He looked like one of the boys who cycled up and down the seafront, skidding up to girls, swearing self-consciously, and honking with laughter. She didn’t know his name but Elise was certain he wasn’t old enough to serve alcohol.
“Give us a cider each, then.” Ronnie pouted.
The first glass overflowed and liquid washed over the counter onto Elise’s sandals, sticking her toes together.
“I should have worn wellies,” she shouted in Ronnie’s ear.
Ronnie nodded but she couldn’t have heard her friend. No one could hear anything. The sound system started to howl and squeal like a herd of feral cats until finally someone threw a switch and the music emerged with a heart-stopping blast.
The boom! boom! boom! made Elise’s chest vibrate and she put her hand up to protect the nubble of scar tissue under her T-shirt.
Strobe lighting flashed and the crowd pulsed in slo-mo. People too old to throw their hands in the air like they just didn’t care did so, the flickering lights hiding a multitude of dancing sins. Elise automatically scanned for faces—a professional tic as hardwired as breathing.
“You go and dance,” she screamed into Ronnie’s ear. “I’ll hold your handbag and make sure no one spikes your drink. . . .”
Ronnie grinned her thanks and pushed into the crowd to lose herself in the music.
On the podium, Pete Diamond, the man who had triumphed over the locals to hold his festival, was conducting the crowd. His tee had ridden up to expose a hairy belly button embedded in an impressive roll of fat. Elise laughed out loud for the first time in ages.
Ronnie’s right. I do need to get out more. She took a mouthful of warm cider and watched the surreal spectacle of a chubby marketing exec playing acid house and referencing Pete Tong and Fatboy Slim as if he were part of a triumvirate of rave gods.
Ronnie was at the front, jerking up and down like a character in a flicker book. She seemed to be dancing with a man in a baseball cap who was ricocheting off people—a ball bearing in a human pinball machine.
It was only when the pinball dancer took off his hat to wipe his face that she realized it was dear old Charlie Perry.
What the hell is he doing here?
Charlie’s face looked ghoulish and distorted in the green spotlights raking the crowd, his eyes bulging and his mouth wide open. When did he learn the words to “Praise You”？
But the next time the spotlight froze on him, she knew he hadn’t. Charlie was shouting, not singing. Was it anger? Or fear? And then he disappeared.
She scanned those around him, trying to make sense of the scene, but everyone was dancing. Or seemed to be. But as she looked, a space opened up in the middle of the crowd; a wave of people was breaking away from it, and they were screaming silently against the wall of sound.
Something bad is happening.
And she was running toward it, pushing through the crowd.
The strobe carried on and she fought against stop-start figures. Suddenly the music and lights stopped dead and the silence made her ears ring. And she was there. On the scene. Two bodies down. She felt for her phone to call it in, shouting for people to move back. To give them air.
They were so young—late teens. A boy and girl convulsing on the damp grass, and she struggled to get them on their sides into the recovery position. She felt their pulses racing and their limbs were flickering as if the strobes were still playing on them.
The crowd had shuffled back but remained watching, the kids with face paint sliding down their cheeks, green neon wands hanging limply in their hands. And then Pete Diamond burst through the human cordon to join her.
“Christ!” he breathed before turning to his audience. “All right, everyone, let’s not panic. They’ve probably had too much to drink. Give us a few minutes to get it sorted out. They’re serving hot dogs and burgers in hospitality area.”
“This isn’t alcohol,” Elise hissed at him as people started drifting off, laughing, relief making them giddy. “They’ve taken something. What’s circulating? Your security lads must have found some drugs at the gate or heard something?”
“What? No! Oh, God, I’m going to be crucified for this, aren’t I? The festival will be shut down. Christ! I’ll have to give people their money back if tomorrow night doesn’t go ahead.”
“Let’s worry about these two first, shall we?” Elise was on her knees, checking their breathing.
Pete Diamond looked at her properly for the first time. “Sorry. Who are you?”
“DI Elise King.”