Million Love Songs(30)

But it’s not a cab. I recognise the throaty sound of that car instantly. Dammit, Mason has just rocked up. I can hardly fess up to Charlie that I know the exact engine note of our boss’s car by heart, so we grab our bags, turn off the staffroom lights and head out.

Mason is coming through the door of the restaurant as we hit the bar. He’s looking really lovely in a tight-fitting black sweater that may well be cashmere, and grey jeans. He hasn’t shaved and even that suits him. I wish I was looking more scrubbed and polished.

Not surprisingly, Mason recoils in horror as he sees us. ‘Whoah.’

I hold up a hand. ‘Say nothing.’

‘What have you two ladies come as? Pepsi and Shirley?’

If he wasn’t our boss Charlie would tell him to sod off. I can see it written all over her face. He’s trying very hard to suppress his grin and is failing miserably. ‘Going somewhere nice?’

‘Well, I don’t think we’d get into your club looking like this.’

‘Definitely not,’ he agrees.

‘Eighties party,’ Charlie informs him. ‘We thought you were the cab.’

‘I’d run you there, but I’ve only got room for one.’ He gives me a meaningful look which I hope Charlie misses.

‘We’re off to Wilton Hall,’ she says sharply. ‘It’ll only take five minutes.’ Another set of headlights appears outside the window. ‘Our chariot’s here now.’

‘Have a great time, ladies. I’ll lock up.’ He turns his attention to me and gives a wink when he adds, ‘Catch you later.’

‘Hold your skirt down,’ Charlie instructs as we scuttle out. ‘I don’t want that lecherous bugger getting an eyeful of my bum.’

It’s fair to say that I feel exactly the same.





Chapter Twenty-Six





Charlie and I avail ourselves of many sparkly drinks to get up to speed with the party. We had a lot of catching up to do and I’ve thrown myself into it with enthusiasm. Then, feeling decidedly more cheery/squiffy, we dance our way through the many and varied hits of Culture Club, Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran, Wham, T’Pau and Madonna until the wee small hours. The DJ also throws in a sprinkling of Take That as requested by the crowd – lots of Charlie’s GB Army mates are here, who we met down in London. Including Nice Paul, who has come as Boy George and is wearing a long colourful coat, nylon plaits and a jaunty hat.

I’ve no idea what time it is, but it must be late. My feet are throbbing and I’ve had enough to drink to forget the sheer awfulness of my outfit. It helps that I’m surrounded by people who are dressed in similarly bad-taste clothes.

I’m giving it my all to ‘The Only Way is Up’ – if my memory serves me right, the only hit for Yazz and the Plastic Population – when my phone pings. It’s lucky that I even hear it over the music.

I’m outside, it says. Mason xx.

That pulls me up short. I’m assuming that means he’d like me to go outside too. I know he said catch you later, but I didn’t really think that he meant it. Does he think it’s OK to sweep in like this and expect me to drop everything for him? Of course he does. And there’s my dilemma. I really want to. I’m sort of done here and I need a sit down. Looking over at my friend, I can see that she’s still in full party mode. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to go out for a little while and see what Mason’s up to?

I shout over to Charlie, ‘Back in a minute,’ but I’m not sure that she hears me as she seems to be quite engrossed with Nice Paul. Hmm.

So with only a modicum of apprehension, I head out of the main door. Sure enough, Mason’s flashmobile is parked right out front in a spot that is very clearly labelled no parking in big letters. He swings open the passenger door and, even though I try my best to get into the car like models do, I end up falling inside. The night has turned cold and I’m wearing nothing more substantial than netting. I attempt to pull said netting down to cover my legs, but it’s going nowhere.

‘I was feeling lonely, Brown,’ Mason says with a pout.

‘Come in. Join the party!’ I sound a bit more slurry and a bit more shouty than I’d like.

‘I feel a little under-dressed.’ He gestures at his black sweater and jeans. He may have a point. One bloke in there has come as the Incredible Hulk. ‘Let’s go to the club.’

‘I can’t really go anywhere else dressed like this, can I?’ My head is sweating under my rainbow wig and I’m torn between keeping it on and having wiggy hair. ‘Plus I’m knackered now.’ I check my phone and it’s gone two o’clock. The party will be winding up pretty soon anyway. Having sat down, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get up again.

‘So what shall we do?’ He runs a finger gently down my cheek and I hear myself gulp. Mason smiles, turning on the full wattage.

I’m suddenly feeling the excess of prosecco and my long shift at work. I’m clearly not as young as I like to think I am. ‘You could drive me home,’ I say. ‘That’s really all I’m fit for.’

‘Really? The night is young, Brown.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not.’ I unleash a yawn that I’m not able to stifle.

‘I get the point. So you just want to go home?’