‹ Prequel: Like A Magpie
Sequel: Riding On The Night Train ›
After Midnight
Edge of Unknown
Midnight had come and gone. The empty streets were dark and wet with fresh autumn rain that shone in the amber light from the streetlamps above his head. A cold breeze was just beginning to whip up the night air, rustling what was left of the leaves on the trees and drawing goosebumps across the back of his neck.
He shivered, pulling the hood of his long, black coat up over his head. He didn’t mind the weather, not really. He had missed London, missed its people and its cold streets, but it was more than just a gladness to be home that was stirring his heart that night. There was a weight to the air, a whispering sense of anticipation behind the silence. Anything or nothing could happen on a night like this.
His toe kicked up a discarded, crumpled drinks can and he felt his heart skip, as its metallic clatter pierced the quiet. He smiled down at the damp ground, chuckling a little at his own skittishness, then turned the corner onto another shadowy street.
He could hear voices. Faint, at first. Laughing, chattering, youthful. It felt unusual, against the stillness of the night, but he knew it wasn’t. It didn’t matter that it was Sunday night, fast becoming Monday morning. London didn’t sleep and, clearly, neither did he.
The voices gained volume and clarity as he passed the chapel. Its darkened doorway was closed against the night but, across the street, he could see the warm glow of Islington’s lights, merry nocturnal revellers giggling on their way out of the tube station, and then the source of those chattering voices. Lining the street was a winding, twitching trail of people, snaking its way from a yet-unopened club doorway, along the street and around the corner, out of sight.
He paused for a moment, with interest. His view was, briefly, obscured by a slowly trundling double-decker bus, before he could see them again, excitement and tension radiating from the crowd, who didn’t seem to notice the chill to the air. He raised an eyebrow, in thought, wondering why they were waiting outside a club that was already closed and intrigued by the brightness in their faces and the gaiety in their babbling voices. Just what was worth waiting in the cold for, on a night such as this one.
Nobody noticed him approach, far too caught up in their own business, and he paused by a girl in the middle of the line, crouched on the ground against the dirty wall, with her hood pulled over her head and her eyes focussed on the glowing green light coming from the screen of her phone.
“Hey...”
She looked up, scrunching her eyes a little against the moisture that hung in the air.
“Hi. You’ll need to join the back of the queue, y’know. I’ve been here four hours.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Wow,” he replied, amused, “Waiting for what? What’s the deal?”
The girl put her phone in her pocket.
“The Hot Tubs.” Off his blank expression, her eyes gave the slightest of rolls. “Y’know...
Green Day... side project? They’re on their way over from Wembley, the doors are opening any minute.”
Mika felt his stomach drop at her words, his eyes landing on the yet-unopen doors of the club’s entrance.
“Green Day?” he repeated. He heard his voice break, slightly, in the middle. “... Here?”
“Yeah, secret show,” she responded, lightly, “If you join the back of the line, you might get in.”
“... I might get in?”
His eyes remained fixed on the doorway, the carrier bag he was on his way home with dangling from his fingers. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known the band were in town. There were posters everywhere, it was difficult to miss. But almost a year had passed since he had seen the year in with Billie Joe and they hadn’t spoken since. He didn’t harbour any resentment; he wouldn’t have known how to contact him, even if he had felt he should. Now, here he was, on a cold November night, somewhere between the cosy warmth of his own apartment and the edge of the unknown.
“Yeah, you might,” she told him, breaking his thoughts, “Not if you stand there staring though, someone’ll kick you out. There are some crazy people in this queue.”
He turned to her.
“Are you crazy?”
She shrugged, opening her mouth to respond at the same moment he pulled his hood down and gave his head a shake, droplets of rainwater falling onto his shoulders.
“I’m... wait a sec...” Her frown lifted, in cautious realisation. “Aren’t you...?”
He shivered, pulling the hood of his long, black coat up over his head. He didn’t mind the weather, not really. He had missed London, missed its people and its cold streets, but it was more than just a gladness to be home that was stirring his heart that night. There was a weight to the air, a whispering sense of anticipation behind the silence. Anything or nothing could happen on a night like this.
His toe kicked up a discarded, crumpled drinks can and he felt his heart skip, as its metallic clatter pierced the quiet. He smiled down at the damp ground, chuckling a little at his own skittishness, then turned the corner onto another shadowy street.
He could hear voices. Faint, at first. Laughing, chattering, youthful. It felt unusual, against the stillness of the night, but he knew it wasn’t. It didn’t matter that it was Sunday night, fast becoming Monday morning. London didn’t sleep and, clearly, neither did he.
The voices gained volume and clarity as he passed the chapel. Its darkened doorway was closed against the night but, across the street, he could see the warm glow of Islington’s lights, merry nocturnal revellers giggling on their way out of the tube station, and then the source of those chattering voices. Lining the street was a winding, twitching trail of people, snaking its way from a yet-unopened club doorway, along the street and around the corner, out of sight.
He paused for a moment, with interest. His view was, briefly, obscured by a slowly trundling double-decker bus, before he could see them again, excitement and tension radiating from the crowd, who didn’t seem to notice the chill to the air. He raised an eyebrow, in thought, wondering why they were waiting outside a club that was already closed and intrigued by the brightness in their faces and the gaiety in their babbling voices. Just what was worth waiting in the cold for, on a night such as this one.
Nobody noticed him approach, far too caught up in their own business, and he paused by a girl in the middle of the line, crouched on the ground against the dirty wall, with her hood pulled over her head and her eyes focussed on the glowing green light coming from the screen of her phone.
“Hey...”
She looked up, scrunching her eyes a little against the moisture that hung in the air.
“Hi. You’ll need to join the back of the queue, y’know. I’ve been here four hours.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Wow,” he replied, amused, “Waiting for what? What’s the deal?”
The girl put her phone in her pocket.
“The Hot Tubs.” Off his blank expression, her eyes gave the slightest of rolls. “Y’know...
Green Day... side project? They’re on their way over from Wembley, the doors are opening any minute.”
Mika felt his stomach drop at her words, his eyes landing on the yet-unopen doors of the club’s entrance.
“Green Day?” he repeated. He heard his voice break, slightly, in the middle. “... Here?”
“Yeah, secret show,” she responded, lightly, “If you join the back of the line, you might get in.”
“... I might get in?”
His eyes remained fixed on the doorway, the carrier bag he was on his way home with dangling from his fingers. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known the band were in town. There were posters everywhere, it was difficult to miss. But almost a year had passed since he had seen the year in with Billie Joe and they hadn’t spoken since. He didn’t harbour any resentment; he wouldn’t have known how to contact him, even if he had felt he should. Now, here he was, on a cold November night, somewhere between the cosy warmth of his own apartment and the edge of the unknown.
“Yeah, you might,” she told him, breaking his thoughts, “Not if you stand there staring though, someone’ll kick you out. There are some crazy people in this queue.”
He turned to her.
“Are you crazy?”
She shrugged, opening her mouth to respond at the same moment he pulled his hood down and gave his head a shake, droplets of rainwater falling onto his shoulders.
“I’m... wait a sec...” Her frown lifted, in cautious realisation. “Aren’t you...?”