Party in the Dark

THE club was about to close. Donnacha and Gabrielle both knew that soon the lights would be turned on and the plug would be pulled on the music. Donnacha guided Gabriele by sleeve of his black button-up shirt and led him through Crawdaddy, across the dance floor towards the large smoking courtyard near the entrance; the echoes of the house-beats rippling after them into the cool night air.

‘Feckin hell.’ Donnacha exhaled. ‘Theres more bodies out here than inside.’ The curved ceilings of Crawdaddy were built under an old concrete railway bridge in the centre of Dublin City. The yard out front of the nightclub was filled with plastic garden furniture and umbrellas and was surrounded by a barred fence which separated the smoke bellowing patrons from the dancing lights of Harcourt Street.

‘What we do now?’ grunted Gabriele in his thick Sardinian accent as he followed Donnacha’s lead to an area they could stand without feeling mushed.

‘I’m not sure man. We might have left it too late to hit a late-bar.’

‘Miiiinka.’ Gabriele dragged the word out of him in a way that made Donnacha wonder if his friend would need to stop for air. Gabriele shook a Marlborough out of its box and put a flame to it. Donnacha stood and watched.

‘You want?’ Gabriele muttered with the cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth.

‘Yes Gabby, I want.’

Gabriele was short and skinny with old face for his age. He had a mop of black hair and his bushy eyebrows scrunched as he took out another and handed it to Donnacha who then snatched the lighter without asking. It was a warm night of an Irish summer. Both lads had finished work at the Italian restaurant they served in only two hours earlier. They had thrown their aprons in the their lockers, and skipped out to enjoy what was left of the Friday night.

‘I don’t want to go home. I don’t work the morning shift tomorrow, what can we do?’ Gabriele blew a thin line of smoke up into the air above them.

‘If we wanted to get to another club we should’ve left here a while ago.’ Donnacha mused.

‘You could come to mine. I have some smoke and wine.’

‘Nah feck that. Im feeling lively and I haven’t let loose in weeks. I woke up the other day saying "would you like to hear our specials” to my pillow.’ Donnacha lightly clicked his fingers uncontrollably down by his hip. The restaurant had been busy as had home life. Calls from his parents asking him to move home … asking if he would go back to college … asking if was going to get his life together; he needed some relief.

‘What then? This is your city.’

‘You’ve lived here two years Gabby. How is it every time we’re up shit creek it’s my city?’

‘Che minka vuoi…’ Gabriele gestured waving both fists up and down while pinching his finger tips together. Fecking typical, Donnacha thought. He had worked with Italians for more than three years, the only Irishman in the restaurant. Though as much as he loved his mafiosa family, they could be a distinct pain in his culo.

Just then Donnacha with his stormy-blue eyes caught a glimpse of a figure he knew, ratting his way from group to group. A stringy fellow with no fat and an abundance of electric red hair.

‘Give us a sec.’ Donnacha stated and set off through the crowd again. Donnacha was medium build, broad, with dark brown hair cut short and wore black jeans with pure black cons and a black t-shirt. He slipped and pivoted between bodies while being careful not to knock someones drink from an inebriated grip.

‘Punch,’ called Donnacha. The red-headed fellow turned to see Donnacha and brandished a waxy yellow grin. He had a hooked nose and exaggerated chin and had the look of a man always looking for money.

‘Ah jaysus me aul flower … look who it is.’ Said Punch as Donnacha pivoted and side-stepped towards him.

‘Howya,’ Donnacha looked at Punch’s hands. One held paper flyers, the other clutched a wad of notes.

‘Is there anything going on tonight?’ Donnacha asked, getting to the point immediately. He could stand Punch, but didn’t particularly like him.

‘There is a gathering by Tayor’s Lane.’ Punch answered curtly, sensing a sale Donnacha deduced.

‘Where’s that?

‘Fucked if I know lad. I’ve been told its around the back of Guinness.’

‘You not going?’

‘I will yeah. I just got to get rid of all these and then I’ll be along a little later.’

‘How much?’

‘Twenty each.’

‘Give over man. I’m not a tourist.’

‘Fine, fifteen. But I’m not going lower. I didn’t set the prices, I just work for those that do.’

‘Yeah and you’re still charging a fiver more than you have to. Skimming the cream off the milk’

‘When it comes to beak wetting, I’m an opportunist Donny and I have no intention of getting a real job. I need to keep a float somehow don’t I? And besides, they still get their milk.’

