“In here.”

Carl gestured to the dark doorway up ahead and Veronica giggled again, turning her face up for a kiss. Jake tried to smile. The three of them squeezed through the entrance, joining the small queue at the payment counter.

The bar was darker than the one they’d been earlier, louder, a lot louder. More of a crowd, a much drunker, lairier crowd than earlier. Jake followed the gleam of V’s hair through the darkness, squinting through the flashing lights. They waded across the tiny dance floor, heading for the bar at the back. Jake was beginning to feel an itch, the yearning for another line. He didn’t need one – he could still feel the spark of the last one, could still taste acrid powder every time he swallowed. But there it was, the niggling power of cocaine, tugging at his senses for just one more line, one more…

He managed to communicate his need to the other two at the bar, subtly, he hoped. Carl pressed the wrap into his hand discreetly.

“We’ll stay here,” he bellowed in his brother’s ear. “You go ahead.”

Jake fought down the disappointment of not sharing a cubicle with Veronica. He battled his way to the gents, queued for roughly a year for a cubicle and did what he had to do. The burn was greater this time, making him screw up his face and snort.

Carl and Veronica were dancing by the time he got back to the bar. He could see them wedged into the struggling mass of humanity on the dance floor, slotted together at the hip, Carl’s big hands curved around Veronica’s hips. Jake hesitated for a moment. Then, coke-fuelled, he squirmed his way through to them.

“Jake!”

Veronica detached herself from Carl and threw her arms around his neck. Jake staggered, surprised, and his arms went about her in an attempt at balance. Dreamily, she moved against him, hot cheek against his face. He could see tiny pearls of sweat caught in her hairline. Quickly he glanced at Carl who was oblivious, shaking his head in time to the music, grooving on down, throwing shapes. Jake grinned. He pulled Veronica closer, grinding himself against her. He was hard and he knew she could feel it but powered by the coke and booze, he didn’t care. Giddily, he moved with her, feeling the bass thud up though his body, shaking him from deep within. Her skin slipped underneath his sweaty hands, so warm; he wanted to lick his fingers. He wanted to run his tongue over her neck. He caught his breath and brought his face closer to hers – and then the song changed, the thudding beats of the last song segueing into some insipid R n B groove. Veronica laughed and slipped from his grasp, moving from his hands into his brother’s arms.

“Let’s get a drink,” she said. “I’m so hot.”

*

“Zero tolerance rules for a happier Britain,” said Carl, shouting over the music and the background of Veronica’s laughing. Jake rolled his eyes.

“What?”

Carl grinned. “Look, it’s easy. I’ll start. Okay – anyone found dropping litter will be forced to eat whatever they’ve dropped. No, wait – whatever they’ve dropped will be vigorously inserted into a bodily orifice.”

Veronica hiccupped with laughter.

“Go on!”

“Anyone who doesn’t clean up after their dog will have their face rubbed in it –“

“Ewwwwwww…”

Carl warmed to his theme, encouraged by their amused response. “Anyone – anyone seen reading Heat magazine will be soundly beaten, no, publically flogged with a copy of the Oxford English dictionary.”

Jake whooped with laughter. “Everyone with one of those fucking awful novelty ringtones will be forced to text ‘I’m a pea-brained, lobotomised moron’ fifty thousand times!”

They collapsed with laughter. It was many, many drinks later, more lines later, three more sexually tantalising dances later. Jake felt at once both lazily drunk and wildly excited. He wanted to fall down in a heap and at the same time, run screaming down the street. He took another long pull of his drink, his jaw aching.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“And go where?”

Carl slammed his empty glass down on the table.

“Anywhere! Everywhere! Let’s go!”

Veronica laughed. Jake grinned at her. God, she was beautiful – no matter how long he looked at her, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to fill his eyes with the sight of her, to gaze and gaze until finally, he’d properly absorbed her. But seeing wasn’t enough either – he wanted her, the whole of her. Every part of her.

Outside in the street, it was still miraculously warm. The sky above them, just glimpsed through turrets of brick and slate, was a smudged, ominous red. There were no stars to be seen.

“Christ, it’s hot,” said Carl. “It’s like being on holiday.”

They were wandering through some back streets, heading vaguely for another club that Veronica had mentioned. There were fewer people about now they were off the main drag. The three of them walked slowly, limbs heavy with alcohol.

Up ahead they could see a little knot of people on the pavement. Almost simultaneous, the boom of music reached them, and the high shrieks of laughter and, visible against the street light, clouds of smoke and steam writhing in the night air. Someone was having a party, a wild one by the look of it. Their footsteps slowed until they were standing right outside.

Veronica turned to the two boys, her delicate eyebrows raised. She lifted her chin and smiled.

“Well?” she said. “How about here?”

Chapter Twenty-One

“This is Candy.”

Veronica gestured to the girl sat next to her on the sagging sofa. She had one eyebrow arched, ever so slightly, and the deadpan tone of her voice told Jake she was sneering at the name, just a little. He smiled inwardly and held out his hand to the girl who took it, looking momentarily confused.

“Your name’s Candy?”

The girl sniggered. “Nah, it’s Candice really. Candy’s just what people call me. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jake.”

He smiled at her. Veronica shifted up on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. He squeezed himself between them, feeling the long length of her thigh against him on that side, the fat-padded softness of the girl’s hip on the other. He took a long swig at the beer in his hand, washing away the acrid taste of the recently snorted coke.

“Where’s Carl?” said Veronica.

“Dunno. He was queuing for the bog last time I saw him. Have you seen the rest of this place? It’s a complete shit-hole.”

“What d’you say?”

Candice poked him in the ribs. He turned to her, slightly annoyed at the familiarity of her gesture.

“What?”

“What d’you say?”

“I said, this place is a shit-hole.”

“Yeah, well. It’s a squat, innit?”

“A squat? Christ. Do you live here then?”

He didn’t know why he’d asked her that. Perhaps it was the way she looked; top glittering with badly sewn sequins, black roots smudging the crispy blonde cloud of hair, cheap perfume rising like swamp gas from her sweating cleavage. She looked as if she belonged here.

She sniggered again.

“Nah. I know one of the blokes here, Guy – he’s the boyfriend of a mate of mine.”

“And where’s your boyfriend then?”

He grinned down at her. It was the sort of thing Carl would say. She laughed again. He looked at her breasts, straining against the cheap white Lycra. She wore a necklace of blue plastic beads around her neck, the sort that looked as though they’d break with a single twist.

“What boyfriend?”

“Come on, tell me you don’t have one. I won’t believe you.”

She was giggling furiously now. He felt a sudden sharp pulse of desire. She was abundantly fleshy – he had a sudden longing to sink his face into her breasts. He was aware of Veronica, cool and sharp beside him.

“Hey – what’s up? What’s going on here? Who’s this?”