Panicky, she grabbed his arm. ‘Brad, I’m sorry, but I need a drink,’ she mouthed, miming the action of lifting a glass to her mouth. What she really needed was an excuse to get out.
Brad took some seconds coming back to earth. Then he nodded serenely and pointed to the bar, running the length of one wall. ‘No problem, sweet’ eart. I’ll get you a beer.’
She surveyed the bar in horror: not only were a scrum of drinkers already queuing three deep, it was in the direct line of fire from the sound-attack. ‘Is there another bar?’ she shouted. ‘Somewhere quieter?’
Brad had the grace to look disappointed rather than disgruntled, and began the long trek back through the lurching swaying figures. She clung to his hand and when at last they reached the door, she almost fell through it in her eagerness to escape. They continued down the first flight of stairs, pausing on the landing once they could actually speak again.
‘’Ow d’ you like it, Plum? Fantastic, eh?’
She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, or – worse – thoroughly neurotic. ‘I’m probably just tired,’ she murmured.
‘You need some ’elp, me darlin’.’ Brad beckoned her into a dark alcove on the landing and, with a wary look to left and right, took a paper hanky out of his pocket, folded neatly into a square. ‘One of these’ll get you goin’,’ he whispered.
‘What are they?’
‘Ssh.’ With another furtive glance all round, he unwrapped the paper to reveal four small white tablets. Briefly she glimpsed the outline of a bird on them before he closed his hand again and slipped one into her palm. She was intrigued, despite herself. She had never seen an Ecstasy tablet, even after four months at Gosforth Road. Jo and Darren smoked joints, but as far as she knew took nothing stronger.
‘Go on, darlin’, swallow it. They give you loads of energy.’
‘No, honestly, Brad. You know I don’t do drugs.’
Before, they’d had to shout; now they were whispering like conspirators, standing in a huddle with their backs turned to the staircase.
‘Believe me, Plum, these are absolutely ’armless. Far safer than booze or smack. They just make you feel blissed out. Get one of these down you and you’ll love the ’ole fuckin’ world.’
‘No, Brad, thanks all the same.’ Jo and her friends had been talking about Ecstasy at Gosforth Road this evening. Was it only this evening? Already it seemed years away. They had mentioned Doves (which these presumably were) and also other innocuous names like Dolphins, Strawberries, and Swallows.
‘But it’ll keep you dancin’ all night, sweet.’
‘I can’t stay all night. In fact I really should be going soon.’
‘Bloody ’ell! Can’t you enjoy yourself for once, darlin’? The Posho’s out, ain’t he? And the party’s ’ ardly started yet. Me mates probably won’t show up till after midnight.’
‘Well, I certainly can’t stay till then.’ She heard the edge to her voice and for an instant was tempted to wrest the other three pills from him and swallow the whole damned lot. It would be great to feel happy and relaxed; to have the energy to dance all night. The last few weeks she had been feeling just the opposite: tired and irritable. She uncurled her fingers and took a quick glance at the pill. It looked innocent enough, just an aspirin with a bird of peace.
‘Listen, Plum, you gotta drink loads of water with E, else you get dehydrated.’
‘I’d prefer a stiff drink, to be honest.’
‘Booze and E don’t mix, darlin’. We’ll get some water at the bar.’
She slipped the pill into the pocket of her dress. ‘Brad, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with booze, okay?’
‘Come on, then. It’s downstairs and on the right.’
She led the way and found herself not in a bar but a second murky hall, smaller than the one upstairs. Again the music was deafening, but it had a slightly less oppressive beat. She had no idea what type of music it was. She had learned something about jazz from Darren, but this sounded just a barbarous cacophony. She gazed at the walls, which were swathed in midnight-blue material painted with silver stars. The ceiling was similarly draped, making it claustrophobically low. Here there was only one DJ and the stage was smaller altogether, but the same maniacal strobes assaulted the gloom with a blitz of blue and gold. In fact, the room seemed in the throes of an epileptic fit: floor rippling, walls in spasm, no solid planes at all. She picked her way between the dancers – amorphous shapes stippled with bursts of coloured light – her eyes fixed on the exit-sign. Its small green arrow was the only unwavering point in the room, the only light which wasn’t flashing.