Donnacha didn’t care about how Punch rationalised his screwing people over so long as he wasn’t one those being screwed. ‘I’ll have two thank you very much.’

Donnacha dug deep in his black jeans and took enough from his tips to pay Punch who handed him two of the vibrant pink flyers in return. On the front was written, Charity Ball, and on the back was the address and makeshift print of a map. Donnacha folded them up and tucked them in with his wallet.

‘Cheers man.’

‘I’ll see you later so.’ Punch gave him a goodbye nod and a stare as if they were communicating in code which felt dramatic and unnecessary to Donnacha. As he walked back a tiny spark of alleviation kindled within him. Donnacha had lost count of the days since he had a day off, since he went out with a friend. It had been shift after shift after shift. Split shifts, double shifts, early shifts, late shifts. Shifts when he had to come in to cover for someone else. Shifts when he had to oversee a wine delivery. He’d get home at 2am and sit watching a movie to wind down. By the time the sun was rising he was in bed forcing himself into weak slumber. Four or five hours later he’d be awake and on his way to work again, ready to make friendly banter with Dublin’s upper crust; he was burned out

‘Who was that?’ Asked Gabriele when Donnacha returned, a genuine smile painted across his face for the first time in some time.

‘Punch.’

‘Punch?’

‘Punch.’

‘Like, pow pow.’ Gabriele began shadow boxing in front of Donnacha. ‘Punch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why you call him this? He does not look dangerous.’

‘He’s not dangerous at all. Well, maybe to your wallet. It’s because he looks like Punch from Punch and Judy.’

‘The dolls?’

‘The very same.’

‘Ah ok. Yes, yes I see this.’

‘We have somewhere to go. We’ll have to get a taxi though cause I’m not walking across the city. Come on.’ Donnacha began to move.

‘Not yet. There is a figa looking at me.’ Gabby stalled, armed with a smirk.

‘No she isn’t.’ Donnacha looked around with his fingers beginning to click again. He had no idea who his friend was referring to and ultimately didn’t care.

‘Of course she is.’

‘Why, because you’re Italian?’

‘I’m Sardo not Italian you British mother-fucker.’

Donnacha laughed and put his arm around his friend. Forgive me, but let’s go now so this night will continue. We can find you another … figa.’

The two young waiters waded back through the bog of twenty-somethings and up the steps passed the bouncers to street level. Donnacha felt fine. Not even buzzed. Gabby was starting to show signs of impatience which meant he was a little drunk already, but what else was new, Donnacha thought. It would be tricky to get a taxi on Harcourt Street at this time, no matter how many there were zipping about. Taxi’s could be dicks when they wanted to, Donnacha knew. They all would queue at the ranks and follow there code of first come first served and not bother with wave-downs. Donnacha saw a gap in traffic and darted across the street, hoping Gabby would follow.

‘We’ll get a joe’r easier on Camden Street,’ he called back when he reached the adjacent pathway. There was no response from a man who loved to talk and complain. Donnacha shot his head left and then right to find his friend facing the wall with a steady arching stream hitting high against the granite in front of him with steamy splashes.

‘For feck sake Gabby.’ Donnacha called. ‘Could you not wait until we’re around the corner?’

‘Clearly not.’ Gabriele answered, the Marlborough still clinging to the spit on his lips. The Sardinian zipped up and joined his pal. A group of people the same age as them walked passed all drunk and giggly. Two lads in jeans and shirts and brown suede shoes looking like twins; and their dates both in mini-skirts and wearing heels that clopped like a horses hoofs. They didn’t pay Gabrielle or Donnacha any heed. D4’s, Donnacha thought to himself. Or maybe rich culchies. Off to bribe their way into Black Door for last orders and maybe chance a lock-in while they were at it. They were a different speed to Donnacha and Gabrielle, and that suited Donnacha just fine.

On Camden Street Donnacha stood on the curb and waited for the yellow sign of a taxi to come into sight. He clicked his fingers to a tune he had in his head but couldn’t think of the name. A Mr Scruff song, maybe.

‘You got any cash for this Gabby,’ he asked.

‘Why I pay?’

‘I got the tickets.’

‘I didn’t ask you to get me a ticket.’

