In the space of one staircase it’s gone from being 7 p.m., still light outside and 27 degrees, into feeling like 3 a.m. and that the night could go on for weeks. The place is dark, crammed, and everyone seems incredibly drunk already. There’s a five-person-deep queue at the bar. People are sunburnt and bleary-eyed and stumbling into one another, and then holding each other when they apologise and using that as a way to start kissing. Couples already grind on the horrendous light-up dance floor. Young women bend over and rub their pert arses into the groins of older men in expensive suits.
‘Let’s get some drinks,’ I say, steering Megan away. ‘Try to catch up with everyone here.’ We push our way through the throngs of obliterated people to join the scrum waiting to order ￡8 J?gerbombs. Megan’s already on the scout, standing with her shoulders back, breasts popped, hair flipped behind one ear. A green light from the club hits her face, and, for a second, I’m afraid to admit that she looks her age. There are wrinkles around her eyes that aren’t around the eyes of many of the surrounding girls. Her foundation might be expensive but it still sinks into the wider pores of her skin. Her outfit, like mine, is just that tad too conservative compared to everyone else’s. I suddenly feel desperately pathetic to be standing in this bar and can’t believe my life has come to this, when I really, truly, thought that, by now, I would be spending my Friday nights putting the baby to bed. That me and my imaginary husband would be sharing a takeaway, laughing about how old we are now, and reminiscing about how shit it was to go out in London on a Friday night ‘back in the day’ … Then the light swings around again, and Megan looks just like Megan again. I blink away the pain of the life I thought I would have by now.
‘Shall we get shots?’ I call over.
‘Let’s start with three each.’
It’s just as well I’m drunk, I think, as I look at the carnage around me. My phone tells me it’s somehow still only eight-thirty. I keep checking it to try and look less like a lemon while Megan talks to Potential Ride Number One. A girl is already vomiting in the toilets, crying about the state of her life while her friends slur, ‘He’s not worth it, love. You can do so much better.’ There’s nowhere to sit down. Steam rises from the dance floor in giant clumps around me, and I’m getting hungry because I wasn’t allowed to eat my emergency sandwich.
But I’m drunk, totally freaking drunk, so I don’t mind much.
Megan’s talking, her hands gesticulating wildly, as she leans into Mr Potential Ride. Snatches of their conversation float towards me over the general din of cheesy music. ‘No way! You boarded at Glenalmond too? My sister went there before our family moved to London.’
Mr Potential Ride leans further in, puts a hand on the small of her back. ‘Really? How old is she? Maybe we were there at the same time. Was she on the lacrosse team?’
Megan’s already-posh voice has gone up a gear now she’s found someone of her own kind. It may be the music distorting it, but I swear she just said ‘yah’ instead of ‘yes’. It’s hilarious, yet ultimately unsurprising that she’s found the poshest banker here. Upper-classers have this extraordinary ability to find one another in any given social situation. Like they emit a sonar signal if their family goes hunting on Boxing Day.
‘Yes, no. I don’t normally come here. I’m just out with a friend, it’s her favourite place.’ Megan gestures towards me, and Mr Potential Ride smiles over. He’s dressed how every other wealthy finance type is dressed in here – navy blue suit he probably dropped two grand on, red tie, statement pocket hanky, shiny pointy shoes, a self-satisfied smirk.
I smile back and return to my phone. God, it’s dull, waiting for people to copulate. Hopefully she’ll close soon and then I can go home and have the flat to myself, strip to my pants and point the fan at my body while watching Joshua Jackson. I’ve just been paid, so I may even be able to get an Uber. Then, I’ll be sobered up by eleven, and won’t be hungover tomorrow, and can do yoga or something in the morning – not that I ever do yoga, but