Out of Place

Rachel was emptying the last few drops of beer into her mouth and laughing at the guy in a hoodie on a hot summer night trying to flirt with her friend when she felt the phone vibrate in her bag. She’d been trying not to think about him all night, trying her best to enjoy that once-a-year uniquely London event known as Notting Hill Carnival, but she couldn’t stop herself from checking it immediately.

I’m sorry about earlier. I really want to see you. I’m at a cool party. You should come! Bring Katie too if you want.

“Is it him?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s at a party. He says it’s cool. Do you want to go?”

“I’ve got work tomorrow. Damn, I should have taken the day off too.”

“Oh, come on…”

“I can’t, Rach. You know where you’re going?”

Rachel messaged him back. Katie’s got work tomorrow. I want to come though. What’s the address? He sent his live location immediately.

“It’s just round the corner.”

“Okay. Be safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She gave Katie a quick hug and watched her head to the tube station with the throngs of other weary revellers on their way home. Rachel fished a little hand mirror out of her bag, touched up her lip gloss and headed in the direction of the party, nervous but excited.

Wow, this is a fancy neighbourhood, she thought as she wandered past huge houses with large, close-cropped lawns and sweeping driveways. There was not a speck of litter in sight, even at the end of the three-day long carnival. It was quiet, eerily quiet, and the warm, humid evening suddenly felt oppressive in these calm, silent, perfect streets.

She’d spent the day and most of the night running round the mad August streets of Notting Hill and Ladbroke Grove with Katie, cheering for steel drum bands and colourful, feathered parade dancers, feasting on fiery jerk chicken and sweet, sticky plantain. With greasy hands they’d clutched tins of Red Stripe they’d bought for a few quid from a guy with a wheelie bin full of ice, and they’d floated from street to street dancing to the changing sounds of soca, reggae, dancehall, afrobeats.

Rachel had only walked a few streets but she felt a world away from the sheer elation and vibrancy and joyous atmosphere of central Notting Hill. This was an after-carnival party but…it didn’t feel like carnival here.

She kept checking the location on her phone, feeling a little anxious about how quiet the neighbourhood was, and how affluent it seemed. She arrived at a giant brick house with lanterns leading up the long drive way to the fancy glass and wood front door. A brand-new Range Rover and an expensive but tasteful sports car were parked in the driveway. She felt out of place with her still-sticky fingers and old shoes scuffed from a whole day of dancing. She knew she smelled like sunscreen and beer. How on earth did he end up here? she wondered.

Intimidated by the impressive front door, she decided to message him instead of ringing the bell. After all, she had no idea who these people were and if they even knew she was coming. The place wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting. She had no idea how big this party was, and she couldn’t hear any noise coming from inside.

I’m at the front door.

Rachel nervously checked her reflection in the mirror again, and fidgeted with her jewellery. She wished Katie was here. Katie was great at meeting new people.

Hold on. I’m coming up.

Coming up?! Where the hell is he?

She’d been so excited when she got the message about the party and yet now she was here, she wasn’t sure about this. After a few Red Stripes she had really wanted to see him and make up after their fight that morning, but she was starting to think that this wasn’t the right time or the right place.

He swung open the heavy wood door and smiled widely. He looked…different. The smile was too wide, too toothy. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? she thought, taken aback.

“I’m sorry about this morning. I’m so glad you’re here,” he said in her ear as he wrapped her in a big hug.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“It’s so hot!” He laughed and grabbed her hand. She frowned at his bare back and followed him over the threshold.

She gaped at the expansive entrance hall and the huge staircase in front of her. It was the kind of staircase you would find in a stately home, except more modern. The whole place was formidably luxurious: contemporary, unique, interior-designed. People were draped up and down the stairs, smoking listlessly. They didn’t even look up as Rachel and Jack walked through the hall.

A girl in a sparkly sequinned dress was staring at herself in the hallway mirror, unmoving and seemingly unseeing. Rachel spotted another shirtless guy lying along the stairs. What is going on here?

A woman in flares, a crochet crop top and a silver headscarf came rushing up and flung a sweaty arm around Rachel’s shoulders.

“Oh my gosh, I LOVE your outfit! This dress is simply divine. You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.”

“Uhh, thanks...”

“When did you get here? I didn’t see you before!”

“Oh, I just got here now. Jack invited me.”

“Oh, Jack is hilarious! I just LOVE him! Don’t you?”

“Um, yeah, he’s great I guess.” Rachel stammered, looking at him quizzically. He laughed and shrugged. “What’s your na-” she started to ask, but the sweaty girl turned heel and marched off into the dark depths of the house.

“Who was that?” she asked Jack.

“Dunno,” he laughed.

“What do you mean you don’t know? She said she loves you and you’re hilarious.”

“Well yeah, we just met tonight but I can’t remember her name. She’s cool though.”

“So wait, whose house is this?”

“It’s Spencer’s.”

“Spencer who?”

“Dunno. I met him tonight as well.”

“Hang on, you just met all these people tonight?”

“Yeah. Met them at carnival. Got to chatting, they invited me here to party after.”

“There’s weird vibes in this place, Jack. How long have you been here?”

“What you on about? I’ve been here a couple of hours. They’re cool. You’ll see.”

