‘Fuck. Lucy. Grow up,’ she says, picking up the bag and trying to wipe it down with her hand. ‘This is bloody Prada.’
I sit there and cock my head to the side, staring into space.
‘Well? You’re not going to at least apologise?’ she demands.
‘No, I’m having a lightbulb moment that maybe you’re a bit of a bitch and I’m disappointed in my older self that I would have ever gone near someone like you.’
And with a smile, she picks up her sodden Prada and leans into me. ‘Bye, Lucy.’
‘Piss off, Imogen.’
And she departs, not even acknowledging my friends but at least leaving us with a full glass of red to share. My eyes follow her as she vacates the bar, not even bothering to turn and give me a second glance.
‘That was what I was into?’ I ask Darren and Cass, still a bit silent from the confrontation.
‘Drama fuelled your soul. I think you thought it made the sex better. Who knows?’ Cass replies and she comes over to kiss me on the cheek, noting my unusually pensive look. ‘Hey, you know where we should go tonight? Velvet Boulevard.’ Darren gives Cass a strange look at the suggestion. ‘C’mon… Not for any other reason but just for the fun? To see who’s working?’
‘Is that a new Tube station I don’t know about?’ I ask innocently.
Darren still doesn’t look convinced. ‘It’s a sex club that you and Cass used to work at,’ he explains, my eyes widening. ‘Not like that, you used to do bar work there, it paid very well. Even if you did have to serve drinks in your underwear.’
‘Nice underwear though,’ Cass tells me. ‘They’d give us vouchers to go buy our knickers from Agent Provocateur – we were in mostly for those sorts of perks. We could go. To bring back your memory and all that…’
‘What’s the other option?’ I ask.
‘We get ratted here and then we have to carry Darren home.’
‘Then let’s go, bitches.’
‘LUCY! YOU BLOODY DIAMOND! COME HERE, GIRL!’ I don’t know who this man is but he’s twice the size of me with a very square head and the tailoring of his suit is immaculate. ‘I heard what happened, look at your hair? You look like me!’
‘I do… And you are?’ I feel knowing his name is important given he literally has me in a bear hug with my toes scraping off the floor.
‘Are you serious?’ he tells me, looking slightly insulted.
‘Kyle, she lost her memory in the accident, remember?’ Cass tells him.
‘I thought you were pulling my leg. Really?’ he says in deep East London tones, putting me down. ‘Then what if I told you I was your husband and you were totally in love with me.’
‘I’d ask you how I take my tea…’
‘Milk, no sugar, ’cause you’re sweet enough…’ I wink at him and he roars with laughter, lifting up a red velvet rope and letting us all inside the club. ‘Any trouble, girls… you come get me. Let yourselves through to the back.’
Cass gives him a kiss on the cheek and we enter the club, heading for a side door next to a cloakroom operated by someone in bunny ears and a corset. I used to work here? I guess it would beat an evening shift at Sainsbury’s. Darren and Cass have explained the many side hustles we were all involved in to keep us alive and in London rents. We all did the princess party scene as that was decent money, cash in hand, and there was everything else from back-up dancing and pantomimes, to bar work and private ballet lessons, to bored expat housewives in West London’s Holland Park. This bar work paid very well but Cass and I drew the line at being in the rooms at the back. Stuff happened in there that people spoke about in whispers. All we know is that the rooms have to be deep-cleaned every night. The club must get through a lot of Dettol.
Darren and Cass lead me through to a large dark dressing room that has a window that I will assume is one-way as one girl sits there with her boobs out, corset undone and eating a packet of smoky bacon crisps. Do we talk about what’s beyond the window? There’s the bar I obviously used to work behind and Cass wasn’t joking, the current girls there are in PVC thigh-high boots and masquerade masks. But around the place, people are just scattered enjoying sexual endeavours of varying descriptions. There’s two people shagging on a sofa, looking very enthusiastic about it all. Is the balding fella in the cage all right? Can we check on him? Is he locked in there? What is also bizarre is that we can’t hear any of it, only see, so it’s like when we’d watch porn at a sleepover with the volume right down so someone’s parents in the next room couldn’t tell what we were doing. Seeing this through my inexperienced eyes makes me stop in my tracks though, as does Darren, who I suspect is not very into this scene.
‘You girls used to tell me about this and I never quite believed you. It really is a thing, eh?’ he says, putting his head to one side to study the angles by which one man is suspended off a wall. An older busty woman in a velour tracksuit and flip-flops sits there staring out of the window and turns to look at us. As soon as she sees my face, she jumps up in shock.
‘As I live and breathe, it’s Miss Juicy Lucy,’ she says in a squawking London accent. She comes over and wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly in an embrace. Luckily a gold chain with her name gives me a clue as to who she is.
‘Tia?’
‘See, she’s only remembered the important people in life,’ she says to Cass. ‘How are you, girl?’
‘Confused?’
She roars with laughter and urges me to come and sit down next to her.
