Out of Towners (6 page)

I look at Bev, trying to work out my next move. She smiles at me, but her eyes aren't focussing properly. She leans into my shoulder. I can feel her breath on my cheek.

“I didn't get your name, love,” she says.

I gulp.

“Er, I'm Chris,” I say, trying to sound confident.

Bev nods.

“Yeah love. I'm pissed too.”

The song is winding down. I try to wriggle free, but Bev's having none of it.
Eternal Flame
is coming on, and her hands are moving round to my arse. For the next couple of minutes we teeter about on the dance floor, locked together by Bev's vice-like grip. It's like running a three-legged race on drugs.

Bev gives me another unfocussed smile. She leans in again.

“You're a good-looking boy,” she whispers. “How about coming back to the chalet with me?”

I open and shut my mouth, but no words come out. In a way I'm flattered. But I'm terrified too. Bev would eat me alive. I snatch another glance at Robbie, just as he looks my way. The bastard is laughing so hard he's almost bent double.

“Nah. I'd better stay with my mates,” I croak.

Bev isn't put off.

“Don't be shy,” she says.

Bev has let go of my arse now and she's fumbling around with my hands. I look down to see what she's up to. She's got a pair of plastic handcuffs covered in pink furry stuff. One end is attached to her wrist. She's trying to attach the other end to me.

I step back and pull my hands out of the way. The song is almost finished, so I make a break for it. George and Robbie have had the same idea. We all leg it towards our table, expecting to see Dylan. But Dylan isn't there. I look back across at the dance floor. Bev doesn't seem to be too bothered I've done a runner. She's already latched onto one of the Leicester Boys Tony Curtis was giving a shout out to earlier. A big fat chap in a white cap-sleeve T-shirt with grey panels under the armpits to show off the sweatstains. They're grinding away to
Unchained Melody
.

George blows out a huge breath.

“Bloody hell,” he says.

I know how he feels.

“I've never been so scared,” I say.

Robbie strokes his chin.

“I don't know what's up with you two. I was getting into that.”

We all crack up.

When we've been sitting down for a couple of minutes, I start looking around for Dylan. I'm assuming he must have gone to the toilet. But if that's where he's been, he's had a busy time. Because he's heading over here now, and he's not on his own. He's with a gorgeous Asian girl. She looks like one of the classy Townies at school. She's in a little black dress and ballet pumps. She's got silky shoulder-length hair, a flawless complexion and a gold stud in her nose. She's so pretty, she doesn't look real.

Dylan's grinning like he's won the Lottery. He pulls a spare chair across to our table and motions for the Asian girl to sit down.

“Boys,” he says. “This is Nikita. Nikita, this is Chris, Robbie and George.”

Nikita smiles and we all nod our heads like the dog in the Churchill Insurance adverts, lost for words.

Robbie's the first to snap out of it.

“Alright Nikita?” he says. “You here on your own?”

“No,” Nikita says. She's got a slight London accent. “I'm here with my friends Steph and Gemma. They're just coming.”

I look over in the direction Nikita's facing. Two girls are cutting across from the bar, bottles in hands. One is tall with sandy-coloured, slightly wavy hair. She's in a purple blouse and a pair of skinny jeans. She's not bad looking, but she's a bit straight. Not my type. I can't see the other girl yet. She's a pace or two behind the tall one. But as they move closer, I get my first proper look at her. My jaw drops open. She's incredible.

My brain is processing information super-fast. About five-three. Rolling Stones T-shirt and black jeans. Nice skin. Wide mouth. Perfect teeth. Shiny brown hair, loosely tied up. Beautiful without even trying. Something in her body language says she's the boss of her gang. Don't know what it is. It's the way she carries herself. Inner confidence.

I swing into action, grabbing two extra seats and sliding them across. The girls are here now, and they both nod at me as they see what I'm doing. I catch the smaller girl's eye and my heart leaps.

I sit back down, trying not to stare. I hope my tongue's not hanging out. In the space of the last sixty seconds, the night has turned into something completely different.

