Clubbing
Music banged the room. Even the walls appeared to bulge as the floorboards pulsed to its manic beat. All around Leo, the electric storm of the lighting - flashing, crashing, swirling - affected everything it touched. People became chameleons, their skin and clothes changing hue at the speed of light.
He gulped from his pint and gazed out, perhaps a bit pathetically, at his friends who were working the dancefloor. Leo didn’t dance – at least not properly, he didn’t. That case had been closed the previous summer in Corfu. He’d clicked there, with a student-teacher from Brixton who’d worked in the same restaurant. Every night, if he promised not to be dug out of some of the pig-ignorant Engerlanders, she’d reward him by dragging him along to the resort’s Soul Club. Her plan was to teach him some moves but no matter how hard they tried, laughed and tried some more, his gangly clumsiness only ever mocked her own effortless grace.
‘You’re lucky you’ve got that wonky smile,’ she teased on their first night together, ‘because you surely do dance like a drunk with itchy underpants.’ She kissed his palms later that night and invited him into her room – and there he remained until the end of the season.
Ever since he’d come home, Leo had longed to see her again. He’d sometimes decide on flying over to London to seek her out. At least until he’d sober up, remember what she’d said and start to think better of it. She’d told him kindly but firmly too, as she was forcing shut her travel bag: ‘Holiday romances… they don’t travel well, babes.’
A persistent tapping at his elbow brought him back into the thumping reality of the nightclub. It was Martha, his older brother’s friend. Mischievous, likeable and petite, Martha possessed all of the best attributes of a tamed fairy. She beckoned him to stoop down, the better to hear. Her voice tickled his ear as she spoke.
‘Hiya Leo, my friend wants to know if you’d settle a bet..?’
He shrugged a ‘why not?’ and she led him through the jostle of clubbers, out to where some sort of chill-out room had been set up. Two girls around his own age were seated at a table. One of them, a blonde with milky-pale skin, looked up for and instant before quickly staring hard at the floor again. The other, a smiling redhead in a sparkly top, nudged her mischievously.
‘She was wondering if Niall Quinn played for Ireland or Manchester,’ she said.
‘Who’s asking..?’
Who’s asking? Sound brotherly advice. ‘Always answer with a question. Keep her talking. She’ll let you know soon enough where you stand...’
‘Ruth’s asking,’ Martha said.
The redhead nudged her again and for a flurry of seconds, the blonde girl didn’t seem to know where to put her flap-about hands as she finally looked at him.
‘Yeah, I was,’ her voice almost failed her, ‘…wondering.’
Before he could say anything, her friend had jumped to her feet.
‘Sit down there and tell Ruth all about Niall Quinn!’ She winked at Martha and moved around Leo to link her arm. With a conspiratorial laugh, they both said their ‘see ya laters’ and departed, in the best of spirits, towards the dancefloor.
‘So you like football?’ he asked when they were alone.
She pushed her hair back and nodded that she did.
‘Bet you don’t really,’ he joked and nervously broke out his best Corfu smile.
‘Well, maybe only a bit…’ Ruth said, her sentence ending on half an octave above nothing again.
It must have been contagious. Leo’s quickly dissolved into full-on eejit; fidgeting with a beermat and exhibiting every angle of awkwardness as he suffered beside her. His brain, toiling in some purgatory of self-doubt, struggled to make even the smallest of small talk.
‘Nobody would ever accuse me of being a smooth-talker…’ he joked weakly.
‘At least you’re trying. Some lads would be happier bashing a girl over the head and dragging her off to a cave. Stone Age style, like…’
‘This could be the Rock Age,’ he blurted.
Ruth looked puzzled. He felt compelled to go on.
‘The Rock… and Roll Age..?’ He gestured to the music that pulsed outside the room and immediately felt like a fool. ‘Sorry... stupid joke. Forget I spoke… God. Jesus. God...’