Donnacha turned his gaze to his friend with a stern shine in his eye. At that moment as if by divine intervention a cab stopped in front of them with the window rolled down.

‘You want ride?’ A jolly punjabi voice rhythm’d out. Donnacha smiled at his friend, ‘get in.’

The Guinness Store House was located in an old part of Dublin city. The roads around it were made of shiny cobbles, smooth from wear, and looked like black ice in the moonlight. Some of the streets weren’t fit for two way traffic at all and so cars usually steered clear of the area. There were a lot of old warehouses there. Left vacant as the production of the famed stout had become more streamlined. The taxi turned a corner and they faced a large building with no windows and single metal blue door.

‘Is this it?’

‘Must be.’

‘It does not look very … how you say … activated?’

‘Active?’

‘Yes.’

Donnacha mused what Gabrielle’s had observed. He knew organisers liked to keep things like this discreet but it was unusually quiet. ‘Wait here and I’ll check.’ The car door unlocked with clunk and Donnacha slipped out. The driver observed wide-eyed and curiously. Donnacha approached the big blue door and listened. Nothing, not a peep. With a clenched fist he gave two weighty bangs to the door, the vibrations were loud at first … growing quieter and quieter until they evaporated completely. Donnacha turned to face the car, the headlights making his eyes squint, and raised his hands to signal that nothing appeared to be there. At that moment a loud clicking erupted from behind Donnacha and the door screeched open. The thuds … the beats … the melodic house music, escaped in waves washing over Donnacha like a welcome breeze and into the darkness. A girl with sharp cheekbones and thick blonde hair stood before him in a long fitted grey dress that ran from her shoulders all the way down to a pair of pristinely white Nike’s.

‘What the fuck,’ she exclaimed to Donnacha who could only blink back at her big brown eyes.

‘Huh?’ He finally found the ability to mutter.

‘No one is to arrive by car. You want to get us shut down?’

‘We’re in the middle of nowhere, how else are we to get here.’

‘Don’t sass me boy.’

‘Sorry, we weren’t told.

‘Do you have tickets?’

Donnacha removed the two flyers from his pocket and held them up for the girl to see.

‘Fine, get in here quick.’

Donnacha turned and frantically gestured for Gabrielle to get his arse out of the car right away. The Sardinian handed the fare to driver and exited the vehicle. As they entered passed the blonde she eyed them suspiciously. Donnacha figured it was just to make them feel awkward, and it worked. They stood inside and waited as she pushed with all her might to close the door and secured the three locks.

‘So chivalry is alive and well I see,’ she called at them when she was done.

‘Ugh .. sorry,’ Donnacha said and looked and Gabriele and back to the girl.

‘Whatever,’ she shrugged.

The music was loud and grew louder as they were led down a corridor towards the centre of the building. At the corridor’s end a thick sheet of plastic hung down in front of them. The girl palmed it to find a slit at its centre, and slipped through. The lads stood and watched as she stuck her hand back through and beckoned them to follow with a single finger. They didn’t hesitate again.

Once on the other side they could see flickering lights from deeper in the warehouse. They continued down the corridor until they started to see shapes thst would become people. Spray painted in big black letters on the wall as they went was an arrow and the word, toilets. There was a queue through a door to another section of the warehouse of guys and girls. The blonde stopped walking.

‘Toilets are here. Straight down and to the left is the what your looking for. The bar is the other side of the divide.’

‘The other side of what?’ Gabriele seemed confused

‘You’ll know what I mean when you see it.’

‘And whats your name?’ Donnacha asked.

‘My name is, NOT IN YOUR LIFETIME.’ She called over the music to be certain she was heard.

‘Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Donnacha, can I call you Nel?’

‘Whatever.’ Nel turned and walked back the way they had come.

Into the main hall the two waiters stepped. Blue and orange lights flickered across the ground and up the walls. It was thick with bodies swaying with arms raised and wrists dancing to the beat of Blue Monday, by New Order. Donnacha could feel himself relax. His fingers weren’t clicking and his heartbeat thumped to the flow of the song, he breathed a sigh of relief; he was home.

‘I was wrong … it is very active,’ giggled Gabriele. Donnacha put a foot forward towards the dance floor but a hand caught his arm.

‘Where you go?’ Gabriele asked.

‘To the bar, It’ll be at the other side of that curtain.’

