Chapter 2

He followed her out the pub, not looking back. She lead him down the dark street, and his decision to go with her was one he knew he wouldn't regret as she smiled up at him in the moonlight that caught her hair and lit up her skin.

'Where exactly are we going?'

'Up the street, away from the crowds. Heading for the bright lights and the din of locals.'

'Are you a local?'

She smiled to herself. 'You could say that.'

'What made you come down here, then?'

'I told you, my friend Rose. I think it was a bit of a prank. That or it was a dare leftover from that stupid shot game I lost. But I've won, anyway. Rose won't believe this.'

'Won what?'

She turned, staring at him for a fraction before looking straight ahead of her.

'You.'

John didn't know what to think. He was probably being used...for something. His mind struggled with each oncoming thought. The word 'won' suggested he was a plaything they had caught like a bargain. But yet he didn't protest; he didn't turn round and admit that everything was rather beyond him. It was still that sense of intrigue he felt when Clara talked, and also the fascination of what faced him tonight.

'How many people?'

'A lot. Why, does that bother you?'

'Uh, not really.'

'Good. You might find it gets a little...heated.'

She gave him a coy smile that he responded with an equally suggestible smirk.

'I would get rid of the bowtie though. And the tweed.'

'Definitely not. Bowties are cool.'

'Jesus, where you from, the 40's?'

'Am I going to spoil the mood with my dorkiness?'

'No,' she decided, still staring at him, 'I think it's cute.'

'Well, that's something I don't hear everyday.'

'That's something I would never say. Don't tell anyone I told you that.'

He snorted. 'Course not.'

She came to a stop in front of a wall. She grinned at him invitingly and he laughed.

'No...you won't be able to get up-'

But she had already jumped and swung her legs over the other side of the wall.

'What the hell?'

'Shortcut,' She said, doing her hair back up, 'come on.'

'Seriously? You don't expect me to get up there, do you?'

'You're taller, aren't you?'

He shook his head up at her admirably. 'You're crazy.'

'I know.'

He could swear he saw red in her eyes, like a devilish gleam. It made him smile widely. Taking off his tweed coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves, he heard a 'woooo!' from above and threw up his jacket to her. Reaching to grip the brick, he tried to swing up the same way she did, but not too amazingly ended up on the floor.

'Woops.'

She laughed, biting her lip. 'Woops?'

'Yeah. Don't make fun of 'woops'.'

She snorted, laughing harder.

He tried again, but slipped, cutting his arm. It was only a graze, but it did sting.

'Here, let me help you.' She leaned down to offer her hand, which he gallantly took. With the other hand pushing with as much strength he had, he finally made it up albeit oddly, lying on his stomach and shuffling forward so he could swing his legs round. He looked like he was swimming, and his shirt got ripped violently across his midriff, but apart from that, he was okay. Below him was a surface covered with mud, the roof of some sort of unused building that lead down a backstreet. Clara was trying not to laugh at the whole ordeal, a hand covering her mouth and her eyes creasing. He smiled warmly at her.

'You ripped your shirt.'

'Ah well. It was old anyways.'

She stared down at the exposed flesh, as if she was about to tell him to take it off. He didn't know how he would react to that to be honest. After all, first meeting and he didn't necessarily have much of the confidence to go round half naked. He wasn't shy but certainly wasn't that outgoing. But then again, wasn't he heading straight for that sort of crowd? He looked down to see her legs swinging freely below her. She handed back his jacket and he gladly swept it over his shoulders.

'At least you finally made it.'

'Yeah, finally. Never done anything much like it though.'

'Climbing over walls? What generation are you from? It was practically my childhood.'

'I can see that.'

She raised her eyebrow alarmingly, almost insulted.

'No, no, not like that! I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

'No, it's fine.' She stood and smiled at him, taking his hand. He followed her to the edge of the other side.

'Just got up here, and now jumping down the other side! All the effort wasted.'

'I told you, shortcut. Unless you wanted to walk all the way round-'

'It would have been safer.'

She grinned. 'No one's safe.' And jumped down the side of the building like freaking spider woman. At this point he felt completely useless and untalented in every profession. Cautiously nearing the edge he sat on the brick wall first and after a few seconds impulsively jumped. He landed more or less safely, if you could call landing on the ground like he was proposing to her 'safe'. His knees ached as he didn't bend them as much as he should have, but apart from that, he was unscathed.

'And it's way more fun.' She told him from the floor, laughing once again at how ridiculous he looked on one knee in front of her.

'Now, stop proposing and let's go.'

He followed her through the street, and he faintly caught the sound of music blaring and people shouting.

'I hear the din.' He told her, strolling like he was taking a pleasant walk.

'Yep. A noise that infects you so much you find yourself coming back to it.'

'Hm. We'll see.'

As they approached the row of clubs, bars and pubs he found butterflies flying nervously around his stomach. For god's sake, John, he thought, you're a thirty year old man and you can't even take on the night scene. He took off his tweed jacket, hooking it round his little finger and throwing it over his back. He should have at least styled his hair differently too. After all, floppy hair over the side of one eye probably was a little too teenager-y. Clara noticed him slicking his hair, smiling amusedly.

