prices, eh?’ said the barman, conspiratorially. ‘It’s the Peroni what does it, that’s four pound fifty a pint.’
‘Really?’ Chris said again, contorting his torso as he strained to access the more remote corners of his jeans pockets.
‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘Well, not exactly.’ Chris wondered if this was going to be one of those ‘No-but-what-country-do-you-really-come-from’ conversations. ‘I’m living near Salisbury at the moment.’
‘I knew it!’ The barman was triumphant. ‘Takes one to know one, but honestly, that haircut – dead giveaway every time. You must be, what, Rifles? or is it Paras? And with a posh voice like that … Captain?’ This last speculation was made entirely without malice or resentment.
‘I wish,’ Chris grinned. ‘Still very much a crow-bag second lieutenant, though.’
Well, you should try being a crow-bag private, sir,’ joked the barman. ‘Fusiliers,’ he added, with pride.
Chris looked at the barman more closely. Early forties, certainly no older than forty-five. ‘Gulf War?’ he asked, holding out a palm-full of coins and notes.
The barman nodded. ‘That’s right. Best years of my life.’
The two men exchanged a look of perfect understanding. Chris wanted to laugh.
He took the Pinot Grigios and the water back to their table and came back for the three Peronis.
‘You know that bird with the black hair, then?’ The taller of the two boys was looking at him again.
‘What?’ It was a moment before Chris understood that he was talking about Leah. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘She’s well fit.’
‘She’s—’ Chris said, then stopped, realising he knew almost nothing about Leah. She was beautiful, certainly, but she also seemed dull and stuck-up.
‘How old is she?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll ask her,’ Chris told him, amused.
‘We were just discussing phase two of this evening’s revels,’ Will explained when Chris returned. ‘Leah knows some chap who’s DJing at the Hoxton Pony, he can get us free entry. No queuing. You up for it?’
‘Yeah, definitely, count me in.’ Chris slurped at his pint of beer, his good mood returning. ‘Oh, by the way, Leah – you’ve got an admirer over at the bar. Tall boy with the grubby T-shirt. Don’t worry, he is legal. Just.’
For a moment, Leah looked annoyed. Then she realised Chris was joking and her face softened into a brief smile. Her top lip tucked under as the smile widened, revealing a surprising amount of pale pink gum above her teeth.
Suze touched Big Mac’s hand. ‘I’m keen for a bit of dancing,’ she said. ‘That is, if you are, babes?’
Big Mac shook his head. ‘No way. Can’t stand Shoreditch.’
‘I’m coming,’ said Tamsin, brightly. ‘I haven’t been out, as in out out, in like forever.’
Callum looked surprised. ‘But you hate clubs.’
‘Who said that?’ Tamsin frowned at him. ‘I hate some clubs, not all clubs. And I love the Hoxton Pony.’ She produced a small hand mirror from her bag and set about checking her makeup, pinching her eyelashes between thumb and forefinger to get rid of any stray clumps of mascara.
‘Sorry, guys, breaking news.’ Will was reading a text message. ‘Have to take a rain check, I’m afraid. I’ve, ah, got to go see a man about a dog.’
‘Booty call?’ asked Big Mac.
Will passed the phone to Big Mac, who read the message, snickered, and passed it back.
Chris did a round-up, ticking off the names on his fingers. ‘So that’s me, Leah, Tamsin – Callum?’
Callum glanced at Tamsin uncertainly, then turned back to Chris. ‘Yeah, sure. Why not?’
‘My friends are waiting for me.’ Leah pushed her glass of water away, untouched. ‘You lot can come if you want, but I have to get going now.’
She sounded as if she were bored by all of them; and this, somehow, commanded a certain power. Everyone, even Will, hurried to finish their drinks.
Callum helped Tamsin into her fitted corduroy jacket. ‘Tam, you quite sure about this? Last time we went clubbing, remember, in Shunt? You said to remind you next time – about how much you hated it.’ He turned her round to face him. ‘So this is me reminding you.’
‘Stop being so patronising,’ Tamsin muttered, shrugging his hands away. She raised her voice. ‘I’m just going to the loo, okay? Meet you all outside in a sec.’
‘Ooh, wait for me, I’m coming too,’ called Suze, rushing to catch up with Tamsin as she picked her way through to the toilets. ‘It’s been such a nice evening, hasn’t it? It’s sooo good to see you all.’ Suze had a tendency to gush when she was nervous, which was almost always the case, especially around other women: she was very aware of her own physical inferiority. ‘And Chris, I mean, it’s just so amazing to have the opportunity to talk to someone like that. He’s just such an interesting guy, isn’t he?’
The spotlights in the bathroom were too bright. As the girls entered the two empty toilet stalls, the conversation broke off; they only knew each other slightly, and it seemed a little odd to carry on talking.
Tamsin’s skin was hot, flushed from four big glasses of wine. The toilet seat felt pleasantly cool against her thighs. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped in front of her, waiting. In the other stall Suze’s long stream of piss chirruped and hissed, then shushed itself to a whisper. Rustle of toilet paper, louder rustle of the flush. Tamsin still couldn’t go. She pushed a fist into her bladder and tried to relax. Someone had written ‘I’ll be right back’ in black permanent marker on the toilet-roll dispenser and signed it ‘Godot’.
After a bit Tamsin gave up and joined Suze at the sinks.
‘God. Please tell me this is an unflattering mirror,’ Suze grimaced.
‘Yeah, it’s pretty bad,’ said Tamsin, distractedly. She was unhappy with her shirt; it looked frumpy, the fabric stretched awkwardly over her large chest. She undid a button. Now the neckline was just a little too low, exposing the black lace trim of her bra. Tamsin left it undone and reached up to re-do her ponytail. She knew she was behaving badly, but all her former resolve had vanished. Anyway, so what if she only wanted to go to the club because of Chris? That impulse wasn’t wrong in itself; it was only a crime if she acted on it. Which of course she wasn’t going to.
‘And I know I shouldn’t say this,’ Suze went on, as if they’d never stopped talking about Chris, ‘but isn’t he gorgeous?’
‘Mmmm,’ said Tamsin. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’
‘You mean Chinesey?
