The Lost Guide to Life and Love. Sharon Griffiths

       Chapter One

      Suddenly, the photographers stopped slouching and snapped to attention. They threw their cigarettes into the gutter and hoisted cameras into position, jostling for space and a good angle as the limo glided right up to the red-carpeted steps.

      Dazzling flashes of light filled the autumn air alongside shouts of ‘Over here, Clayton!’ ‘Give us a smile, Tanya!’ ‘This way, darling!’

      Before the limo pulled away, two taxis arrived. More shouts, more flashing lights. A glimpse of the top of a blonde head, a sparkle of jewellery, a protective male arm. Then a glimpse of expensively cut jackets and a fluid athletic movement as more men sprang from the taxi almost before it had stopped.

      Our queue pushed forward, straining to see. ‘Who is it?’ I asked Jake, as I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to jump up and look. My view was blocked by the huge presence of the security man, whose massive head seemed to grow straight out of his shoulders, his broad chest straining the seams of his jacket.

      ‘Clayton Silver and some other footballers, I think,’ said Jake, over his shoulder, ‘and a couple of those girls off Hollyoaks or EastEnders.’

      ‘Oh, I hope we get in!’

      The footballers and their glittering girls went in through the canopied entrance, shielded from view by a phalanx of security men and the tubs of trees on each step. The taxis sped off, the cameras stopped flashing, the photographers went back to slouching and the queue pushed forward, impatient to be in. A beautiful young man in an impossibly tight shirt was checking names off on a clipboard. Ahead of us a group of girls—all long legs, long hair, huge eyes and glossy, scarlet lips—were pleading with him, but it was no good. He shook his head. The security men motioned them away out into the dark. The rest of us watched, fearful that we too would be rejected. It’s probably easier to get into heaven than Club Balaika.

      When Jake had said he knew someone who knew someone who could maybe get us in, I was first of all stunned that he’d suggested it. Not normally his sort of thing at all. But things hadn’t been too good between us. We had hardly been out together for ages, so I guessed this was his way of making up for being so offhand lately. I’d agonised