‘Well, if you’ve got to explain it…’ she replied – and not meanly either but the exchange had only intensified whatever awkwardness already hung between them. Desperate to somehow disperse that, he tossed his brother’s advice aside and moved in to kiss her. Ruth responded with sloppy enthusiasm. She was alright, Leo told himself then. Not the prettiest girl in the world but alright enough.
They left the nightclub early, only to walk out into a virtual wall of rain that was bulleting down. He tried hailing a taxi but, one by one, they swished past with a disheartening indifference. Not allowed back into the club, they found themselves sheltering beneath its canopy and passed some time, kissing and occasionally whispering, beneath a buzzing neon sign.
She smiled nervously at him.
‘Our Gary’s away. We could make a dash for his flat… It’s not far.’
Not knowing what to say that wouldn’t mess up a good thing, Leo nodded and kissed her again.
After they’d barged breathlessly laughing and soaking wet through the door, Ruth switched on a gloomy lamp and revealed a flat that was in truth a shabby affair.
‘I’ll get some towels,’ she said, and pointed to a small vinyl collection. ‘Stick on some tunes maybe..?’
The records were stacked beneath a retro-styled turntable which looked like something more traditional but turned out to have every sort of Wi-Fi and USB gizmo discreetly built in. From the bathroom, Ruth cursed the state of her brother’s towelling whilst Leo cast a judgemental eye over his disappointing record collection. End-to-end heavy metal, punctuated by the occasional boyband atrocity.
‘Gary might go deaf listening to his stuff but it looks like his girlfriend’s already tone deaf,’ Leo muttered before finally settling on something he’d read about somewhere but had never actually heard; Plug It In by Mama’s Boys. He dropped the needle down on the only song whose name he recognised. Guitar notes swaggered out of the speakers. Needle in the Groove weaved through the half-light just as Ruth came back with a towel.
Humming along and smiling demurely, she half-walked, half-sashayed up to him. When she offered him the towel, Leo took her by the hand and coaxed her down onto his lap. They kissed again.
He woke before she did.
The turning light spied through where the curtains hadn’t been properly pulled together. Not wanting to wake Ruth, Leo slipped ever-so-delicately off of the bed. In the next room, the record needle still hissed. Ignoring it, he gathered his clothes from around the floor and pulled them on. He needed the toilet, he realised, and could have done with a shower too. He wanted even more to get out of there before she woke up though.
Girls like Ruth, he reckoned, they might go out on Saturday night looking for fun but they always seemed to wake up on Sunday morning looking for love. Whatever else he was, Leo was sure he wasn’t her answer to that particular problem. He’d been down that particular emotional cul de sac too many times before and it had never once ended well. Not for him or the girl. Yeah, best to get out and get on, he reasoned as he quietly closed the door behind him.
It wasn’t falling nearly as hard but rainwater still painted everything. It dripped from the window sills and spattered chills upon his uncovered head. Gallons of it raced with surprising speed along the gutters. The wind spat it into his face. Leo turned up his collar and lowered his head, kicked a discarded fast food box off the footpath and set off for home.
Anxious to get out of the foul weather as quickly as possible, he chanced a rubbish-strewn laneway as a shortcut. As he picked his steps through the scatterings of cigarette butts, crumpled beer cans and used condoms, a sudden clatter and rustling amongst some fly-tipped bin bags alarmed him. Before he could brace himself, a shivering, scrawny fox popped out. It froze into position before him. Wide-eyed and seemingly locked onto the spot, the creature regarded him cautiously.
Leo’s mind clamoured with questions. Did it sense his fear? Would it bite him? Might it infect him if it did? Even as his brain scanned the list of potential dangers though, other, more physical instincts, took charge of him. He kicked out at the animal and although he missed his target, his action startled it enough to scare it off. It skittered past his legs, turned at the end of the alley and was gone.
