'Right! Lets boogie!'
Ali jerked back her head, downed the last third of her pint and slammed the glass on the bar grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat.
'C'mon.' She grabbed my arm and sashayed towards the rapidly filling dance floor. The distinctive organ strains of 'Green Onions' pulling our strings. We staked our claim to a small patch of brown and threw down our bags. Ali's moves to the funky grooves of Booker T were mesmerising. She was dynamite.
Always been the same. God knows how I got to be her best friend. Well, I can see what I get out of it, but Ali? We had picked up seamlessly after our separate sojourns at college and here we were back down 'The Limit' like the old days.
Up to now though, the evening had been dire and the drink was making me more morose. Panic was gnawing its way back to the surface. The funk gave way to grinding guitar solo and the gravel voice of Dan McCafferty . . . The only man she knew that sang in Braille – a typical bright quip from Ali. We both loved Nazareth's version of 'This Flight Tonight' and responded obligingly with synchronised bumps and grinds.
This little basement club had been home to the most progressive sounds of the early seventies. Now at the rump end of the decade, it looked like a scene from Hieronymus Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights. The DJ had been working his butt off to shake all these New Romantic types out of their reverie. It seemed they liked 'The Look' for posing, but ABC and Spandau Ballet was just not cutting it for them on the dance floor.
'This ain't no party this ain't no disco!' Ali shouted at the top of her voice, head bobbing as she jumped up and down. This was more like it; Talking Heads . . . this DJ must have our record collection! Ali was lost, thumping out the beat with one part of her body and picking up the melody with another. She was a stunner, not just on the outside. Some people are radiators some are drains. She could brighten any room. I suspect I am a drain.
My luck with men, such as it was, was down to her attracting them in the first place . . . I got the not so bad looking friend of the guy who was head over heels for her. Never lasted, though, beyond the obligatory second date . . . the one that allows him to decently dump you after the far too promiscuous first night.
I sometimes think I am her life's work. Way back in the second year at school, she saved me from isolation and bullying by getting me into the school netball team. God knows how she managed that, the gym teacher was a bit of a 'perve'; probably fancied her. She had continued to catch me through the family break up, cajole me through acne, coach me through 'A' levels and cheer me through college.
I don't think Ali can help me now though. The shadow of the Black Dog had fallen over me again. He was back bigger and darker. She doesn't get it of course. She has no idea what it feels like, the total despair. Sometimes I feel so distressed I don't know what to do. Of course I do what I always do and call her.
'I know what we need,' she had chirped, 'a night down 'The Limit'. A good old bop and maybe grab a fella'. That was her answer!
I hate her, how could she think all it takes is a night out? But here I am. What on earth am I doing here? Striking mirror poses to hers as she struts, a la Bryan Ferry, to 'Do the Strand'. Music . . . Always my healer, but it isn't going to work now, not this time.
To be fair Ali didn't have the whole story. I couldn't tell her on the phone. Some things are just too big. My anguish couldn't find the words and I have been such a fool.
'You take life too seriously,' she said. How could I tell her this really was serious? I had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. A fellow sufferer at the clinic had coaxed me into trying some alternative medicine. 'Try it man . . . it really lifts the spirit. They use it in medicine to ease the pain man!' And smack . . . there you had it, I am chasing the white stuff, in for a shit load of money and this guy menacingly close to trading me like a pimp because I can't pay. And my flat is in such state my landlord is threatening eviction. And I lost my job yesterday too.
Oh no, not now, Mr Handsome is moving in. Yep, about right, don't worry about me. She has draped her arms seductively round his neck, given me the wink and moved off to a quiet corner. Well, that's it for the night then. His friend is stood close by, as per usual. He smiles . . . not bad . . . teeth are clean. Which is more than can be said for some of the guys I have had to accommodate for money recently.
'Do you want to get out of here?' he mumbles. I nod and move toward the door. What am I doing? Just go home girl. It's cold and foggy out. I pull my coat round me and begin to shake. I blow the guy out. He is very angry but moves off towards the taxi rank swearing something about prick teasing bitches. I take off in the other direction, down the dark back streets of the city. It's a strange part of town. Just on the edge of the city centre's glossy shops and bars, there is this almost Dickensian quarter with alleyways and small terraced red brick houses and workshops. I suspect I am pounding the streets. That's what it would say in a novel. I just keep walking. Madness is creeping up on me and taking hold, I am helpless with the shaking and stumble into the wall. I need to rest so I slump down in a doorway sobbing.
