As Greg walked away, Minnie turned to look out at the London skyline and shivered. The city exuded a sense of serenity in sharp contrast to the atmosphere of the club. The buildings were bathed in silver moonlight and the night sky was still and cloudless. Minnie wished she could transport herself to the top of another empty skyscraper just to lie down on the flat roof and gaze up at the stars, unfettered by other people.

‘Ten, nine, eight … ’ People were starting the countdown. ‘Seven, six, five … ’ Minnie looked at all the couples pulling together in anticipation of the midnight kiss. She was glad Greg wasn’t there to kiss her. She never understood why the end of the year had to be marked with the ridiculous convention of everyone locking lips in unison. People behaving like lemmings, following the herd. ‘Four, three, two, one, HAPPY NEW YEAR!’

An explosion of fireworks erupted in the sky, illuminating the city beneath in a shower of multicoloured lights. Huge bursts of energy ignited in the darkness, miniature universes flaring into existence only to fade to extinction moments later. Minnie wondered at all that effort for such a fleeting display of brilliance. The city buildings below looked still and stately, unmoved by the frenzy of activity above them. On the balcony of the club, the fireworks cast ugly shadows onto the spaced-out faces of intoxicated people, as they swayed and swerved through the crowd. Light shone into grimy corners, full of cigarette butts and discarded plastic glasses. A group of girls tottering about in high heels pushed into her and Minnie had to grab the railing to stay upright.

‘Happy Birthday to me,’ Minnie said quietly to herself. Then she felt a warm, wet sensation as one of the girls vomited down her back.

By the time Greg returned, the terrace had thinned out and Minnie was sitting on the floor by the railings waiting for him.

‘What are you wearing? Where’s your top?’ asked Greg. Minnie had folded her sodden shirt into her bag and was now only wearing a grey vest top with frayed spaghetti straps.

‘Someone was sick on my shirt,’ she said, hugging her arms around herself.

‘Oh dear. Well, it’s a bit X-rated like that.’ Greg cupped a hand in front of his mouth to make a pretend microphone. ‘Weather report in – there’s a storm in a D-cup presenting itself.’

‘Well, it’s this or vomit-couture,’ Minnie said, pulling up her top self-consciously. She’d never dream of wearing an outfit this revealing in public. She felt very exposed. ‘Did you find the party or not?’

Greg nodded. He led her back through the club, up another staircase and then through a double door covered in red velvet, pillared by two bald security guards.