by Tara Bond
I pulled a face. “Why? What’s the big deal? I work here most nights.”
“I know that.” He spoke with slow deliberation, obviously trying to be reasonable and avoid a fight between us. “But tonight you’re not working. You were drinking earlier and you seem—how shall I put this?—upset. I don’t like leaving you in this state.”
“In what state?” I could see he was genuinely concerned, but that just annoyed me even more. Why did everyone insist on treating me like I was a child? “I had a few drinks earlier, but where’s the crime in that? I’m over eighteen. I can make my own decisions—”
“I understand that—”
“Yeah? Then when are you and everyone else going to start realising that I can take care of myself?”
I glared at him, challenging him to disagree with me. He looked at me for a long moment, but seemed to think better of arguing back.
“Now,” I said, “will you let me out of this car so I can get on with my evening?”
Finally he did as I asked, and opened the door and stepped onto the pavement, bringing his seat forwards to allow me out.
I grabbed my bag, and clambered from the car, my tiny denim skirt riding up my thighs as I did so. I could see Richard’s jaw tighten at the sight of my exposed skin, and I hurriedly straightened my clothes, before heading for the bar.
“Charlotte?” His voice stopped me just as I was about to go in. I turned back to face him. He was still standing by the open car door. His eyes were serious and filled with genuine concern. “You know that if you ever need anything, you can call me. I won’t judge.”
The sincerity in his voice threw me. I swallowed hard. I could cope with the bickering between us, but any sympathy or real feeling just didn’t feel right.
“Yeah?” I jutted my chin up, wanting to get us back on our normal footing. “Well, don’t wait by the phone.”
With that, I turned away and headed towards the Nick. Right now, all I wanted to do was forget that today ever happened.
* * *
I pushed open the double doors and stepped into the bar. Immediately the smell of stale beer and cigarettes hit me. There may have been a smoking ban in place for years now, but it had been far longer since the Nick had last been refurbished, and the tobacco odour still lingered on the shabby furniture and peeling paint. A long time ago, the building used to be a police station—hence the name—and in honour of that, there was police paraphernalia around the walls: old truncheons, handcuffs and helmets.
Strangers tended to be quite disparaging of the Nick. Tourists often stumbled in here by mistake, looking for a quintessential English pub, and invariably headed straight back out again. It was, in all honesty, a bit of a dive, and had that unmistakably early nineties grunge feel to it. But the great music made it a cool place to hang out.
I looked around the room, searching for a familiar face. The place was heaving, which was always the case on nights with live bands, and it took me a moment to spot Lindsay sitting up at the wooden bar, talking to one of the other staff, Steve, who was on duty tonight. Even though she had her back to me, I knew immediately that it was her—she was kind of hard to miss, with her shocking-pink hair. It was a bold colour, but somehow she managed to pull it off—I think it was because she kept her hair short, in a pixie cut that framed her pretty face, so it wasn’t too much. It also suited her wild demeanour. She was a pocket rocket: just a fraction over five feet and bird-like thin, she made up for her small stature with her big personality.
I walked over to where she sat, and hopped up on the stool next to her, making the mistake of resting my arm on the bar, right on something sticky. I quickly peeled my skin away, and rubbed at it with a napkin. Sadly the place never felt particularly clean.
As Steve hurried off to serve a group at the end of bar, Lindsay swivelled round to face me. “So look who finally decided to make an appearance.” She folded her arms, and pretended to pout. “Although I don’t know if I want you sitting with me. I still haven’t forgiven you for this morning. You know the rule—if you’re going to have guests round that early, then make sure they don’t bother me.”
“Yeah?” I fired back. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for letting Richard in. I thought we had a deal—he comes over, and you tell him I’m out. You’re meant to have my back.”
We mock-glared at each other for a moment.
“Hmmm.” She pretended to muse on the subject. “So I suppose we should just call it quits, then?”
“That seems like a good idea.”
We grinned at each other. Lindsay and I had been friends for the past eighteen months, ever since I started working at the Nick. Back then we’d both lived near the pub, in separate flat-shares. My first week working here, we’d gone out clubbing after our shift ended on Saturday night, and hadn’t got home until the Monday afternoon. Those thirty-six hours of mayhem had bonded us for life. She was the only person who could keep up with my partying.
With Steve busy serving someone, I leaned over the bar and helped myself to a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. As I downed the clear liquid, Lindsay raised an eyebrow. “Bad day?”
“The worst.” Another shot.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“It might do you good . . .”
I thought about it for a moment. I wasn’t usually much of a sharer, but Lindsay looked genuinely interested.
“It was pretty much the usual boring waste of a day—except this time my sister got engaged to that tool of a boyfriend of hers.”
The bitterness in my voice took even me by surprise. Lindsay must have picked up on it, because she arched an eyebrow. “So? Why do you care? I know the guy’s a dick, but it’s not like you have to marry him. Anyone would think you were secretly in love with him, or something.”
I froze as she said that last part. It was meant as a joke, but the thought that this might have crossed anyone’s mind sent a shiver through me.
