I was relaxing with a pink gin In my usual window booth at The Duck, half-listening as Mikki prattled on about some peculiar bloke she’d seen prowling around Berwick Street. I wasn’t giving her my full attention – there’s always someone unusual on Berwick Street, and it takes a lot to truly stand out in Soho. But that’s when I heard it: a faint, peculiar sound, somewhere between a loud grating and the crisp chime of glass clinking on stone.
I glanced up, frowning out the hazy window towards Berwick Street, where the usual Friday night madness had slowed to an unusual pause. Mikki froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she followed my gaze.
“What on earth is that?” she breathed, her gin glass dangling in her hand.
Beth, wiping her hands on her apron, looked up from behind the bar, her mouth twisting into a scowl. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Sailing past the windows, majestic as anything, was a giant bottle of Soho Dry Gin. This was no ordinary bottle—standing at a good 160 centimetres, it was the size of a Soho woman and was gleaming under the streetlights. As if that wasn’t enough, it was hovering, gliding just above the cobblestones. Every movement was graceful and precise, like it was showing off. The massive cork on top bobbed with a cheeky air, daring the whole street to follow.
It rounded the corner towards The Duck, moving with such confidence that people stopped in their tracks, mouths open in wonder. Some swayed slightly as they gazed up at it, as though they’d been dipped in a gin haze just by looking at it. And then I spotted Jack, our reliable, no-nonsense cleaner, stepping onto the pavement, probably to sneak a smoke.
He glanced up, his sharp eyes locking onto the cork for a split second before his face went slack, his usual steely composure melting into a loopy grin. He stumbled, letting out a soft, giddy laugh.
Beth muttered under her breath, folding her arms. “Alright, now this bottle’s just taking liberties.”
I nudged Mikki, already feeling a thrill bubbling up in my chest. “Beth, Mikki – are we really going to let some oversized gin bottle float around Soho, tipping people over with a look?”
Mikki was already on her feet, practically buzzing with excitement. “No chance. Let’s take it down.”
As we reached the door, I spotted two familiar faces arriving. Sarah, her police sergeant’s jacket slung over her shoulder, swaggered up with a fierce grin. And right on her heels was Mobi, her dark eyes already shining with excitement. They’d clearly heard about the commotion and were ready to join in.
“We’ve got ourselves a wild gin bottle on the loose, ladies,” I said, glancing at them with a grin. “Fancy a chase?”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Count me in. I’m not letting Soho’s streets be overtaken by an oversized gin bottle.”
Mobi laughed, already warming up with a stretch. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”
The bottle sensed our challenge and dipped a little lower, taunting us with its cork bobbing like a head nodding ‘come on, then’. And just as it turned, Mobi and Sarah made the fateful mistake of looking straight at it. A curious daze took over them almost instantly – Sarah blinked in surprise, stumbling a bit as her shoulders slouched, and Mobi let out a tipsy giggle, her focus growing softer.
“Did it just… get us pissed with a look?” Sarah slurred, her voice almost dreamy.
“Certainly looks that way darling, but come on!” I urged, already feeling the thrill of the chase. Mobi and Sarah might have been a bit woozy, but they were still game.
Together, our motley crew slipped out of The Duck onto Broadwick Street. The bottle, hovering just far enough away, moved with a teasing elegance, as if leading us on a merry little chase through Soho. Its scent drifted toward us, all sharp juniper and citrus, though somehow, I barely noticed it. Mobi and Sarah, though, were swaying and laughing, but somehow still managing to keep pace.
It took a lazy turn towards Dean Street, and without a word, we followed. It wasn’t moving fast, but it was keeping just far enough ahead to make us run, its cork bobbing in a constant taunt.
The bottle stopped suddenly, as though to make sure we were keeping up. I glanced at Mobi, who was giggling madly, eyes glued to the cork, and then at Sarah, who was half-stumbling, half-running with a massive grin plastered across her face.
“This thing… it’s got some nerve,” she managed to say, barely stifling her laughter.
Beth was already ahead, yelling, “Pick up the pace, you lot! The bottle’s not going to catch itself!”
The bottle darted around a corner and glided down a narrow alley, its glass sending sparks as it scraped against the brick. The usual hum of Soho faded, leaving us with only the strange, hypnotic rhythm of our own footsteps and the faint clink of glass echoing down the street.
It leapt suddenly, soaring over a row of rubbish bins with ease, landing with barely a ripple. I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “You cheeky bastard!”
It tilted its cork towards us as if watching, then shot off towards an open doorway, the gin inside swirling as though in a playful taunt. Mobi, who was practically dizzy with excitement, grinned, “Think we can keep up?”
Beth huffed, hands on her hips, not breaking stride. “If that bottle thinks it can just waltz around here causing trouble, it’s got another think coming!”
The bottle gave a low, mocking gurgle before zipping off again, cork tilting at an odd angle, almost like it was laughing. As it glided down a side street, Mobi and Sarah stumbled slightly but held their ground, their tipsy enthusiasm undeterred.
Finally, the bottle darted down another alleyway and slowed. It had reached a dead end, boxed in by high walls slick with evening mist. We lined up at the entrance, blocking its escape.
Beth strode forward, folding her arms and glaring. “Listen here, mate. You’ve had your fun, but you’re not getting out of here until we’ve sorted this out.”
The bottle gave one last rebellious shudder, as though it were contemplating a final act of defiance. Then, with a soft hiss, its cork began to loosen, twisting slowly, almost dramatically.
“Oh shit, watch out girls!” I called out.
With a loud pop, the cork flew off, and gin frothed up in a glorious, fizzy spray, misting all of us. Mobi let out a squeal, laughing as the spray coated her hair, while Sarah staggered a little, grinning as though she’d just been handed the best free drink of her life.
The last of the gin settled, and the bottle drifted gently to the ground, its energy deflating as it finally surrendered. It sat there, still and harmless, its glass glinting under the dim alley lights.
Beth wiped a smear of gin from her cheek, looking thoroughly pleased. “That’s right, love. Soho’s streets don’t bow to any dumb bottle.”
Mobi, still slightly drunk on the whole experience, tapped the glass and giggled. “Think it’s learned its lesson?”
I glanced over at Sarah, who was wiping gin off her jacket with a tipsy grin. “That was a bit strange.”
With one final glint of defiance, the gin inside the bottle swirled once more, then stilled, as if finally admitting defeat. The alley was quiet, our mission complete, but each of us had a grin on our faces, knowing we’d conquered one of Soho’s wildest spirits yet.
Sarah, ever practical, pulled out her phone, steadying herself just enough to dial. A few clipped words later, she’d arranged for a police van to come by and take care of our subdued bottle. Within minutes, blue lights flickered down the alleyway, and two equally bewildered constables emerged, eyes widening as they took in the scene.
“Er… Sarge, you’re saying this bottle of gin…” one of the officers began, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.
“Caused all sorts of chaos,” she interrupted, leaning on the van door with a smirk. “Trust me, boys, it needs locking up.”
The constables exchanged a bemused look but dutifully lifted the enormous bottle into the van, securing it with as much care as though it were a prized piece of evidence. Mobi gave it a playful salute as it was loaded in, and Beth just shook her head, thoroughly pleased.
With that, the van pulled away, the oddest piece of evidence Soho had ever seen safely stashed in the back.