The apartment was empty when he got there. Yawning, he elected to steal some sleep before taking that shower he’d promised himself. Leo flopped on the bed and shut his eyes until he knew no more for who knows how long.
His ringing phone abruptly rattled him back into the world.
‘Aboy the kid!’ Roy, his flatmate. ‘Just ringing to let you know that today’s matches are all off, pal. The weather, you know..?’
‘Sound.’
‘Listen, everyone’s going to the clubhouse for pints after. You up for it? Six-ish?
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Fancy heading out a bit earlier even?’
‘Naw, just going to nip back there for a quick wash and change the duds. Then we’re off to her mother’s for lunch... See you later though, yeah..?’
He tried to coax himself back to sleep after the call had ended but his whirring brain was having none of it. After too much tossing and twisting, he eventually gave up and trudged into the shower. Under its hot rush, he decided to go out drinking alone. You never know your luck in a small town and all that. Sure, he was bound to run into somebody.
By the time he got to the clubhouse, time and alcohol had conspired to deceive him. Minutes had blurred into hours and hours had spilled over each other until almost the entire evening had been spent on laughter and slagging, messing and drinking.
A handful of auldies occasionally bribed the jukebox to play their ancient stuff but mostly the soundtrack was wall-to-wall hits of the day. Cards were dealt, re-dealt and disputed. Somebody threw a tantrum… ‘but you don’t have to renege on the ace with the knave,’ he kept insisting. A few lads made great show of encouraging him. Others sniggered into their sleeves behind his back. At some stage, some girls came in the door and as soon as they did, lads’ brains went out the window with all of the flirting and gowling around with them that followed.
When last orders were called, he found himself up at the bar again.
‘So you’re the famous Leo?’
A tall brown-eyed girl was talking to him.
‘Who’s asking..?’
Before she could answer, an oldie kicked in on the jukebox.
‘Oh, I love this!’ she squealed with almost alarming enthusiasm.
The girl pulled at his hand.
‘Do you dance?’
‘Not very well.’
‘Ah, come on…’
He shook his head. She stepped back and danced anyway.
Club Tropicana. The song’s title came easily enough. Some boy band his older sister used to like. His brain refused to cough up what they were called though.
‘You’re not dancing..!?’
‘Not really my kind of music.’
She stopped, put a hand on her hip and mock-pouted, disapprovingly. Unsure of how to respond to that, he resorted to his trusty Corfu smile. Her head cocked, not unattractively, to one side as she smiled back. Picking up the beat again, she glided forward and placed her soft hands upon his face. Her tongue – surprisingly, excitingly – finding his as she kissed him. He watched her drift away from him again. She raised her arms and spun around, loving the moment.
He noticed then, too, the way some of the lads were studying both of them – a gallery of eyes, gleefully urging him to shift her. Turning away, Leo concentrated his gaze back on the girl. Club Tropicana swam louder through the babbling room, as he admired her beauty amid the late-night bar-room blurriness.
Her arms extended towards him. Fingers tickling the air, beckoning him to join her.
Their drinks were mistakenly served together and he shrugged a ‘why not?’ when the barman expected him to pay for both. She’s alright, Leo told himself. Not the prettiest girl in the world but alright enough.
‘Wham,’ he muttered and told the barman to keep the change.
Sam Windrim is from Ballynanty in Limerick. He is the author of The Limerick Lexicon and co-authored (with John Hyatt) Ammemorium – a Forgotten Rebel’s Tale (Manchester Metropolitan University Press). Clubbing is his second appearance on the Redemption shortlist, having had another story highly-commended in 2019. His other works can be found in various titles, including Bangor Literary Journal, Ropes, The Readers Digest, Weekend Magazine. A recipient of an Arts Council Grant in 2020, he was runner-up in the Liberties Press Humorous Short Story Competition and overall winner of the Bloomsday Prize. He is excited to be part of the team that is currently curating the Rae Jeffs/ Brendan Behan archive for Liverpool John Moores University.
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