looked around the unfamiliar hall wondering how the hell he was supposed to get out. Wasn’t there a lift? Justin wandered around, lurching like a zombie.
He eventually found the lift, but when it juddered its way down, Justin felt the sickness rise again. He had a minipuke in the lift, no hope for it as he had nowhere else to aim except the wall. When he reached the bottom he hurried out of the tower block and the gate, finding his way onto a street he didn’t recognize.
Where the fuck was he again? Clapham, was it?
Argh .
He started walking. Just keep moving, Justin. Walk it off .
Sometime later, Justin wasn’t feeling much better, but the sickness had passed. He had to be thankful for small mercies. Except now that he’d walked around, he didn’t know where he was. He spotted a bus—the beautiful sight of the familiar red double-decker bearing a destination he knew. It stopped at a bus stop on the opposite side of the road, which meant there’d be more coming soon. If Justin got on a bus to Victoria, he could easily get another bus or the tube from there.
But… what about Yena? It was a bit rude to just take off, Justin supposed. He should at least send a parting text. Justin patted himself down, checking his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. He pulled out his phone, intending to make his excuse-text, then make a getaway home.
The phone he held in his hand wasn’t his phone. In fact, as Justin stared at it, he realized it wasn’t even a phone, it was a white remote control.
What the…?
He stared at it in confusion for several minutes. Had he picked this up from Yena’s bedroom? What the hell was it for ? And where was his phone? Not still in Yena’s place?
Justin winced and cursed under his breath. Well, that was just the icing on the cake. But there wasn’t much point trudging around Clapham, hoping he stumbled upon the right road and the right tower block before knocking on doors hoping to find Yena again. No, he’d either have to write that phone off altogether, or….
Or he’d have to visit Yena again at the bar. Justin groaned and then trudged off for his bus.
Chapter Five
W ITHOUT HIS phone—which also held his calendar, personal planner, and pretty much everything he relied upon—Justin only just managed to make his Friday night gig in time. Tam was furious when he arrived late.
“I’m sorry,” Justin said, breathless, as he hurried to get changed.
“I’ll bitch-slap you later,” Tam told him. “Just hurry the fuck up and get changed. We’re on in less than half an hour.”
“Right.”
Used to quick changes, Justin went from street clothes to shiny Lycra and platform boots in record time. It was a miracle he didn’t tear the already tight costume. After zipping himself in, Tam helped him with the feathered plumage that fixed around their shoulders and handed him his microphone.
“Don’t forget to turn it on,” Tam hissed, as they lined up near the stage door.
Justin nodded, and then someone caught his eye—a petite, tattooed girl with long blonde curls, carrying several sparkly Hula-Hoops past them. It was Chi Chi, a performer Justin knew. She was dressed in a miniature sailor’s outfit, and she smiled at Justin.
Justin lifted his hand in a wave, but the bustle of backstage didn’t allow them time to chat.
Maybe that was a good thing, Justin thought, as his cheeks heated.
“This is us.” Tam nudged him, catching Justin in his ribs.
Focusing on where they were going, Justin followed Tam, clomping as quietly as he could in six-inch platform boots. The emcee’s voice carried through the venue, amplified through the PA. As the last of a raucous joke died down, she announced the next act, encouraging the audience to applaud.
“Give it up for Dancing Queens!”
Through the applause, the lights quickly dimmed. Justin followed Tam onto the stage, as the emcee flitted off from the other side. They got into position, facing the audience but remaining still. Even in
He eventually found the lift, but when it juddered its way down, Justin felt the sickness rise again. He had a minipuke in the lift, no hope for it as he had nowhere else to aim except the wall. When he reached the bottom he hurried out of the tower block and the gate, finding his way onto a street he didn’t recognize.
Where the fuck was he again? Clapham, was it?
Argh .
He started walking. Just keep moving, Justin. Walk it off .
Sometime later, Justin wasn’t feeling much better, but the sickness had passed. He had to be thankful for small mercies. Except now that he’d walked around, he didn’t know where he was. He spotted a bus—the beautiful sight of the familiar red double-decker bearing a destination he knew. It stopped at a bus stop on the opposite side of the road, which meant there’d be more coming soon. If Justin got on a bus to Victoria, he could easily get another bus or the tube from there.
But… what about Yena? It was a bit rude to just take off, Justin supposed. He should at least send a parting text. Justin patted himself down, checking his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. He pulled out his phone, intending to make his excuse-text, then make a getaway home.
The phone he held in his hand wasn’t his phone. In fact, as Justin stared at it, he realized it wasn’t even a phone, it was a white remote control.
What the…?
He stared at it in confusion for several minutes. Had he picked this up from Yena’s bedroom? What the hell was it for ? And where was his phone? Not still in Yena’s place?
Justin winced and cursed under his breath. Well, that was just the icing on the cake. But there wasn’t much point trudging around Clapham, hoping he stumbled upon the right road and the right tower block before knocking on doors hoping to find Yena again. No, he’d either have to write that phone off altogether, or….
Or he’d have to visit Yena again at the bar. Justin groaned and then trudged off for his bus.
Chapter Five
W ITHOUT HIS phone—which also held his calendar, personal planner, and pretty much everything he relied upon—Justin only just managed to make his Friday night gig in time. Tam was furious when he arrived late.
“I’m sorry,” Justin said, breathless, as he hurried to get changed.
“I’ll bitch-slap you later,” Tam told him. “Just hurry the fuck up and get changed. We’re on in less than half an hour.”
“Right.”
Used to quick changes, Justin went from street clothes to shiny Lycra and platform boots in record time. It was a miracle he didn’t tear the already tight costume. After zipping himself in, Tam helped him with the feathered plumage that fixed around their shoulders and handed him his microphone.
“Don’t forget to turn it on,” Tam hissed, as they lined up near the stage door.
Justin nodded, and then someone caught his eye—a petite, tattooed girl with long blonde curls, carrying several sparkly Hula-Hoops past them. It was Chi Chi, a performer Justin knew. She was dressed in a miniature sailor’s outfit, and she smiled at Justin.
Justin lifted his hand in a wave, but the bustle of backstage didn’t allow them time to chat.
Maybe that was a good thing, Justin thought, as his cheeks heated.
“This is us.” Tam nudged him, catching Justin in his ribs.
Focusing on where they were going, Justin followed Tam, clomping as quietly as he could in six-inch platform boots. The emcee’s voice carried through the venue, amplified through the PA. As the last of a raucous joke died down, she announced the next act, encouraging the audience to applaud.
“Give it up for Dancing Queens!”
Through the applause, the lights quickly dimmed. Justin followed Tam onto the stage, as the emcee flitted off from the other side. They got into position, facing the audience but remaining still. Even in
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