Very few people were out on the streets, and the ones who were were all on their way somewhere else, or had adopted one of two positions: the penguin huddle, or the puppy pile, depending on whether they were trying to sleep around the air vent for a bakery, or waiting for a customer of some kind on the curb.
Ben kept walking. The cold felt like it was pinching his head in spite of his hat and the scarf wrapped up over his nose. He wished he hadn’t worn his glasses, because they kept fogging up every three minutes, but he was worried his contact lenses would somehow have frozen onto his eyeballs. His ears began to hurt.
He kept walking, in a huge and aimless loop through the city. Everything was dark orange, including the sky. The sirens carried further in the cold, and he picked out ambulance from police car from fire engine.
“This is all my fault,” Ben muttered, stepping back as a fox trotted with sublime unconcern away from a spilled bin and towards somewhere warm.
He couldn’t think of how to fix this. Instinct said “make people aware that the sources have been attacked”, keep everything in the open, make it harder for…whoever…to operate. But then what? He’d just endanger the man’s wife instead, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about.
Ben looked at his phone. It was four-thirty. No one in their right mind would be awake right now, and if they were awake there was a very good chance they weren’t in their right mind. Even Daniel had probably passed out after some Christmas clubbing idiot special.
“What the fuck have I done,” Ben muttered, and began looking for a bus stop.
Passing a hotel, his phone autoconnected to the Wifi, and Ben checked his emails as much from habit as from any idea that there would be something to alleviate his guilt.
To: Ben M
From: Sherazi, M A
Subj: re: Badly need advice
Calm down. This isn’t your fault. You’re likely far from the only person this man has talked to, and if anything it’s just unfortunate timing. You’re doing the right thing. Don’t let shit like this scare you out of doing good work.
Ben stared at the email, shivering from his stomach outward. It sounded so unlike her that he wondered if, somehow, her email account had been taken over, or—
P.S. Drunk as hell. Merry Christmas. Always back up your interview files.
He exhaled slowly, a cloud of ice crystals drifting in front of him, and struggled into a half-jog to the bus stop.
“Is he here yet?” Ben asked Molly, for the fourth time. “What does he look like?”
The inside of the Working Men’s Club was a confusion of hygiene and seasonal cheer. Gareth had plainly tried to impose his will and vision of a hospital-themed evening, but it hadn’t quite managed to stamp out the pre-existing adherence to Christmas decoration, and the end result looked less as if a hospital ward had been given a seasonable makeover and more as if someone had broken Santa’s leg.
Molly, who’d compromised for the evening with nurse’s scrubs, a reindeer jumper, and a pair of Christmas pudding deely-boppers, peered around the first floor with her back to the stage. “I can’t see him,” she said, anxiously. “He’s — he’s a bit shorter than you and he has a shaved head and he said he was going to dress up as Dr Who to be contradictory.”
Ben approved of this bloody-mindedness, but couldn’t spot anyone who fitted the bill. There was someone in a black leather jacket who might have passed muster—
“Black or white?” he asked, bending down.
“Black!” Molly said, twisting her hair around her finger. “Argh, can you see him?”
“No,” Ben said, as the figure turned curiously to look at him and smiled momentarily. “No, that’s not him, sorry.”
“Dicks,” Molly said, with feeling.
“Maybe he’s just late?”
She slumped and poked savagely at one of the Live Through This posters on the wall. “He was late an hour ago.”
Ben gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, Molly-Doll. Do you want—” he picked up the bottle of mint Bailey’s from the floor. “Consolation?”
She made a face. “I’m going to see if I can get Ollie to give me a bottle of Stoli,” she explained, standing on her toes to shout in his ear, “and then we can use that as a mixer and get fucking wrecked.”
“Not seeing any flaws in the plan,” Ben agreed, patting her again. “Where’s Ollie?”
“Going to find him,” Molly said, hitching up her socks. “Stay there.”
“THERE,” said a loud voice from the other side of a knot of people. Under the red lights he would have been all-but invisible, except for a white coat and a dusting of glitter which made him look like a shard of disco ball. “THERE YOU ARE.”