Gabrielle looked up to see that the back wall of the dance floor was a large curtain making the one large room into two. At the far corner people could be seen slipping in from one side to the other.

‘You were going to leave me?’

‘Man you’ve got legs. Either follow me or find your own fun. I’m getting a drink and the lay of the place before I crack onto the music.’ Donnacha continued once again fairly certain Gabriele was following but ultimately at this point didn’t care. They’d be here for hours and would be bound to get separated at some point. He weaved passed couples caught in their own rapture, around groups of friends and between solo dancers with their eyes closed, caught in their own headspace enjoying the warmth of the experience. Reaching the corner of the curtain he puled at the tarp and slipped to the other side. It was bright with industrial lights plugged into a generator that hummed from the corner of the room. There we chairs and couches and bean bags thrown randomly around and to the side several foldout tables attached in a long train to form the makeshift bar. Donnacha joint the hustle and bustle in front of the bar and waited for one of the six barmen to to signal to him. As he waited he read the marker scrawled menu that hung from above.

BEER - €5

LIQUOR - €6

MIXER - €4

WATER - €5

‘Oi,’ a barman shouted. Donnacha noticed he was looking straight at him and pushed forward.

‘Howya,’ began Donnacha. ‘Give us 2 beers and a water please.’

‘fifteen yo yo’s,’ the bar man called back. He was sweating profusely and had most likely underestimated the demand to working in a rave. It probably paid well, but you’d be fuck-tired for the next three days. The barman slid Donnacha a plastic bottle of water which he immediately jammed into the back pocket of his jeans. Two cracked cans of Dutch Gold were put down on the bar top with a bang. As Donnacha handed over the money he asked, ‘Is anyone selling here?’

‘Derry, lanky fuck. White tracksuit. He’s probably hanging around near the jax. Best catch him quick before he closes shop.’

‘He closes shop?’

‘Ah he’s here to party too man.’

‘Cheers.’ Donnacha took the beers and walked away into an open space. He hadn’t known a dealer to shut shop but the barman had a point, this was a party. If people wanted their wits about them, they wouldn’t be here, and that went for dealers too it seemed.

The back area was chilled. People were laughing and drinking and Donnacha recognised many from the restaurant industry. It was unique to live during the hours the rest of the world did not. It was an industry that forged its own social scene behind closed doors and without a dress code. In some ways it was better than the Dublin everyone else knew. Everyone appeared friendly and looked like they knew how to behave themselves which suited Donnacha perfectly. He’d been to one or two of these that were poorly organised and full of heads who couldn’t keep themselves straight and there would be a mess or a fight or some reason to leave. Sometimes the music was shite, that wasn’t the case tonight. Sometimes, rarely, cops would arrive. In those cases the only person who really got grabbed was the DJ. They’d know who set the night up. Thats why they had to be paid particularly well, it was also the reason it was hard to get good talent Donnacha knew.

‘There you are,’ Gabriele had arrived at Donnacha’s side. ‘You could’ve waited.

Donnacha scrunched his nose at his friend. ‘I was right there man, don’t cause me any drama tonight Gabby. Here, this is yours.’ He handed over the beer and Gabriele took a sip.

‘So whats the plan?’

‘This is the plan. Just chill and enjoy ourselves. We’re in good company man.’

‘You want to dance?’

‘Not yet. I want to head over to the jax and see if there was anything else by that corridor we came through.’

‘What will Joan of Arc think of that?’

‘I’m really not concerned.’

Kasabian, Club Foot could be heard from the other side of the tarp which had both of the lads bobbing their heads unknowingly.

‘Well lets go now then,’ Gabriele announced. ‘I know you. You wont fully let loose till you tick all those mental boxes you have.’

‘I am loose.’

‘You could be looser.’ Gabriele walked back towards the dance floor. Donnacha shrugged his shoulders and followed his friend, knowing the words he said had a degree of truth to them.

They pushed their way back through the first room, more people had arrived now and the crowd was getting thick. Lights swirled above and the sound of laughter battled the sounds booming from the speakers. They stood in line for the toilet. Donnacha’s eyes scanned the queue and the corridor, assessing everyone that passed. As he did so his mind continued to race and once again his patience started to dwindle. Maybe it was all the coffee, he wondered. He’d been drinking so much these past weeks. So much so he found himself sometimes feeling diluted. Awake but not always his full self.

