Page 51 of London's Calling: Part 1
Several seconds pass as he scans my face, trying to read me, then he laughs. “Come on, Roni, as if,” he says, nudging me again.
Before I can make any kind of response, he leaps up from the sofa. “Drink up and let’s get going.”
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or offended by his response. Fletch is a nice guy, and if I wasn’t…if things were different, I’d have considered it. My life is messy enough, and I don’t think screwing Mickey’s mate would help.
I drain my glass, placing it on the table, and follow the guys outside as they argue about who’s going in whose car. Feeling like this was a complete waste of time, I head to my own car, passing by Fletch as I go.
“Have a good night and enjoy the band, Fletch.” I don’t wait around for an answer but Fletch catches my arm.
“Hey, aren’t you coming to the bar with us? I thought you wanted to ‘let loose’?”
I’m weighing up the pros and cons of taking him up on his offer, but he speaks again before I can reply.
“Look, forget that just now. We both know it wasn’t a joke, but I know about you and Mickey.” He raises his brows as I open my mouth to deny his words. “Come on, I promise to behave.”
I sigh, looking to the ground and shuffling my feet. This is an awful idea, but I need this. It wasn’t complete bullshit when I told Fletch I needed to let loose. And even the smallest chance of overhearing something I can give my dad will make it worthwhile.
“Okay, but I’ll go in my car and follow you.” Fletch looks like he wants to argue with me but thinks better of it and reels off the name of the bar and brief directions in case we get separated.
He hesitates before finally turning back to the guys who seem to have split into two groups and are heading to their ride for the night. I unlock my car and climb inside, blowing out a steadying breath. Looking up, Fletch is watching me as he opens the car door. I break our stare and start the engine, rolling forward a little as Priest pulls away. I drop in behind him, sandwiched between his car and Fletch behind me.
I barely remember the drive, too occupied with Fletch revealing he knows about me and Mickey. What does that even mean? The way I see it, there’s nothing to know. We had fun but it’s done, over, never to be repeated. Not if I have any hope of avoiding my father’s wrath and that of Clayton.
The bar is on the other side of town, far away from my father and any of his friends. As we pass, I take in the place, it couldn’t be further from the kind of place my father would frequent. Tucked away down a small side street, the place looks like a brothel more than a bar. The music blasting from inside as someone exits at least makes it clear it’s a bar. The place must have some kind of soundproofing because as the door closes, the music dies again. I continue to follow Priest as he turns into a small plot of land, basically a makeshift car park, and skids to a halt beside a red Merc.
My eyes pause on my glove box, and I feel the pull of the wrap of charlie I keep in there. I’m so tempted, but I need to keep a clear head. I can’t afford to fuck this up. It might be my last chance to find the elusive dirt my father is so desperate for.
A knock on my window startles me, and wide-eyed, I turn to find Fletch standing outside, beckoning me.
Another deep, steadying breath, I shove my keys in my bag and climb out. “You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah, but I’m a nice jerk.” He winks, then placing a hand on the small of my back, he guides me to the entrance.
Priest greets the guy on the door with a loud slap of hands and a man-hug; the casual, non-romantic side hug men do.
“I thought you’d had a better offer,” the guy says, his eyes roving over the small crowd. They pause when they land on me. It’s a fraction of a second but enough to send a shiver over my skin. I don’t like it—or him!
I hold his gaze as he looks back to Priest, exchanging a few words before he opens the door to let us in. I’m grateful when Fletch drops in behind me, allowing me in before him. It doesn’t stop the uncomfortable sensation of the guy’s eyes on me as I pass.
“You okay?” Fletch asks over my shoulder.
I nod as we enter, not trusting my voice. Once inside, we head to the bar, and I finally let my eyes scan the room. It’s not a big place but packed with guys, some girls, with a small stage toward the back. The decor is minimal, and the tables and chairs have seen some heavy nights, chipped and worn. The wooden floor also wears scars from bar brawls and drunken nights.
Fletch crowds in against me as we are buffeted from all sides at the crowded bar.
I stretch up on tiptoes, resting a hand on Fletch’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “Who was that guy at the door?”
Fletch pulls his head back to look at me. He frowns, then leans down. “Brett, he and Priest met a couple of years ago at some rave. It’s how we found this place. Do you know him?”
I shake my head, and the conversation is forgotten as Ian thrusts a beer at each of us and we move away from the bar. In front of the stage is a dance floor, barely big enough to hold twenty people. Fletch snatches my free hand and all but drags me through the throng of people.
Coming out the other side, I’m surprised to find an unoccupied booth with a reserved card on the table. A couple of the guys slide in and around, and Fletch manoeuvres me in front of him, gesturing for me to slide in before him.
“I’d rather stand,” I shout to him, swaying my hips. The music is louder here as we are right beside the stage where a band, all dressed in black and sporting an array of coloured hair, are playing.
Conversation is short after that as we drink and dance, and when Crude Ribbons come on, the crowd go crazy. Several drinks in, I’m relaxed and enjoying this band’s sound. It’s almost like Oasis and Blur had a baby. Easy listening and catchy.
Placing my empty bottle on the table, I lean into Fletch and ask where to toilets are. He points me toward a corridor on the other side of the room.
