Up, Down and Up Again

Nancy, Sid and Andrew make their way home after a night out.

The DJ’s headphones dropped to his neck, a cheer rang out and a switch was thrown. House lights blinded the revellers; the alternative world in which they had glimpsed and willed a future where strangers were friends, friends were lovers and everyone danced forever was coming to an end. A reluctant queue formed for the cloakroom. Bouncers, smiles fixed and arms folded, barred entry to the toilets as cleaners tiptoed towards the detritus of a thousand psychotropic trials. Andrew, lost in a corner in a corner of his mind, scanned the room for anything familiar. He could make out colours and smudges were faces should have been.

‘Your pupils.’ A girl in dungarees with a huge daisy in her hair aimed a finger in his direction.

‘Flower.’ Andrew flopped a digit towards her head.

‘Piss holes in the snow. You alright mate?’ The daisy had a friend who had sweated through his t-shirt.

‘Sid,’ Andrew replied.

‘Sid? You fucking madman. Pills and powder for us.’

‘No, Sid.’ Andrew felt his back slide down the wall and closed his eyes.

Two hands lifted his chin and rubbed at his cheeks. The skin was soft, but clammy. He felt something dribble through his lips and plop onto his shirt. One of the hands mopped his shoulder with a tissue and an encouraging voice said something about the bouncers. Another voice said his name and asked him to get up. No, told him to get up. Two pairs of hands grabbed under his arms and his feet scrabbled for the floor. The first voice, which he felt he should know, told him to put one foot in front of the other. The voice that had said his name said it again. Those voices sounded kind and calm as they asked the bouncers to give him a minute. He opened his eyes and saw what looked like the couple from the coach. He thought they were together, and he knew their names, didn’t he? He’d said one of them out loud a moment ago, but it had gone. The man said something to the woman about getting someone back on the bus.

The taxi drivers steered clear of the Mayfair, preferring drunks to the unknown quantity of young people on drugs that were new to the city. A loose band of ravers clattered downhill to the bus station where the waiting room would not be open for another six hours. Huddled together on kerbs in the hope that their coach would materialise to whisk them home, a new solidarity formed in a communal desire for warmth and assurance.

‘I’ll be okay won’t I?’

‘Of course, why not?’

‘Anyone got a cigarette?’

‘You can share mine.’

‘Anyone got a lighter?’

‘Anyone got a lighter?’

‘Water. I need water.’

‘I think you might have...’

‘He’s wet himself. Fuckin’ ‘ell.’

‘She’s shivering. Her lips are blue.’

Not long after dawn, the coach chugged around a corner and stopped at the stand for Durham. The door hissed open and the driver stepped out to light a roll-up. He stood to one side as some jumped, others clambered and one or two of his passengers made their way onto the coach on all fours. ‘No smoking,’ he shouted, ‘and no toilet.’

Andrew came to as the coach left Sunderland. Less than half of the seats were occupied, and Nancy was asleep on Sid’s shoulder on the other side of the aisle; their names had come back as quick as they had deserted him. He wiped a sleeve across his mouth and sucked air through his teeth. He slammed his fists on his thighs until blood and warmth returned to his legs. Sid watched him through unblinking eyes. They nodded to each other and exchanged slow grins. When Andrew next opened his eyes Sid was fast asleep and Nancy was stretching her arms towards the roof and wriggling her fingers.

‘One sleeps, one watches,’ Andrew pointed at Sid.

‘What’s that?’

‘Last time I looked you were fast asleep and Sid was on guard.’

‘Last time I looked we had to pour you into the seat.’

‘Did I make a fool of myself?’

‘Look around you. Who’s in a position to judge?’

‘I don’t remember...’ He blew into his hands.

‘Any cuts and bruises?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Got your coat and your money?’

‘I...have.’ His wallet was poking at his groin through a hole in his pocket. ‘Has he checked for tickets?’

‘I think he could tell we all belonged on his bus.’

‘Ravers special. Poor bastard.’

‘I’ve done a whip round. Can you spare...?

‘Oh God, of course.’ He searched for coins. ‘I’ve got a hole.’

‘Don’t worry. You can owe us.’

‘You said us.’

‘And you said that out loud.’

Forty minutes later Andrew followed Nancy and Sid off the bus and onto terra firma. They zigzagged towards the river and stopped at a bench above the water. Andrew stuffed his hands into his armpits and lifted his legs off the ground. Bits of the night were coming back to him and his brain seemed keen to remind him of the way he had felt at the peak of the first or second tablet. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth, stood and turned to his new friends. ‘Tea,’ he said. ‘Back my room for tea?’ Sid shook his head. Nancy, asleep on his shoulder again, shivered.

It was Thursday before Andrew was able to track them down, but only because none of them had surfaced until Wednesday. A tutor and a study group leader had pinned notes to his door, and as he ripped them off the peeling paint he spotted a Post-it by his foot. A smiley face had been scribbled on one side and on the other a short note announced ‘We’ll be in the Swan and Three about seven tomorrow.’ An odd hangout for students, but what the heck? He wrote a wordy apology to the tutor and left a brief excuse for the study group on a noticeboard near to where they gathered in the library. Late on Thursday afternoon, he filled the bath at the end of the corridor and ignored the knocking until the water had gone cold. He made a toasted cheese sandwich with the Breville and ate it on the way to the pub.