‘Ah jaysus whats the hold up lads?’ A voice from behind them called out. The corridor led into a smaller room with seven blue portaloo’s. One was shaking from side to side as if trying to free itself. A loud groan erupted from within and a girl waiting began banging her fist on the door, ‘will you fuckers get out there are people with urgent needs out here.’ ‘There are people with urgent needs in here too,’ a muffled laugh chimed back. This only seemed to agitate the waiting girl even more who began to kick at the plastic shell.

‘Story boys,’ the words were announced in a way that made Donnacha turn his head sharply … as if he’d picked up a scent. A tall, skinny fellow clad in white stood against a wall surrounded by three lads Donnacha’s age. He looked to be in his early thirties and blew big pink bubbles of gum between sentences. Donnacha broke line and darted over. The three lads dispersed with their business now complete.

‘Derry?’ he asked.

‘Aye boy,’ the taller figure smiled down at Donnacha. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘Four yolks and two g’s if you can spare it?’

‘Feck sake lad are you trying to bleed me dry?’ Derry clearly liked a bit of banter during a sale. Maybe he liked to feel in control Donnacha thought. Or perhaps he was just being sociable to see who he might hang with as the night progressed.

‘I’m trying to pay you for shit you want sold,’ Donnacha beamed back with his cheekiest smile and steely eyes.

‘Go on so.’ Laughed Derry. ‘two-forty.’

Donnacha didn’t think to question the price or quality of the product, it wasn’t that kind of situation. He pulled out his tips again flicked through the notes.

‘You wanna be careful walking around with that much cash’ Derry advised.

Donnacha handed the notes over. ‘Likewise.’ Derry unzipped his coat pocket and handed two small sealed back of white powder. Next he gave Donnacha four blue pills with some undeterminable sigil etched onto them.

‘Catch you later little man.’ said Derry. Signalling they were done here.

‘Aye cheers,’ Donnacha didn’t need to be told twice and walked away.

‘What did you do?’ Gabriele asked.

‘Here,’ Donnacha handed half of the take to his friend.

‘Minka, I wont take all this tonight.’

‘Then keep some for another time,’ Donnacha responded not wanting to debate. The next portaloo door that opened Donnacha made a b-line for it. He put his can on the ground and took a slash. When he was zipped he threw one of the blue little pills in his mouth and washed down the bitter aftertaste with a slug of beer. Next he opened the little baggie and with the tip of his house key scooped out a little mound of powder. Up his nose it went in a single strong and determined sniff. Donnacha’s eyes widened. His nostril burned and dribbled a little. There was a chalkiness to his throat. He gave his upper row of teeth three firm taps with his fingers and smiled to himself; the world couldn’t touch him.

When Gabriele emerged from the toilet area Donnacha was already in the corridor. Donnacha saw his friend first and called to him.

‘Gabby this Jake, Anna and Gloria.’

‘Ciao,’ Gabriele introduced himself. Donnacha new Gabby would always whip out the Italian words more around girls … and the occasional pout. Donnacha explained to his friend that he had stumbled across the group when he saw Anna drawing on the wall with her lipstick. A large red face of a woman smoking a cigarette gazed upon them from the white concrete.

‘Aha it’s very good,’ Gabriele proclaimed.

‘You’re very kind,’ blushed Anna.

‘Where you from,’ Jake asked Gabriele, blinking wildly.’

‘I am from Sardinia.’

‘Oh thats so cool,’ said Anna. ‘You must hate the weather here.’ As those around him chatted Donnacha a warm buzz within him spread throughput his body. His head felt light. He moved ever so slightly to the music being played. Or at least he felt as if he was. He made sure to smile and nod at the right intervals of the conversation being held across him, though he now had no idea what they were discussing, nor did he care.

‘That’s so interesting,’ said Anna. Gabriele smiled.

‘Yeah it is,’ Jake blinked again. ‘So where are you from?’ Gabriele wasn’t sure if Jake was joking or not so just simply kept smiling.

‘What is your name again tell me please?’ Gabriele professionally steered the conversation to Gloria.

‘Gloria,’ Gloria responded. ‘But you can call me Glorious, sugar.’ Glorious blessed Gabriele with a wink that appeared to make him think as he eyed her sparkly blue cocktail dress.

‘You work as a chef,’ Gabriele eventually said.

‘I do.’

