Authors: Sue Moorcroft
As last week, Martyn perched on the stage at the end of the room, but Honor tried to put him out of her mind as she concentrated on joking Ru out of his doldrums. Ru managed the occasional smile but, at the end of the class when she suggested, ‘Want to come home for coffee and soup?’ he gave her a startled look, grabbed his backpack from the side of the room and shot into the men’s room, casting back, ‘Can’t. Staying in Brighton.’
He sprinted out two minutes later, transformed by shirt, trousers and proper shoes, a strong smell of deodorant and his hair over his eyes like a windblown dog, making for the door. He had to pause as Martyn intercepted him, jingling his car keys, but Ru, muttering something as he pointed to his watch, just wriggled past.
Honor grabbed her jacket and crossed to where Martyn was frowning after Ru. ‘Where’s he flying off to?’
‘I think he said Spangles.’
She felt a spasm of alarm. ‘Spangles? Does he mean Ali Spangles? The nightclub?’
Slowly, Martyn nodded. ‘I’m rather afraid he might.’
Honor started off in pursuit down the corridor to the stairs. ‘But he’s way too young to get into a nightclub, isn’t he? And I’ve been to Ali Spangles – it’s a dive.’
Out in the street, there was no sign of Ru. Kemptown was a grid, providing any number of corners for Ru to have disappeared around. Honor felt her heart hurry uneasily, in a way that had nothing to do with the exertions of the class. ‘Ali Spangles is a dive,’ she repeated, frowning up and down the street.
‘I’m surprised you know.’ Martyn regarded her curiously.
‘A guy took me there when I was pretty much fresh off the plane,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t stay long.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t know what Ru’s up to but I’m going to go after him. That kid can get himself in a fix way too easily.’
‘You won’t get in dressed like that.’
Impatiently, she glanced down at her sweatpants. ‘Right. If you could drop me straight home, I’ll change and get a cab over there. I don’t know what Ru’s doing because he surely can’t get into a nightclub, but I don’t have a happy feeling about this.’
‘I’ll go with you.’
They turned for the X5, parked on the side of the road. ‘I’ll be OK–’
He glared as if she were a giant pain in his rear as he slammed the door and turned the key. ‘Like you said, it’s a dive.’
In the half hour that Honor had between jumping out of the X5 and climbing back into it, she showered at top speed and wriggled into the only vaguely clubby clothes she had in England, exactly what she’d been wearing when Aaron had taken her to Ali Spangles – the short, stretchy, black dress shot with gold and the rainbow shrug that tied high in front. So as not to feel any tinier beside Martyn than she needed to, she slid quickly into black, spike-heeled mules.
Her hair would take too long to put up, so, with wet hands and a little conditioner she smoothed out the worst of the frizz and then combed it down either side of her face, letting it ripple on to her shoulders. It looked like somebody had been at it with a crimping iron but, hey, people paid good money for that look and she could have it for free. And it left her time to apply blue-green eyeliner and black mascara.
Both the mules and the short skirt made the ascent into the BMW sports vehicle a challenge but she scrambled up and soon the vehicle was bowling smoothly along Marine Drive, past Saltdean and then Rottingdean, the lights from the pier and the Brighton hotels looming closer and closer, twinkling as the sun prepared to dip into the sea.
On this summer’s evening every parking space along King’s Road was taken, but Martyn found a spot to ease the BMW into in a side street. Honor discovered that, worse than scrambling up, dropping down from the perched-up passenger seat of the big vehicle in a short skirt and high heels was damned near impossible without flaunting her underwear
or letting her footwear drop from her toes. Watching her struggle, Martyn swore, seized her by the waist and swung her down, as if dragging a naughty child out of a tree.
‘Sorry,’ she said, meekly. ‘I didn’t think about climbing in and out of your SUV.’
Martyn had changed into a midnight blue shirt and he looked exactly what he was – a pin-up. His hair flipped sexily around his collar while hers wiggled around her head like the Gorgon’s snakes.
