‘Come on, we’d better hit the hay,’ Steve whispered. ‘There’s no telling when she’s going to be up again.’
Charlie nodded. He was right of course but she hadn’t seen her all day and suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Steve moved to the doorway but lingered on the threshold, waiting for Charlie to follow. A brief flash of irritation shot through her – it seemed she wasn’t in control at work or at home now – but then common sense prevailed. She was knackered and needed a shower, so, relenting, she bent down to kiss her goodnight.
‘Don’t.’
Charlie stopped, hovering inches from Jessica’s soft face, taken aback by the sharp tone of Steve’s voice. She turned to him, surprised.
‘She needs to sleep and if you wake her, it’ll take hours to get her dow-’
‘All right, all right’ Charlie responded, straightening up and brushing past Steve without another word. It was a childish response and she knew it. She had no cause to be shirty with Steve, whatever she felt about missing out on quality time with Jessica – but still his chiding irritated her. She was fed up with compromise and making do. She wanted her life to be simple, straightforward and satisfactory – but in reality it was none of these things. These days she seemed to lurch from one mini-crisis to the next, achieving little, pleasing no one, forever facing choices that left her the loser whichever way she jumped. Would she get better at this? Or was this how it would always be? Perhaps the brutal truth was that, whatever she did and whatever she tried, this was one circle that Charlie would never be able to square.
The noise assaulted you as soon as you stepped inside. Helen let it roar over her, enjoying the sensation, as she stood in the doorway of the bar. It was close to last orders now and the place was packed. There didn’t seem to be a quiet night in the city centre any more – Southampton was full of young people who wanted to chat, flirt and drink – and as soon as you stepped inside you were struck by the warmth, energy and excitement of the place.
‘Tonic over ice, please,’ Helen shouted at the barman, as she pushed her way to the bar. As he obliged, she took in the scene, her eye wandering over the first daters, the groups of friends, the hangovers-in-waiting and more besides. Helen didn’t drink – hadn’t done for years – but she liked these places. Things could turn ugly where drink was concerned and Helen had had to intervene on a couple of occasions to defuse unpleasant situations, but young people as a rule seemed to be drinking rather less than previous generations – the whole scene was more a social thing than an excuse for binge-drinking. That was especially the case around here, so close to Southampton University, where the pubs and bars were full of twenty-somethings who couldn’t afford vast rounds of drinks even if they’d wanted to.
