Sarah! Dancing with two men. Where had she been? She saw me, smiled, wormed her way through dancing bodies, got her mouth to my ear. ‘Hey.’ She pulled me closer. ‘How’s your night going?’

‘Yeah, good.’

‘The guys I’m with are Lebanese. Said they might want to take me home and, you know … fuck me.’

Biddy’s hand, her extra two-thirds finger, taking mine. I was still dancing, holding her.

‘What, all three of you?’ I said to Sarah.

‘I think so, yeah. Three heads are better than two, right?’ She looked jaunty, sexy, sane. I stood back, raised my hands to give her a high-ten. She pulled them down quickly. ‘Chris, they’re right there, please don’t do that.’

‘Sorry. I –’

Mel looked over, waved. Zac too.

My mouth at Sarah’s ear. ‘So … that’s good. I mean, if you’re OK with it.’

She smiled, kissed my cheek, made her way back to the men. Both in jeans, both in shirts, one tucked in, a leather belt, brass buckle.

‘What’s up?’ Biddy said, coming closer, dancing, holding my hips.

‘Sarah’s probably going home with a couple of strangers. She was just letting me know.’

Biddy raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, Chris, how does that make you feel?’

* * *

‘Dude, I haven’t seen her for a while,’ Zac said. He was sweating, quiff undone. ‘There’s another dancefloor upstairs.’

Biddy was about twelve sweaty bodies away, eyes closed, her arms in the air. The dishevelled Irishman was leering at her, trying to shimmy closer. Some men seemed to transform instantly on discovering Biddy’s relationship status, eyes rolling back in their heads, drool pooling between lip and gum as if she was theirs for the taking.

Men were pricks. All men. We were fucking pricks.

I stumbled up the stairs, eyes not working, squeezed past what felt like bodies coming downstairs. The music was a bit more chilled on the second floor, still banging, though. Trashed people, smashed people. I stumbled forwards, bumped into someone, spilt their drink, kept walking, not apologising.

Sarah, yeah – there she was, near the wall, kissing one of the Lebanese men, his hand on her back, her skirt hitched at the front, the other man’s hand between her legs.

I tapped her shoulder, mimed an apology. The men stopped groping her, backed off into the gloom. I raised my hands again, apologised to Sarah. ‘We’re heading soon. You going home with these guys?’

Both had stubble.

‘I think so, yeah.’ Her lips raw in the sweeping lights, her breath like the men’s, their sweat and cologne. ‘But we’re staying here a while longer.’

Yay. That meant Biddy and I could sleep in my bed, and Sarah could be dragged down a laneway by her hair and –

I leant in again. ‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. They’re harmless, Chris.’

‘Can you text, let me know you’re OK?’

‘Of course.’ She kissed my cheek, a deflating peck.