“You’re right.” I turned away from her, and poured another shot. “I’m making a big deal about nothing. Let’s forget it. I’d rather just drink.”
“Yeah?” Lindsay frowned. “I’d have thought after last night you’d have had enough.”
I was surprised to see that she seemed serious. “What are you—my mother?” I elbowed her in the ribs. “You’re meant to be my drinking buddy, my partner in crime. I’ve had enough judgement from Richard today—I don’t need another babysitter.”
She didn’t smile at that like I’d thought she would. In fact, she looked like she was about to say something, but before she could, the owner of the bar, Malachi Gold, appeared.
Despite the Jewish name, Malachi was pure East End. A former boxer, he’d retired ten years ago, with enough takings to buy this place. He was a character in his own right. He wasn’t especially tall—maybe five foot eight—but he was built like a brick wall. No one messed with him.
He came over to where Lindsay and I were sitting, and planted his meaty forearms on the bar. He nodded at me. “Thought you had the night off.”
“Plans changed. I can help out if you want.” The bar looked busy—well, of course it would be, with Oblivion headlining. And I could do with something to take my mind off today.
His eyes narrowed. “You been drinking?”
I squeezed my thumb and forefinger together. “Just a little-itty bit.”
“Then stay that side of the bar.” He picked up the tequila bottle. “And do me a favour, stay away from this.”
Once he’d left, I rolled my eyes at Lindsay. “What is it with everyone today? It’s like you all took party pooper pills. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been taking tips from Richard.”
She said nothing. I waited for a moment, and then slid from the stool.
“Anyway, the gig’s about to start. You coming?”
Without waiting for her to answer, I headed towards the backroom, where the shows were always held.
The backroom
was even more crammed than the bar. Health and Safety would have had a fit if they’d seen the groupies packed shoulder to shoulder, sweat on foreheads, jackets piled on the chairs at the back. I stripped off my jumper and threw it in the mix. Then I grabbed Lindsay’s hand, and shouldered my way through the crowd so we were nearer the stage.
Just as we got there, the lights dimmed and a huge roar went up from the crowd. The band ran out on stage, five guys in black leather. One of them stepped up to the mic—coal-black hair to his shoulders; tattoos covering his arms and stretching up his neck. He looked like trouble. Just my type.
“My name’s Brett.” He had to shout into the mic to be heard. “And we’re Oblivion!”
As they started to play, the room erupted, and the crowd surged forwards, cheering and punching the air. But my eyes remained firmly riveted on Brett. I’d just found my evening’s entertainment.
* * *
Once the band was finished, Lindsay and I streamed outside with the rest of the crowd, and fought our way to the bar. As Lindsay ordered for us, my eyes scanned the room for Oblivion’s lead singer.
It didn’t take long to find him. He was standing across from me, looking flushed with the thrill of performing, surrounded by a gaggle of girls in push-up bras, who were fluttering their false eyelashes up at him.
I nudged Lindsay. “Hey. I’m going to make a new friend.”
She followed my eye line and groaned.
“Ah, Charlie, no. Not again . . .”
But I was off before she could finish.
I pushed my way through the groupies, ignoring the irritated looks that they flashed me. I was a woman on a mission, and I didn’t care what anyone thought. I tapped Brett on the shoulder. He turned, giving me the once-over.
“What can I sign for you?” His eyes settled on my ample bosom, and he flashed a wolfish grin. “Maybe your bra?”
The other girls giggled as though this was the most outrageous thing they’d ever heard, but I didn’t even crack a smile. It took a lot to shock me these days.
“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join me for a drink?”
I could see he was taken aback by my directness. The groupies scowled, clearly aware that they were fast losing his interest.
Brett studied me for a moment. I stared right back. I might not be as attractive as the other girls, but I had one key advantage that they lacked—I wasn’t impressed or intimidated by this guy. My indifference made me interesting and desirable.
“Sure,” the singer finally drawled. “Why the hell not?”
* * *
I got us a bottle of tequila, while he found a table in the corner. We were there for about an hour when the guitarist came over, and said something to Brett, before heading back to join the rest of the band.
Brett downed the rest of his drink, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Look, we’re heading off now. Some dude’s got a party going near here. You want to come?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to accept, but then I caught sight of Lindsay. We had got up to some crazy stuff, and so, early on in our friendship, she’d insisted that we always stick together if we went to parties or clubs. That meant I was going to have to run this by her, and try to convince her to come along. “Just give me two minutes.”
I got up—stumbling a little as the alcohol hit me—and headed over to where my friend was sitting at the bar, chatting to some regulars we knew.
“You ready to go?” she said, as I approached.
“Not exactly . . .”
I quickly told her what I was up to. She was already groaning and shaking her head before I finished.
“Come off it, Charlie. Not again. Last night finished me off. I just want to go home and sleep.”
“You said that yesterday, but after a few drinks, you were fine.”
“Yeah, and I was also so hung-over today that I couldn’t meet up with Adrian. He’s meant to be coming round later to stay over, and I’m not letting him down again.”
