After another round of drinks, they were keen for a change of venue but there was something they all had to do before they left. They squeezed into the one tiny cubicle in the men’s toilets, giggling and shushing each other. Jake was pressed so close to Veronica he could smell the heady orange tang of Cointreau on her breath. He fought against the impulse to lick her tongue with his own.
Carl had loads of coke, three grams worth in a smudged plastic bag. Jake bent low over the toilet seat, trying not to look at the urine-splashed floor. This is such a glamorous drug, he thought ironically, grimacing as the powder hit the mucus membranes high up in his nostrils. He straightened up, sniffing and pinching his nostrils together to kill the burn.
Veronica went next and Jake took the opportunity to gaze at the curve of her spine, at the way the fabric of her dress pulled taut about her hips. For a moment, he stared intently at the rounded contours of her buttocks, wondering what underwear she was wearing. Then Carl cleared his throat, just a little too loudly and too close to Jake’s ear and he looked away, feeling his face heat up.
“Where next?”
“What about that party?”
“Nah,” said Carl unexpectedly. “Let’s not bother. It’ll be full of City boys and I’ve had enough of that at work today. Let’s find some real dive and get down and dirty.”
Veronica giggled.
“Sounds good to me.”
They stood in the street outside the bar, pondering the possibilities. It was one of the very few warm nights of an English summer, warm enough for bare feet and shoulders, the merest hint of a breeze lifting hair and light clothing. All at once Jake felt invigorated by excitement, positively fizzing with it. He bounced a little on his toes. Suddenly, the realisation hit him - that he was young and fit and good looking, with money burning a hole in his pocket, his cool-as-fuck brother and a gorgeous girl standing beside him. It suddenly overtook him and it seemed that nothing, but nothing, could bring him down. He almost whooped aloud.
“Let’s walk,” he said, feeling the grin on his face but unable to control it.
“Where to?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere. There’s another bar up here…”
The three of them sauntered off down the road. There were people everywhere, walking, shouting, darting across the roads to the blaring horns of the cars that sped along the street. Jake walked behind Veronica, watching the swing of her hips, the swaying curtain of blonde hair above the curve of her waist. Carl had his hand resting on her hip and Jake watched his brother’s fingers, imagining what it must feel like to feel the flex of Veronica’s haunch beneath your palm, the warmth of the skin beneath the cloth beneath your hand.
“In here.”
Carl gestured to the dark doorway up ahead and Veronica giggled again, turning her face up for a kiss. Jake tried to smile. The three of them squeezed through the entrance, joining the small queue at the payment counter.
The bar was darker than the one they’d been earlier, louder, a lot louder. More of a crowd, a much drunker, lairier crowd than earlier. Jake followed the gleam of V’s hair through the darkness, squinting through the flashing lights. They waded across the tiny dance floor, heading for the bar at the back. Jake was beginning to feel an itch, the yearning for another line. He didn’t need one – he could still feel the spark of the last one, could still taste acrid powder every time he swallowed. But there it was, the niggling power of cocaine, tugging at his senses for just one more line, one more…
He managed to communicate his need to the other two at the bar, subtly, he hoped. Carl pressed the wrap into his hand discreetly.
“We’ll stay here,” he bellowed in his brother’s ear. “You go ahead.”
Jake fought down the disappointment of not sharing a cubicle with Veronica. He battled his way to the gents, queued for roughly a year for a cubicle and did what he had to do. The burn was greater this time, making him screw up his face and snort.
Carl and Veronica were dancing by the time he got back to the bar. He could see them wedged into the struggling mass of humanity on the dance floor, slotted together at the hip, Carl’s big hands curved around Veronica’s hips. Jake hesitated for a moment. Then, coke-fuelled, he squirmed his way through to them.
“Jake!”
Veronica detached herself from Carl and threw her arms around his neck. Jake staggered, surprised, and his arms went about her in an attempt at balance. Dreamily, she moved against him, hot cheek against his face. He could see tiny pearls of sweat caught in her hairline. Quickly he glanced at Carl who was oblivious, shaking his head in time to the music, grooving on down, throwing shapes. Jake grinned. He pulled Veronica closer, grinding himself against her. He was hard and he knew she could feel it but powered by the coke and booze, he didn’t care. Giddily, he moved with her, feeling the bass thud up though his body, shaking him from deep within. Her skin slipped underneath his sweaty hands, so warm; he wanted to lick his fingers. He wanted to run his tongue over her neck. He caught his breath and brought his face closer to hers – and then the song changed, the thudding beats of the last song segueing into some insipid R n B groove. Veronica laughed and slipped from his grasp, moving from his hands into his brother’s arms.
“Let’s get a drink,” she said. “I’m so hot.”
*
“Zero tolerance rules for a happier Britain,” said Carl, shouting over the music and the background of Veronica’s laughing. Jake rolled his eyes.
“What?”
Carl grinned. “Look, it’s easy. I’ll start. Okay – anyone found dropping litter will be forced to eat whatever they’ve dropped. No, wait – whatever they’ve dropped will be vigorously inserted into a bodily orifice.”
Veronica hiccupped with laughter.
“Go on!”
“Anyone who doesn’t clean up after their dog will have their face rubbed in it –“
“Ewwwwwww…”
Carl warmed to his theme, encouraged by their amused response. “Anyone – anyone seen reading Heat magazine will be soundly beaten, no, publically flogged with a copy of the Oxford English dictionary.”
Jake whooped with laughter. “Everyone with one of those fucking awful novelty ringtones will be forced to text ‘I’m a pea-brained, lobotomised moron’ fifty thousand times!”
They collapsed with laughter. It was many, many drinks later, more lines later, three more sexually tantalising dances later. Jake felt at once both lazily drunk and wildly excited. He wanted to fall down in a heap and at the same time, run screaming down the street. He took another long pull of his drink, his jaw aching.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“And go where?”
Carl slammed his empty glass down on the table.
“Anywhere! Everywhere! Let’s go!”
Veronica laughed. Jake grinned at her. God, she was beautiful – no matter how long he looked at her, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to fill his eyes with the sight of her, to gaze and gaze until finally, he’d properly absorbed her. But seeing wasn’t enough either – he wanted her, the whole of her. Every part of her.
Outside in the street, it was still miraculously warm. The sky above them, just glimpsed through turrets of brick and slate, was a smudged, ominous red. There were no stars to be seen.
“Christ, it’s hot,” said Carl. “It’s like being on holiday.”
They were wandering through some back streets, heading vaguely for another club that Veronica had mentioned. There were fewer people about now they were off the main drag. The three of them walked slowly, limbs heavy with alcohol.
Up ahead they could see a little knot of people on the pavement. Almost simultaneous, the boom of music reached them, and the high shrieks of laughter and, visible against the street light, clouds of smoke and steam writhing in the night air. Someone was having a party, a wild one by the look of it. Their footsteps slowed until they were standing right outside.