You Only Live Once Page 25

  ‘Where are we going then?’ I asked Til.

  ‘It’s up the hill,’ she said. ‘Round the corner.’ She made a vague swooshing movement with her hand.

  ‘How far is it?’ Reeta asked, adjusting her wings as if she might be contemplating flying there.

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ Til said. ‘Ish.’

  Til’s idea of twenty minutes, it turned out, was actually nearer fifty, and it was almost completely dark by the time we arrived at the tall wire fence holding a plastic sign saying:

  COLDTREE INDUSTRIAL ESTATE

  In the four corners of the car park, there were floodlights on poles but they didn’t throw out much light. With the tall buildings casting long shadows and the drizzle that had started to fall, the whole place felt more like the set of a Sunday night Victorian murder programme than the scene of a lively social gathering.

  Reeta shivered and looked around her. ‘Doesn’t feel much like a party.’

  Til shrugged. ‘That’s ’cause we’re stood in the car park, innit. We’re not there yet.’

  ‘So where do we have to go?’ Reeta asked.

  Til peered at her phone, using her hand to shield the screen from the drizzle. ‘It’s Unit 2B.’

  The host of the party was a boy from college called Archie Dunbar and the music was to be provided by his brother, Lewis, who was a real-life DJ in a real-life club. (On Wednesdays he was, anyway. On the other days he made sandwiches at Subway.) The invite to the party had gone round college like a Mexican wave. You’d hear rumours of it from afar – where it would be and when, stories of how good Archie’s parties had been in the past – so by the time someone officially associated with it wandered over and said, ‘You should come, if you like. Friday night,’ it was hard to stop yourself from kissing them on both cheeks in delight.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Reeta said, pulling her coat on over her front, like a dentist putting on a plastic apron, so as not to interfere with her fairy wings. ‘Shouldn’t there be people around?’

  ‘We’re probably just really early,’ I said. ‘Or else they’re all inside.’

  ‘But inside where?’ Reeta said.

  ‘Listen.’ Til stopped suddenly and we all stood still, our eyes narrowed as we tried to hear past the sound of the rain, which was getting steadily heavier. ‘Hear that?’

  There was a rhythmic thump coming from the other side of the car park – the sound of three bassy beats and then a higher crunching sound, in a repetitive pattern.

  ‘Is that the decks?’ Reeta asked, wide-eyed. ‘Is that what decks sound like?’

  Til shrugged. ‘It’s obviously what these ones sound like.’ She pushed her hands into her jacket pockets and strode off towards the sound. Reeta and I followed.

  ‘Yeah, this seems right,’ she said as we approached a three-storey building with a corrugated roof. She looked down at her phone and then up at the building again. ‘Archie said the warehouse was above a bathroom shop or something … and look.’ She nodded up towards a sign. Big blue plastic letters spelt out:

  WASH STOP

  ‘Sounds like a bathroom shop, right?’

  I shrugged.

  The music was louder now we were right outside. I could feel it vibrating up my legs.

  ‘I can see people!’ Reeta said, excitedly pointing up towards a second-floor window.

  As we looked up at the window, a light came on and went off again. Then a figure walked past, then another.

  ‘But how do we get in?’ I pulled on the metal door handle but it was locked. ‘Are we just supposed to go through the shop or what?’

  ‘Archie said he might need to let us in,’ Til said. ‘Call him.’

  I did as I was told.

  Archie took forever to answer the phone. ‘You’re there already?’ he said. ‘Bit keen, aren’t you?’

  I felt my cheeks get warm. No one had told us a specific time. How was one supposed to be fashionably late to a party when no one was very clear about exactly what time was unfashionably early?

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ I mumbled. ‘We were on our way back from a … thing, so we thought we might as well just come now and …’

  Archie sighed. ‘Lewis is there now getting set up, but he won’t want anyone up there yet. You can wait downstairs though. He usually sets up like a chill-out area for when it gets a bit much for people, with drinks and snacks and stuff.’