She stumbled through the doorway, but still couldn’t see a bar. They were now in a third room, where clusters of people were slumped on the floor in sepulchral darkness. The tips of cigarettes glowed red, but faces remained in shadow and some bodies lay alarmingly still, as if only semi-conscious. Although the music was much softer here, again the room was pulsing and throbbing. She was beginning to feel that the whole thing was a nightmare and that she was trapped in some hideous labyrinth and becoming more and more enmeshed as she searched for a way out.
But then Brad caught up with her and hustled her down a dingy passage and finally into the bar. Not that it afforded much relief; the jolting contrast between light and dark was every bit as fierce. And there were the same disconcerting flashes of white erupting from the gloom, as teeth glowed in disembodied smiles. Her own teeth must be gleaming in that spooky fashion, and her hair, no doubt, had turned a lurid shade.
Brad introduced her to some people he knew: a girl in red hot-pants whose face was painted to match in crimson zigzags; a bare-chested man sporting two elaborate nipple-rings, and someone of indeterminate sex whose short frizzy hair was tied in half-inch bobbles with strips of fluorescent ribbon. Considering their appearance, their names were surprisingly conventional: Annie, Martin and Pat respectively.
‘What d’ you fancy, Plum?’ Brad asked, pushing his way to the bar.
‘I’ll get these,’ she protested.
‘No, it’s my shout. Anyway, I’ve just had a win on the dogs.’
‘Again? Gosh, you are on a run of luck!’
‘Yeah, like I told you, Plum – stick around with me and you’ll be a winner too. Come on, what’ll it be?’
She hesitated. Most people were drinking beer or mineral water, but it would take more than a measly Perrier to help her loosen up. Yet asking for gin or vodka would only emphasize the gulf between her and the others – a yawning gulf in age, style, everything.
‘How about a Harlem Mugger?’ Brad suggested.
Again she paused. She had never heard of it, but it sounded dangerous in the extreme.
‘Or a Tropicana? Nice and fruity!’ He gave her a suggestive wink.
‘Okay,’ she said nervously, although when it arrived it looked and tasted like apple juice. ‘Cheers, Brad,’ she said, taking another large sip.
‘Cheers! To peace and love.’
‘Peace and love,’ she echoed, trying to keep her mind off Will. There would be little chance of either if he knew where she was and who with.
They went to find Annie, Pat and Martin, who were now sitting at a table beneath a psychedelic mandala painted on the wall.
‘Martin’s a nuclear physicist,’ Brad announced, indicating the naked chest.
She smiled uncertainly, wondering if Brad was pulling her leg. ‘And Pat lives in a squat in Brighton.’
‘Oh, I see …’ Pat’s gender was still unclear, as he (she?) had given only the odd grunt. The clothes weren’t much help either – baggy trousers and a voluminous blouson thing.
‘Plum’s new to this scene,’ Brad explained, offering round a packet of cigarettes. She was relieved he’d called her Plum – it felt safer than Catherine, more anonymous.
‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ said Annie. ‘We get a very friendly crowd here. Everyone’s accepted – any type, any age. Even a few grannies.’
‘Really?’ Ca
therine hadn’t noticed anyone who could conceivably qualify. And the word granny prompted an instant surge of guilt. Andrew would be appalled if he knew his mother was risking arrest (or worse) for possessing Class A drugs.
‘It’s important, don’t you think, to have a sense of community?’ Annie inhaled deeply and blew out a spurt of smoke. ‘We tend to be shut up during the day in our own little world, but at a place like this, you feel you’re one big family.’
‘So do you come mainly for the company? Or the dancing? Or …?’ Catherine’s voice tailed off. It sounded as lame as ‘Do you come here often?’
‘Both,’ said Annie. ‘The dancing,’ Martin put in, simultaneously. ‘Once you get going, you feel it’s – like – religious. You’re part of the spiritual energy.’
‘Yeah,’ Pat agreed. (Patrick rather than Patricia, judging by the deep voice.) ‘The music takes you over rather than you dancing to the music. You just flow into it and it takes you on a journey.’
