Song and Dance
‘We have to go.’
After exploring the old fishermen’s quarter, which was now transformed into a strip of glitzy super yachts, some even with their own helicopters, and finding out that the cruise ships were docked on the other side of the island, Flick had returned to discover she’d just missed Birdy.
‘Where?’ Sitting across from her, Maggie fanned herself with the flyer. ‘The other port?’
‘No.’ Flick tutted. ‘Clubbing!’
Maggie’s heart sank. She wished she’d never mentioned the VIP invite.
‘I need to ask Birdy a few questions.’
‘What kind of questions?’
‘I’m an investigative journalist – I’ll think of something.’
‘I thought you were a community reporter?’
Flick snatched the flyer from her fingers.
‘And I’m going to stay one for ever if I don’t get this story, now come on.’
One outfit change and a solar shower later, they were now with what felt like a million other people, packed like sardines into a club. Fortunately it was outside and the dance floor was open air. Unfortunately there was no shade and everyone was melting.
‘I need some water,’ yelled Maggie, trying to make her voice heard above the dance anthems. Despite telling the bouncers their names were on the VIP guest list, they’d had to queue for ever to get in. ‘I feel a bit faint.’
Attempting to make their way across the dance floor to try to find the VIP section, Flick turned to see her friend being jostled on all sides by hordes of enthusiastic clubbers.
Crikey, she did look a bit ashen. She felt a beat of alarm.
It was only yesterday she’d suffered a concussion and ended up in hospital.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all. They quickly needed to divert.
‘Let’s go to the bar.’
‘How will we find it? This place is enormous.’
‘Don’t worry, follow me!’
Grabbing Maggie’s hand, Flick started pushing through the crowds with the kind of determination that only someone who went to a crappy school and tries to get on in life understands. It was like wading through an ocean of waving arms, skimpy outfits and sweating bodies.
Until finally they made it, panting and breathless, to the bar which was thronging with thirsty clubbers.
‘How did you do that?’
‘Glastonbury.’ Flick looked triumphant. ‘Once you’ve made it to the front of the pyramid stage, you can do anything.’
Maggie smiled weakly and wiped her brow.
Flick’s triumph quickly disappeared and she felt a beat of concern. Maggie really did look quite odd. And it wasn’t just the black eye and bruising. She’d gone a strange sickly green colour.
‘Here, sit down, I’ll get you a drink.’
Except there was nowhere to sit. For another fifteen minutes they were pushed and jostled until, finally reaching the front, they were served – and Maggie felt even more faint.
‘Fourteen euros for a bottle of water!’ she gasped. ‘What happened to drinks being free?’
‘What?’ yelled Flick, trying to make herself heard above the rave.
‘Wham. “Club Tropicana”. It’s a song,’ she explained, in reference to the famous lyrics. ‘You know they filmed the video here in Ibiza.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘You’ve never heard of it?’ Maggie was incredulous. ‘First Duran Duran, now Wham, what’s it going to be next? Heaven 17?’
‘You really did get a bang on the head, didn’t you?’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing!’
‘I do and it’s not Sounds of the Eighties.’ Taking a swig of water she looked around her. ‘It’s Theo C. Stratin. He’s here, I just know it. We’ve just got to get to the VIP section.’
‘Do we need to go back into the crowds?’ Maggie’s chest tightened. She’d never been good in crowds and this was intense.
‘Come on, it won’t be so bad,’ encouraged Flick, looping her arm through hers. ‘Let’s go.’
And turning away from the bar, they both plunged back towards the dance floor.
Actually, it wasn’t bad. It was much, much worse. Strobe lights. A sea of sweaty bodies. Pulsating electronic beats and loud drumming techno. A DJ who whipped the crowd into a frenzy. And poor Maggie caught up in the middle of it.
‘This is my worst nightmare, I get claustrophobic.’
‘It’s going to be fine, just keep your eyes peeled.’
‘I feel so old.’
‘Rubbish, you’re only as old as you feel!’
‘But that’s just it, I feel about a hundred.’
The painkillers had worn off and her eye was throbbing again and her headache was making a comeback. All she wanted to be doing right now was lying horizontal, in a quiet, darkened room. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of earplugs right now.
‘There’s lots of ravers your age here.’
