Gradually Margo became aware of the smell of sweat, before recognising it was coming from her own drenched torso. It was most definitely time to take a break and go find a drink. Unlike one or two places which had jemmied the tops off their taps, at least you could still source water from the toilets here.
Squeezing across the floor she tapped Charlie on the shoulder, pointed in no particular direction and necked an invisible bottle. The younger sibling nodded then immediately looked down again and kept going. As Margo exited, the soulful vocals of CeCe Rogers ‘Someday’ burst through the mix and sliced into her, gospel-like in their power.
Once upstairs, she was amused to watch a green dress straighten up a fresh-faced boy who had been sitting, leg draped over the arm of a sofa. His reaction to having her hop into his lap implied they weren’t acquainted, nonetheless they proceeded to fence tongues for more than a minute until the girl departed as swiftly as she’d arrived. Expressionless, the boy unwrapped a fresh stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. He glanced briefly about, shrugged and nonchalantly flicked the silver wrapper into the corner.
After the DJ flipped the needle onto a new track the bloke who’d been chatting on the other side of her turned to Margo.
‘Spring Rain?’ he queried
‘Oldie but a goodie’ she nodded back in agreement as he turned to resume his conversation.
Now fully attuned to what was playing, she pondered what from her past its funky disco sound reminded her of. After a moment she realised; the theme tune to the cheesy old TV series The Love Boat, albeit with some impressive piano riffs thrown in.
Periodically Margo kept returning to the balcony area to survey the main dance floor. Having run into Toby so unexpectedly last Saturday night she kept a cautious eye out. In truth she was still disturbed that he’d crashed that evening and wanted to be prepared for a repeat appearance.
Below, unusually, almost every person was facing the stage. There, an array of images was being projected onto a large screen; headshots of Nelson Mandela then Goofy, silhouettes of the yin and yang symbol, marijuana plants and so on. Simultaneously an identical production was being pumped to a number of smaller monitors dotted around the venue.
Squeezing into a gap which had freed up against the railing, she leaned out and let the music wash over her. Compared with what had been playing when she was downstairs it had all gone a bit glam-rock. In response to which she could only smile, knowing how much her brother would loathe that a housed-up beat was currently being mixed into ‘She Sells Sanctuary’ by The Cult
|Never heard this style before. Sort of a weird rock fusion but it kicks along well enough|
Bursts of strobe lights began to kick in intermittently, causing her eyes to half-close in an involuntary attempt to shield themselves from harm.
At first Margo wasn’t aware what she had clocked. After a handful of repeats however she began to register that something else, some lettering was being flashed up. Though as soon as this appeared it was instantly replaced by another library of random visuals. Partially-formed words seemed just to vanish, as if it were impossible for an alert brain to pin an entire one down. Only when she forced herself to relax and vary her squinting was she able to start gauging that a subliminal message was being screened.
Was this not exactly what Toby was quizzing her about during their awkward corridor conversation earlier in the week?
It took intense concentration for her to work out precisely what was being communicated, but following much effort she had made a mental note of four separate phrases.
When attending a club, normally Margo would suss out where the DJ was based. Never before though had she even noticed where its sound and lighting was controlled from. Initiating a search now however she rapidly established a probable location, also on the upper deck but over on the far side.
Slowly she worked her way around what remained of the venue’s dress circle and joined a handful of fellow dancers. Continuing to shuffle on the carpet she kept watch, with difficulty making out a man in the open booth. Despite there being space here for just a dozen or so people she felt camouflaged, safe in the knowledge she was as anonymous as the rest of the tribe surrounding her.
After many minutes of this Margo saw the shadow of a second male approach. In an instant she slid across to an area behind them and continued to shimmy, although she still struggled to hear more than snatches of their conversation.
‘Why … disobey so long?’
‘… best when the ee … enough clinical tests to …’ was all the response she could gauge.
Edging marginally nearer, she tried to get a look at the pair. Straining to overhear more of their dialogue, it was clear that the AV engineer was trying to placate the other.
‘… nothing to worry about … thousands … M25 … tie up pol …’
She shifted position again, moving to be as close as she dared without arousing suspicion.
The latest arrival was waving his index finger.
‘… must increase at all venues.’
Margo felt a hand tug at her arm. Furious at the interruption she wheeled around, to be faced by an ecstasy-fuelled raver
|Cute. Even if his timing is typically piss poor|
She took the half-drunk bottle of water he was offering and went to turn back to her eavesdropping, however now he busied himself by waving yellow and green glow sticks near her eyes.
It took a moment for her vision to recalibrate to the gloom, at which point she was jolted to glimpse the new person of interest already walking off. Desperate not to lose him Margo went in pursuit.
Quick as lightning the young guy slipped in front of her, grinning and with both arms raised in an attempt to get her to join him. She backed off slightly and went to get past him once more but, as she surged, he made a corresponding movement. Seconds felt like minutes until, after a few failed attempts, she finally managed to extricate herself from the flirtatious lad’s attentions.
Margo scampered down the balcony in the direction she had last seen the target, however he’d disappeared. Hurrying downstairs she paused, checked all ways then headed for the front doors. Thrusting a wrist towards the staff member there, she practically stamped herself with a pass-out as she dashed outside.
Thankfully the street battles seemed to have quietened or moved on though, despite spending five minutes searching Brixton Hill parade, she was unable to spot any shape resembling her quarry.
Of course there was a chance he’d actually remained indoors so Margo headed back and pulled up her sleeve to jump the queue. Here she experienced no better luck but, at the booth, she at least engineered a proper look at the driver of the Pipers’ van. Mentally she filed away these particulars alongside the transit van’s registration number, memorised earlier.
Rejoining the others, she felt nothing but frustration as she contemplated where to next.
Comments (0)
See all