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“Christ, talk about London taxis,” he says. “At your service night or day. You got a location?” I show him the location pin and we set off into the cold, wet, December night. Or actually should say, early morning.
I text what I assume is James’s number back, telling him we’re in a Mercedes minivan. I sit waiting across the road for my son to appear, what the fuck? My son. How the hell did I get to this? Should I actually be here waiting? I’ll admit I’m pretty desperate to forge a connection with him, with them, but is this right? Fuck, it’s fraught with issues, but he did reach out to me right? Black holes all around, just waiting for me to step into and fuck it all up.
White lights uplight the sign of Club Zero,loads of greenery surround the signage and doors. People are milling around outside in a variety of forms of intoxication—taxi hailing, hooking up, laughing, crying, a bit of pushing and shoving—while bouncers look on, mildly interested in some of it, but mainly ignoring most of it.
I see James and his entire band, plus a few hangers-on, stumble out of the doors. He chats to the security and they all shake hands with him and wave him off like they know him. I don’t get out of the car, but lower the window and wave my hand at him. He catches the motion and starts towards me, followed by the rest of his crew.
What the fuck is he doing?
He opens the door and grins at me, total Evie look. I’m speechless as I look at him.
“Room for a few?” he asks.
“Fuck, he really came,” one of his band mates says, staring into the car.
“I’m not fucking dropping that lot off. You, yes. Them, no,” I tell James.
“We all live at the same place,” he retorts. “But I don’t want to go home, we’ll go to yours.”
Damn. Poker face has nothing on this kid. Clearly Jonno and the rest of the psycho Greystones have had him in training from a young age. No eighteen-year-old should be so practised.
“I’m at a hotel,” I deadpan.
His face splits into an even wider grin. “Even better. I love room service early in the morning. Jude moans like mad when we get him up.”
I really begin to wonder what sort of lifestyle he’s had. And who actually has been in charge.
“Get in then,” I gesture to them all.
Four lads and three girls pile into the van. The girls all gasp when they finally get a look at my face. They start whispering to each other and staring, looking at me through their lashes and then looking down.
“Is that a good idea?” I gesture to the girls and look at James.
“They’re not with me,” he shrugs. “Bucky brought them.”
One of the lads, the drummer I think, drapes his arms around two of the girls and pulls them in close.
“Bucky, I assume?” I arch a brow at him.
“Yeah man,” he smiles. “They wanted to come. They can’t resist me.” One of the other lads snorts and wallops him around the back of the head. Bucky turns and scowls, “What the fuck man?” rubbing his head and neck.
Mick looks over at me and asks, “Where do you want the ladies dropped off, boss?”
I turn to stare at James, who’s looking out the window as if getting his bearings. “Not the hotel,” I tell him quietly. “I don’t want paps at my door. Or worse, your mother and uncles.”
He seems to consider this and says, “They’ll know where we are anyway.”
“Who?” I ask, puzzled.
“My mother and uncles. They definitely track me. And no doubt Jonno put a tracker on one of you lot in that melee.”
I look at him a bit dazed while I process that, then throw my head back and start to laugh. “Fucking Greystones,” I laugh out loud, “never change.”
James turns to Bucky and says, “Buck, if you want the girls with you, you’ll have to go home. If you get out up ahead there’s a taxi rank.”
I can see Bucky is torn between staying and going. Can’t say there would have been much of a debate if that were me. I’d have taken the girls and gone.
“We’re not supposed to leave each other,” Bucky finally says. “Jackson will kill me. In fact, take your pick, any one from four—dead meat, a battering ram, dead man walking.”
