‘We should also forage for fun,’ he says grumpily. ‘This night was supposed to be really silly and spontaneous. It’s supposed to be your last big adventure in America! I wanted this to be a mad night. I wanted you to have a story to tell when you got home.’
‘I amhaving fun!’ I insisthalf-heartedly, but he doesn’t look convinced, mostly because I am also fiddling with my cuticles.
‘We need to liven this party up a bit,’ he says, suddenly perking up. ‘Let’s make it a secret mission. A dare.’ Inspiration strikes him. ‘I know! Right, I dare you to go take over theDJdecks. Put a banger on, and I will start talking to people and get a conga line going!Come on Alice, it will be excellent! Everyone here is dying for things to kick off, look how miserable they all are. Between us we can save this dire night.’
‘DEAL!’ I shout, suddenly excited. There is something in me that cannot resist a dare. It is juvenile, but irresistible. He’s also right, this place badly needs a conga line to happen. Everyone is so dour andbored-looking, making smalltalk in corners and ignoring the dance floor. I have just the playlist to get everyone moving.
Patrick and I discreetlyhigh-five and splinter off in different directions. I eye him joining a small group of men, all dressed in dark suits. He looks so out of place in his bright green shirt. Ugh, don’t rich people have any imagination?
I sidle up to theDJbooth. There is a woman standingthere looking bored, playing with her phone, which is plugged into the system. She must be responsible for this tedious background music. For half a second I wonder if this is a good idea. I could still make a run for it. She looks up, surprised by my closeness. ‘Hello,’ she says coolly.
‘Um, hi there,’ I say and for some reason, I am talking in an American accent. Not even a good Americanaccent. She looks puzzled.
‘YouOK, hun?’ she says half nicely. I nod enthusiastically. We fall silent and I swallow hard. This was a bad idea. This isn’t going to work! How do I even get her away from the decks so I can plug my Spotify in? I glance desperately over at Patrick, but he is fully immersed in hisrich-suits chat. He looks a bit serious, maybe he wants to chicken out, too?
‘Do you know Sam well?’ the woman murmurs, and my head snaps back towards her. Shit, is Sam the host? He must be. No Kanye or Kardashian family then, bummer.
‘Quite well,’ I hedge, matching her low tone. ‘Great ... person.’
I nearly said bloke, but Sam could easily be a woman, couldn’t it? That is quick thinking. I am so good at this! Out of nowhere the adrenaline – and alcohol – kicksin. I need to take more chances, that’s why I’m here! For God’s sake, I’m in this country for one more night – this is it – my one chance to be silly. Constance Beaumont makes a big thing about taking risks and being spontaneous on her blog. Plus, Patrick dared me and I want to pretend to be a person who is brave, a person who does things.
I’m doing it.
‘Mind if I have a go?’ I say tothe woman, gesturing at theDJsystem. She narrows her eyes at me. There is a beat. ‘I guess ...’ she starts, sounding unsure, but I am already moving in, triumphantly unplugging her phone. She steps back, still looking confused. No problem, she will be on board in a minute because I have just the playlist for this evening. It’s the one I put on ahead of big nights out with my mates. When we’regoingout-out. It is guaranteed to get everyone moving. I hit shuffle and crank up the volume. The booming sound of The Pussycat Dolls’Don’t Chafills the room. En masse, everyone turns in my direction. Clearly they were sick of the tinkly background music, too. Here we go! This is really happening! My belly fizzes with the joy of spontaneity. They are going tolovethis!
Nicole Scherzinger’sdistinctive warble fills the room, singing about how sexy she is and how no other woman comes close.
I grin widely at all the shocked faces in front of me.
I meet Patrick’s eyes. Time for the conga.
Oh, here’s the part of the song where she says men should all cheat on their girlfriends if there is a hot freak available. I love this bit.
Patrick is ashen.
My smile falters.
He is mouthing something. I can’t make it out. Why is no one dancing? Or ... smiling?
Nicole screams from the sound system some more stuff about being sexy, and I momentarily picture her with yoghurt on her nose.
What is it Patrick’s saying? Wait, ‘phew’? It can’t be phew, what is it ...
Oh God, I think I know. I think I know what it is. I know what he’s saying. I glance roundat the woman next to me. She looks back at me, horrified. She is in all black. So is everyone.
Wait a minute, what did she say a minute ago? It suddenly clicks in my brain. She didn’t say, ‘Do you know Sam well?’ – that wasn’t what she said. She said ... she said, ‘Didyou know Sam well?’ She saidDID. This is a ... this is a ... I turn back towards Patrick who has his head in his handsbut is still mouthing the same words. It is so clear now.
‘THIS IS A FUNERAL’.
Later, when we are both hiding in the unisex loo, trying to get the window open so we can sneak out, Patrick just keeps repeating the same thing.
‘It might not have been so bad if the incontinence advert hadn’t come on afterwards. Why, Alice, why couldn’t you at least have sprung for Premium Spotify?’