‘Yes yes … Trattoria Vecchia Roma. My friend Federica she works with you. You make a sugo that is quite perfecto.’ To this Glorious nodded in appreciation and informed Gabriele she now worked in FX Buckley’s whipping out high-end steaks for high-end arseholes. Anna told Donnacha she worked as an installation artist and if Donnacha was honest with himself he didn’t quite know what that was but it sounded pretty cool.

‘BAHA,’ Donnacha announced, breaking up the chatter. ‘This is a proper tune lads. Who’s joining?’

‘We all will,’ Glorious insisted.

‘After you, Your Majesty.’ Donnacha bowed and extended his arm. Glorious danced ahead tossing her long red hair unleashing an immaculate strut. Anna followed allowing a wide sway to her hips and Jake walked after Gabriele and Donnacha with faintly uncertain look about him. Gabriele gave Donnacha a look indicating he thought Jake may be a little overcooked, and they both smiled.

The dance floor was now stretched from wall to wall with bodies. A Felix Da Housecat remix blared and people reached their fingers for the sky. Glorious found a spot in the centre for them all and little circle was made. Donnacha shook his hips rotated his elbows, his eyes were closed and he mouthed to the lyrics. Anna took over the space. She tossed her raven hair. She shook her ass, she shook her cleavage. Her halter top became a pink blur. She smiled at everyone around her and danced a little with each. At one stage a strange lad tried to dance with her and Jake awkwardly danced between them. Donnacha did another key, not caring for discretion … then another. He looked at the ceiling and smiled and listened to his own body which told him he was very, very happy. He thought he saw Gabriele shooting him a sour look, but couldn’t be sure. Everything was happening very quick at that moment. Like watching a movie in fast forward.

Gabriele shouted in Donnacha’s ear that he was going for a smoke. Donnacha nodded and kept dancing as his friend shuffled his way away from them. Not long after he became as thirsty as he’d ever been. He removed the water from his back pocket and slugged. He dropped the cap when attempting to screw it back on and bend down to pick it up. On feeling a sharp sting at the back of him Donnacha shot back up rigid. He reached for where the bottom of his back became the cheeks of his arse. Ah, it was wet to the touch and lightly it stung again. When he looked up there was a girl standing by him. Her hands raised to show long nails. She was short with a grin as wide as the Liffey. Before Donnacha could even react she turned and disappeared into the crowd. Donnacha attached the cap and realised he wanted a smoke as well, Where did Gabby go, he wondered.

Back in the cooler air of the bar area Donnacha found his way to. One minute he was realising he wanted a smoke, and the next he was here. Time was beginning to skip. He took a drag from the cigarette he must have asked for from someone. There was a lot of human traffic where he was so he made his way over to the wall and leaned back. His t-shirt was drenched. It clung to his skin for dear life. He felt his hair, it was drenched too. He grave it a little toss and went back to his cigarette and watching of people. All around him were smiles. Smiles and glistening skin and wet hair. Some girls makeup had started to run a little, a lad on one of the couches had dozed off. But this didn’t stop his friend next to him from talking to him with an inflamed sense of animation. Coffee, by Sylvan Esso, or something that sounded like it was being played. Donnacha began to feel a little drained. He threw the well sucked butt to the floor and took out his remaining pill and swallowed it dry. A beer was needed, he told himself.

‘Here you are,’ Gabriele arrived at the couches where Donnacha sat sipping his new beer. ‘How long have been here?’

‘Im not sure to be honest,’ Donnacha grinned. Gabby looked wired, Donnacha told himself. And if Gabby did then he surely did. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Who?’

‘Who we were dancing with.’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen them in hours.’ Feck, Donnacha mused. Gabby said hours. This wasn’t good, he didn’t want the night to end so soon.

‘Sorry Gabby .. this is …’ Donnacha paused. He knew nobody’s name. ‘These are the people. People this is Gabby.’ The people that sat around Donnacha on three couches shifted to face in a makeshift triangle, laughed an waved while Gabriele nodded and smiled and issued a, ‘salute.’ They talked as one big group of new friends, even family, Donnacha thought. There was a barista, some servers and kitchen porters. One guy jigged his legs so fast while he sat his pants flapped, another kept taking off his watch and putting it back on again. ‘Your’e mega cool,’ someone said to somebody else. It felt like everyone took the compliment for themselves as they enjoyed the chilled vibe they were all setting for one another. This was what they had built.

