You Can't Hurry Love

Chapter Twenty-Seven

We reach the bar Isaac works at in record time, only unlike before when we were standing outside the café in Kew Gardens, Ben was the one showing delight now and I was the one who was frowning. This was probably because he had spent the entire time that we were hot tailing it over here shouting at me to get a move on if I'd dared to stop and ease my stitch and now that we'd finally made it here, I was having to bend over my knees to try and keep consciousness.

'It's not open!' Ben growls as he circles the building for the second time, testing both the front and back doors to see if he could get in. 'Why would he send me here knowing the place was still closed?'

'Why don't you try knocking?' I call out with a raspy voice as he stands on the tips of his toes to peer through the window, his forehead pressed right up against the glass.

'Yeah, I think I will,' he steps back forcefully, his hands on his hips once again. 'There's definitely people moving about inside.'

Marching over to the big wooden door he knocks on it loudly until it gets pulled open to reveal Marcel, the owner of the bar and a good friend of Isaac and Ben's.

I've met Marcel a number of times whenever I come here to see Isaac perform and he was one of the first people I suggested to include in our treasure hunt. This place has been such a huge part of our lives for the last year that it felt silly not to really. And when we phoned him earlier to ask if he was interested in helping us, he almost bit our hands off to join in. 'I have the best idea for you! Just leave it to me,' he'd said secretively and refused to tell me any more. So, coming here now was just as much of an unknown to me as it was to Ben, and I wasn't sure if I was happy about it.

'Well, hello strangers! What brings you all the way over to us on this fine day?' Marcel was beaming at us both and I see a few interested glances from the staff members behind him as they set up for the night ahead, a couple of them leaning over to whisper to each other before moving out of sight.

'I was wondering if you had anything for me. Maybe an envelope or a piece of card?' Ben asks curiously, peering around as if waiting for it to just magically appear.

Marcel smiles for a moment before reaching into his back pocket and when he pulls it out, I see Ben jump to attention, following the piece of paper with his eyes as if it was pure gold. 'You mean this little thing?' He waves it in front of his face, and I begin to think that we were just going to be able to take it and leave. Which was a bit anticlimactic, I must say.

'Yes, that's it! Can I have it?' Ben reaches forward to take it, obviously thinking the same as me, when Marcel whips it from his grasp and places it inside the opening of his suit jacket, crossing his arms firmly in case Ben made a sudden dive for it. Which, knowing Ben right now, he probably would.

'Oh, sweetie. You don't think I'm just going to give it to you, do you?' Marcel shakes his head and the two guys who'd just been whispering to one another return to sight as they place a microphone, a stand and a rail full of colourful outfits and accessories onto the stage behind him.

I suddenly have a sneaking suspicion of what Ben might have to do and if I'm right, this was going to be one hell of a show.

'You have to earn it.'

'Earn it? How?' Ben claps back as we get ushered into the building, the door closing behind us with an ominous bang, and we were left standing in the middle of the vast dancefloor, the space seeming so much bigger than I had ever seen it without the numerous bodies that usually occupied it.

'You, my sweet . . . are going to sing us a song!'

And as if he was the presenter on a Saturday night game show and we were the lucky winners, Marcel opens his arms wide to present the stage which, on cue, had suddenly lit up with bright spotlights to reveal itself to a distressed Ben who looked very much like he wanted to flee.