FABLE

Chapter Thirteen

"Um yeah..." I answer. "Why?"

"This is your first Fable concert?" she asks, ignoring my question.

"Yes."

"Let me see your driver's license," she says.

"I don't have one. I just turned sixteen and things have been sort of-," I reply.

"Sure." She cuts me off again, staring straight into my eyes like she's trying to figure out whether or not I'm lying.

Finally she shakes her head and tucks the clipboard under her arm.

"Try to keep up," she says, stilettos clicking as she heads towards the table at the centre of the room.

It's covered in hors d'oeuvres on silver platters. Everything is recognizably food, but I have no clue exactly what kind of food it is.

There's some kind of translucent red pearls (caviar?) sprinkled over mini crepes with a yellowish foam on top.

Rows of rolled-up green and purple stuff with crystallized meat, maybe prosciutto or bacon, wrapped around it.

Little silver forks stuck into slimy orange and white globs, which I suspect are raw scallops, but I'm not sure - I've only ever eaten them cooked.

With two gourmet chefs for parents, I've always thought I knew quite a lot about haute cuisine. More than the average person anyway. But everything on this table is just pretentious beyond words.

Strangest of all, in the centre of the table there's a huge Christmas Pudding, with custard oozing down the sides, topped off with a sprig of holly.

I'm about to ask the girl why there's Christmas food on the table in June, but she's already turned away and is pointing to a corridor on the far side of the room.

"The ladies' room is down that way, and the bar's to your right." She nods her head in the direction of a line of bar stools in front of a chrome counter, with a large sink and a built in mini-fridge. On a rack above the counter, there's a rainbow of bottles - just about every type of spirits imaginable.

"As you can see, there's no barman," she says. "But don't let that stop you. Glasses are in the cupboard on the left."

I wonder whether or not she actually listened when I told her my age. Maybe the rules are different in the UK.

We walk around the perimeter of the room, until we reach a row of plush leather seats facing the window. The three girls she pointed at before are taking up the seats in the middle.

As we pass them, I can see they're all Alastaire's Angels - each wears a small pair of silver angel wings on a chain around their neck.

Fable, like most bands, has its own official fan club, plus hundreds of smaller, less official ones - but Alastaire holds the distinction of being the only member with own his personal group run entirely by fans.

The most elite fans will fork out up to five hundred dollars for the official winged necklace, a sign of their devotion to Alastaire (and their excellent parental-wallet-manipulation skills).

Two of the angels are wearing very revealing little white dresses, and the third is wearing a tiny mini skirt and a gold-sequinned top.

She must be wearing an amazing push-up bra, because her cleavage is almost touching her chin.

I can already see why Alastaire spotted them in the crowd - the sheer amount of skin on display makes these girls stand out like porn stars at a church fete.

My guide stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

"You girls are lucky," she says. "You've got the best seats in the house."

She's right - the view of the arena is spectacular.

Far down below, a massive crowd mills around on the dark, shadowy floor.

Seeing that many noisy people crowded together sends a momentary trickle of panic down my spine, before I shake it off.

It's ok. I'm not trapped. I'm far away from the crowd. I can do this.

The longer I stare down into the swarm of bodies, the more beautiful it starts to look.

Everyone's taking photos, phones held up high. The brightly lit screens of a hundred thousand phones flicker in the darkness like a starry sea.

It's sort of peaceful.

"This is where I leave you," the dark haired girl says. "I've got some errands to run."

She turns away and starts walking, then stops and looks over her shoulder at me.

"I'm Kitty, by the way."