Right Place, Right Time

Night Changes

The party was at Platform 7, the trendiest club in town.  I'd never been before; it was way too pricey for a poor student. The main club was on the ground floor of a converted shoe factory, but Syco had hired out a private room upstairs, which was decorated in industrial style, with exposed brick walls, steel beams and a scuffed wooden floor.

I was driven there in a black Mercedes van with Gemma, Eleanor, Sophia, Lottie and Lou (after remembering to drive my mum's car out of the stadium and park it up on the road so I could easily retrieve it in the morning). The guys all piled into another van which arrived five minutes after us. "Hopefully if there are paps around you guys can slip in unnoticed first," said Harry.

Sure enough, there were three photographers waiting outside  but apart from taking a couple of half-hearted snaps of El and Sophia, they didn't seem interested in us. Inside, the club was already crowded with people, including a few strutting their stuff on the dance floor to Beyonce. Some of them I recognised as crew members, others had been sitting in the special roped-off area during the concert alongside us.

"That's a good job, working for a record company," said Gemma, nodding towards a group of young women crowding around a waiter who was carrying a tray of ready-poured champagne. "You get to go to concerts for free and then come to events like this."

When the waiter came past we all grabbed glasses and then made our way to a long wooden table with high-backed pew-style benches on either side. I'd just sat down when the boys arrived, and after a quick stop at the bar, they joined us.

Harry sat down next to me. "All right?" he asked, putting what looked like a rum and coke on the table.

"Uh huh," I nodded. Better than all right, I wanted to say.

"When's the presentation?" Gemma asked him from across the table.

"We're waiting for Sonny and David," said Harry. "They had some other function to go to and they're on their way up from London, but there's been a pile-up on the motorway. They won't be here for a while."

"Well, they had better hurry up or I'm going to be wasted by the time they get here," said Niall, who was already halfway through his pint of beer. He picked it up and waved it towards birthday boy Dave, who was making his way from the bar towards the DJ.

"Cheers Dave," he yelled. "Happy birthday you old bastard."

Dave grinned and yelled back, "Less of the old, Niall mate."

"Oh dear," said Liam, watching as Dave began talking to the DJ. "They're putting Dave in charge of the music. This could be a disaster. He'll play nothing later than about 1988."

"Nothing wrong with 80s music," said Harry.  " I grew up listening to it. It's classic."

And right on cue, the music changed to the distinctive opening bars of Dexy's Midnight Runners' Come On Eileen.

"I love this song!" said Harry. "Will you dance with me Em? Please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..."

Actually, it didn't take much to get me on the dance floor, I loved dancing. It wasn't that good at it, but so what. I always had a great time, regardless of whether I'd had some alcohol to loosen me up or not.

Harry took my hand and led me to the dance floor. If I thought he'd been like the Duracell bunny on stage, it was nothing compared to what he was like on the dance floor. He started waving his arms around, then spinning and stamping his feet in time to the music. It was a very unique style of dancing – he had a good sense of rhythm and some pretty interesting moves, even if he did look like a human windmill.