Bambers was packed by the time Quinn arrived; he couldn’t get over how popular it was. Clusters of teenagers were crammed into the room, swaying self-consciously to the music. In the middle of the dance floor the older, drunker kids were taking up all the space, swinging each other around, screaming the words to ‘Around the World’ by ATC. The air smelt of cheap Superdrug body spray with ‘going out’ names like Twilight Seduction or Midnight Mist. Sweat hung in the air like in a hot locker room after games. Disco lights were set up at the far end, strobing circles of red, blue and green that jumped across the ceiling of the dimly lit hall. A DJ was on decks in front of the kitchen kiosk, a purple banner covered in musical notes that read ‘Music Melvin’ was draped over the kiosk. There was a trestle table bar selling soft drinks, crisps, and those glow sticks you snapped in half to make them work. The table was being manned by the usual selection of mums – the kind of mums who baked cupcakes with 2004 written on in gold icing, the mums who came early to help hang paper bunting and label Coke bottles with stickers saying one pound.

‘Quinno!’ called a voice across the hall. Quinn looked up to see Matt strutting towards him. ‘Quick, have some of this.’

Matt handed him a bottle of warm Coke that smelt like it was 80 per cent vodka. Quinn took a sip and tried not to gag.

‘Painter’s already pulled,’ said Matt, elbowing Quinn in the ribs.

Matt was short with pointed features and deep-pitted acne across his chin and the lower half of his cheeks. He was friendly, funny and brilliant at football, but he didn’t get much attention from girls even though, recently, girls were all he talked about. ‘Fucking Painter, look at him!’ Matt pointed out Paul Painter, a well-built blond rugby player in their year. He had his arm around a girl in a black velvet minidress over by the vending machine that only sold out-of-date crisps.

Quinn felt one of the phones in his pocket buzz. His mother was texting him already. He slapped his friend on the back and handed him back the bottle of Coke.

‘You won’t make it to midnight if you drink this.’ Quinn looked around the room to see who else he knew. ‘Is Jonesy here? Patel?’

‘Jonesy’s smoking. Patel said it was all lame twelve year olds and went to try the pub; says he knows the doorman, such bollocks. Have this, I’ve got plenty.’ Matt handed him back the Coke.

Quinn felt his shoulders begin to relax as he took another sip of alcohol.