I nudge Elliot and look at his glass meaningfully. He relents, taking a generous gulp. It’s impressive how unaffected he seems until his face crumples and he spins away from me to cough.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he splutters, his voice breaking. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’
‘You chose it.’ I smirk. ‘And that’s not out of the question.’
He stands close to me again with his eyes twinkling in that way I’ve come to adore. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you,’ he says, his voice still sounding ravaged. He puts his glass back down on the bar delicately, as if he fears that the drink might suddenly leap back up into his mouth if disturbed.
In the corner of my vision I notice the man next to us turning to me again, this time with heavy eyes and a lopsided grin. When I see his eyes travelling down my body, my automatic response is to stiffen and look pointedly away. Something heavy settles in my stomach.
But within seconds, Elliot’s body curves around mine as he reaches for his drink again. He plants himself at my side, leaning his hip on the bar. His closeness would be startling enough, but the fact that he doesn’t move away from me has me standing up straight and barely breathing.
The staring man is now completely blocked from my view, to my relief. And Elliot is so close I swear I can feel his breath on my cheek.
The others take their time with their punishing drinks while I sip mine guiltily. Elliot and Hennie both try their best to get me to taste theirs but I am adamant in my refusal. Josh is breathing in loud, frantic bursts when he finishes his first, his face blotchy.
‘Let’s take these somewhere less public,’ Owen says, his voice cracking. ‘People are staring at us.’
He isn’t wrong. People waiting at the bar watch with amusement as Josh continues to gasp with his hands braced on his knees.
Hennie reaches for my glass with a wince as we follow the others to the opposite side of the tent, Elliot still walking close behind me. She greedily takes a sip of my drink, tipping her headback with a tortured sound, and I can’t help but hide a laugh behind my hand.
We all turn to the centre when the background music is suddenly replaced by a male voice calling for the crowd’s attention.
‘Hello everybody, how are we doing?’ he says in a deep Irish accent.
The crowd cheers in response and gathers around the man standing on the small, circular stage in the centre of the tent. He’s sporting a thick, dark beard and a brown cap forced over the top of his curly hair. Two more band members amble onto the stage, one armed with a drum and the other with an accordion.
‘Thanks for coming, we’re Fizzy Robinsons,’ the front man says, sounding, if anything, a little disgruntled to be here. He taps his guitar and counts in the rest of the band to begin.
Cheerful strumming of the guitar sings out over the speakers, closely followed by the bright sound of the accordion to match. As the lead singer begins to sing, it takes me a second to realise it’s a cover of a song from the nineties that I must have heard hundreds of times on the radio. Everyone around us starts to sing along but no one sings louder than Josh, who claps his hands over his head and shouts his interpretation of the tune for us all.
As the chorus kicks in, several members of the crowd near the front of the stage start dancing together in pairs, linking arms to swing each other around before switching sides and taking the arm of whoever happens to be next to them. I anticipate it coming before I even see her move.
‘Come on, come on, come on,’ Hennie begs, practically vibrating on the spot.
She knows I’m not able to say no to that eager expression, so I roll my eyes playfully and offer my hand to her.
Without another word, she grabs it and launches me towards the increasing number of people skipping round in circles. And then I am flying round and round with Hennie’s arm tucked firmly in my own, laughing and screaming at the speed.
It’s not long until Owen and Josh join us, leaping and bounding into unsuspecting strangers’ arms. I think Josh even throws a poor girl over his shoulder and starts whirling her round at some point during the song. I decide not to question it as she seems quite happy to be there.
Owen makes me hoot with laughter at the improvised dance moves he starts weaving in – leaping and kicking his legs up as high as they will go, forcing his partner to do the same.
There is, however, someone missing.
I break off from my partner and start worming my way through the small crowd, keeping my eyes fixed on Elliot so he cannot run away from me. When I reach him with a crazed grin and extend my hand out to him, he just looks down at it with fear. He shakes his head and attempts to wave my hand away. Sadly for him, I will not be giving up.
‘Come on, champ,’ I say, wriggling my fingers impatiently.
‘No, no – really, I can’t dance,’ he cautions.
‘I don’t care,’ I whisper with wide eyes as I clasp his hand in mine and pull him behind me towards the dance floor.
‘You should,’ he replies, sullen. ‘I might injure someone.’
‘You’re fine. You’ll thank me later for the serotonin boost.’
He just groans in response.
