The gig was in Camden again. A poster outside listed the artists on tonight – Jess’s name wasn’t among them, but I guess she must have been a last-minute addition.
Instead of going via the front, I detoured down the alley next to the club, to the stage door. The smell of urine reared up from the pavement. Was the hem of my trousers trailing in stale wee? Gross. I tiptoed as fast as I could to the threshold.
A goateed man in a Motörhead T-shirt was guarding the entrance.
He held up his hand. ‘Have you got a pass, love?’
‘I’m Zoë Frixos – I’m on the guest list.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Try Simon Baxter.’
‘Is that name supposed to mean something?’
I frowned. This was odd, but not totally unexpected. Simon wasn’t the most organised of people. I was obviously going to have to go via the front.
‘She’s with me, Stan.’
I turned round to see Nick. He was early. And how had he managed to get into Goatee Stan’s good graces so quickly?
Stan held the door open and gestured for us to go through.
‘After you,’ said Nick.
I swept through, feeling confused. We went down a concrete staircase, which opened into a dimly lit corridor, and claustrophobia gripped my gut. I quickened my step – the faster I found the dressing room, the better.
‘You don’t think it’s odd that the doorman didn’t know who Simon was?’ said Nick, who was close behind.
I shrugged, not caring if he could see me or not. The corridor was getting narrower and my throat felt like it was closing.
‘There’s an obvious reason that you haven’t quite grasped yet,’ he continued, from the shadows. ‘Neither Simon nor Jess is coming tonight.’
I spun round.
Nick didn’t stop fast enough and my forehead hit his chin. For a second, I saw stars and then I was tumbling backwards.
Before I could fall, his hands were around my shoulders, pulling me towards him.
Woozy, I found my face flattened against his lapel.
Embarrassing.
I took a couple of steps back. ‘What did you say?’
He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language – and not one of the seventeen he could speak. ‘Fine, skip the part where you thank me for saving you from cracking your head on the concrete floor.’
Really? He was calling out my etiquette?‘I wouldn’t have run into you if you hadn’t been pressed up against my arse.’
‘I wasn’t pressed up against your arse.’ He said the words slowly. A bit distastefully, actually. Like my arse wasn’t worthy of his time. ‘You stopped suddenly.’
I wasn’t in the mood to argue, partly because he had a point, but also because Simon had apparently cancelled without telling me.
‘I’d know if the gig had been called off,’ I said.
‘Jess is on the other side of London.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘How would you know that? Have you got a tracker on her?’