“Hello,” said Ben, as Daniel elbowed people out of the way. He was armed with a bottle of something which Ben suspected was the latest abomination in premixed drinks, and a bottle of Winter Woundedland, which was apparently the BrewDog Christmas Special this year.
“Look,” said Daniel, shoving the BrewDog into his hand, “I got you your poncy beer.”
“You appear to be drinking children’s booze,” said Ben, accepting the beer without argument.
“I’m pacing myself,” said Daniel, downing half of it in one swallow. “I don’t want to get too drunk.”
Ben raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t,” Daniel protested, “Last time I drunk-emailed you.”
“Well I’m here,” said Ben, “so that would be a bit pointless.”
“This music is fucking terrible,” said Daniel amiably, dancing to it anyway, mostly with his hips. “What the fuck is this.”
“This is Ina’s current band,” Ben informed him, pointing towards the stage. “That’s Ina, with the porkpie hat.”
“Is she your friend?” Daniel bellowed, moving out of the way of a gaggle of identical plaid shirts with stethoscopes.
“Er, most of the time,” said Ben. “Occasionally she’s my nemesis. Depends how much coke she’s had.”
“Oh, well,” Daniel made a face. “In that case I must have misheard, this is fan-tast-tic.” He gave a dismal little shuffle of his feet.
Ben rolled his eyes. “No need to be like that. Uh. Stay here, I have to find Molly.”
“Where did she go?”
“To find Ollie for some vodka.”
Daniel stopped dancing and stared at him, as several people bumped him from behind. “Molly went to find Ollie,” he said, in disbelief. “Do your friends just slot together to form a nursery rhyme?”
“Yes,” said Ben. “Also Ollie isn’t my friend, he’s the bar manager this evening. Stay there, I’ll be back in a minute.”
He slipped off through the crowd, and when he was quite sure he’d made it out of the line of sight of the original spot, he stopped and turned. Gareth, who had been bearing down on him like a shark through shallow water, seemed momentarily diverted.
Dicks, thought Ben, who realised he’d just left the mint Bailey’s on the edge of what was nominally the dance floor, where anyone could break it.
Gareth stopped, and said something to Daniel.
Ben took a swig of Winter Woundedland. It tasted a lot of cinnamon, which wasn’t entirely awful.
Daniel said something to Gareth, and shrugged.
Gareth put his hand on Daniel’s arm, and moved slightly closer, ostensibly to get out of the way of someone who was passing with a stack of chairs.
Ben took a larger swig of Winter Woundedland and was pleased to find there was an afternote of cranberries.
Daniel put his head close to Gareth’s ear, and said something with a smile that Ben could see and Gareth almost certainly couldn’t.
Gareth released Daniel’s arm and gave him a curt nod.
Ben tasted a little clove-i-ness in the third swig of his beer.
Gareth left Daniel and continued on through the crowd, towards Ben’s current position: Ben detached himself from the wall, fled with as much dignity as possible behind the backs of severa
l girls in Sexy Nurse outfits, and back past the bar, down to where Daniel was standing with a leg either side of the mint Bailey’s like the Colossus of Rhodes.
“Hello again,” said Daniel, holding up an empty bottle. “I’m bereft.”
“Sorry,” said Ben.
“Did you find Molly?”
“No.”
Daniel gave him a suspicious look. “Did you look for Molly?”
“I’ll…I’ll explain later.”
Daniel gestured to the mint Bailey’s. “Is this yours?”
“Kind of. I promised it to Molly. She’s gone to find vodka,” Ben struggled to make himself heard over the sound of Ina’s drummer. “So we can make disgusting cocktails.”
“That sounds like break-up contingency, did she just get dumped?” Daniel asked, picking up the bottle by the neck and craning his own to bawl in Ben’s ear.
“Stood up.”
Daniel nodded. “We’re going to need some gin as well then.”
