‘And that is how you dance to Cherry Wave correctly, you’re welcome,’ he announces to the bar as he hits the last pose.
‘Good work, Ham,’ Owen says.
‘Thankyou,’ Josh replies, as if this is the obvious thing to say.
‘You’re back!’ Hennie rushes to my side, clinging onto my arm. ‘Did you have fun?’
Elliot approaches with his features carefully composed, but I can see the curiosity in them.
‘Fun is a slight stretch,’ I say, giving him a side-eyed glower. ‘But… he’s amazing. And you were right. Thank you.’
His composure breaks and the smile that appears shows he is thoroughly pleased with himself.
‘Can I see, can I see?’ Hennie prods me.
‘Sure, later.’
Owen agreed to send me the photos when he comes across wifi. In return for the shoot, I agreed that he could use one of the photos for his website. When he asked, my first instinct was to say, ‘no, no, please God no.’ But given his admission about wanting to work on more portraits, I found myself saying yes.
After a brief catch up, Owen pulls out his phone so we can browse the line-up and decide where to head next. I look at the smaller stages for obvious reasons.
Josh is insistent we need to try a certain drink at Martha Jane’s, a stage in The Warren that I don’t remember coming across. I assume it can’t be too big as I hadn’t even clocked it. Josh and Owen are curious to check out a band called, of all things, Fizzy Robinsons, who are due to start there in twenty minutes.
‘FizzyRobinsons?’ Hennie asks.
‘Fizzy Robinsons,’ Owen confirms.
‘Fizzy Robinsons,’ Josh adds seriously.
I’m intrigued by the name, so I’m more than happy to tag along.
‘Fizzy Robinsons,’ I say with finality.
32
It’s a good thing that Owen and Josh are with us, or I’m not sure if I would have ever found Martha Jane’s. We walk straight through one of the cosy cafes tucked inside one of the wonky builds in The Warren, weaving past guests clutching drinks in metal goblets.
We approach a large fireplace at the very back of the space. It sits undisturbed and unlit. And thank God – as Josh gets to his knees and crawls directly into it.
‘I am not in the correct attire for this,’ Hennie mutters, looking down at her flares.
I fight a smile hearing Josh’s loud protests of disgust as he disappears behind a dark curtain inside the fireplace.
Elliot gets to his knees to crawl through the opening before me. He disappears behind a second black curtain, obscuring whatever is happening on the other side. Following after them, I ignore the stale smell of dust as the black fabric drapes over my back, unveiling the sight of Martha Jane’s.
I take in my surroundings and briefly question what the heck I’m looking at. Then Elliot is in front of me in a flash, offering a hand.
‘So, are we meant to be inside the chimney or something?’ I ask, tucking my hand in his so he can pull me to my feet.
Hennie emerges behind me. I notice with a grimace that a dark scuff has made its way onto her flared leg, and decide it might be best to inform her later. Lest she attack the fireplace.
‘I like it. It’s cosy but it also feels a tiny bit like I’m in hell,’ she says as I pull her upright.
She’s not wrong. I look up at a spacious, circular tent held together with thick wooden beams. They encircle the space and meet in the centre above us to intertwine and wrap around each other in a bizarre and freakish pattern, almost resembling wood that’s been burning in a fireplace for hours, leaving behind charred shards. The thick orange canvas of the tent transforms the light filtering through it into something deliciously cosy and warm. Thick red ribbons hang across the ceiling and walls, leaving dozens suspended above our heads. It feels like autumn embodied in a single space – but while it’s strangely cosy, it’s also just as Hennie had described: inexplicably hellish.
There’s a gap in the opening of the tent at one side where I guess an accessible entrance and fire exit would be. My cheeks start to heat up – the warmth of the sun has penetrated the walls of the tent and combined with the many bodies inside, it feels close to stifling.
‘To bar!’ Josh announces, making his way towards it.
