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the right places; nipping in at her slimmer waist and
then flaring out over the still-curvy hips.
    Now Marie was having a fit over her hair. ‘So
long! It’s gorgeous, babe. Is it all yours?’
    ‘Yes,’ Raegan remarked in surprise. ‘Isn’t yours?’
    Marie threw her head back and laughed. ‘Of
course not! Extensions.’ She reached out to
finger one of Raegan’s long, red strands. ‘I’m so jealous!’
    Raegan thought Marie just was being polite. Her hair was
raggedy at best and she hadn’t even had a chance to style it - all the angst
earlier in the evening had drastically cut into her getting-ready time. But
Marie could see what her new friend couldn’t: Raegan could pull it off. Her
features were not conventionally perfect - there was a small gap between her
front teeth, her nose was slightly too long, her eyes narrow, and when she
grinned her dimples deepened into lengthy laughter lines -  but these irregularities,
like the golden dusting of freckles on her nose, only enhanced her peculiar
beauty. Whether she wore make up or not, an outsider could not fail to notice
the way that the deep, bracken red hair, delicately freckled skin and white teeth complemented the slanting, thickly lashed blue-green eyes
perfectly, or how her face lit up when she smiled.
    These natural charms, together with Marie’s flirtatiousness,
proved an instantly successful combination: they hadn’t even got inside yet but
were already attracting a great deal of attention. Most admiring of all were
the doormen, who soon ushered the pair to the top of the lengthy queue. A good start.
    Scurrying in thankfully and pulling her dress down, Raegan
found herself in a warm, rippling swarm of people, Marie at her side. She
wrinkled her nose as a mixture of aftershave and frying bacon wafted their way
and 1950s music filled her ears; but she was given no time to dwell on this.
Straight away her companion grabbed her hand and began manoeuvring them forcefully
through the throng, causing her to stumble momentarily and ricochet into an
unfamiliar, muscular chest. Flushing, Raegan shouted an apology over her
shoulder as Marie propelled her toward her quarry: a rare lone table which had
just been vacated. Leaping onto one of the stools before anyone could claim it,
Marie turned to Raegan with satisfaction.
    ‘Wicked! Best table in this place.’
Hopping off nimbly, she gave Raegan’s hand a quick squeeze. ‘So, fancy a drink?
They do good cocktails here but strong - I was off my face last time . Dad grounded me for a month!’
    Raegan could just imagine what Con and Bridey would say if
she came back drunk. It was not a happy thought. Looking over at the bar for
inspiration, she soon spotted a waiter wearing a paper hat, pouring something
pink, frothy, and calorific into a tall glass.
    It was a no-brainer.  ‘Ooh,
strawberry milkshake, please.’ Opening her purse, she pulled out a crisp
ten pound note.
     Marie shook her head. ‘It’s on me, birthday girl.’
    ‘But it’s not my birthday until tomorrow,’ Raegan protested,
laughing, but Marie waved her away.
    ‘Zip it! I’m just chuffed you’re not one of those girls who
only drinks Diet Coke. Bor-ing! Back in a sec.’
    As Marie disappeared into the crowd, Raegan climbed onto one
of the metal stools and balanced awkwardly, discovering with some discomfort
that these were the kind of chairs that looked good but caused your bum to
slide off at various angles unless you kept it clenched the entire time. Awesome. Shifting from one side to other and trying to find
a more stable position, she eventually gave up and perched on the edge,
surveying her surroundings with interest. There were low-slung red leather
booths surrounding the vinyl dancefloor where girls in promdresses were already
dancing. Guitars, memorabilia and black and white photos – she recognised Elvis
Presley amongst the faces beaming out at her – adorned the walls. Gaggles of
men and women of all ages queued up giggling