King’s Road was thronged, unsurprising in a resort at the height of the summer. Martyn grabbed her hand and tucked her behind him, which had the double benefit of advancing their progress and providing relief from the wind. When they reached the well-worn exterior of Ali Spangles he stopped short, bringing her around beside him. ‘Ah. That explains how he can get in.’
Outside Ali Spangles, on a blackboard decorated with silver stars, they read:
Under
18s
Nite at Ali Spangles! Wickid DJ! Only £5!
‘Oh
…’ Honor deflated. ‘I never even thought of that. I guess he’s just hanging out with his friends. I just jumped to stupid conclusions. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.’
Martyn studied the three doormen, standing in a row like thuggish penguins. ‘Yes, but it is Ali Spangles. As we’re here, maybe we should look around.’
They gazed up the stairs and into the entrance passage. Every scuff on the badly painted walls showed. Teenagers straggled in trying to look cool and mainly looking furtive as electronic music pounded and scratched out into the street.
Martyn approached the biggest doorman, a bald guy with two crosses in one ear. ‘Is it under 18s only? Or can we get in?’
The doorman raised his eyebrows, looking from Martyn to Honor and shrugging. ‘OK with us, mate. You pay your five quid, you go in. Long as you behave yourself.’ He smirked. ‘They might ID you if you try and buy alcohol.’
Martyn gave him a tiny smile and brushed past, paid ten pounds to a different penguin at a window and drew Honor up the narrow stairs and down the corridor that let out into the bowels of the club. Honor didn’t know whether to put her hand over her eyes or her ears at the swooping neon-green lights and shrieking teenage voices over headaching music, trying not to wince at the number of show-off boys barging around squealing girls. It wasn’t lost on her that the girls, who Stef would have termed jailbait, were dressed pretty much like her – tottering on heels, hemlines high, necklines plunging.
Her eyes got used to the wheeling lights but there were a lot of bobbing heads to block her view. She had to rely on Martyn, his gaze raking the room methodically. ‘I can’t see him,’ he said, bringing his mouth down close to her ear, ‘but there’s some kind of big meeting taking place in the far corner. Let’s wander in that direction.’
Tucking in behind his formidable height as he wove along the edges of the heaving dance floor, Honor was able to negate the worst of the mob effect of excitable kids crammed into too small a space. A whole bunch of wide girlish eyes drank Martyn in as he made his way through the throng, sliding on then to check her out. She wondered how many of them were thinking:
he could do better
–
‘He’s right in the corner, talking to two older guys,’ he said, suddenly.
Now that they’d made it past the dance floor, Honor was able to step out from behind him and crane up to see that Ru and a group of teens around him were listening and nodding as the two men, one white and wholesome-looking and one black and über-cool, talked. Aaron and Jermaine. Fury flamed inside her. ‘Those dumbass morons!’
Martyn’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How come you’re so well acquainted with local dumbass morons?’
She staggered on her tiptoes, trying to become taller even than the spike heels made her. ‘The guy who brought me here before? He’s Aaron, the white dumbass. The guy who he brought me to see, who seems to control the local grey labour market – he’s the black dumbass, Jermaine. Aaron works at an employment agency and if he can’t fit someone into a legit job, he brings them to Jermaine to get them work off the payroll. Aaron was so mad when I passed on the opportunity that it’s obvious he gets a commission.’ She dropped back on to her heels. ‘I’m going to talk to those guys.’
Incensed by the trust on the face of Ru and the teens clustered around him, she flung herself through the horde of clubbers-in-training. With a final shove, she burst into the small clearing about Aaron and Jermaine. ‘Well, hi there!’ She beamed around.
Ru looked astonished.
Aaron and Jermaine looked shocked and wary.
She locked her eyes on Ru. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. His expression switched abruptly to dismay. ‘Wait a
min–!’
A groan went up from the other kids.
Honor wasn’t surprised, when she looked back at the yard of floor that Aaron and Jermaine had been occupying, to see it suddenly empty. Martyn was standing close by, watching their departing backs and smiling.
‘They’re going!’ objected Ru. ‘But we hadn’t finished.’
Honor sighed. ‘Shame. I’ve had a bad day and I wouldn’t have minded trying that pressing the button thing. Were they talking to you about a job, Ru?’
