‘Alex.’
He doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. He’s got a willowy brunette on one side, a voluptuous blonde on the other and an army of good-looking men and women flanking them. This is what teenagers aspire to, I think as the table cuts into my shins and the white wine seeps through my dress and rolls down my back, gathering in a pool at the top of my buttocks. This is why they want to grow up to be ‘rich’ or ‘famous’ rather than doctors, solicitors or air stewards. There are probably a dozen paparazzi crammed outside the front door right now, waiting to earn their share of the riches by grabbing a shot of a footballer leaving hand in hand with a woman who isn’t his wife or a glamour girl falling into a car with her knickerless crotch exposed. But Charlotte wouldn’t have thought about any of that when she was introduced to Alex Henri – she wouldn’t have considered the dark side of this lifestyle – the superficiality, the lies, the drugs and alcohol problems and the hangers-on. She would have been dazzled by the bleached smiles, big hair, designer clothes and fat wallets. And who could blame her? This is a million miles away from the life she normally lives.
‘Alex Henri!’
Shouting his name gets his reaction and he looks up. It attracts the attention of several of his friends too.
‘Hey Alex, it’s past your bedtime!’ one of them shouts as the rest bray with laughter.
‘Your mum says you’re not allowed to play out any more,’ shouts someone else.
There’s a chorus of guffaws and snorts. Alex smiles too but I can tell from the way he’s twisting his cufflinks round and round that he’s nervous. He doesn’t know who I am or what I want.
‘Please maman,’ he says, looking me straight in the eye, ‘please can I stay out for another hour. I promise to be a good boy.’
The brunette on his right spits out her champagne as she explodes with laughter and one of the men reaches across the table and high-fives Alex.
‘I need to talk to you about my daughter,’ I continue. ‘My name is Sue Jackson. My daughter’s name is Charlotte. You met her a few weeks ago. You … spent some time together.’
‘Charlotte, you say?’ He pulls his mobile phone out from inside his jacket and presses a few buttons. I hold my breath, my heart thudding with apprehension. ‘A few weeks ago. Charlotte …’ he looks up and shakes his head. ‘Nope, no mention of shagging a fat British girl here.’
For a second I have no idea what he’s on about and then I understand. He thinks Charlotte looks like me. I think of my beautiful, slender daughter lying in her hospital bed and anger burns in my chest.
‘My daughter’s name is Charlotte Jackson,’ I repeat steadily. ‘You met her on the ninth of March. She’s the same height as me but she’s young, blonde and beautiful. Her eyes are the brightest green you’ve ever seen. She’s very distinctive looking.’
Alex shrugs. ‘I meet a lot of beautiful women.’ He looks away, at the blonde to his left and throws a lazy arm around her. She snuggles in gratefully and giggles at something he whispers in her ear. His friends turn away, back to each other and their glasses of champagne. I was entertaining for five seconds but Alex has established that the show’s over now.
‘You took her into the club toilets, Alex.’
The room falls quiet. The blonde looks at me in surprise, a man in a grey t-shirt and silver cross necklace says ‘get in son!’ and Alex Henri looks at me blankly. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a bald man in a dark suit and lilac tie frown and try to catch Alex’s attention. He looks familiar but I can’t work out why.
‘You took her to the toilets,’ I say again. ‘I want to know what happened.’
‘What the fuck do you think happened?’
‘Want me to show you, Granny?’
‘He read her a bedtime story, didn’t you, Alex?’
The comments come at me like mortar fire. The laughter has stopped and the air is charged with aggression. The parasites think I’m attacking their host and they’re on the defence. I look at the floor, just for a second. When I look back up I’ve dressed myself in an invisible coat of emotional armour. They continue to shout insults at me but now I shrug them off.
‘I’d like to talk to you alone please, Alex.’ I say steadily. ‘My daughter is desperately ill in hospital and I think that what happened here that Saturday night might have something to do with it.’
‘Enough.’ Alex stands up, his expression grim, all traces of amusement gone. He looks towards the corner of the room and clicks his fingers.
‘Please,’ I say as two security rooms start towards us. ‘I just need five minutes of your time. I’m not accusing you of anything. I need to find ooph—’
The words are knocked out of me as I’m yanked backwards, out of the throng of bodies, away from the table, away from Alex.
‘She was fifteen!’ I shout as I’m frog-marched towards the stairs. ‘She was underage, Alex.’
‘Only fifteen!’ I shout again as I’m half-marched, half-dragged across the nightclub. ‘Alex Henri, she was fifteen.’
People stop talking and stare. The music continues its relentless thump, thump, thump but the room may as well be silent. All eyes are on me. A girl nearby sniggers. ‘Your mum’s pissed again,’ someone says. A man guffaws and spits out his beer.
I stop shouting as the humiliation sinks in.
‘Enough!’ I dig my heels into the carpet and squirm from side to side to try and loosen the guards’ grip on my upper arms. ‘That’s enough! I’m leaving. You don’t have to throw me out.’
They share a look then warily release their grip.