  I listened to Archie’s directions to this so-called chill-out area, all the time trying not to feel too alarmed by the idea that the party might be the type to get ‘a bit much’.

  So-Called Chill-Out Area

  We headed around the side of the building as Archie had instructed, and after a bit of scrabbling around in the dark, we managed to find the door he’d mentioned. We let ourselves in.

  We looked around us. After a few moments, Til said, ‘Well, this is OK then. Inside, at least.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘It’s good to ease in gently, isn’t it. Don’t want to walk right into a rave off the street.’

  The truth was, I was a little disappointed by the chill-out area. I’d had visions of bean bags, fairy lights and wind-chimes. Maybe bubbles floating around gently in front of us from some unseen machine and snacks served on silver trays. But actually the room wasn’t even really a room – it was more of a corridor, with a row of wooden benches along one wall and lockers along the other. But then who was I to say what a chill-out area should look like? All my ideas about anything were from the telly.

  We sat in silence for a minute, looking around us. The bassy rhythmic music was still going on above us.

  ‘That’s what’s good about chill-out rooms,’ I said, as if I had seen many in my time. ‘You can still hear the tunes, but you can talk too.’

  I saw Til’s eyebrow twitch a little. I think it was because I had said ‘tunes’. It had surprised me too, to be honest.

  ‘It’s kind of mesmerising,’ I said. ‘When you let the rhythm in, it really gets to you.’

  Reeta nodded her head in agreement. Or in time with the music, I wasn’t quite sure.

  Another fifteen minutes went by. ‘How long do you think we have to wait?’ Reeta said. ‘How long does the chill-out bit usually last?’

  Neither Til nor I replied. Having already been made to feel quite silly about being so keen and early, I didn’t fancy calling Archie back to ask. We’d just have to wait till things got going. I hoped it would be worth it.

  ‘I’m so hungry,’ Reeta said, her most common announcement. ‘I thought Archie said there’d be drinks and snacks in this chill-out area? I can’t see any snacks.’

  ‘There’s the machine.’ Til nodded over to the vending machine, partially stocked with Cokes, Kit-Kats and Wotsits.

  ‘And look,’ I said, standing up and going over to a small table at the end of a row of lockers, where there was a bowl of some kind of crispy balls. ‘There’s food here. I mean, you’re not exactly going to get little vol-au-vents and mini burgers – it’s not a wedding! It’s an industrial warehouse dance party!’

  I passed the bowl to Reeta. She peered at the crisps closely, then took a handful and put them in her mouth. She chewed with her head on one side. ‘My dad does mountain climbing,’ she said, ‘and when he’s on a trek he has these little packets of cakes that taste a bit funny but they’re specially designed to release energy slowly and make your body absolutely ready for climbing. Do you think these are like this?’ She looked at me hopefully. ‘Do you think at an industrial warehouse dance party they put on special snacks to help you party all night?’

  ‘Probably,’ I said. I was starting to feel fairly sure that I wasn’t up to partying for even one eighth of the night.

  Reeta kept eating until the bowl was almost empty, and we all carried on listening to the thumpy music, and I did actually start to feel quite chilled out in the chill-out area. That was until the door opened, a man in overalls stepped into the room and I sat up straight in alarm.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he a
sked, drying his hands on what looked like a grubby old T-shirt.

  ‘Uh …’ I looked at him. He looked too old to be at college. In his thirties, at least. But then Archie’s brother was older, and who knew how many people had been invited to this enormous wild party. I really didn’t think he was dressed for a party though. He looked rather sweaty and dusty.

  ‘We’re here for the party …’ I said. I felt silly for some reason, saying it out loud. ‘The party thing, I mean. The warehouse thing …’

  He frowned. ‘You what?’

  Til had been lying across the full length of a bench, but she sat up now. ‘Is Archie here?’ she said. ‘Do you know when we can go up?’

