'Why, you asking?' Both of them laughed and jumped to their feet.
They stayed on the dance floor for almost an hour solid, just letting each successive song carry them along, swaying and grinding until a change of tempo or a burst of vocals lifted them up and set off another burst of energetic dancing. Eventually they took a break, breathlessly sharing a bottle of water at the side of the dance floor, Tom holding the cool plastic against his forehead before gulping down his half. Using his body as a shield, Charlotte slipped the plastic pouch from her bra and opened it up. 'Fancy any?' she asked, glancing down at what was subtly cupped in her hand.
'No, cheers — I'll just see this E through,' answered Tom, head nodding away.
Charlotte licked a finger then dipped it into the bag. It came out coated in a sherbet-like powder and she popped it into her mouth, washing it clean with her tongue. 'Another for luck,' she said with a mischievous smile, licking her finger and dipping it in again.
Back out on the dance floor the music was picking up, people were starting to shout in appreciation, glow sticks had started to appear and the mass of bodies moved with more purpose, the crowd sensing the next phase of music was going to build and build.
As usual Charlotte had quickly manoeuvred her way into the middle of the dance floor. Her hair was tied back in a long ponytail and as her body pulsed back and forth she started sweeping her head from side to side, the blonde mane flicking against those around her, causing several people to turn and watch. Tom was just clicking into his usual routine — hovering slightly to her side, just close enough to let the other men in the vicinity know they were together — when Charlotte lurched against him.
Instinctively he grabbed her waist to steady her, but next thing her legs folded and she crashed to the floor. Those in the immediate vicinity stepped back, but other people, unable to see that someone was down, carried on dancing, bumping into the stationary people. Moving quickly before someone fell over her, Tom hooked his hands under her armpits and hauled her upright. Someone helped him to carry her off the dance floor and place her in a chair at the back of the lounge area.
'She's out of it!' the guy shouted. 'What's she taken?'
'Nothing much, 'Tom yelled back, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible. 'Just a vodka too many.'
The man glanced at Tom, looking unconvinced. Then he turned back to Charlotte. 'Can you hear me, love?' he asked her.
'I told you,' said Tom impatiently. 'She'll be all right.'
'And who are you?' asked the man. 'How do you know her?'
Tom held up his wedding ring, then grabbed Charlotte's hand and showed him the matching ring on her finger. 'She's my wife, all right?' His voice was tight with irritation.
The man looked at their fingers and seemed reassured. 'Listen mate, I'm not being funny, but you could have been anyone. You know, I was worried. All this stuff about date rape drugs. She's totally out of it, after all.'
Tom could appreciate how dodgy the situation must have looked to a stranger. 'No, you're all right mate, I see your point. But she's my wife. A bit of a headcase, but still my wife.'
'OK. You sure you don't need help?'
'No, thanks anyway.'
For some reason they shook hands and the man disappeared back towards the dance floor.
Tom looked back at his wife. Her whole body was limp, eyes shut. 'Shit,' he said, pulling her upright and having to grab her jaw to stop her head lolling forwards. 'Charlotte, can you hear me?' he shouted into her face. She appeared to be totally unconscious. He placed a hand against the left side of her chest — her heart was pounding, but not ridiculously so. Looking around, he saw a bottle of water on the table in front of them. Leaning her back in the seat, he reached out and grabbed it. Then, holding her head back, he tipped a little into her slightly open lips. She coughed but didn't come round. Beginning to panic now, he poured some into his hand and splashed it against her forehead. The water dripped down her face and neck, running into her raised cleavage. He poured more into the palm of his hand and splashed it into her hair, then raised the bottle and poured some directly on to her head. Her eyes stayed shut. Not caring if the bouncers saw, he got one arm under her legs, one round her back and lifted her out of the seat; they had to get to hospital. As he made his way between the armchairs and sofas several people nodded in his direction. A couple of blokes grinned and one called over, 'She looks up for it!'
Then, as he neared the other side of the room, he felt her head begin to move. Away from the dance floor, the music was fractionally quieter. 'Charlotte, can you hear me?'
She moaned and her eyelids began to move. He sat down in an armchair with her on his lap. Getting his face close to hers, he repeated her name. Bit by bit she came round until, after a few minutes, she half opened her eyes and mumbled, 'Where are we?'
'You collapsed. Out on the dance floor.'
She seemed to think about that for a few seconds, then her eyes slid shut. Just as he started to worry that she'd passed out again, she whispered, 'Take me home.'
After folding the duvet around her, he scraped up her damp dress and underwear. The little plastic sachet of powder fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, he walked downstairs and put the desk lamp on. Two teaspoons' worth of fine white powder formed a triangle in the corner, a couple of lumpy bits where Charlotte's damp fingertip had been.
He lifted the phone, knowing Brain rarely slept at night. 'What the fuck was that powder?'
'Who's this?'
'Tom. I called in earlier tonight to pick up some shopping. You had a new… spice.'
'Oh that,' answered Brain and Tom could hear his grin. 'Knockout, isn't it, my friend?'
'Knockout? You could fucking say. My missus is completely asleep upstairs.' 'I told you — it's something new. I put it together using a recipe from the States.' He put on a Mexican accent. 'You only need a leetle beet, amigo. Es claro?'
'Yeah, you said,' Tom felt slightly sheepish, realizing Brain had warned him. He thought about the two large dabs his wife had taken. 'What is it?'
'I told you earlier. It's very popular with men who like their ladies a little more compliant, shall we say.'
'You're talking about date rape?'
'Watch what you say over the phone. Those were your words, not mine.'
Tom just had time to apologise before the line went dead. Hanging up, he looked at the little bag again, shook his head and tossed it on to the uppermost shelf above the computer, safely out of anyone's reach.
In the kitchen he opened up a beer and stepped through the French windows out on to the back patio. Hoping to try and spot The Plough once again, he looked up at the night sky. But all he could see was a greyish orange smear created by the massed lights of Manchester.
Chapter 10
June 2002
The sleek nose of the Virgin train eased slowly along before coming to a halt just in front of the buffer at the end of the platform.
As one, the train's doors fell outwards before sliding to the side. Watching from the barriers, Tom was returned for an instant to the Seychelles, disembarking from the plane into a holiday that never happened. Taking one last glance at the photos from his client's company web site, he started scanning faces. Soon he spotted them, briefcases and bags in hands.
Folding the printout into his jacket, Tom walked over. 'James. Will. I'm Tom Benwell.'
The taller, slightly balding man smiled and held out a hand. 'Hello Tom, nice to put a face to your voice at last.'
Tom shook hands and turned to the dark-haired man whose stare was a little too intense. Noticing his hands were still at his sides, Tom held out his own, wondering if it would be shaken. 'Good to meet you, Will.'