‘What the hell is your problem?’ he hissed.
‘My problem?’ I put my hands on my hips and matched his aggressive tone. ‘Do you make a habit of shoving your hand into a girl’s pants on the first date?’
The last thing I expected him to do was laugh.
‘Oi, Hayden,’ Max called, his voice hoarse after all that shrieking. ‘Put your piece of arse down for five minutes and get over here, this stuff doesn’t pack itself away.’
Piece of arse?
‘Be right there,’ Hayden shouted, not even attempting to put Max straight or stick up for me.
My hands clenched into fists. ‘I am not your “piece of arse”, Hayden.’
‘No, you’re not, are you? You’re feisty.’ He stepped into my space again and circled around me, trailing his hand over my butt. ‘I like it when a girl plays hard to get.’
‘I am not playing hard to get.’
‘No?’ Hayden aimed his lopsided grin at me, back on the charm offensive. I swear he must practise the look in front of a mirror every night to get it just right. It wasn’t working on me any more, though; my fingers itched to wipe it off his face. ‘So would it be OK on the second date, or are you going to push me all the way to the third?’
Jeez, the guy was delusional. And a little bit creepy.
Why hadn’t I just bailed when the first song drilled a hole into my sinuses?
If I had any battery left on my phone, I’d be using it right now to get someone to pick me up. I didn’t have enough money for a taxi, I didn’t even know where I was, which meant I was stuck with Hayden and his stupid bandmates for the time being. Hayden misread my sigh and shot me a wink as he backed away to join the rest of the band on stage.
‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said, putting ideas in my head.
Like hell was I going to stand around like some kind of trophy! I wandered out into the car park the moment his back was turned and sucked in a deep breath. The car park was virtually empty already, just a couple of cars and the band’s van, parked side on with its rear doors wide open, illuminated by the car park’s up-lighters. Waiting in the van was better than standing around like a fool, so I set off towards it. Hayden would find me all too soon, anyway. I climbed aboard the van just in time to disturb the drummer, Pete, as he snorted a line of white powder.
Oh, man!
He turned to face me, his eyes glazed and unfocused. ‘Want some?’ he asked, offering me the straw he’d just a second ago had up his nose.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said, putting the straw back up his nose and blocking the other nostril with his index finger.
Unable to tear my gaze away, I watched him hoover up the last of the dust before unrolling the straw to reveal a twenty pound note, which he slipped back inside his wallet, then into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall of the van, inhaling deeply through his nose, then exhaling slowly through his mouth, looking utterly at peace as a contented smile teased the corners of his mouth.
Pete heard the voices the same time I did. He opened his eyes and stared past me, his pupils the most dilated I’d ever seen on anyone. Hayden appeared at the door first, his guitar slung over his back as he carried an amplifier in his arms. The bass guitarist, whose name escaped me, rammed the microphone stands into my outstretched legs.
‘You could have just asked her to move her legs, bro,’ Hayden said, finally coming to me defence. I wish I could say I was relieved to see him. He hopped up and came to sit right beside me, grabbing hold of my hand. Pete stayed at the far end, the bass guitarist stepped over me to join him, closely followed by Chris on keyboards, then Max climbed in and closed the doors behind him so we were all crammed in the back of the Transit. Just when I didn’t think things could get any more surreal, Max held the van keys out to me.
‘I don’t suppose you drive?’ he said.
‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘Not yet.’
Max cursed and shook his head. ‘Here you go, then, Pete, it looks like it’s up to you to get us home tonight.’ Max tossed the keys over to Pete, who missed them completely and they crashed to the van floor.
‘Pete?’ I blurted, my voice raised enough to bounce back of the walls. ‘But he’s—’
‘Hayden, why don’t you and your lady come up front with me?’ Pete asked, cutting me off. ‘Give the boys some room to spread out?’
‘Lady’ was a darn sight better than ‘piece of arse’ at least.
‘No, it’s OK.’ Hayden put his arm possessively around me. ‘Lena’s cool.’
I am?
Max shrugged. ‘If you say so, bro.’
By way of assurance, Hayden shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a couple of bank notes, one folded into a small square, the other folded in half and slightly rumpled from being wedged up tight against his arse. If it was possible to feel sympathy for a piece of paper, then I did. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a bank card, the same bank as mine as it happened, not that I was desperate to find anything in common with him or anything.
Mesmerised, I watched him turn the card over so that the magnetic strip faced up and prop it on his bent knees. Hayden pressed the crisper banknote against his thigh to straighten it, then nimbly rolled into a tight cylinder.
What the …?
Oh, Valentina Bell, you are so naïve.
It wasn’t just Pete on the happy dust: they were all at it. The puzzle pieces that had been bugging me all evening suddenly slotted together to form a complete picture in high definition: the pre-gig pep talk that I wasn’t invited to, the high-energy performance, the sweating, the copious amounts of water they’d all been drinking, Hayden’s wild eyes, his personality transplant … And there was I thinking Hayden had been on a natural high when he’d come off stage. No wonder he’d always come across as mysterious on the bus: he was more than likely either stoned or coming down.
With his straw constructed to his satisfaction, Hayden unfolded the second banknote carefully, then bent it in half horizontally. Keeping his knees perfectly still, he tipped a line of white powder onto the back of the bank card. As if he could feel my boggle-eyed gaze boring into him, Hayden turned to look at me.
‘Do you want to go first?’ he asked, offering me the rolled-up twenty.
‘No, you’re OK,’ I said, ‘Thanks, though,’ I added, trying not to sound like a total dork.
‘Seriously, I don’t mind sharing,’ he said. ‘Besides, I can pick up more at the party.’
‘It’s just that … well … I don’t really do drugs.’
Hayden’s eyebrows arched. ‘What? Not any?’
‘Does caffeine count?’ I forced a smile onto my face.
‘No way?’ He eyed me with total disbelief. Even the other band members stopped mid inhale to stare at me. Prize freak time again. ‘You’re missing out,’ he said finally, accompanying it with a shrug.
Thinking back to the look of rapture on Pete’s face, I realised that Hayden probably had a point.
‘You go right ahead, though, before you twitch, or sneeze or something.’
Hayden nodded, then inserted the makeshift straw partway up his nose and, whoosh, half of the dust was gone. He made it look so easy.
‘I