“You said it was a fun party. There’s just one weird girl in a crop top and a bunch of people almost passed out on the stairs.”

“The party’s down in the basement. Come on.”

He led her down yet more stairs and into a huge open-plan kitchen-basement-living room. Some kind of vaguely hypnotic, downtempo electronic music was playing quietly and the room was almost completely dark except for some a few weak lamps dotted around the room. A huge wall of glass looked out into the pitch-black garden, and the few guests milling around were dimly reflected in its windows like sad, half-remembered ghosts.

“You want a drink? There’s vodka, whisky...”

“Is there any beer?”

“Uhh, not sure. Check the fridge.”

“I can’t just help myself to things out of this guy’s fridge. I haven’t even met him yet.”

“Sure you can, he doesn’t care. Oh hey, here he is. Spencer, this is my girlfriend, Rachel.”

Rachel jumped and turned back from the fridge guiltily. Spencer (also without a shirt on) was leaning across the marble kitchen island. He was smiling widely, although his eyes were vacant.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she stammered.

“Hey. Good to meet you. Help yourself to anything you want, no worries.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s really kind.”

And then he wandered off into the dark recesses of the living room and slumped down next to a guy who was already sprawled on the sofa, smoking silently with his eyes closed. The smoker wasn’t wearing a shirt either.

“Jack, why is nobody wearing a bloody shirt in here?”

“What’s your problem?! It’s so hot tonight!”

“I mean, it’s really not that hot Jack. It’s warm, sure, but it’s not, like, so hot that clothes are unbearable.”

He shrugged. “Are you still pissed off? I thought if you agreed to come then you would have chilled out.”

“I was actually in a really good mood until I got here. Carnival with Katie was so much fun. But something’s weird here, Jack. The atmosphere is so off. The people are weird. Don’t you feel it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This place is awesome. Isn’t the house amazing?”

“Yeah, the house is great. So… it’s Spencer’s house? What does he do? How can he afford this huge place in the fancy part of Notting Hill?”

“Dunno. I didn’t ask.”

“Wait. You met this guy at carnival and have been with him all night. You get on so well he invites you back to this pretty intimate party, says you can invite people, you’ve been here for hours, and you don’t even know what he does for a living?”

“We didn’t get round to talking about that.” A frown was starting to form on his face,

“So what exactly have you been talking about with these people all night? And when did everyone take their shirts off?”

“What is it with the shirts, Rach?”

“It’s just weird, Jack! You said it was a cool party. I was expecting a really fun night, you know, an extension of carnival with everyone still drinking beer and dancing to soca until the wee hours. But… it feels like this party’s over. There’s only like ten other people here and everyone’s weirdly lifeless except for that one girl who was a little too loud and bubbly. And this music is so downbeat and depressing. And you don’t even know any of them and yet you’ve all taken your shirts off together! It’s bizarre.”

She had a nagging feeling that something really strange was going on. The slow electronic beats had an ominous feeling that she couldn’t put her finger on. And Jack was acting so weird.

“I think I’m gonna go.”

“No, come on. I really wanted to see you. Let’s just have a beer and chat for a bit.”

Jack grabbed two beers from the fridge and placed them in front of her. He turned on the hanging spotlight above the island. And suddenly, she saw it. An expensive, enormous wooden chopping board covered with lines of white powder and rolled up banknotes.

“What the fuck is that, Jack?”

He looked at her.

She glared back. She looked around and saw more placed strategically around the room, as casually as chips and dip at a normal party. Rachel was horrified. She was a good girl, from a good family, with a good job where she worked hard and never took a day off sick. She had never even seen an illegal drug in her life.

Appalled, she grabbed her bag and marched out.

“Wait!” Jack rushed after her into the dark hallway. “Please, wait.”

“What is going on here, Jack? What kind of people are these? Why the hell did you bring me somewhere like this?”

“Come on, Rachel, just calm down.”

“Calm down! CALM DOWN! I knew there was something weird going on here. This is disgusting, Jack. This is insane. Drugs lying around on wooden boards like a fucking cheese selection. How can you be okay with this?!”

“Please calm down, Rachel.”

“Do not tell me to calm down. You know very well how I feel about illegal drugs. You told me this was a cool party. I thought we were going to drink beer and dance to soca. I had no idea you were bringing me into a drug den.”

“You’re exaggerating. This isn’t a drug den.”

“Yes, it is. Oh my god, it’s out here too. It’s everywhere! Just because they’re posh, doesn’t mean it’s not a drug den. Doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. Imagine if the police came. They’re all rich and upper class, Jack. They’ll be fine. But we’re not.”

“Why would the police come though? They’re not going round these kinds of neighbourhoods searching for drugs.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. They’re going round neighbourhoods like ours, like where you grew up, like where I work, punishing kids without many choices in life who get mixed up in this stuff and get sucked into supplying it to rich arseholes like these who will never suffer any consequences for it. Doesn’t that disgust you? The double standard? The two-tiered society?”

The girl in the flares bounced out of the bathroom with her arm round the sequinned dress model, sniffing conspicuously and giggling.

“Oh darling, don’t cry. What a wonderful night we’re having! Come for a smoke with us.”

Rachel shook her head, tears of anger clouding her vision. She looked at Jack pointedly. He shrugged and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She ran up the stairs and slammed the door behind her. He didn’t follow.