Page 9 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I open my mouth to speak but Aidan has shifted his attention to Meredith. ‘It’s you again,’ he continues. ‘I thought they fired you as well.’

‘No, I’m back now,’ Meredith says, forcing a smile. ‘Working with Lexi this time.’

‘What was your name again?’

‘Meredith,’ she reminds him.

‘Oh yeah, I remember,’ he says. ‘Can we go now, Bode?’

‘Just let me introduce our guests to Ziggy, okay? Gimme a minute.’

Aidan gets into the lift. ‘Fine, there’s a small roof terrace two floors up. I’ll be up there when you’re ready. Come get me.’

I watch as he hits the button, his attention going back to his phone before the lift doors close.

Duncan leans down and whispers in my ear, ‘This could get interesting.’

‘So that was Aidan McArthur,’ Meredith shouts back to me as I follow Bodhi into the main area of the club.

The room opens out, wall-to-wall windows on three sides, a spectacular view of Shibuya and Tokyo by night, the bright neon lights below making everything pulse and glow. It’s breathtaking. On the fourth wall is the bar, lit up red from behind, the colour matching the sofas and chairs all around. I try to absorb it all. It quickly becomes apparent that the room is filled with majority females, most of them Japanese, all of them in short, tight dresses and fuck-me heels.

I follow Meredith through the crowd, Duncan at my back. The music throbs. Peering through the sea of bodies, I glimpse who I think is Caleb Whitlock, relaxed on one of the sofas, his ankle resting on his opposite knee. I can’t see his face as his lips are locked with those of a Japanese girl cuddled up next to him to his left, her hand stroking his thigh. A moment later, he lifts his head, turns, and starts necking the girl on his other side, virtually a cardboard cutout of her companion, except her dress is even lower cut.

I look away, heat at my neck, only to find my gaze settling on another member of the band, Danny Miller. Miller is surrounded by three Japanese females. His fingers have drifted up the skirt of the girl in his lap. The other two are pawing at him, but look put out by his lack of attention.

My eyes sweep over the rest of the room. Jean-Baptiste, the French band member known as J.B., is up on a platform, talking to a Western-looking girl. Just when I think it’s safe to study his face, the girl leans forward, puts her hands on his cheeks and draws him in for a long, predatory kiss.

I glance back at Duncan, who’s observed everything I have. ‘It’s not quite migrants crossing the channel in boats, is it?’ I shout over the din.

‘We’re not in Kansas anymore,’ is his reply.

I don’t have time to respond as I turn and find myself being introduced to Ziggy, the band’s manager. In his fifties, I guess, he is squat with a pot belly, wearing a suit jacket over a white Rebel Heart tour T-shirt, receding, bleached-blonde hair slicked back.

‘Zig! This is Lexi Hart,’ Bodhi shouts over the din.

‘You got ’ere quick,’ Ziggy exclaims in an East London accent. ‘I was only told you was coming this morning.’

I take his statement as a positive thing, though his tone of voice suggests otherwise. ‘It’s great to meet you,’ I say. ‘Thanks for having us. This is my cameraman, Duncan Gray.’

‘Alright,’ Duncan says, shaking Ziggy by the hand.

‘A little bird tells me you’re not half bad at this documentary business. Well, get yourselves a drink then. Welcome to the tour. Let’s talk tomorrow when you meet the band.’

‘We met Aidan by the lift,’ Meredith pipes up.

‘No bloody pleasing that one,’ Ziggy retorts, rolling his eyes. ‘Permanently on another planet. What was your name again?’

He’s talking to Meredith. I know that, despite it not being visible under the lights of the bar, she’s blushing again. ‘Meredith,’ she says.

‘That’s right.’ Ziggy nods. ‘Thought they fired you as well.’

‘Still here,’ she counters limply.

I feel Duncan’s hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ll get us drinks,’ he says. ‘What you want?’

I order a cocktail, Meredith nodding at Duncan, telling him she’ll have the same. Beside us, Ziggy has lapsed into conversation with Bodhi.

I lean closer to Meredith’s ear. ‘Before, back at the hotel,’ I shout, ‘you said the previous director and the band members, they didn’t really get along. Was it because they didn’t want a documentary filmed about them?’

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