gave up on those apps a long time ago. I don’t think you’ll find anything meaningful on there.’
‘I see that now,’ I say with a half-hearted laugh. ‘I was kind of amazed that someone spoke to me at the bar here. No one approaches me – not ever.’
Millsy looks at me thoughtfully. I can practically see the cogs turning and I wonder what on earth is going through his mind.
‘Do you always wear a lot of black?’ he asks me.
‘Yeah, pretty much,’ I reply.
‘Always covering a lot of skin too?’
He nods towards my tights.
‘Kind of,’ I say. ‘But this is just because I haven’t shaved my legs.’
The Plus One Pact Page 4
