When she saw what was written on the blackboard outside, however, she allowed herself a small, restrained scream. 'No, Tom, not never, nohow.'

‘It's not life-threatening. I'd do it. In fact, I'll do it first. Come along. You can have a stiff drink before you get up there.'

‘But, Tom,' she wailed, as he dragged her into the pub, 'I can't do karaoke!’

He didn't let go of her wrist until they had got to the bar and were so hemmed in by people her chances of escape were nil. 'Now, what's your favourite strong drink? No point in having lager, there's just not enough alcohol in it.’

Dora had had time to think. It would be useless telling Tom she point blank refused, at least, for now. She would appear to go along with it and devise an exit strategy. 'I'll have a double whiskey – Irish, please.'

‘Oh. Expensive.'

‘You said it had to be strong, and I got a taste for whiskey the other day. And it serves you right, you deserve to pay a lot for my drink.’

He chuckled. 'Fair enough. But you've got to do it! I don't want my investment wasted.'

‘Just as long as I'm wasted,' she muttered.

He bought their drinks and they made their way to a table that had two spare stools. They perched on these and Dora looked at the stage.

The karaoke hadn't started yet but the equipment was being sound-tested and people were writing their names down on a list. Discovering that this was necessary, Dora looked at Tom. He had arranged a job interview for her, had he also booked her a karaoke spot? She asked him.

‘No. Couldn't, or I would have done. Have you ever done it before?’

Dora considered lying. If she declared herself to be an old hand at singing he-done-me-wrong songs, would he change his mind about the dare? No. She hadn't a hope of being convincing. She shook her head regretfully.

‘You may love it!' He sipped his pint and she sipped her whiskey.

‘I'll hate it. But I will do it. I hope nothing else you ask me to do will be as hard.’

Tom's brow crinkled a little. 'Don't do it if it will make you miserable.’

She looked up at him. 'No. It's a dare, I said I'd do it, and I survived a typing test today. It couldn't be any worse.' She frowned suddenly. 'You don't have to remember the words, do you?’

Tom relaxed again. 'No! They have coloured words that move as you're supposed to sing them. It gets tricky if it's too high and too fast, so don't get too drunk or you'll never keep up.’

`So you're an old hand at this then?'

‘I've done it once. It's cool! Look, they're starting. You'd better get your name down.’

The first few acts were stunning. They had obviously done this many times before and they seemed to a terrified Dora to be practically professional. She sipped her drink and sank lower in her chair.

Tom sent her an anxious look. 'They're good, aren't they?’

She nodded.

‘You'd be better off getting it over quickly, or you'll just get more and more nervous.'

‘Probably.' She didn't move.

‘After all, you don't want to sit here all night until it's only the no-hopers.’

She frowned at him. 'What do you mean, no-hopers? It's not a competition, is it?’

He looked very shame-faced. 'Might be. I think if you do well you get to go on first next week. But I may be wrong.’

Dora finished her drink. 'I'm going to the loo,' she said. 'I may be some time.’

Fighting her way through the crowds she contemplated getting a taxi home or, better, stealing the Beetle and letting Tom get a taxi home. Those old cars would be pretty easy to break into. She'd just ask a passer-by to help her open the door, and then give her a bump start. Could you do all that without the keys? she wondered.

Then, as she reached the door marked 'Venus', which, after a moment's thought, she realised was the Ladies, she concluded that doing karaoke would be easier than all that malarkey.

There was no respite, even in the Ladies. There were two girls checking their make-up and their identical wigs and they'd spread themselves over both washbasins and on to the floor. They were obviously an act. Dora slipped into the cubicle. They were still there when she came out, and she had to edge her way to a tap.

‘Sorry, love,' said one of them, gathering up a make-up bag from the sink. 'We're taking up all the space.’

‘It's OK,' she said huskily.

‘Hey, are you all right? You look kind of pale.’

‘I'm all right! It's just nerves.'

‘Nerves?’

Dora nodded, knowing these feisty, confident women would not understand. 'Yes. I said I'd do karaoke for a dare but I don't dare, really.’

The two women exchanged glances, obviously wonder ing what sort of an idiot they were sharing the Ladies with. 'We could ask,' said the one who had talked to her. 'Listen, we're a band. We're just trying out some new numbers, to see how they go down. Covers, obviously.’

Dora took time to wonder how a new number could also be a cover. A cover was an old song by definition, surely?

‘There are three of us usually, but Christine couldn't make it tonight. We've got a wig and dress and everything. Do you fancy going on with us? It would look better with three. We've got a guy who'll sing the verse, but the chorus is more important, really.’

Dora forced enough saliva into her mouth so she could swallow.

‘Can you sing at all?' asked the one who hadn't spoken yet. 'It's no good asking her if she's tone deaf,' she muttered to her friend.

‘She doesn't have to sing at all,' said her mate. 'She only needs to mouth the words.'

‘I was in the choir at school,' said Dora, trying to sound as if she actually wanted to get up on the stage and sing. Part of her felt that she wouldn't have agreed to the dare if she really couldn't sing.

‘That'll do,' said the one who'd first taken pity on her.

‘We only want you to sing the chorus, with us. It's "Hit The Road Jack". Do you know it?'

‘Ray Charles?' Dora said tentatively.

‘That's it.'

‘Well, I don't know the verses-'

‘You don't need to know them. You don't even need to know the words, it's karaoke, isn't it? What size are you? Get your kit off. It might be a bit tight.’

Dora looked for Tom the moment she got on stage. He was drumming his fingers on the table and constantly looking around. Would he recognise her when he did look up at the stage? She was wearing a stiff black wig, glossy as paint, that didn't move and made her look completely different. The dress was very short and the shoes very big, high, with platform soles. She'd had to borrow a disposable razor to deal with some stray armpit hairs and had submitted herself to the combined make-up bags of both women. The fact that her own mother wouldn't recognise her was a relief, but she did want Tom to realise what she'd suffered for his stupid dare.

‘Remember, you don't have to sing, you can just mouth the words,' said the girl closest to her through the side of her mouth. 'But try not to look at the words if you can help it.'

‘OK, we're on.’

A man in a Teddy-boy draped jacket, drainpipe trousers and a wig quite similar to the ones the girls were wearing appeared from the other side of the stage.

He started to sing. "Oh woman, oh woman don't you treat me so mean…" ‘

The girls tapped their feet and swung their hips and Dora tapped and swung along with them. When the timecame, Dora sang with feeling, "Hit the road, Jack…" ‘

She saw Tom and realised he'd seen her. At first he was a picture of incredulity, but then admiration took the place of disbelief. He raised his glass to her and in return she sang, "Don't you come back no more, no more."‘

They were a hit, Dora had to acknowledge, and she also had to acknowledge that she'd really enjoyed herself. It was wonderful being someone quite different to who you were normally. She came off the stage with the others and went to Tom's table.