‘Is that Joan of Arc?’ Gabriele whispered in Donnacha’s ear. Donnacha looked around his new family. Sure enough there was Nel sat on the far corner of the far couch. Was she looking at them? ‘Hey boy,’ she called.

‘Did she say that to you?’

‘I think so.’

‘Are we in trouble?’

‘I cant think why.’

‘What you saying boy,’ she called again.

‘Oh god you don’t want me as our boy girl,’ it was all Donnacha could think to say at that moment, a click returning to his fingers.

‘Oh no?’

‘I pee with door open, I walk around naked and scratch myself. I do really poor impressions and change the bed sheets once a month.’

Gabriele looked dumfounded at the Irish sense of charm. ‘You should go over to her amico,’ he advised as he swayed from side to side listening to the music. ‘She is beautiful.’

‘Yes, I will. Do you have a smoke?’ Donnacha stood up with determination, wobbling a little bit as he did. Gabrielle handed him another cigarette. As he lit it he heard Help I’m Alive, by Metric … or maybe it was Little Bird, by Annie Lennox or something that sounded like it start to fade in in the other room. He should know the difference and this made him laugh at himself a little. Whatever it was … the beats … the riff … made his foot start to tap.

‘Excellent!’ Donnacha bit his bottom lip and started walking in the direction of the dance floor. He felt charged and began to charge away from the group and hoped to not stop charging.

‘Amico,’ Gabriele called. ‘Where you going?’ His friend looked at Nel and then back to Donnacha.

‘To dance man,’ Donnacha beamed. ‘Can you not feel that?’

The dance floor wasn’t as busy now. Donnacha found a place near the DJ booth, the lights up above him swirled and blinked. His hands were held up by his chest as if holding a warm blanket over him like a cape. He rolled around on his hips, he rolled his shoulders. There was enough space around him so that he wasn’t being bumped into or worse, spoken to. Donnacha closed his eyes and smiled to himself.

More tunes played themselves out. Nina Simone, Le Galaxy, Bicep, Bodzin, St Germain and Tiffany. Donnacha swayed tirelessly despite tiredness finding its way into his bones. He didn’t want to go to sleep because then he’d have to wake up and meander through the day like a zombie before another day on his feet handing out plates of pasta to people who didn’t look you in the eye when you served them. But as much as that happy feeling you found in the belly of a rave was life … for now … so was serving pasta.

Donnacha opened his eyes. Tiredness had really set in now and the more he sweated the more his wits had come to the surface. He remembered sitting inside with Gabby and quickly leaving … how long ago was that … he wasn’t certain. All those dancing near had a deadness in their eyes as they moved back and forth, from side to side. Donnacha hoped the same deadness wasn’t in his eyes, but if it was he’d have earned it. He knew it was time to leave, he’d had his fun. He found his way back to the bar and got himself a couples of waters. He chugged one straight and sipped the other as he searched for Gabriele. Donnacha found his Sardinian friend chatting with the girl in pink from earlier … what was her name, he couldn’t remember. They were sharing a warm beer and Donnacha wasn’t sure he should interrupt. He waited for a moment. He was happy his friend was happy and eased away through the bar past the couches - across the dance floor and by the walking dead and into the corridor and toward the entrance. Nel wasn’t keeping watch. A shame, Donnacha thought, he would’ve liked to speak to her.

A kid in a navy hoodie and sunglasses saw Donnacha and and got up from his chair to open the warehouse door. Sun blasted into the building. Donnacha covered his eyes and said nothing to the kid as he passed. He didn’t mean it as a rude thing … he just didn’t think to say anything and wondered after if it had been rude.

‘Ah feck,’ he exclaimed with a hand on his hip and sipping more water. It wouldn’t be easy getting a taxi. Just then his phone rang and rattled in his pocket.

‘Howya,’ Donnacha exhaled having recognised the number. ‘Yeah I can come in, sure I need the money anyhow.’ He waited. ‘Sure, no worries. See you soon.’

Donnacha slipped the phone back in his pocket. What’ll kill him first he wondered; the things he did for money or the things he did to forget the things he did for money..? He slugged some more water and began his walk. His feet killing him as went. And he grinned knowing the party was still going on in the dark, as he got closer to another plate of pasta.