The Revelations by Alex Preston

though Mouse was much smaller than Marcus, he seemed to be able to reach above Abby, to harness her energy and turn the two of them into a swirling image of graceful recklessness. Marcus felt a small shot of jealousy as he watched them. Abby let out howls of delight and continued to dance wildly with Mouse as the next song came in and others stepped onto the dance floor to join them. Lee was slow- dancing with Daffy even though it was an upbeat number. Marcus could see Daffy’s thigh working itself slowly between her legs. Course dads danced with their children, who, having worked off their sugar rushes, now nuzzled sleepy chocolate-stained faces into their fathers’ crisp white collars. David and Sally Nightingale jitterbugged together, eyes locked, revelling in the weight of shared history conferred by the vintage of their perfectly synchronised dancing. Marcus stood holding his glass of champagne until his sister came and dragged him onto the dance floor, her small white face turned up lovingly to his as they danced.
    Much later, Mouse and Marcus were again out on the putting green smoking. One of Abby’s cousins was sleeping on the first tee behind them. Mouse had grabbed the last two bottles of champagne as they made their way out of the marquee. He passed one to Lee and Abby, who were in drunken conversation at a table in the corner, and opened the other as they strode across the squares of light thrown from the hotel windows onto the wide lawn. Marcus had found a golf ball in the bushes and dribbled it from one side of the putting green to the other, finally punting the ball as far as he could into the distance, hopping and holding his foot in pain as the white ball flew off into the black night.
    ‘Did you see Lee kissing Daffy?’ Mouse asked.
    ‘Was it a kiss? I wouldn’t really call it a kiss.’
    ‘It was a kiss. Nightingale saw her. I was watching him.’
    ‘Poor Lee. You mustn’t think badly of her for it.’
    ‘I thought she was better. She seemed almost like her old self the past few weeks.’
    There was the sound of breaking glass from inside the marquee. Marcus saw that Mouse was looking at him intently.
    ‘I thought you did well today. I can tell you now that I was worried beforehand. You’ve been acting strangely for the past few weeks. And you seemed so nervous in the church.’
    ‘I was nervous. I still am, I suppose.’
    ‘I had taken a few wee precautions.’ Smiling, Mouse reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a white cylinder. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and then brought it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.
    ‘Is that a joint?’ Marcus was laughing.
    ‘Just, as I say, a precaution. I thought about smoking it with you before we went into the church. Then I thought you might want it to get you through the reception. But you didn’t need it. Seems a bit of a waste now.’ He looked at the joint and then up at Marcus.
    ‘Oh, come on, let’s smoke it. For old times’ sake.’ Marcus reached into his pocket for a lighter and then looked back at the marquee. ‘I just can’t let Abby see me. I promised her I wouldn’t do drugs again once we were married. It would look bad if she caught me the day of our wedding.’
    They walked into the shadow of the hotel, skirting flower beds and balconies. Mouse led the way while Marcus followed, stopping occasionally to sip from the champagne bottle. They came to the low square bulk of the sports complex. A door stood open, emitting a faint blue light, the smell of chlorine. The swimming pool was lit from beneath, white lights shining upwards through the water, the gently rippling surface dappling the roof. Marcus imagined that they were in a cave, that the fake rubber trees in the corner were ferns, the pipes hanging from the ceiling stalactites. In one corner of the hall there was a sauna, pale wood bleached almost white. Mouse stepped inside.
    ‘There won’t be a fire alarm in here. Close the door.’
    Marcus