Some time, and several disgusting-tasting drinks later, Ben realised that if he didn’t stand outside very soon, he was going to find himself redecorating the Working Men’s Club in some extremely authentic stomach acid.
“Gotta smoke,” he said unsteadily, clutching at Molly’s jumper. “Whoo.”
“Got,” Molly squinted at her phone for a long time. “Half an hour til our set.” She wagged several fingers at Ben. “Don’t…don’t get lost.”
“Where’re we going?” asked Daniel, holding a bottle full of foul three-booze cocktail in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. “Is there an adventure happening?”
“Smoking,” said Ben, leaning on the doorway.
“Don’t let him lost get,” said Molly, waving her hands above her head. “Woo hoo I hate this song! I hate it so much!”
“Escort,” said Daniel, grabbing Ben by the sleeve and rotating him until he faced the fire exit. “Smokescort.”
They took the stairs out to the street very gingerly, past the toilets, past main level bar from the first floor one, and the security guard said, “You can’t take that out with you.”
“Why not?” Daniel asked, bridling. “It’s. Medicinal.”
“Can you look after it?” Ben asked, trying to shush Daniel and missing.
“You can have it back when you go back inside,” the security guard assured him. “I’m just putting it down here.”
The night was freezing, but by now Ben had drunk enough that he couldn’t really feel it. He wrestled with his pockets until he found the e-shisha, but most of the good seemed to be done by the cold night air.
“Fucking hell,” said Daniel, leaning against the wall. “I was going to pace myself.”
“You paste — paced yourself very fast,” Ben agreed, slumping next to him with the e-shisha in his mouth. “God wow I’m drunk.”
“I think,” Daniel said, watching his own breath coalesce in front of him, “Molly is drunker than both of us put together.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Ben muttered, turning back to the door.
“She’ll be fine,” said Daniel. “If she throws up before she goes home.”
Ben removed his e-shisha. “You know that bloke.”
“What ‘bloke’?” Daniel asked, “I don’t know any blokes.”
“That guy who was hitting on you.”
Daniel levered himself off the wall and peered closely at Ben. “What guy who was hitting on me?”
“Before we found Molly there was a guy hitting on you,” Ben said, struggling briefly with the words.
“Yes,” Daniel said “Yes, yes there was. It’s because I’m amazingly hot and you are the only person in the world who fails to notice that.”
“I haven’t failed to notice that,” Ben protested, in passing, but he reinserted the e-shisha and got back to the matter in hand. “You know him. Gareth.”
“Is that his name?” Daniel’s indifference seemed, even to Ben’s drunken perspective, extremely feigned.
“Him. Gareth,” Ben pointed the e-shisha at Daniel.
“I don’t want any.”
“I wasn’t offering,” Ben explained. “Him. I’ve shagged him.”
Daniel’s face creased into a crumpled handkerchief of disdain. “Him?” he said, very loudly. “Him, but not me? Oh my god.” He slapped the bricks in obvious pique, and the security guard leaned out.
“This is a residential area, keep it down.”
“Oh my god,” Daniel said in a quieter voice. “You have no taste.”
“I was drunk,” Ben shouted indignantly.
“Shh,” said the security guard. “You’re bloody drunk now.”
“I WAS DRUNK AND I WAS SAD,” Ben reiterated, turning off the e-shisha. “I was drunk and sad and I’d just been dumped and—”
“Did you even do that on purpose?” Daniel complained, lecturing the sky. “I refuse to believe you wanted to have sex with that—”
“Not exactly…”
“How not exactly, my god?”
“I WAS DRUNK AND I WAS SAD and he was there and I just didn’t…know…fuck off,” Ben insisted, sticking to what he knew.
“I’m not going to let you back in if you don’t shut up,” said the security guard, poking Ben in the shoulder. “Quiet down.”
“I have to do a set,” Ben said, giving him a worried look. “I’ve got—”
“Then shh,” said the security guard.
Daniel opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Alright, no,” he said, “I’m trying to be less of a prick, so I’m not saying that.”
He gave Ben a shove, and Ben went back inside.