  The man looked blank and shook his head. ‘Archie? No. Nah. Just me and Kev tonight.’

  I didn’t know this man or ‘Kev’ but a party with just two people didn’t sound like much of a party at all. And where was Lewis, with the decks?

  My phone rang and Til picked it up from where I’d left it at the end of the bench. ‘Well, we’re in the chill-out area, like you told us. Where are you?’ She sounded impatient. ‘Yeah, we’re literally –’ She stopped talking suddenly, and turned to me. ‘What’s the name of this bathroom shop?’ She tried to crane her neck to see the sign that was directly above us. ‘Wash something?’

  ‘Wash Stop,’ the overalls man said, throwing his T-shirt-slash-hand towel over his shoulder. ‘It’s not a bathroom shop though.’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Wash Stop,’ Til said into her phone.

  ‘It’s not a shop at all,’ overalls man said.

  Til looked at him. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Wash Stop doesn’t sell anything.’

  ‘What is it then?’ Reeta asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Industrial laundrette, innit.’

  We looked at each other.

  ‘Archie, is it an industrial laundrette, this place?’ Til said into the phone. Then she turned back to overalls man. ‘So just to confirm, this building isn’t Waterworld, a luxury bathroom design company with a basic but spacious warehouse on the floor above it? A warehouse currently being set up for an all-night dance party?’

  ‘You what?’ Overalls man frowned and shook his head. He was getting annoyed now, I could tell. ‘I’ve really got no idea what you’re on about, but you kids can’t be in here. It’s a private building. There’s machinery here.’

  ‘Archie definitely said it was a bathroom shop,’ Til said, looking at the man out of the corner of her eye like he wasn’t to be trusted.

  ‘Yeah. Waterworld is a bathroom shop, ’ he said. ‘But this isn’t Waterworld. This is Wash Stop, the second largest industrial launderette in England. Waterworld – and its no doubt lovely warehouse – is at Birchwood Park.’

  ‘Birchwood Park is miles away!’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Four or five.’

  ‘If this isn’t Waterworld and if Lewis isn’t up there sorting out the massive party tunes on his decks, how come we can hear the music?’ Reeta said, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. ‘How come we can hear the massive party tunes? That music can’t be coming from four or five miles away.’

  The man pulled a face. ‘That’s not music. That’s the machines.’

  ‘Machines?’ I asked, quietly.

  ‘Washing machines. Twenty-five commercial-sized washing machines, working their way through two hundred and thirty-six duvet covers, right at this moment.’

  Til and I looked at each other, and then down at the floor.

  ‘But –’ Reeta began, but I put my hand on her arm to silence her.

  I’d realised what had happened and I didn’t want the man to have to spell it out. What had happened was that for the last forty-five minutes the three of us had been nodding along, appreciating the sweet melody of twenty-five industrial washing machines in operation.

  A cat came through the door, and wound itself round the leg of a bench.

  ‘A cat!’ Reeta said, her confusion about the music immediately eclipsed. She crouched down on the floor to greet it.

  ‘Rocky,’ overalls man said. ‘Office cat … probably wondering why you’re eating his food.’ He nodded towards the nearly-empty bowl of snacks next to Reeta. She looked down at the bowl, then at the cat, then back to the bowl again. ‘Cat … food …?’

  The man grinned and shrugged. ‘I prefer a Kit-Kat and a cup of tea myself, but each to their own.’

  Reeta stood up very slowly, took three deep breaths, then ran outside and vomited vigorously into a bush.

  Don’t miss the rest of Gracie’s comedy moments, in To Be Perfectly Honest …

  Coming soon!

  Jess Vallance

  Jess Vallance works as a freelance writer and lives near Brighton. Her YA novels for Hot Key Books are Birdy and The Yellow Room.

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  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by

  HOT KEY BOOKS

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  Copyright © Jess Vallance, 2018

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The right of Jess Vallance to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 9781848126596

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