“Uh oh, what’s going on?” Kate asks, watching the people at the next table being pulled from the comfort of their chairs. Tonight’s entertainers, a ‘traditional’ Greek dance troupe from Portsmouth, are hauling everybody to their feet. They make us link hands, so that they can lead us in snake like formation around the chairs and tables. The dance gets faster and faster, and the heady speed is a little sickening, especially as I’ve just drunk half my wine.
Flushed and out of breath, we return to our table, where we replenish ourselves with more wine. I look on as the dance troupe smashes plates on the floor and dances around in the resulting shards. I really hope these are props, as the whole thing looks rather dangerous.
“Oh, I got everyone key rings,” I remember, pulling them from my bag and setting them down in the centre of the table.
“What are these?” Rhett asks, picking one up to examine it. “They’re kind of… ugly.”
“They’re smoke detectors,” I say, careful to avoid Alicia’s eye. “I just thought, after the fire at the caravan park we should all be a bit more safety-conscious. It can’t hurt, can it?”
My friends exchange bemused looks, much like the time Kate got us all suntan lotion for Christmas.
“That’s really thoughtful of you,” Alicia says sweetly. “I’ll keep mine in my handbag at all times.”
I am almost grateful to her as the others murmur in agreement, even though she is the reason I bought them in the first place.
“You know, I heard a rumour that they’re reopening Millennium,” Rhett says, sipping his Turkish coffee.
“Really?” Deacon looks at me in delight. “Maybe we can recreate our first meeting?”
“I don’t think so!” I glare back.
“Why, what happened?” Alicia wants to know.
“Can you believe he threw me out of a nightclub?” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I didn’t throw you,” Deacon objects. “I was very gentle.”
It was ten years ago and Kate and I were queuing to get into Millennium, the most popular – in fact, the only – nightclub in Queensbeach at the time. Kate had just turned eighteen, and although I was a few months younger, I rarely had a problem getting in as I was tall and sophisticated for my age, or so I liked to think. That night, however, there was a problem.
“You can go in,” the bouncer told Kate. He was big and broad, with longish black hair and penetrating eyes. I made to follow her, when he put out his hand to stop me.
“Can I see some I.D, please?”
“What?” I was so taken aback by the question that I didn’t even have the forethought to come up with a good story.
“But I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months,” I wailed, watching a group of my friends go inside.
“Come back then, and I’ll let you in,” he said firmly.
I was fuming, but there was nothing I could do. Angrily, I dragged Kate across the road to the Horse and Hare, which was much less fussy about its entrance policy. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as Millennium though.
When we left a couple of hours later, I noticed that there was a different bouncer on the door at the club. Emboldened by the three or four WKD Blues I’d just downed, I decided to try again. This time, it was easy. The bouncer smiled at us, and with a polite “Evening ladies,” we strode triumphantly inside.
For a while, I had a great time. We headed straight for the dance floor, where we swayed in time to Avril Lavigne or Pink or whoever it was that we were into then. But then I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Startled, I turned round and found myself looking up at that bloody annoying bouncer.
“I thought I told you you weren’t coming in?” he said grimly.
“Well, I seem to have found my way in anyway,” I replied boldly.
“You have until the count of ten to leave the premises.”
But I had a stubborn streak. I folded my arms. “You can’t make me.”
That was probably the most stupid thing I’ve ever said. In one fluid motion, he swooped down and lifted me up over his shoulder. He carried me like that, fireman-style out of the club, with me banging my fists and kicking furiously as all my friends looked on and laughed. Once outside, he set me gently on my feet.
“Did you have a coat?” he asked. “Give me the cloakroom ticket, and I’ll go and fetch it for you.”
But I wouldn’t be placated. “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll fetch it myself in the morning.”
“You were so angry with me!” Deacon laughs now, taking a contented sip of his wine.
“Can you blame me?” I demand. “You embarrassed me in front of all my friends!”
“Well, you never did learn to do what you’re told, did you?” he teases.
“Shh!” Kate hushes us. “They’re still doing their performance.”
The Greek dancers have moved all the tables away from the centre of the room. A hush falls over the audience as some kind of fluid is poured in a big circle in the middle. A match is lit, and people gasp as a perfect ring of fire forms. Then the dancers begin clapping and singing, leaping in and out of the flames as if they were made of water.
A sudden cacophony of shrill, discordant bleeps pierces the night.
We all jump violently and it takes us a moment to realise where it’s coming from.
“It’s the key rings!” Deacon yells above the noise. “Quick, switch them off!”
We dive frantically into our bags and pockets, cheeks burning as our desperate fingers struggle to silence them. I feel the glares of the people around us, but the dancers continue with their performance as if nothing has happened.
The audience takes up their tune, clapping and whistling along, as the dancers whirl and twist inside the spectacular circle of fire. I feel Alicia’s presence next to me as we both gaze intently into the flames. I sense that we are mirror images – her delight is my horror, my anxiety, her pleasure.
“Please,” I whisper to her, but I’m not quite sure what I’m asking or if she even hears me. She doesn’t reply, but then, as quickly as they were ignited, the flames are quenched, and the dancers step safely out of the circle to take their bow. The spell broken, I rush outside for some fresh air.
Kate follows me.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“Yes, fine,” I feel around in my pocket for my lighter. God knows what I’ve done with it. I borrow Kate’s.
“Don’t feel bad about the alarms going off,” she says, as I light my cigarette. “I thought it was funny.”
“Thanks.”
“You sure you’re OK?” she says, looking at me more closely. “You look tense.”
“Just had a long day,” I say, sinking down onto the window ledge.
How can I possibly explain to her about my concerns about Alicia? It all sounds so irrational.
“Look, I wanted to have a word with you anyway,” she says, sitting down beside me.
“Sounds ominous.”
“It’s about Julio.”
“Oh?”
“Alicia saw you with him, Isabel. Why didn’t you tell me you were back in touch?”
I suck in my breath. “How would Alicia know? She’s never even met Julio!”
“She happened to see you outside your house on Sunday night, talking to a guy in an orange Alfa Romeo. Who else would it be?”