Dylan looks round at us all. His grin is showing no signs of fading. He takes a breath and launches into another set of introductions, pointing each of us out in turn, shouting to be heard over the sound of Mariah Carey on the PA.

“Okay girls,” he says. “This is Robbie. This is George. And this is Chris. Robbie, George and Chris, meet Gemma and Steph.”

Steph. Her name's Steph. Like a plank, I reach my hand out to shake. Steph takes it, giggling. A jolt of electricity goes through me.

“Chris Norton,” I stutter. My mouth is dry. I let go of Steph's hand and have a swig of beer.

“Steph Warner,” Steph says. She's got a soft voice and an accent like Nikita. “Dylan says you're all from Letchford?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Where are you from?” It's the best I can manage. I wish I'd had a bit more to drink.

“We're down here from Streatham. We've just finished our GCSEs. We're staying at Gemma's granddad's chalet. Got here this morning. No-one knows, back home. My mum would kill me if she knew where I was.”

I can hardly get my head round what I'm hearing. “No way,” I say. “Same as us. We're in Robbie's parents' caravan. We're dead if anyone finds out.”

Steph smiles, shaking her head. Up close she's even better-looking. A bit like Cheryl Cole, or Tweedy, or whatever she calls herself nowadays. Something about her nose and her eyes. Or perhaps it's not her eyes, it's the shape of her eyebrows. I don't know. Whatever. She's mega-fit.

The night is sailing along now. Me and Steph are talking about loads of different things. I manage to slip into conversation the fact that I'm not seeing anyone at the moment. Steph isn't either. We've got stuff in common. Bands and books and TV shows we both like.

Fifteen minutes pass in what feels like five seconds. Right from the word go, everyone's getting on. It's funny. We don't look like a gang, and neither do they. They're different shapes and sizes, they're dressed differently, but somehow they work together.

Me and Robbie go to the bar to get another round in. Pints for us, Smirnoff Ice for the girls. Robbie's a lot happier now. He's not worrying about bumping into someone who knows his parents any more.

As we sit down again, I look at George. You can see he's into Gemma in a big way. George is usually hopeless around girls. Whenever they talk to him at school, he gets nervous, starts biting his bottom lip. Then he gets all clumsy and uncoordinated. Sure enough, he's biting his lip now, but he's not fallen over or spilt his drink yet. He looks like he's doing alright. Whatever he's saying, Gemma keeps nodding and smiling.

Across on the other side of the table, Dylan and Nikita are laughing about something.

I lean towards Steph.

“Nikita's enjoying herself,” I say.

Steph drinks from her bottle.

“Yeah. She's letting her hair down this weekend. Her mum and dad are pretty strict. What they don't know isn't going to hurt them though.”

I'm busting for the toilet. I leave Steph in charge of my pint while I head off.

It's not as packed in the toilets as it was earlier, so I go straight across to the urinals. When I'm finished, I turn round and see someone familiar coming in. Tangerine football shirt. Dylan. He heads for the condom machine and stands there looking thoughtful. He's not spotted me. I creep up and poke him in the ribs.

“Dylan, you sad bastard. You met her less than half an hour ago.”

Dylan spins round, shoving coins into his pocket. Different emotions pass across his face, one after the other. Surprise. Confusion. Guilt. Within two seconds, he's back to his usual self. He gives me a wolfish look.

“You've got to be prepared,” he says. “This is why you never get laid.”

I grunt.

“So you think she's going to get ‘em off then, do you?”

Dylan's full of himself.

“Never underestimate The Cawsey Boy. Tonight is Nikita Kaur's lucky night.”

“Get real Dylan,” I say. “A bird like that isn't going to drop and go for it. She's got more self-respect.”

Dylan shrugs.

“Maybe. But she came and spoke to me. Not the other way round.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she must have liked what she saw. And who can blame her?”

I grunt again and leave him to it. There's no arguing with Dylan's logic.

Out in the hall, I slalom through the holidaymakers back to our table. I've thought of something funny I can tell Steph. But there's a problem. Robbie's shifted into my seat and he's turning on the charm. A sick feeling starts to churn inside me.

