The old guys playing dominoes shouted their protest. The women whooped with joy. Chairs were pushed back to make a dance floor. The table in front of Jena was cleared. A second later she was standing on top of it, letting loose. It felt great.
“You’re really good,” Shona shouted above the music. “She’s really good,” she told anyone who would listen.
Jena tuned them out. She was in the zone. The door to the restaurant opened and curious townsfolk flooded in. The lights dimmed. The laughter grew. And the dancing started in earnest.
It was club night at The Scottie Dog.
31
Matt answered his phone with a growl. Frank was on his way to Glasgow. He’d just gotten rid of one problem, and he didn’t need another one. If this was Morag calling about her bloody cat, he was going to lose the plot entirely.
“You need to get down to the pub,” Harry said in his ear. He sounded like he was grinning. “Your woman is drunk and dancing on a table.”
“What the hell? I can hardly hear you over the music. Talk louder.”
There was a pause. “We’re in the pub. Jena’s dancing on a table. So are the twins. And Kirsty’s mum. Yep. That’s the whole Knit or Die crew up on tables now too. I’m fairly certain only half of them are drunk.”
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m on my way.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to miss this. Your Jena’s got moves that shouldn’t be seen in public. She’s gathering an audience. I reckon you’re about five minutes away from Jena being propositioned by half the men in here. Wow, I didn’t know a body could do that. I really need to get Jena to teach Magenta how to dance. Magenta dances like a five-year-old at a school disco.”
With a growl, Matt hung up.
“Need help?” Joe was still hanging around the station. Why, Matt didn’t know.
He let out a sigh. “Another set of hands would probably be good. The women are drunk and dancing on the tables at the pub.”
With a wide grin, Joe dug out his phone. “Your woman’s at the pub,” was all he said.
“Grunt’s coming too then,” Matt said with resignation.
Joe rubbed his hands together
. “This should be fun.”
“Aye. Fun,” Matt said grimly.
He left his stab vest hanging on the back of his chair. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t need it to deal with the women. On second thoughts… He strapped the vest back on.
“Coward,” Joe mocked.
“Let’s see if you’re still saying that at the end of this thing.” Matt locked up the station behind them. It was a five-minute walk to the pub, but he pointed to his car. He’d need it with him to get Jena home.
“I like this town. I’m gonna get a kick out of living here.” Joe grinned as they headed to the pub.
A DJ remix of popular UK bands of the eighties was blasting through the pub. Jena was in her happy place. The music had taken over. Her body was flowing to the rhythm. The troubles of the past few months faded away. There was just the movement of her body and the vibrations of the beat as it thrummed through her. It reminded her of the parts of her life she missed. The overwhelming noise of the clubs that managed to drive out all other thoughts and somehow gave her brain space to rest. The darkness and coloured lights that made her feel like she was transported somewhere else, somewhere far away from her everyday mundane life. It was like a secret world where she could take a time out from life. And it was wonderful to have a version of it back, even for a little while.
The music snapped off. “What the bloody hell is going on here?” a voice boomed through the silence.
The lights came on full. The glare hurt Jena’s eyes and made her groan. Along with about a dozen other women.
“Dougal, put the music back on right now,” someone ordered.
“Don’t you tell me what to do, Margaret Campbell. This is my pub. Not yours.”
It took Jena a minute to focus on the rotund, red-faced Dougal. He didn’t look pleased. His red cheeks clashed with his pink shirt. Not a good look.
“Get off the tables right now,” he ordered.