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heartbeat. The darkness of the room, combined with the ever-changing light display up on stage and the alcohol in his system, seemed to scramble Logan’s senses, to blur individual bodies into a single pulsing mass of humanity. Feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, Logan felt instinctively he should head for the light, and so began to push through the crowd towards the stage, at first muttering ‘Excuse me’ as he barged his way through, and then, following his ball player’s instincts, simply lowering his head and charging forward.
    If anyone protested or tried to stop him, Logan wasn’t aware of it. He simply kept pushing until there was nothing left to push against. When he finally raised his head it felt like surfacing from a warm pool. He was drenched in his own and other people’s sweat, his shirt sticking to him like another layer of skin. Right in front of him, level with his face, was the edge of the stage. The music was so loud now that his whole body seemed to be convulsing with it. He looked up.
    And there was Sam B, prowling from one side of the stage to the other like a caged tiger. He was scowling aggressively, jabbing at the audience as he spat out his lyrics. He looked much angrier up on stage than he did in real life. He was bare-chested, a huge, gold ‘B’ pendant swinging on a chain round his neck. There was more bling round his wrists, and his stomach was imprinted with a tattoo – a black skull above a pair of crossed Uzis. He looked fit and predatory, totally in his element.
    Logan was impressed in spite of himself – and more than a little envious too. He turned and peered drunkenly into the crowd. They were clearly enjoying themselves, grinning and bouncing and punching the air. There
had
been a time when Logan himself had enjoyed this kind of adulation – crowds cheering and whooping; girls wanting to fuck him; guys wanting to
be
him. All at once, standing there alone, he felt a wave of self-loathing sweep over him. Not quite knowing why he was doing it, he turned and waved his arms.
    ‘Sam! Hey, Sam!’ he yelled.
    It was only when the rapper carried on as if he wasn’t even there that Logan realized he
did
know why he was trying to grab his attention. It was because he wanted Sam to acknowledge him, to bathe him in a little reflected glory. The fact that Sam didn’t even look at him caused a red mist to descend in front of his eyes.
    ‘
Fuck you!
’ he screamed at the stage. Then he turned and barged his way back into the crowd. ‘Out of my fucking way!’ he snarled.
    People took one look at his wild eyes and stepped aside. Logan wondered how many of them recognized him, or half-recognized him, or maybe thought he looked vaguely like someone they might once have known. Fame was the best thing in the world when you were standing on its summit, looking out at the view. But he couldn’t believe there was a worse feeling than sliding back down the mountain and realizing there was nothing to stop you from hitting the bottom. To have been famous once and then to have lost it was surely worse than never having been famous at all. It was worse too, in its way, than the end of a relationship, or even the death of a loved one. In Logan’s opinion it was easy to find love again – people did it all the time. But how many famous people, once they had hit the slippery slope, managed to reverse the fall and make it back to the top of the mountain?
    He was halfway through the crowd when he spotted Purna. She was standing alone, arms folded, eyes fixed intently on the stage. Making a snap decision, he staggered towards her.
    ‘Hi,’ he shouted above the music.
    She looked momentarily startled, which gave Logan a vicious ripple of satisfaction. She’d seemed so in control before that it felt good to scratch her veneer a little bit.
    ‘Hi,’ she said guardedly.
    He nodded towards the stage. ‘So whaddya think?’
    ‘He’s good.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not my kind of music, but …