Adrian was the guy she’d been seeing for the past few weeks. He was nice enough, a softly spoken English teacher, who seemed a little shy. But I was surprised she was still seeing him, to be honest. Lindsay was like me. Men were for the night, no longer. And Adrian in particular seemed far too tame for her. He’d been invited along this evening, but had stayed in to mark essays. Hardly a surprise—I couldn’t exactly see this being his scene. The sooner Lindsay got rid of him the better, if you asked me. But if she wanted to keep him around for a while, then that was her business. I just wasn’t about to let it affect my plans.
“Fine,” I said. “Go home to Adrian, if you want. No one’s stopping you.”
I turned to leave, but before I’d made it even a step, she caught my arm. “You seriously think I’m going to let you head off to an unknown address with some guys we’ve never met before?” She nodded across the room to where the band was standing by the door, all tattoos and black leather, waiting for me.
“I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
She swore under her breath. “What is with you? It’s like you have a death wish or something.”
“Just trying to have fun.”
She gave me a sidelong look. “Is that what you call it?”
I didn’t bother to reply, just turned to head over to Brett.
“Hey.” I heard her call after me. “Wait up. I’m not letting you go alone. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
“Fair enough,” I threw back over my shoulder. “But if you’re coming, you better get a move on. We’re leaving right now.”
* * *
The walk to the party was pretty much a blur. I was vaguely aware of Brett’s arm around my waist, supporting me, as we headed away from busy Camden Town and into a quieter, more residential area. Lindsay, who’d called to cancel on Adrian, walked in front of us, talking to the rest of the band.
It was after midnight on a Sunday, so the streets were pretty much deserted. We walked on until we finally reached a small row of Georgian townhouses, which would have been quite impressive if they weren’t so dilapidated. Only a few of the buildings had lights on. In fact, several of the properties were boarded up, as though they’d been repossessed and were now standing empty, and the walls were covered with colourful graffiti.
Brett led us to the grubbiest house, which looked like some kind of squat. Music and voices drifted out to us, telling me that we were in the right place.
The bell had been ripped out, so we just had to hammer on the door until someone came down to let us in. It was a guy who looked like he could have been the sixth member of the band.
“You made it!” He high-fived Brett as we traipsed in.
We followed the noise up a flight of stairs. The interior was just as dilapidated as the exterior, with peeling paint and broken floorboards. The first room we came to was a small, dirty kitchen, where Lindsay and the band settled in. I helped myself to a warm beer—the fridge wasn’t working—but then Brett appeared by my side.
“I’ve got something better than that.” He held up a bottle of vodka. “Wanna find somewhere more private to drink this?”
He didn’t need to ask twice.
The party seemed to be spread across the house. It took a while, but finally Brett found a large, empty room at the back. It was lit by dozens of candles stuffed into wine bottles, the wax dripping down the glass necks, making the place seem more atmospheric. Huge velvet curtains hung at the windows. That looked like a great combination with the naked flames. If a fire broke out, we wouldn’t stand a chance.
There were some battered sofas and beanbags around the side of the room. Brett plonked himself down on the most hideous orange cord sofa I’d ever seen—something that looked like it had been dragged off the street.
I went over and flopped down next to him, nodding at the vodka in his hands.
“Care to share? Or are you already breaking promises?”
“I’ll just get some toni
c—” He made to stand up, but before he could, I swiped the bottle from him and swigged from it.
The clear liquid burned my throat. I stopped to cough, and then drank more down. Brett watched me with widening eyes.
“Je-sus,” he said, as I handed him back the bottle. “For such a little thing, you’ve got the constitution of an ox.”
I gave him a lazy smile. “That’s not my only talent.”
He blinked, clearly not used to girls being so forthright with him. “Well, that’s good to know.”
He took a swig of vodka himself, as I produced a packet of cigarettes, and lit one for us to share.
It took us five minutes to finish the cigarette, and almost half an hour to down the rest of the vodka—most of which I think I consumed. With the last drop finished, I lay my head back and closed my eyes. The vodka mixed with tequila and champagne was beginning to make my head spin.
Brett took it as an invitation, and began to kiss me. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and I was too out of it to really put up much of an objection. Soon I was on my back on the sofa, with him on top, his hand pushing under my T-shirt as he ground against me.
“You like that?” His voice floated through to me, making me aware that he was pawing at my breasts. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I moaned obligingly, because that’s what I knew I was meant to do. But the truth was, I was too drunk to feel much of anything—which was just the way I liked it.
I felt the whole thing moving on—clothes coming off, breathing becoming more laboured. I’d done this so many times before. But gradually I became aware that something wasn’t right. I shifted beneath Brett, trying to get into a better position. His body pressing down on me was making me feel sick. I tried to think back to when I last ate—it was lunchtime. Perhaps all that booze on an empty stomach hadn’t been the best idea.
I broke my mouth from his, and managed to say, “Hey.”
“What?” He raised his head, frowning. “Something wrong?”
