14.

Angel, Steph and I were huddled into Tim’s pint-sized bathroom. Angel was pressed up against the mirror, pouting and posing while she slathered her face in makeup; I was perched on the edge of the bath, wincing as Steph, standing in the tub, played with my hair. The room was soaked in perfume, a fitting scent for my first night out in the city. Steph’s iPod pumped dance tracks, which sounded to me like fingernails being scratched down a chalkboard to a doof-doof beat.

‘So what’s your cousin’s name again?’ asked Steph.

‘Tim.’

‘Tim, Timmo, Timmy,’ butted in Angel, swiping on an extra coat of mascara. ‘He has a nice … name.’

We all laughed. ‘He’s only in the lounge room,’ I said. ‘His head will explode if he hears all this.’

‘All done,’ announced Steph, tapping me on the arm. ‘Look in the mirror.’

I stood up to peek at my reflection over Angel’s shoulder. Thanks to Steph’s styling prowess, my hair now looked beautiful, not scruffy. She’d fashioned it into a half-up-half-down hairstyle: the top layer was pulled into a feminine fishtail braid that fell loosely over the rest of my hair, which Steph had curled into soft waves.

‘Wow,’ I gushed. ‘If I could marry this hair, I would. Like, I’d frock up and walk down the aisle so we could be together forever.’

‘It’s stunning,’ beamed Steph. ‘I’ll teach you how to do it sometime — it’s so easy. Okay, I better do my make-up now. I don’t want to look like a troll next to you two.’

Yeah, right, I thought. Steph was that rare breed of person who could wear a dress made of empty milk bottles and still look incredible.

Three quick knocks sounded on the bathroom door. For a moment I was taken back to the night when I’d met James and accused him of being a burglar. Then Angel snapped me back to reality.

‘Is that Tim?’ she mouthed.

‘Shhh,’ I hissed, then turned to face the door. ‘Tim?’

‘Cuz, can I grab you for a sec?’

I squeezed out of the bathroom and huddled with Tim in the hallway. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nice dress,’ he said, admiring the yellow fabric. ‘Looks sweet.’

‘Thanks. Kat loaned it to me.’ Not that she knew it.

‘So, ah, are you girls nearly done in there or what?’

‘Yeah, nearly. You guys ready to head?’

‘Er, there’s been a slight change of plans.’

Tim led me into the lounge room. It stunk of boys, aftershave and alcohol — a potent mix. The guys — two skinny-jean-clad party boys called Luca and Tran — were asleep. Luca was on the couch with his mouth wide open, while Tran was curled up on the floor in the foetal position.

A snort of laughter exploded from me and I clasped my hand over my mouth. ‘It’s not even nine. What happened?’

Tim scratched his head. ‘Dunno, they were just talking, then I guess they got comfortable, then fell asleep. That couch is damn comfy.’

I raised my eyebrow.

‘Okay, they may have overdone it last night.’ Tim swigged his beer. ‘My bad. I’ll get rid of them before we leave.’

I noticed Luca was drooling on my pillow. ‘Oh, brilliant.’

‘I’m still up for it and that’s all that matters, right?’ Tim said. ‘Oh, and James can’t make it either.’

My throat tightened. ‘You invited him?’

‘Yeah, roommate one-oh-one. But he’s staying at what’s-her-face’s joint again.’

‘All good, doesn’t bother me.’ Oh, but it did.

‘We’ll have a wicked time, especially if Stella can get us into that club,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard it’s epic.’

‘Steph, her name’s Steph. Yeah, I think her brother’s mate works the door.’

‘I hope you’re braced for the best night of your life, cuz.’

‘I’m braced, Tim. I’m braced for anything.’

Lights pulsed and the crowd heaved. The four of us were packed into a corner of the dance floor, bumping into everyone who squeezed past. A couple nearby were grinding and kissing, almost losing their tongues down each other’s throats. A lone older man in a navy suit bopped and swayed to the music while every woman in the bar avoided eye contact, lest he took it as an invite. A drunk redhead sloshed wine down my dress. Another guy blew cigarette smoke in my face.

‘I thought smoking was banned in clubs now?’ I coughed to Steph, trying to ignore the wine trickling down my back.

‘Yeah, it is, but anything goes here,’ she yelled. ‘Chill out, birthday girl. Relax and dance.’

And so I did. I danced, I twirled, I popped my butt out like I was a girl in a video clip and only fell over once. Okay, twice. The second time I was trying a complicated move with Angel, but our legs got interlocked and I crashed to the floor. Luckily, the lights were so dim no one could see. Well, that’s what I told myself.

A circle of girls danced next to us, their handbags piled in a heap in the middle of their group. One girl wore a tiara that flashed with the words ‘18 today’.

‘Aww, Jose, we should’ve got you one of those,’ said Angel. ‘Friend fail number two.’

‘I’ll sort this,’ said Tim.

