Oooof! There’s a scuffle followed by a funny sound like someone’s pummelling a cushion, and Felix’s punching Josh repeatedly in the waist.
Just gently.
Josh stands there. And more he doesn’t react, the more Felix punches harder. And what’s weird is that Josh just lets him.
Kai looks puzzled and Frankee, hovering nearby with her mates, starts giggling first, high like she’s testing helium. Then everything stops.
For a second or two no one speaks. Then Felix straightens his leather jacket, scowls and brushes Josh down like he’s royalty or he’s made a massive fuss or something and Frankee rushes up and pulls him away.
“C’mon, I’m thirsty.”
“Me too. See ya, kids.” Kai wanders off with them without a backwards glance.
And I watch Josh watching Kai like a lynx, and I think things are going to get worse.
* * *
Courtney’s legless and tumbling about all over the place, trying to get someone to dance with her; Josh’s disappeared and Rach is doing complicated flips in front of a group of people from her dance class, who’ve all turned up wearing the same shirts and leggings which means they planned it so they could ‘spontaneously’ break into a routine later in the evening. There’s sick outside now and littery puddles quake in the shaky night air. It’s nearly midnight and I’m ready to go home.
With no food since McDonald’s and three alcopops on top of the cider, my stomach grumbles like Dad used to in the mornings. I do-si-do to the back table, part the sea of snoggers and alternate handfuls: crisps with birthday cake. There’s no sign of Josh or Courtney and I’m seriously thinking about going when someone taps my shoulder.
“Dance?”
It’s Jessie J. I mean, not Jessie J asking me to dance but she’s playing and she’s my lucky singer ‘cos I found £10 in the station car park once when I had her on my ipod.
Anyway, it’s Kai.
“Umm ...”
He looks mildly amused. “It’s not a hard question.”
And I want to like I want a five star holiday and for my hair to be always good without me doing anything but in fact what comes out is,
“I need to find Josh.”
“He’s fine. I just saw him go off with Felix.”
Felix? Never in a million years would he hang out with Felix normally. I’ve got a feeling like a tickle when it’s too hard, not fun, ‘cos I’ve always thought Felix’s a strange one, slidey, and looking at him’s like watching 16 and Pregnant and feeling like the world’s bigger than you thought. Something’s up. I frown, hiccup, gaze around blindly and ruin any chance I had of sniffing Kai’s aftershave ... must find Josh.
But I can’t. He’s not returning my texts and no one’s seen him and I’ve looked everywhere apart from upstairs, which is cordoned off but there’s something about the gloom beyond the bend in the staircase that makes me know something’s up — don’t ask me how; I just do.
So I’m heading upstairs and then someone starts coming towards me down the stairs, really quickly. It’s Felix.
“Seen Josh?”
He jerks his head backwards. Then Frankee appears from the bathroom, all giggles and they’re gone.
Upstairs, there’s a light on down the corridor. The carpet’s thin, patchy like Tao’s hair was and the music’s quieter but the floor pounds underneath my feet to the bass.
“Josh?”
No answer. In the room, there’s three rowing machines lined up neatly against the far wall like sleeping shipwrecks. Lacy veins cover a diagram of the human body, which looms over a running machine; blood red laminate. In the corner, on a pile of mats with holes in them, lies Josh, fumbling and doing something that looks a bit like texting but isn’t. He sees me and it’s like he falls a bit and he looks through his fringe lazily.
“You took your time.”
I swear at him using words I never do, not even when I’ve done something really stupid.
He laughs.
He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen him but Josh’s too cool to let it show. I think he’s spent so long perfecting a catwalk strut it’s second nature so when he gets up it’s like he’s normal, except his jeans and top need straightening, like his eyes, which are going in different directions. I hoik him up and he looks at the floor and we proceed downstairs. We don’t speak. Erin’s at the bottom.
“Oh. My. God. Comeandlookatthis!” she stage whispers, which is ridiculous because the music’s still banging and everyone’s too out of it to hear properly.
She drags us outside to see Courtney’s bright pink skirt working hard to scale Kai’s thighs, struggling in his lap. A can of lager dangles from one hand while the other strokes Courtney’s muttonish arm, like he’s placating a baby.