‘I think they’re called gravers, not ravers.’ Maggie attempted a joke, but Flick was distracted as she’d just bumped into Flea and the rest of the Beatrix Potter gang.
‘Hey, look who it is!’
All in their party gear, there was lots of hugging and high-fives.
‘We got your message so we thought we’d come down.’
‘Did you have to queue?’
‘No, Cousin Haz went to school with someone who was a friend of someone who got us on the guest list.’
That was the thing about public school, thought Flick, everyone always knew someone. It wasn’t about the private education, it was about the connections. Whereas she permanently felt as if she was in a world of missed connections.
Cousin Haz appeared, minus the red trousers and copy of the FT, with the rallying cry of, ‘What’s everyone drinking? Let’s get the vodkas in!’
‘Has he seen the prices of the drinks?’ Maggie looked concerned.
‘Don’t worry about Haz, that’s what his trust fund’s for,’ laughed Topsy. Or was it Toots?
‘Oh, I love this one!’ whooped Flick, as a thumping bassline started playing.
‘Me too!’ whooped Flea.
‘Why don’t you stay with your friends, while I nip to the loo?’ said Maggie, who could see Flick was dying to be with her friends and dance.
‘OK, I’ll just be a few minutes, it’s just this one song.’
Maggie felt a wave of nostalgia. Oh, to be young.
It was all right everyone going on about how fifty was the new forty, but the reality was you were fifty.
And it didn’t matter how good you looked or how great this stage of life was, or whether it brought you reinvention or a new set of abs, you were still well over halfway.
The best might be yet to come, but your youth was gone.
And the truth was that mostly Maggie was fine with it.
Youth, in many ways, was seriously overrated.
All those insecurities and frustrations had meant her twenties had been an emotional rollercoaster of highs and lows, compounded further by the loss of her brother.
Yet, there was something about those years.
That intoxicating newness. That intensity of joy.
That feeling of going out with your friends and wondering what the evening held, that delicious anticipation of What Might Happen?
Whereas now, for the most part, she knew what might happen, and it mostly involved an early night.
She remembered how it felt to be Flick’s age, being with your friends, the nights out getting drunk and smoking cigarettes and staying up late. Flick had just broken up with Rory. She needed to let her hair down, enjoy herself with people her own age.
‘OK, I won’t be long, I’ll be right back,’ said Maggie,
But Flick, always so serious, was already dancing, arms in the air, her face lit up, body swaying, lost in the music.
For the first time she looked like a twenty-something should look, like someone having fun without a care in the world.
For a few moments Maggie watched her, then, smiling, she turned away.
Only, Maggie had underestimated the size of the club and how easy it would be to find Flick again, and after navigating her way to the toilets, she found herself lost and disorientated.
The loud music and flashing strobe lights made it hard for her to think, let alone see, especially without her glasses.
Worse still, her headache had returned with a vengeance.
And it was when she was trying to move through the crush of bodies, around the large swimming pool, that she looked up and glimpsed what she assumed must be the VIP section.
A balcony with separate seating and tables and – oh look! There was Birdy!
Down below, Maggie waved, trying to attract her attention.
Wearing her sequinned dress, hair piled up, Birdy was standing against the railing, looking out across the club, swaying to the beats.
Maggie called her name. But it was in vain.
The music was so loud, Birdy would never hear her, never notice her in the crowd below.
Then Maggie spotted Him.
As he appeared from behind Birdy, suntanned, in a white shirt, her stomach dropped. In his hands were two drinks and she watched as he passed Birdy one.
Was that really Theo? Maggie squinted myopically, trying to see and cursing that she didn’t have her glasses. And now they were laughing and he was leaning in and sliding his arm around her waist and nuzzling her neck.
Wait. Was he with Birdy? Were they together? Her breath caught in her chest and she felt the ground shift beneath her as two worlds collided. No, that was impossible.
Reeling with shock, Maggie suddenly felt very faint.
She couldn’t take any more. It was too much.
The music pumping. The strobe lights. The crowds.
She felt like she was about to have a panic attack.
And now everything was blurring. She was sweating.
Her head was throbbing. Panic rose up in her chest and she felt as if she was going to collapse.
She had no idea where Flick was. She didn’t have a phone. She didn’t know what to think.
All she knew was one thing.
She had to get out of there.