“Not many Traceys, lots of Fionas,” he announced in our own private code. Traceys are bimbos, the natural successors to groupies. Blonde, busty and fashion-obsessed, if they had a brain they’d be dangerous. Fionas share the same characteristics but they are the rich little upper-crust girls who would have been debutantes if coming out had not become so hopelessly unfashionable with everyone except gays. They like rock stars because they enjoy being with men who lavish them with gifts and a good time, while at the same time shocking their families to the core. So Jett liked Fionas, did he? And Fionas meant designer outfits, an item singularly lacking in my wardrobe.

I flicked moodily through the hangers and ended up with a baggy long cotton shirt splashed with shades of olive, khaki, cream and terracotta that I’d bought on holiday in the Canaries the year before. I pulled on a pair of tight terracotta leggings. That was when I knew the motorway sandwiches had to go. Luckily, the shirt covered the worst of the bulges, so I cinched it in at the waist with a broad brown belt. I finished the outfit off with a pair of high-heeled brown sandals. When you’re only 5’3”, you need all the help you can get. I chose a pair of outrageous earrings and a couple of gold bangles, and eyed myself in the mirror. It wasn’t wonderful, but it was better than Richard deserved. Right on cue, he said, “You look great. You’ll knock them dead, Brannigan.”

I hoped not. I hate mixing business with pleasure.

Chapter   2

We didn’t have to scramble for a parking place near the Apollo Theater, since we live less than five minutes’ walk away. I couldn’t believe my luck when I discovered this development halfway through my first year as a law student at Manchester University. It’s surrounded on three sides by council housing estates and on the fourth by Ardwick Common. It’s five minutes by bike to the university, the central reference library, Chinatown, and the office. It’s ten minutes by bike to the heart of the city center. And by car, it’s only moments away from the motorway network. When I discovered it, they were still building the little close of forty houses, and the prices were ridiculously low, probably because of the surrounding area’s less than salubrious reputation. I worked out that if I pitched my father into standing guarantor for a hundred percent mortgage and moved another student into the spare room as a lodger, I’d be paying almost the same as I was for my shitty little room in a student residence. So I went for it and moved in that Easter. I’ve never regretted it. It’s a great place to live as long as you remember to switch on the burglar alarm.