It's not surprising that Robbie's making his move. George and Gemma already look like they're paired up, and so do Dylan and Nikita. Which leaves me and Robbie competing for Steph. I suppose I knew it already. I just hoped it wouldn't come to that. The thing is, me and Robbie have got a bit of history when it comes to fancying the same girls. Becky. Natalie. There's one or two others. And Robbie always seems to come out on top. Robbie's my best mate. But sometimes he's my biggest enemy.

I sit back down and try to act casual. George and Gemma are still locked in conversation, so I lean across and chat to Nikita until Dylan comes back from the toilets. I wonder what he's got hidden in his pockets. I flash him a sideways glance, but he's giving nothing away. He gets talking with Nikita again. I look over at Robbie and Steph, seeing if there's any way I can butt in. It's not looking good. Robbie's doing all he can to avoid my gaze. I'm starting to feel left out when Tony Curtis throws me a lifeline.

At last, the Erection Section is coming to an end. I reckon it's been at least three quarters of an hour. For most of the time it's been a pre-recorded CD playing automatically while Tony's crammed his face with chips, standing outside the Fire Exit with a fag in his hand. But now he's back, and he's opening his new set with some Killers.
Somebody Told Me
. It's not exactly a recent release, but at least it was recorded in our lifetimes, unlike the other dross he's been playing.

Steph's face lights up. She gets to her feet, grabs my hands and drags me out of my chair.

“Come on,” she says.

My night is instantly in gear again. I'm well chuffed. We're on the dance floor in seconds flat. Robbie's following, but you can see he's pissed off. This doesn't usually happen to him.

Soon all seven of us are up giving it loads, and we keep it going for most of the next forty minutes, with the odd pitstop for toilet breaks. Tony Curtis's music is much better now. It's pretty much all from the twenty-first century. There's no awkwardness when we're dancing. It's not like anyone's together in a couple. We're all just having a good laugh. And it gives me a chance to properly check Steph out.

It's closing in on midnight. All the kids have gone to bed. Most of the people in the Family Entertainment Centre are utterly wrecked. A fair few of them have probably been here since six o'clock. The atmosphere is getting rowdy and it's not long before a massive fight starts off to the side of the dance floor.

It's hard to see what's going on with the flashing lights and Tony Curtis's smoke machine working flat-out. Basically though, it's members of the Kettering Posse and the Colchester Crew having a turf war. Someone's sat in the wrong seat and it's all gone ballistic. A table has been turned over and bottles have started flying about.

Tony Curtis is oblivious to it all. He's put on
Y.M.C.A.
, and he's doing the dance, in a little world of his own. Everyone else knows what's going on though. People have started running for cover. Women are screaming and there's a big space opening up in the middle of the hall with various tubby blokes thundering about, trying to hit each other and falling over. It's quite funny.

But then I look across at Steph. Steph's not laughing. There's a strange expression on her face I haven't seen before. Partly frightened, partly sad. I click into protective mode, putting my arm round her waist and steering her away to the far side of the room.

Tony's finally caught on to what's happening. He turns the music off and starts appealing for calm, without much success. The fighting shows no signs of stopping. A pint glass sails over and shatters against the side of the DJ booth.

We're all standing in the corner now.

Steph shakes her head.

“I hate violence,” she says. “It spoils everything.”

Another glass arcs through the air.

“Let's get out of here,” I say. “I've had a brainwave.”

“What's that then?” Robbie asks.

“We should go down to the beach.”

Dylan looks at me like I've gone mad.

“It'll be a laugh,” I say.

One by one, everyone starts to nod their head. It's a daft idea, a spur-of-the-moment thing, but it looks like we're all up for it.

Robbie clears his throat.

“Right then,” he says. “Let's rock and roll.”

Skirting round the side of the people still scuffling, we go out of the main doors and into the courtyard. It's nice to be in the fresh air. It was like a sauna in the Family Entertainment Centre. The Supermarket and most of the other shops are closed up for the night, but all the takeaways are open and doing good business. Outside Happy Valley a group of women are gathered around, taking it in turns to pat and rub the back of their mate who's emptying her stomach onto the pavement.