One of Livvy’s It Girl friends threw up all over the floor and the cleaning team came in and vanished it away in seconds. A Pop Idol finalist (At least I think that’s who it was. Me and Chalker spent the whole final drinking beer, throwing popcorn at the telly and ripping the piss out of the contestants.) and his girlfriend had a screaming row and she yelled that she was leaving—only no one could leave, because the ‘copters were all on dry land and the tide would be in until the early morning. Everyone had been allocated a room and people gradually drifted away until there were just a few left, slow-dancing to Tony Bennett. The band had long since packed up and gone to sleep in their van down in the village. “Looks like that’s it, guys and gals,” Luke said. “No bad guy.” “It’s a tough job,” I said, clicking my fingers, “but someone has to do it.” He yawned. “What time is it?” “Lara doesn’t wear a watch.” “Well, neither does Spike. Livvy, what’s the time?”
