I’m completely shattered from the horrendous journey it took to get here, and I’d rather not indulge in a two-pence a pint free-for-all on my very first night here. I’d rather be safe. Away from thrusting hips and massive bongs.
Wearily, I make my way back to the exit and past the hordes of people still piling in through the doors. I edge my way round the outside of the dancefloor which seems as big as a football pitch, careful not to get knocked over in the crush of bodies. My feet are throbbing. I wilt against one of the beautiful balustrades at the bottom of a grand marble staircase, so that I can take off my shoe and rub my poor foot when, suddenly, a handbag comes from nowhere to whack me sharply across the head.
‘Sorry, love,’ says a woman above me on the staircase, swinging round to see who she’s hit. ‘Didn’t see you down there. Too distracted by this big hunk of spunk.’ She lets out a honking sound that reminds me of a disgruntled seaside donkey. I’m glad someone is finding this exchange funny, because it’s certainly not me. She’s standing on the stairs with a group of similar aged women in their forties. They are jostling back and forth to block the path of someone attempting to get past.
‘Where d’you think you’re going, lover boy?’ she yells. ‘You’re not getting away that easily.’
I crane my neck, rubbing my temple. She clearly doesn’t give two shits about causing me any bodily harm, I’d hate to see what they’ve got in store for the poor fella they have trapped. Peering through the gaps in the balustrade, I manage to make out a very attractive pair of legs. As my gaze travels upwards, the half-hidden body becomes more and more familiar, until a frustrated voice with an unmistakable Australian accent loudly but firmly asks the women to let him through. But whatever move he makes, they are blocking him and finding it hysterical. I shift position to get a glimpse of his face. Jackson looks thoroughly fed up. He’s trying to politely humour them to get through the barricade, but they are not having any of it. These are forceful women, on a clear mission to trap a man. And not just any man. They’ve found the most ruggedly handsome man in the whole of the northern hemisphere, and it doesn’t look as though they’ll give him up anytime soon. Perhaps they think they can wear him down.
And even though I’m probably the last woman he wants to see again, I feel the need to rescue him, just like he rescued me. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight through the human forcefield they’ve created on the stairs, so my only option is to climb onto the railing, edge up a short way and hop over through the only slim gap. In my tiny skirt and towering heels, I’m barely dressed to scale a small footstool never mind a grand staircase. I take a deep breath and hope for the best, removing my heels first and slipping my bag strap across my chest. Even by my standards, it’s an insane move. Thank God for Pilates. I pull myself up onto the ledge and edge my way along, clinging tightly to the wide marble banister. I get to just above head height before Jackson comes into full view. He’s standing sandwiched between these women, unable to go up nor down. He looks exhausted, making me feel immediately sorry for him. It’s time to put my superior debating skills to the test. Four years of arguing blind that black was white doesn’t leave a person defenceless.
‘Hey,’ I yell. ‘Leave my man alone. He’s taken ineverysense of the word.’ I clamber over the railing into the small space around Jackson. I straighten to my full height and make a big show of wrapping my arms around his neck while I come up with a plan.
‘Hi,’ I say, trying not to be distracted by that woody, musky scent of his. ‘How’s it going?’
He looks very surprised to see me but before he can comment, I turn swiftly back to the women, looking them up and down for clues. I point at each of them in turn, bellowing over the music. ‘You lot should be ashamed of yourselves. Married. Married. Divorced. Married. Not sure about you. Very clearly divorced. And married.’
The group of women instantly look to each other, gaping in astonishment.
‘Now imagine how you would feel if your husbands went on like this. Would you be wanting them to act on their attraction? Would you be behaving like this if they were here? Cornering this poor, frightened Australian like a stray hound. Look at him. He’s clearly not enjoying himself.’ I point to exhibit A. Jackson looks bewildered. ‘And not only that. You’re bringing shame to the whole of Britain. At a time when family values are at the forefront of the political agenda.’ I turn my back on them to grin encouragingly to Jackson. ‘Especially when we all know divorce rates are now the highest in recorded history. At a time when?—’
‘Thanks,’ says Jackson. ‘But I think you’ve cleared the crowd.’
I stop yelling and spin round. He’s right. They’ve gone. The staircase is clear. ‘Oh. Good. Right. Job done then.’ I give him a shy smile. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Have a good evening.’ I lean against the rail to put my horrendously uncomfortable heels back on and hobble down the stairs to the exit. I’m waved through by the bouncers with legs for arms, straight out into a vast empty space. It’s too dark to see whether it’s a car park or wasteland.
I take a moment to adjust to the darkness. I can just make out a minibus pulling up a short distance away and the outline of a queue of people jumping on. I quickly yank off my shoes and race across the gravel towards it. The further from the nightclub I get, the darker it becomes. ‘Ow!’ It’s no use; the gravel is even worse than my painful shoes. I can’t even see what I’m stepping on. It could be a sea of broken glass and dirty syringe needles for all I know.
I stop, bending to put my heels back on. I’m hopping on one leg when I hear the bus door hiss closed. ‘Wait. I’m almost…’ But it screeches away without me. ‘Nooooooo! For fuck’s sake!’ I sob as a wave of frustration swells up inside me. I bury my head in my hands. I’m so tired. My feet are killing me. It’s so dark I can barely see a thing. I’m literally stranded. This awful night seems never-ending. I just want to go to bed and sleep for two months straight. Is that too much to ask?
I hear crunching over the gravel as the silhouette of a man approaches, causing me to shriek loudly.
‘Hey. It’s okay. It’s me. It’s Jackson.’
‘Thank God,’ I pant, putting a hand to my chest. ‘You frightened the life out of me. What are you doing out here?’
‘I thought I’d leave the club too. Had enough,’ he says, pointing in the direction of the road. ‘And don’t worry. I’m sure there’ll be another dolmus along soon.’
‘It won’t matter. I can’t walk another step. I’ll be stuck here forever.’ I fling my hands up in frustration. ‘When they find my decaying corpse, years from now, will you please tell my mother I’m sorry? She was right.’
‘About what?’
‘About everything.’
He chuckles softly. ‘Here. I’ll help you over to the road.’
I blink slowly. ‘Why are you leaving the club so soon?’
‘Too many pushy married women. Why areyouleaving so soon?’
‘I’m too tired for it. I need my bed.’
He nods understandingly. ‘Same. My own bed I mean. Not yours,’ he hurriedly corrects himself, causing me to snicker.
As soon as I take one step, I wince sharply in pain. ‘It’s no use. I’ll have to take them off.’ Jackson watches as I yank my shoes off and begin to hobble beside him.
‘I could… This sounds forward… and I absolutely don’t mean anything by it, but I could piggyback you over there. If you want me to.’
Relief floods through me. ‘Yes. That would be so amazing, thank you.’
