One Night

Writing, writing, writing, but not a lot that I can put on here. I've been very good with my diary this year. Every page is filled with nonsense. I'm very proud: I have never been able to keep a diary before. If bad habits die hard, good habits are just as hard to bring to life.

Anyway, I finally have something I fancied sharing. This started life as an Open University exercise that ended up leading me down a different path. It's only the start of a story and I haven't worked out where it goes yet, but I like it so far. Eventually, when the time is right and the stars align, I'll have a go at finishing it off.

* * *

The club was dark. Music was pounding. His mates were in a jovial mood, laughing and hooting, knocking back drinks and eyeing up the girls. James was not.

“You wanna get back in the game, mate.” Simon slapped him on the back so that he almost dunked his nose into the pint of beer he’d been nursing for the best part of an hour.

“Yeah.” Dave said. “You gotta go with the flow. Move with the groove.”

“Shots!”

James wasn’t sure which one of his mates had shouted it, but a few minutes later two dozen shots were lined up in front of him, glowing lurid colours in the club light-show. He chugged the first one and it burned its way down but the afterglow felt good. He followed up with several more; each time he lifted a glass his spirits lifted with it. Half an hour later he was feeling very happy as he leaned against the bar waving a twenty and waiting to be served.

There were two people serving: a young woman with a ring through her lower lip and bright green hair, and a tall spindly bloke with scruffy hair. They were busy at the opposite end of the bar, where a group of girls on a hen night was holding their attention. As he waited, a girl stepped up to the bar next to him. She smiled and then focussed on trying to get the attention of one of the servers.

“Hi. I’m James.” He grinned. She smiled at him but said nothing. “You’re pretty.” She smiled again but continued to try and call the attention of the bar staff. “I’m here with my mates, over there.” He turned to point them out but couldn’t see them. He looked around for a moment. “Well, they were there. I guess I’m on my own. Are you here with someone? Boyfriend maybe?” She smiled again, a little longer, trying to figure out if he was worth the trouble, maybe.

“I’m with some friends from uni.”

“Great. Having a good time?”

She shook her head.

“Me neither. I didn’t want to come out tonight. I didn’t feel like it. I’m James.” He said again.

“You said that already.” She laughed. She paused and bit her lip. “Do you want to get some fresh air? The music’s kind of doing my head in.”

“I’ll go out with you if you tell me your name.”

“Maggie.”

She took his hand and led him towards the door.

James woke in a comfortable bed, his face half-buried in a soft pillow that smelled freshly washed. The music from the club was still buzzing in his ears and pounding in his head. He rolled over, expecting to see his dorm room but what he saw was unfamiliar. There was a tidy desk against one wall, with a cork notice board above it. Photos and cards were pinned all over the board. On the wall next to the bed there was a Madonna poster. On the table next to the bed was a short stack of books: Pride and Prejudice, Great Expectations and Pet Cemetery. The latter had a postcard shove between the dog-eared pages. Where the hell was he?

                “Good afternoon sleepyhead.” Maggie entered, wrapped in a fluffy cream towel, with her auburn hair wrapped in another towel on her head.

                James smiled. In a rush he remembered the pretty shy girl from the club. The girl that he’d chatted with in the cold November night until the club had closed. She’d invited him back to the house she shared. They’d kissed and done more.

                “What time is it?”

                “Does it matter? Scoot.” She shuffled at the edge of the bed until he made room for her to sit, then she ruffled his hair. “You need a shower.”

                “I need coffee”

                Maggie kissed him on the cheek.

                “Shower first, then coffee. You’ll feel better.”

James stood naked in the bathroom, his hands either side of the designer basin. He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was greying at the temples. A few light wrinkles had started to spread outwards from the corners of his eyes. When did he get so old? He looked down at the water running from the tap. The wedding band on his finger glinted in the early morning sunlight. He stared at it.

                “Are you alright in there?”

                “Yeah, I’m fine.” He called out.

                He splashed water on his face, turned the tap off and dabbed the moisture away with a bright white towel from the rail.

                The hotel room was well appointed, decorated in tones of cream, coffee and chocolate. The bed linen was white and expensive-looking, with one of those slippery sashes across the bottom of it. An empty bottle wine bottle bathed in a cooler on a walnut desk, the ice long-since melted. The remnants of room service lay on an oversized tray on the low coffee table in front of an equally low sofa.

                James slid back into the bed.

                “I was about to send out a search party.” His companion wriggled up against him, sliding her leg over his thigh. She propped her head up on one hand so that her hair fell around her bare shoulders in champagne waves. She pressed the duvet down to her waist. “Everything OK?”

                James glanced at the porcelain breasts so blatantly on display.

                “Yeah, fine.”

                “Good, cos I want you at least once more before we have to go down for breakfast.” She leaned over and kissed him, sliding her body over his. For a moment, he considered resisting, but it was only a moment, then she was straddling him and he was kissing her vigorously.