God I wish I could just die, here, now. Get this all over with. I look up into the rain. How long has that been falling? Through the prism of tears and rain I can make out the grey slab of Kelvin Flats, Sheffield's notorious high rise experiment with people's lives. A corroded cliff face of concrete, shrouding social decay and despair.
Slowly like evil a thought starts to congeal in my brain. Yes . . . It's the perfect place. It's high, it's anonymous and so many have gone before. The Black Dog pants and slobbers at my side wagging its malevolent tail. Just finish this crap for good. No one would miss me. Well maybe little Miss Sunshine. Who else would make her look so good? What does she know about sadness and panic attacks?
What would Ali do if she felt like me? Put on a smile and skip down the road probably. Well let's just give that a little try shall we?
I stand up and move towards the block of flats sort of skipping with not so much as a smile, more a sneer on my face. Slowly at first, the Black Dog nipping my ankles. I think to myself let's just see if we can't outrun the old mutt. Other thoughts start to break through the fog. I could ask my Dad to lend me some money. We haven't spoken in years but that's down to me. Maybe he still loves me. He used to before Mum's poison kicked in. Yeah I could call him tomorrow. Then I could pay off the guy and then what. No job.
Well didn't Ali say she always had a place for me at her boutique? Mind you she did mention the other day that it wasn't doing too well? I wasn't really listening but now I think about it didn't she say something about creditors and bankruptcy. I was too wrapped up in my shit to really take any notice but clearly that door has closed. I could go travelling. Start off on a Kibbutz and meet like minded people who maybe wanted to travel round the world. Yeah, travel the world.
It was getting lighter now and hunger was nudging through the numbness, bringing me to the surface, into the here and now. I was starving. I stopped and rooted about in my purse and pockets and found a £1 note and some coins, enough . . . just. So, breakfast then, the great healer.
Where was I? This looks like Infirmary Road. I don't know this end of town that well but there is industry and where there is industry there are workmen and where there are workmen there are cafes open at ungodly hours. I spot the warm orange glow of electric lights. I know this place; it used to be the Brick Rabbit. The only vegetarian restaurant in the city! Some hippy dude had brought me here ages ago. It was in the evening and cheap as anything 'cos you could buy pints from the scummy pub next door. I remember the view was depressing even then. Kelvin flats were never going to be anyone's idea of good urban design.
Now it was a greasy spoon, and just what the doctor ordered. I pushed open the door and let the warm fatty air curl cosily around me. A few guys looked up then went back to their mugs of tea and page three. I ordered 'the works' and sat down. The early morning traffic was picking up and in the distance, sirens. It's like that this end of town . . . a bit rough. The sirens got closer and I cleared a peephole in the steamy window. Two police cars and an ambulance screeched into the weed ridden expanse of a car park at the base of the flats. Some guy is running across the empty space. He has staggered over the barrier on to the busy road and is now recklessly dodging the cars. He blasts into the café crying out through desperate sobs, 'Oh God, oh God . . . we were larking around, . . . I . . . I thought she was kidding. I . . . Jesus, what the f**k? I swear I thought she was just playing around. She jumped man . . . just jumped. Oh Jesus. I thought she was kidding.' He slumped down in the doorway, broken.
Horror slowly curled its knowledge through my brain. I know this guy don't I? I had seen him just hours ago all over my best friend like a rash. My stomach knotted and kicked up bile into my mouth. 'Dear God, no . . .'
I bolted to my feet and launched myself at him screaming, 'What have you done? Tell me . . . tell me. Tell me it's not Ali.' I am still beating him with my fists and screeching like a banshee when one of the workmen helped the policewoman pull me off him. Slowly and kindly they got the young man to his feet and escorted him to a panda car. He was still wailing and rocking like a mad man. The workman was cradling me in him arms. He felt like kindness and smelled of hard work. For now I think I am going to let him rock me. I won't move. Keep still. The dogs can't find you if you keep still. I won't move. Not yet.
There's going to be time enough for Ali's Black Dog to find me.