He wandered over to the pack of dancing girls, and veered toward the one in the tiara. We watched Tim pull her aside to whisper in her ear. She listened, laughed, listened again. Then she took off her tiara, walked over to me and planted it on my head.

‘Happy birthday to you, too,’ she slurred, then grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bar.

My trusty trio scurried behind us, cheering.

‘Birthday shots!’ yelled Tim.

The girl, who I later found out was called Rachel, cheered when the bartender lined up our bright-blue drinks. Every time she woo-hooed, the nerves in my stomach clamped tighter. I’d never been a good drinker. The time I’d downed a shot of rum and impersonated Beyoncé in front of the most popular girls at school came to mind — if ‘impersonating Beyoncé’ meant falling over and gaining two bruises the size of butter plates on your butt cheeks. But there wasn’t time to worry about that. Both groups — Rachel’s girlfriends and my friends, who seemed to have formed a demented rumba line — egged me on.

‘Drink, drink, drink,’ they chanted.

I threw the fiery liquid down my throat and felt it burn and tingle. I let out a chain of swear words, then realised I had another shot in my hand. Rachel grinned, clinked her glass with mine and we downed them.

I can’t remember what happened next.

Well, that’s not quite true. I’d love to say I excused myself, thanked Rachel for the drinks and went on my way, successfully ringing in my milestone birthday without injury or folly.

Ha! What actually happened next began as a simple dance with Steph and Angel. I flopped around, screaming along with the lyrics at the top of my lungs. In our minds, we were rock stars. In reality, we were three drunk girls and one extraordinarily loose guy gyrating around the dance floor.

It only seemed like minutes, but when I stumbled out of the crowd for a drink break, I was as thirsty as if I’d danced for hours. I slapped my palm on the bar and asked for water. Lots and lots of water. The bartender rolled his eyes and pointed to the end of the bar where empty glasses and a jug of water sat. I yelped with delight and snatched up the jug, splashing water everywhere. Enough made it into the glass and I drank from it as though I’d been deprived of liquid for a week. Water had never tasted so good. I went back for another glass. This time, I sent a wave of water flying over a stocky balding man who was standing next to me.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I blurted out. ‘Here, let me help you.’

I reached over to brush at his shirt with an already-sopping napkin but he swatted my hand away.

‘Rack off, kid,’ he said, and stormed off, muttering to himself.

‘Don’t worry, his shirt looked cheap anyway,’ a guy said behind me. I turned around to see Billy smirking in his usual annoying way.

‘Billy!’ I said, my voice rising to chipmunk levels of squeakiness. I wondered how much he’d seen. It didn’t matter. It was clearly enough: the tiara, the drink stains on my dress, the way I was clinging onto the bar for dear life. Billy had arrived just in time to witness the Josie-turns-eighteen-like-an-idiot sequence. And there was probably enough footage for a sequel.

‘Let me help you with that,’ he said, leaning across to pour me another glass of water.

‘Thanks.’

‘So, eighteen, huh?’ he said, pointing at the tiara.

I sipped my water. ‘Yeah, I’m all grown up apparently.’

I swallowed, not sure what else to say. I found myself looking everywhere but at him. I stared at the bartender, who was shaking a cocktail; I eyeballed the poster-clad pillar in the middle of the club; I gazed up at the fluorescent light pulsating above the dance floor until I was almost sick with nausea. My head spun; the blue shots had clearly seeped through my system. I sensed Billy’s eyes tracing me from top to bottom, lingering on my face before moving further down.

‘You look good, Josie.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ I mumbled, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear.

‘So, did you get enough info from our latest chat?’ he asked. ‘It was fun.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘I do hundreds of interviews with journos around the world — you’re up there, trust me. Usually I struggle to stay awake because so many of them just drone on about themselves.’

I laughed. ‘You’re lying. I’m a total nobody! If you really knew me, you’d —’

‘No way,’ he interrupted. ‘Your work’s good. Fans have been printing off your articles and asking me to sign them.’

‘Serious?’ I couldn’t believe it.

He shrugged. ‘True story.’

And then it hit me. ‘Speaking of fans, shouldn’t you have a bodyguard or crew with you here?’

Billy pointed to a smoky roped-off area on the other side of the room. ‘They’re over there. I saw you by the bar and wanted to say hi.’

‘Oh …’ He did? I almost blushed.

It was hard to see what Billy’s entourage were up to — especially in my state — but I could make out a few details. A tall barrel-chested guard manned the rope, only lifting the bright-red cord for the sleekest of the club’s visitors. I watched him let in a twenty-something woman in a blue minidress and silver platforms. She tossed her blonde hair and kissed the guard on the cheek before taking her place among the group. I was so out of my depth.

Suddenly, we were interrupted by three hyperventilating women shrieking Billy’s name. Twin brunettes muttered, ‘It’s him, it’s him’ repeatedly to each other, while a redhead in a sparkly black dress pawed at his shoulder. ‘Billy, I love you so much. Can I grab a signature?’

