Alex Preston - The Revelations

‘I didn’t know you were coming, Mouse. Well, this is brilliant. Come on now, sit down. What are you having?’

Daffy had a thin moustache and wore a denim shirt and skinny jeans, high-top trainers on his feet. He seemed to know the bartender and bought a round of beers with whisky chasers.

‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you guys, cheers.’ He took a long drink. ‘I run into various people from university now and again, but never anyone from our college. Thought the church had claimed you all. I was the only pagan left.’ He chuckled and raised his glass again. ‘Cheers, anyway.’ He faced them, grinning.

‘It’s good to see you too. Mouse and I were talking on the way over about how sorry we are that we lost touch with you. I mean, I think you know all about the Course.’

‘I do indeed. You tried to persuade me to join last time I saw you. Not my bag at all, you know what I mean? I almost joined just to see you guys, though.’

‘It’s hard to keep in touch with people. The Course just takes up so much of our time. But with you, Daffy. . I mean, I think there are some friends where it really doesn’t matter how long you don’t see them for. When you’ve been through so much together, you can always just pick up where you left off. So tell us what you’re up to now.’

Daffy put his beer down on the table.

‘I’m in advertising. I had a couple of nothing jobs when I first left uni, but I’ve been at this place for over a year now. I work on the creative side. And I live over this way, just down beside Columbia Road. Share the flat with two blokes I met clubbing a few years back. I suppose I’m having a pretty good time.’

‘Any girlfriends?’

‘Oh, too many, too many. But no. There have been a few who stuck around for a while, but no one special. I always get a girl in January or something and then dump them in the summer. I go a bit mad in the sun, see? Basically, life is just this thing I get through either side of Glastonbury, you know what I mean?’

‘I’ve always wanted to go,’ said Mouse.

‘Oh, it’s fucking awesome, man. Come with us next year. A right proper eye-opener, I promise you. That’s a real religion for you.’

They ordered burgers from the bar and watched the pub fill up around them, reminiscing all the time about their university days.

‘And how’s Lee? I haven’t seen her since your wedding, Marcus. She was so pissed then, man.’

Marcus looked at Mouse and saw his friend shake his head very slightly.

‘She’s not really around any more,’ said Marcus, looking down at the drinks on the table, carefully removing the pickle from the top of his burger.

‘Ah, shame. She was fit. Still, it happens, doesn’t it? People drift in and out. Sure you’ll pick up where you left off when she’s back.’

Marcus looked up and saw that Mouse was staring at him.

‘Does anyone want another beer?’ Mouse said, and rose to walk to the bar.

A sofa became free in a corner of the pub and they moved there. They talked for a while longer and then Daffy stood up, rubbing his hands.

‘Right boys, I’m going to a gallery opening. Do you want to come along? It’s Hugo Carrington, you know, the guy from uni.’

Marcus had come across Carrington a few times at university. He was an angular aristocratic type whose father was equerry to the Queen. Carrington had studied art, but left halfway through his second year. He had launched his career to some public acclaim with a show in Mayfair soon after.

‘Sure,’ said Marcus. ‘Yeah, I remember Carrington.’

They walked down through Hoxton Square, which was full of happy chatter and the thud of bass from different bars and clubs. The gallery was on Kingsland Road and already a long queue snaked down the pavement outside. Some cupped their hands to the blacked-out window, trying to make out what Carrington had created inside.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Daffy. ‘I’m guestlisted. I’ll make them add you two.’

They walked past the long line of fashionably attired young people and Daffy spoke for a moment with the woman at the door. They followed him inside.

The noise of a hundred shouted conversations greeted them as they walked through black felt curtains and into the gallery. It was very hot and Marcus could see scores of men who looked just like Daffy, their sideburns razor-cut into daggers, bellowing into the faces of pretty girls. There was a bar along one side of the room and Daffy reached over and passed a warm bottle of beer to Marcus. Marcus thanked him and began to saunter around the room, gently pushing his way past trendy types who didn’t seem all that interested in the art. He walked through an archway and into a gloomy back room which was dominated by a huge spinning sculpture.

Wheels turned within wheels, something whirred manically inside a sphere, a great turbine chugged. The dial of an enormous clock at the centre glowed ominously in the half-light, its hands circling. A swinging blade flashed for an instant and then disappeared. The light was so dim that Marcus could barely make out how each part was connected, but he was enchanted, and turned to look for Mouse. He saw his friend speaking to Daffy on the other side of the main gallery and gestured to him. Mouse crossed the room and stood next to Marcus in the dark. They sipped their beers and stared at the rotating sculpture.

‘It’s strange to see Daffy again,’ said Mouse.

‘Do you think he has changed?’ asked Marcus.

‘I don’t know. Maybe his accent is a little less strong, but other than that. . I think it might be that he hasn’t changed at all.’

They continued to look at the machine for a while longer and then went out to the bar for more drinks.

An hour passed and the gallery grew so full that it was hard to move. Mouse and Marcus had colonised a flight of stairs at the far end of the room where they sat looking down on the people below them. Daffy would rush past every so often, his eyes wild, a huge grin on his face.

‘All right you two? Fucking crazy, eh? Cheers!’

A DJ started playing pounding trance music and some of the younger people tried to dance, their elbows pressed against their sides, grimaces of bored hipness fixed on their faces. Marcus took an armful of beers from the bar and he and Mouse drank them until they were giddy and had to hold on to each other to keep from sliding down the stairs.

Finally, the music stopped and the lights went up. Mouse was asleep, his cheek resting against the banister. Marcus looked down from his lofty position at the crowd as they began to file out into the night. He saw Daffy talking to Carrington, his shoulders twitching as he spoke. The artist kept looking over Daffy’s shoulder and pushed past him to join a group that was about to leave. He took a girl’s arm and began to guide her through the door. The girl turned once to look back at the room and Marcus’s lungs emptied of air.

The girl had a black fedora pulled down over her head and had turned up the collar of her jacket against the cold, but Marcus was almost certain that it was Lee. He shook Mouse awake.

‘Mouse, look!’

He watched his friend’s eyes as he saw the girl.

‘Jesus,’ said Mouse. ‘Is it her?’

‘Yes. I think so. Quick.’

They pushed through the crowd and hurled themselves out into the night. Daffy was leering drunkenly over the woman who worked on the door. There was no sign of Carrington and the girl.

‘Did you see where Carrington went?’

Daffy turned to Marcus.

‘He got in a taxi. A bunch of them are going on to a party at his house. I think he invited me.’

‘Right, let’s go.’

Marcus flagged down a cab.

Carrington lived in a tall Victorian house on the Hackney Road. Marcus could hear the music as soon as they stepped from the taxi. They walked down the overgrown path to the front door and Daffy rang the bell. A girl answered.