“I was drunk and sad and lonely and I didn’t know what to do,” Ben said, sullenly, “and he happened to be there.”
Daniel made a grabby hand behind the table and the security guard made a very expressive face.
“Do either of you really need any more of that?”
“It’s mine,” Daniel said, “I paid for it.”
With a sigh, the security guard reached down and produced the revolting-looking bottle of opaque green liquid. “If I have to call the police,” he said, “or an ambulance—”
“You won’t,” Daniel said, taking it. He gave Ben another shove towards the stairs. “Go and do your set,” he said, brandishing the bottle. “I will dance to whatever it is you’re playing.”
They reached the door to the ground floor, just past the toilets, at the foot of the stairs, and Daniel glanced around.
“Go and get some water, I’ll be back in a second.”
“What?”
“Shut up and drink some water,” Daniel said, and vanished.
Puzzled for a moment, Ben dragged himself up the stairs to the first floor bar, unsure why he wasn’t just heading for the easier-to-reach ground floor.
“No,” said the barmaid, immediately. “I’m not serving you.”
“I want water,” Ben said, trying to compose himself. “Need. Actually. I need some water.”
“Alright,” said the barmaid, mollified. “You definitely look like you need it.”
Ben failed to find Daniel again before his set, but did drink enough water that he remembered how to use the fader, what tracks he’d decided he was playing, and to take water to Molly, who looked like she was on the verge of throwing up.
After a few tracks he spotted Daniel, dancing in the approved gay club style at a hipster night, and attracting attention of the sniggering-and-pointing variety.
He kept it up throughout the entire set.
“Going to pee,” Ben announced, when he’d handed over to Molly, and did so.
When he got back, Molly poked him in the arm hard enough to bruise.
“Ow, what the fuck?”
She pointed at Daniel, who was making a good go at throwing techno shapes to CHVRCHES. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“No,” said Ben. “Very much not.”
“Do you know what he did?” Molly said, making a perfunctory gesture towards the bass dial.
Ben swatted her hand away. “Lots of things?”
“I was out by the cloakroom,” Molly said, “and do you know what he did?”
“Snogged a security guard.”
“No,” Molly said impatiently, reaching for the bass dial again. Ben put his hand in the way. “Gareth was picking up fliers for thingy, and he said to Gareth—”
“Molly, leave the bass alone.” Apart from anything else, it did nothing. The functional mixing desk was, sensibly, in a corner by the bar, where drunk DJs couldn’t manhandle it.
“He called Gareth a shitty human being and a sexual predator,” said Molly, in scandalised tones. She relinquished her claim to the useless dial. “Right in his face he said, I wouldn’t be fucking proud of myself if I was you.”
Ben leaned back against the back wall, which wobbled a little.
“Well,” he said, reaching for his water. “He’s not wrong.”
Around three the last of the paying customers were trickling out. The security guards, tired and bad-tempered, rounded them up like black-coated sheepdogs. Minicabs came and went.
“Get a cab,” Molly suggested, wrapped in an unknown coat and leaning on Ina and Ina’s current squeeze like a lost puppy.
“Can’t afford it,” said Ben. “Where’s your deely-boppers?”
Ina’s current boyfriend pointed to his own head, where one half of some broken Christmas pudding deely-boppers resided.
“Come back to ours with Molly,” said Ina. “I’ve got mushrooms.”
“God no,” said Ben.
“You don’t have to have any.”
“I’m old and I have to lie down.”
“I’ve got a couch.”
Ben gave Molly a farewell pat on the back. “My flatmate worries,” he said, not untruthfully.
“BUS,” shouted Daniel, racing past them onto Pollard Row, down towards Bethnal Green Road without stopping. “MOTHERFUCKING BUS STOP, BUS STOP.”
“Keep it down,” called the security guard. “Or I’m calling the police. I’ve told you.”
“Gotta go,” said Ben, trying to keep up with Daniel. “Byeee.”
Daniel slowed down once they’d broken free of the Working Men’s Club. “Shit, it’s cold.”
The Next Big One Page 31