‘When you dance, it’s like you’re expressing yourself in a universal language,’ Martin continued, warming to the theme. ‘It puts you in touch with your tribal roots. I’ve spent some time with shamans in Dakota, and it’s the same sort of thing – that incredible sense of union with God, Nature, Spirit – call it what you like.’
Perhaps he was a nuclear physicist, Catherine thought. He was certainly articulate, although his high-flown description of dancing bore no relation to her own (admittedly brief) experience. She had felt disconnected, even threatened.
‘You can actually feel reborn,’ Pat said, taking a swig from his bottle of water. ‘The music and the dancing gets you out of your head and into the moment. You lose your sense of self and you’re one with everybody else. It’s the most blissful feeling ever.’
Did bliss mean Ecstasy, she wondered? Surely they couldn’t be that euphoric without drugs. She put her hand in her pocket and fingered the tiny pill. Of course she couldn’t take it – not a grandmother-to-be – however tempted she might be. Instead she gulped her drink, surprised to see Brad so quiet. Perhaps E could make you meditative as well as energetic.
Just then a girl in tight gold leather trousers rushed over to their table. ‘Hi, Brad,’ she said, kissing the top of his head. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Soddin’ ’ell!’ He sprang to his feet. ‘Where’ve you been, Louise? I ain’t seen you in months.’
‘Oh, all over the place,’ she laughed. ‘And right now I’m going to get a drink. Want one?’
‘Ta. One of these.’ He waved the empty plastic bottle. ‘Plum, this is Louise.’
Catherine smiled shyly, hoping she would remember all the names.
‘Want another?’ Louise asked, pointing to Catherine’s glass.
‘No, let me get these,’ said Catherine, resolving to buy them all a drink, then leave. More than one round would be terribly expensive, and anyway it must be getting late.
‘Thanks, Plum, I’ll have a Bailey’s.’
Fortunately the other three were drinking mineral water, though even that cost over two pounds a bottle. She pushed her way to the bar, suddenly feeling ravenous – she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. But there was no food to be seen, not even packets of crisps.
She ordered the drinks, including a second Tropicana for herself. ‘What is this stuff?’ she asked the barman as he poured the yellowy liquid into a glass.
‘Dynamite!’ he grinned. ‘They’re all the rage, these fruity things. You have to watch them, though. This one’s as strong as gin.’
So much for harmless apple juice. Still, it was too late to change her mind, and when she returned to the table and saw the intimidating new arrivals, she was glad of a bit of Dutch courage. Jonas was at least six foot six and had a lethal-looking dagger at his waist – plastic, she realized with relief, after a moment’s panic. His girlfriend Kerry wore a studded leather dog-collar buckled round her neck, and a tee-shirt saying SEX VICTIM. The third member of the trio, Keith, said he was an accountant – not quite the occupation she’d have expected, in view of his dreadlocks and heavy silver ankle chain.
The only free chair was next to Jonas and his dagger, so she sat down rather warily. Not that he took much notice of her – he was too busy rummaging in his bag. She watched hungrily as he pulled out a Flora margarine carton. Perhaps it was the custom here to bring your own provisions or make sandwiches. He opened the carton and handed it round, and everyone helped themselves to what looked like squares of chocolate fudge.
‘What is it?’ she whispered to Brad.
‘’ash cake. Go on, ’ave a piece. It’ll loosen you up.’
She blushed. He had spoken rather loudly and everyone was looking at her. ‘Ash cake?’ she repeated.
‘Hash,’ Jonas grinned, pushing the carton towards her. ‘My own recipe – home-grown skunk and real Belgian chocolate. I can guarantee it’s good.’
She had a sudden vision of Antonia passing round a plate of sponge fingers and assuring her guests they were made with the purest ingredients. However, she was reluctant to accept. She had tried smoking a joint with Darren once and hadn’t got beyond the first few puffs.
Jonas looked a little hurt and Brad tutted in annoyance. ‘Plum, don’t be so bleedin’ toffee-nosed. It won’t bite you!’
