Page 47 of Going Solo

“It’s occurred to me,” Nick said, “that there was an obvious problem with our escape plan.”

“No kidding, babes.”

“Not the fire alarm. Although I didn’t know that even worked. Nothing else does in that building. No, I mean I had to go around the back of the building to get into the cab on Charing Cross Road in any case. You could have dashed straight out of the fire escape, into the waiting cab, and driven up here with me.”

We sat there, blinking at each other. What a pair of absolute melts. I knocked back my second Essex Girl shot. The restaurant echoed with the sound of plastic fingernails tapping against a microphone. It was Sandy, taking her spot on the stage by the bar.

“When you fuckers came out for dinner and a floor show, I bet you didn’t expect to see a drag queen wrestling a sad, faded twink, did you?” she said. “That wasn’t on your bingo card for today, was it? Don’t underestimate your Aunty Sandy, my dears. Not only am I an MDMA champion, I’m an MMA champion.” Titters from the crowd. “While you lot spend your Saturday mornings getting fisted by drunk, closeted Australian backpackers under a railway arch, I’m down the dojo, fighting all comers, looking fabulous, as the UK’s only fully sequined black belt. All so I can protect you lot of ungrateful mincing fuckers.”

Applause, cheers, a wolf whistle.

“So, listen up, kiddies. This is a safe space. For all of us. Including celebrity members of our community, who have every right to come here and enjoy a glass of warm, heavily marked up Tesco Finest Pinot Grigio—and my glutes in this frock—all without being accosted.”

The crowd cheered. Nick reached over and touched my arm.

“Are you OK, pal?”

I wasn’t. Not really. I had no idea when I would feel safe out in public again. The chaos Cole Kennedy caused me usually lasted anywhere from a few weeks to a few months. But at least I felt supported in this moment. I nodded, grateful for Nick’s concern.

“And that includes,” Sandy continued, “taking photos of our famous guests to post on social media, to show your friends, or to sell to the fucking newspapers. Do I make myself clear?”

A murmur of laughter.

“I said,do I make myself clear? Everybody say ‘Yes, Sandy.’”

A chorus of “Yes, Sandy” went up around the restaurant.

“Good girls. Now buckle up, because I’ve got a ten-minute Cher medley coming up, and my pill’s just hit. Which will come first, ‘The Shoop Shoop Song’ or me shitting my knickers onstage? Let’s find out. Place your bets, ladies.”

* * *

Thanks to Sandy’s generosity, we were on the table’s third bottle of Krug, and the drinks were starting to make themselves known in both the conversation and the number of trips to the bathroom. Dav stood and announced he was going for a leak. Loosened by the booze, I was finally ready to vent about Denzil’s stitch-up.

“So, why exactly are you doing this to yourself?” Sunny asked.

“Because a million pounds is a lot of money.”

“Is it?” Ludo said.

I blinked at him.

“Ignore him,” Sunny said. “Ludo has no concept of money. His family owns a media empire. His grandmother has an honest-to-God butler and lives in something his father legit calls a dower house.”

“I have a jolly good concept of money, thank you,” Ludo protested. “It’s precisely because my family owns a media empire that I know a million pounds is a very small drop in a very leaky bucket.”

“It’s a lot to my network. And it might be enough to stop us being sold off to a hedge fund and losing our jobs.”

“Is PureFM up for sale?” Ludo asked, eyebrows raised.

Nick and I exchanged glances. This definitely wasn’t public information.

“Not officially, I don’t think,” Nick said carefully. “But the board has no appetite to fix what needs fixing, and it’s been made clear they would offload us if they could.”

Ludo nodded and plucked his phone off the table. Sunny asked his boyfriend what he was doing.

“Sending Father a message,” he said. “The Sentinel Group is in acquisition mode. They might be looking to pick up an asset like Pure. I don’t know.”

“Um, the outcome we want is the companynotbeing sold,” Sunny said.

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