'Keep it like that. It's interesting. And suits you.'

'No one's said that to me before.'

'Don't expect to hear it again.' She retorted, staggering briskly ahead to greet a person just outside the club. He swallowed. Here goes nothing. John stumbled slowly up to the two of them, standing beside Clara. She was talking to a blonde haired woman around the same age, if a little younger, with even longer lashes and defined lips. He grinned. All in one night he had encountered two very attractive woman, which was two more than usual. He was excited to meet more of them.

'Oh, met this one in the pub. The name's Doctor. Not a professional one, though,' She laughed, 'he's a writer.'

She looked him up and down, smiling suggestively. 'Doctor, eh? Sexy. I'm Rose.'

He smiled politely back, a glint in his eyes. 'Good to meet you, Rose.'

Together the three of them walked into the heaving club, the music at a voluminous level and instantly pounding through their heads. Clara nudged him, quietly whispering into his ear.

'By the way, if you meet anyone, you might want to clarify that 'Doctor' is an innocent name.'

'Why?'

'People will think you're a stripper or something if you call yourself that.' She smirked.

'What?'

She strode away from him, giving him an encouraging smile before heading straight to the bar. Right.

Now he was here and in the middle of a thriving club, of all places, the person he had befriended had gone off and he was left alone rather awkwardly. Still, he was always up to mingling. Anyway, it was clear from the way she walked ahead that she didn't want him to follow her around all night. He expected he'd see her soon though. John paved his way through the crowds, the blinding blue and purple lights blurring his vision just a bit. He hadn't really involved himself with this environment before, but for him it was exciting, like finding new cultural food. He was in the midst of a huge dance floor spanning the length of the club, the back holding poles, to which he swallowed. He'd probably steer clear of them for now. To the right was the long bar, and the opposite side were some booths lined along the wall. His hands rubbed together nervously, inspecting each passing face with a customary smile. He managed to chat to someone for a legendary record of ten seconds, ever moving on to the next person. By the end of the hour, he had actually engaged in a conversation with a pretty brunette that looked a little like Clara. Surprisingly, he didn't act as awkward as he thought he would. He had made her laugh at least twice, which was good, and with every minute they drew closer. Her name was something like Emily or Emma, but the music was too loud he hadn't heard her properly. She wore a tight fitting pink dress and held a champagne flute, while he stood recollectively against the wall.

'Do you come here often?' He asked her.

'Sometimes. Most Friday's and Saturday's. What about you?' She asked, sipping her drink.

'First time here,' he said matter-of-factly, cursing himself for telling her the embarrassing truth as she almost choked on her champagne.

'Brave,' she said, giving him that sweeping look he had been given quite a few times tonight, 'you're certainly not the sort we get round here.'

'I've been told that many times this evening.'

'I'm not surprised. Look at the bowtie.'

She reached out to poke it, giggling. At the mention of his bowtie he thought of Clara, who had made comment about it earlier. He scanned the crowds, but couldn't see her there amongst the throng of bodies. Too short, he remembered, and a smile appeared on his face.

'You've been to a club before, though?'

'Yeah. Well, once when I was nineteen.'

She almost spluttered again.

'Christ, you need to get out more.'

'Perhaps I should.' He said, giving her 'the look'. He liked flirting, but was shamefully awful at it. Emma/Emily seemed to catch on and laughed.

'Has anyone ever told you-'

'Yeah,' he chuckled, 'quite a lot.'

At that moment, Clara sauntered up to him.

'Doctor,' she smiled, 'there you are. Come on,' she gestured, pulling him by the arm to the bar.

'You alright, Clara?'

'Yeah.' She said, leaning against the counter.

'I was just speaking to, uhm...uh-'

'Janine.'

'What?'

'You were talking to Janine.'

'Oh.' He rubbed his head. Where the hell had he gotten Emily and Emma from?

'What do you want?' She asked him.

'Oh, I don't have anymore money.'

'It's fine.' She said, taking out a small wad of notes from the inside of her bra. His eyebrow lifted.

'So, you could have paid for your drink back in the pub.'

'You were the one who asked.'

'Ah, fair enough.' He grinned.

'Right,' she said, turning to the bartender, 'Four shots of tequila.'

As soon as she received them she turned to him mischievously, pushing two toward him.

'Come on then, let's see how good you are Chin Boy.'

'Chin Boy?!'

'Yeah,' she replied, her now recognisable Blackpool accent more blatant, 'have you seen the size of it? Now, drink up.'

He did as he was told and swallowed the burning liquid in as quick succession as he could. Clara was already finished by the time he had moved onto his second one. She laughed as he downed it, swallowing massively.

'You have a lot to learn.'

'Do I, really?'

'Yeah. But there's always plenty of time for that.' She winked.

John held a warm and fuzzy feeling in his stomach, a feeling of being accepted and liked and at home. He failed to see how this night could get any better.