Chastened, she took refuge in her drink. If even Brad despaired of her, perhaps Will had been right and she was boring and unreasonable. She listened to their persuasive arguments: hash was safer than fags and booze, and was certain to be legalized within the next few years. Yet she could also hear Andrew’s voice droning in her head, pulling her the other way: responsible people didn’t do drugs (or live in squats on the dole, squandering taxpayers’ hard-earned money on dubious places like this). It occurred to her that even Will disapproved of drugs; not on moral grounds like Andrew, but because they fogged the mind. God! Suppose he was home already. He’d be wondering where on earth she was; maybe think she’d had an accident.
‘Go on,’ Jonas urged, still holding out the box. ‘One little piece won’t hurt.’
She took a chunk and quickly stuffed it in her mouth. She was starving hungry and at least it was a form of food – in fact rather agreeably squidgy in texture and with a strong chocolatey taste; not bitter as she’d feared. She finished it with a mouthful of drink, then helped herself to a second piece.
‘Great!’ said Jonas, while Louise squeezed her hand and Pat chinked glasses with her. She had become the centre of attention, with smiles of approval all round. Annie was right there was a feeling of community, almost of family – a more tolerant family than her own. She no longer felt a stranger from a different generation, or was aware of any gulf. She belonged here; she was welcome. It was like the market again: people from every walk of life rubbing shoulders with each other. At Andrew and Antonia’s parties, everyone was stamped from the same narrow mould, as if vetted by some quality control system. But to hell with virtuous Andrew and Antonia! She was beginning to feel quite amazingly relaxed and she was damned if she’d let them spoil things.
She closed her eyes, free-falling into the deep blue ocean of sound. She was the sound; the rhythm pounding through her body, thrilling down to her fingers and toes. All her life she’d been encased in a tight corset, a second skin of duty, guilt and fear, but now it was peeling off and she was emerging free and naked. She was beautiful, enchanting. She could feel the blood pumping into her skin, making it glow and tingle; could even feel her hair growing, pushing through her scalp in a burst of purple joy.
Brad was beautiful too, his eyes a magical blue; the fiery point of his cigarette astounding in its brilliance. He smiled at her and her face opened in response; every pore and particle opening to him freely. She was pouring out like bubbles in champagne, frothing up, fizzing over, to the wild pulsating rhythm of the music. The sound built up and up, never reaching a climax, but plunging on tireless and unstoppable, always stronger, louder, wilder. She too was tireless – floating, flying, falling all at once. She had d
ied to her old semi-life and been rapturously reborn, and now jolts of pleasure were surging through her bloodstream – molten scarlet pleasure, bewitching blue, raw gold. And other, still more dazzling colours glittered on her tongue; exploded in slow waves behind her eyeballs.
She was surrounded by her friends, new friends she loved profoundly: Annie, Martin, Jonas, Noreen, Bill. Their faces kept retreating and advancing, their bodies were only spinning shapes, but she was gloriously at one with them, united in the electrifying music.
She floated towards Noreen and Louise, who were no longer dancing but embracing. They hugged her too, warm skin against warm skin; long rippling hair brushing her bare shoulders. The flowers on Noreen’s headband opened as she watched; the leaves a frenzied green, the petals hot wet crimson mouths.
Then another mouth was kissing her – Annie’s soft lips on her cheek – an exquisitely intense sensation, quivering down her spine, making her whole body smile. And behind Annie an unknown face was gazing at her – the face of a dark god.
‘May I hold you?’ he whispered, his eyes black pools enticing her into their depths. She nodded and he drew her close, his bare arms encircling her. Never before had skin felt so entrancing: ingenious fingers gliding down her back; velvet graze of stubble tantalizing her cheek. She was blooming in his love like some exotic flower, and she loved him too, infinitely.
But now the music was calling them – urgent and impassioned, leaping from one crescendo to the next. Obedient, they began dancing face to face. The blue sheen of his shirt was a summer sky condensed; his teeth hot snow; his hair tumultuously black. Other bodies weaved around them; other faces loomed and smiled. She loved them all with unbounded love. There were no strangers here. This was her new family and she cherished every one of them. All hate and fear had vanished, all barriers dissolved, as body merged with body, soul with soul. She was a child again, untrammelled; the still centre of a whirling storm; the pulsing lighthouse on an ocean.
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