“Just because.” Gemma shrugged. “Go on, get out the car, then.”
I did as she said. It was easier that way.
“Besides,” she went on. “Some people have house parties just for the sake of it. No reason. You know…” Again, she hooked her arm through mine and it felt as if she were trying to keep me there, to be my anchor. As if at this late stage I’d try to make a break for it and she was determined to make me stay. “Some mad, crazy fools just have mates round for fun. You know what fun is, don’t you? ‘Course you do.”
“Ha bloody ha, Crawford.” I tried not to shudder. Only part of my discomfort was caused by the architecture of the building outside which we now stood. A Victorian mansion converted into flats, it stood some way back from the road with a huge garden—lawn only, with borders of flowers I wasn’t horticultural enough to identify—and driveway. Not exactly what one would call a folly, it still wasn’t the most attractive of buildings I’d seen, but the turret-style windows at each corner of the building lent it something of the gothic. It didn’t look too Castle Dracula, though—no wolves howled outside the main double doors of the building. Just partygoers coming outside for a bit of fresh air, yelping at the cool breeze that even yet managed to penetrate their beer jackets. It was only eight o’clock, after all. Still too early to be proper drunk, as was no doubt their game plan for later in the evening.
The gravel crunched under our feet, which made me wonder how easily and quietly I’d be able to sneak off later. If it was any sort of party the police would be called and I’d try to make a break for it in the ensuing confusion. Even if I got arrested and bundled into a meatwagon for committing the crime of even being present, at least that would get me away from having to socialise with anyone other than my cellmate.
I hoped he was pretty.
“Top floor, I’m afraid,” Gary threw at me as he jogged ahead, holding open the main doors as a couple of young ‘ladies’ in microscopic clothing teetered past on stilettos that had to be seen to be believed. One of them looked me up and down and Gemma muttered,
“Don’t bother, love, he’s with me,” as we entered.
“What?” I frowned. “Hey, Gary, don’t you have to buzz up to the flat?”
“Nah, why bother? People are in and out all night when there’s a party on so we can get into the building easy enough.”
“Shouldn’t you let them know we’re here?”
“And be formally announced?” He laughed, leading the way up the grand, curved staircase. Most blocks of flats had a hall. A vestibule. A lobby. This former mansion, naturally, had a foyer. “Nah. We planned it this way, to arrive late so chances would be the doors would already be open once we got here. So you couldn’t back out.”
“Why would I—”
“Anyway. That girl was totally checking you out,” Gemma said. “Bit off, if you ask me.”
“Was she really? And why—”
“Yeah. “ Gemma’s eyes widened as if she was surprised I couldn’t translate her super secret girl-code, or recognise whatever female-against-female transgression had been committed tonight. “Didn’t you see the way she looked at you? And me with my arm through yours?” She sucked her teeth in the perfect gesture of disapproval and borderline disgust.
“I just thought…”
“You are a good-looking bloke—”
“Steady, you two,” Gary warned. “I might start to get jealous.” The echo of his words only partially drowned out some sort of wailing or singing coming from further up the stairwell.
“What the hell?”
“Someone singing.” Gemma shrugged. “Come on.”
“Why do I want to mutter dead man walking?” I seriously wondered how angry Gemma would get if I turned tail and fled, but we reached the top floor, or at least nearly. The only thing separating us from the open front door at the top of the stairs was an extraordinarily pretty brunette wearing a blue and white striped sailor dress, with a ring through one eyebrow and a singing voice like a cat being put through a blender.
“Oh, hiya, guys. You must be Kit,” she said, and my surprise at her knowing my name when I had absolutely no idea who the hell she was, was tempered only by my relief that she was no longer murdering what I thought was supposed to be a rendition of Come on Eileen.
“Um…yes?”
“Didn’t think much of my singing? I could tell by the look on your face.”
“Well.” Gary inclined his head. “It was enthusiastic, I’ll give you that.”
The girl, young woman, whoever she was, shrugged and smiled. Grinned, in fact, clearly not offended. “I was trying to sing louder than the crappy dance music they’re playing in there.” She nodded in the general direction of the flat’s front door, from which spilled light, noise, music and chatter.
“Wouldn’t it have been better to sing in tune?” I blurted, receiving a dig in the ribs from Gemma for my trouble. “Do you mind? That fucking hu—”
“Don’t worry about it,” the ‘singer’ told her. “Water off a drunk’s back. Where the hell has Jason got to with my drink? I sent him inside ages ago. Jesus. Anyway. You guys go inside if you want. I’m just gonna loiter out here.”
As we clambered past her on the stairs, I caught her muttering, “To stop anyone trying to escape if they attempt to bolt.”
I stopped, a couple of steps up from her, and Gemma’s arm through mine twitched.
Tightened its grip. “Uh…” I shook Gemma off with some difficulty, and turned to look down at the bad singer with a penchant for facial piercings and nineteen-eighties pop songs. “Why would anyone try to escape?”
“Oh. No reason.” She grinned over her shoulder, showing a dimple that under ordinary circumstances would have been adorably cute.