He laughed. ‘Sure, darling. What’s your name?’

‘Hillary,’ she said, breathing heavily. ‘Can I get you to sign … here?’

Before anyone could stop her, she’d pulled down her dress and thrust a naked boob in his face. I repressed a snort of laughter while Billy played it cool.

‘Darling, on second thoughts, maybe not today,’ he said to Hillary and turned his back on the women. He clicked his fingers high in the air and two bodyguards appeared out of nowhere to drag the women away. The redhead’s cries of ‘But he didn’t sign my boob’ rang in my ears.

‘So …’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘Just another day in the life of Billy, huh?’

‘Let me buy you a drink to make up for that,’ he said. ‘I’m used to being hassled, but I didn’t wanna drag you into it.’

‘It’s fine, really, I’m not a big drinker … usually. Anyway, I thought you couldn’t drink any more after … well, you know.’

‘I can’t. But you can. Seriously, I owe you. You’ve been good to me, you and Sash. Especially you. Plus, it’s your birthday. I’m buying you one.’

This time I definitely blushed. ‘Um, fine then — but not the blue shots. Anything but them.’

Billy smiled at me. ‘I know just the drink. And I was wrong about saying you look good tonight … you look great. Gorgeous, actually.’

He leaned over the bar and ordered my drink while I stood awkwardly behind him, flushed as red as a ripe tomato. Moments later he spun around holding a cosmopolitan cocktail. I hadn’t seen any money change hands; the bartender had simply winked.

‘Alright, you coming?’ Billy gestured to his group sitting in the VIP section. ‘We’ll be able to hear each other talk better in there.’

‘I better not, my friends will —’

‘Probably not give a damn.’

I scoured the room and spotted them dancing in a large circle of excited Japanese businessmen. ‘Okay, but just for a minute …’

‘Great,’ said Billy.

As we walked over to the VIP section, his palm moved down onto my lower back, sending small tingles through my body. The guard lifted the red rope and, for the first time in my life, I was partying with the cool kids. Every second person had a cigar resting between their fingers. Bottles of champagne littered the low tables. If Holly Bentley could see me now, I thought. I recognised some of the other band members, either sipping wine or cuddling up to a hottie on a couch. Smaller groups of stunning (probably hand-picked) girls perched neatly on the couches, too, taking pouty photos of each other as they waited for their turn to chat with the guys.

Anthony — the other band member I’d accidentally annoyed mid-interview — made a beeline for Billy.

‘Mate, what’s going on?’ he asked Billy, glancing at me. I knew he really meant, ‘Mate, what are you doing bringing a random girl in here after everything that’s happened with your pregnant girlfriend?’

‘We’re cool, bro,’ Billy said. ‘Just chill.’

Anthony sighed. Billy ignored him and led me over to a spot on one of the couches. It was black leather and gorgeous; it smelled of luxury and rich people.

‘So, here we are.’ Billy smiled. ‘Cheers to us and a very happy birthday to you.’

‘Why, thank you,’ I replied and sipped on my cosmopolitan.

The couple to our left were getting increasingly caught up in their make-out session: the girl moaned softly while the guy pushed his body against hers. For the trillionth time that night, I blushed. And Billy noticed.

‘So you know I think you’re great, right?’ he said.

I didn’t get a chance to reply because suddenly he was pressing his lips against mine. The kiss was soft, unlike the kiss with Pete Jordan, and I felt myself give into it for a moment. But then I slapped him away. Hard. He had a girlfriend. A pregnant girlfriend.

‘What are you doing?’ I said, my words slightly slurred. ‘What about Kara?’

‘Is it because there are people around? Are you shy? Come back to my hotel then,’ whispered Billy, nibbling on my earlobe.

‘No, just … no.’ I pushed him off me. ‘This never happened.’

I stood up and stormed out of the roped-off area, my head blurrier than ever. And that’s when I saw him — James, standing at the bar, staring at me. He tipped his drink in my direction and gave me a small, stiff smile.

Oh crap, he must have seen the whole thing.

I didn’t know whether it was the mix of drinks, the cigar smoke wafting through the room or the fact that a gorgeous-but-taken pop star had kissed me in front of James, but the urge to vomit hit me hard. Operation Find A Toilet Before It’s Too Late was in full swing.

I lurched toward a darkened room, where I hoped to find the bathroom. Instead, I stumbled into a cocktail lounge with antique emerald-green lounges, vintage birdcages hanging from the ceiling and a stuck-up, well-groomed crowd. There were no fangirls in this room.

A waiter saw me with my hand clasped over my mouth and pointed in the other direction. ‘Run,’ he hissed.

I did.

I made the toilet stall, but the three milliseconds it took to get my head over the bowl were three milliseconds too many. There, in a five-star nightclub, I vomited down the back wall of the toilet cubicle.

Happy birthday to me.