The muttering crowd began to disperse as he hid his eyes behind his hair. ‘They said they could get me work in Brighton. I hate working for Mum.’
‘Is it really that bad? It gives you a little money in your pocket.’
Ru stopped hiding with a flick of his head and an incredulous laugh. ‘It doesn’t.’
Honor paused. ‘It doesn’t?’
‘Mum doesn’t pay me. That’s why I hate it. It’s slave labour.’
‘I guess it is,’ she said, slowly. ‘She doesn’t pay you a cent?’
‘Not a cent, not a penny. Not as a wage. She’ll give me money for a particular thing, if she feels like it. But she doesn’t often feel like it.’
‘Oh.’ Honor looked into the eyes that were both wary and trusting. ‘Well, I hate to break it to you but those guys, they aren’t on the level, either. They specialise in getting work for people who want work but there’s some reason that finding it is difficult. Foreigners like me and, I guess, young kids like you. They don’t pay the going rate and I’m pretty sure they don’t pay taxes or any of those tiresome things. It’s not legit. They’re bad news.’
Ru’s lips set. ‘But they would pay me something. Which is better than nothing.’
‘Yeah.’ Honor nodded. ‘But they could get you in a whole lot of trouble. Maybe we can figure something out. Something better. How about you come with me and we talk about it?’
‘S’pose.’ Digging his hands into his pockets, Rufus allowed himself to be shepherded back through the crowd, shuffling disconsolate feet up the corridor and down the stairs, collecting polite goodnights from the doormen.
‘OK,’ said Honor, as soon as she’d somehow clambered back up into the X5 – taking the mules off first, which turned out to be helpful. Turning to face Ru in the back seat, she could watch his deeply shadowed expressions in the half light. ‘Will you work at the Teapot if I make her pay you?’
Ru stilled. ‘Yeah,’ he conceded, suspiciously. ‘But I bet you can’t make her.’
Honor smiled. ‘Bet I can. She wants to go to that Global Gathering thing, right? I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.’
From the driver’s seat, Martyn groaned as he started the BMW up. ‘Fantastic. She’s going to try and reason with Robina.’
Martyn hadn’t been able to talk her out of it. Half-an-hour later, having struggled once more out of his car after he’d parked it behind the Starboard Walk shops, Honor was seated on an iridescent green-and-purple, crushed-velvet beanbag in Robina’s lounge.
The whole place – two storeys over the Eastingdean Teapot – was like some old hippy hang out. Web and feather dreamcatchers hung in doorways, crystals stood where they’d catch the light, posters covered entire walls and the ceiling was painted dark purple. Jos sticks burned on the mantel and fat white candles lit a room devoid of TV or any furniture that had legs. Surreal.
Even though sitting elegantly on a beanbag in a micro skirt was no easier than climbing in and out of the X5, Honor didn’t feel disadvantaged by her station because Sophie, Robina and Ru were each flopped on beanbags of their own.
Kirsty lay on a futon. On the floor beside her were a couple of crackers on a plate, one nibbled. Honor, dismayed, spoke to her first. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Kirsty, or tire you out.’ How on earth had Robina hardened her heart sufficiently to ask this shrunken wreck of a female to drag herself into the Teapot to work for even an hour, let alone an entire weekend, so that Robina could go off and enjoy herself?
Kirsty’s skin stretched tight around her smile. Her eyes were sunk into circular black shadows. ‘Nice to see a new face. Newish, anyway.’
‘So,’ interrupted Robina, ‘what’s Ru been up to? And why are you done up like a doll?’
Honor was shaken to realise just how chilly she felt towards Robina. When she’d first arrived at the Teapot she’d considered her quirky and fun, and anticipated that Sophie was the one who would irritate the hell out of her. Instead, Sophie had turned out to be a warm-hearted, hard worker, who just happened to hero worship her best friend, warts-and-all, though occasionally was prepared to stand up to Robina if Robina was being extra warty.
Stef was self-absorbed but Robina had him beaten, hands down.
Honor hid her thoughts behind a smile. ‘Ru and I, we’ve just been having a little chat and we’ve come up with a way that will mean you can go to the Global Gathering.’