“Oh, he got caught up arguing with someone about what music to put on next.” The latest arrival on the scene was a young man, in his mid-twenties maybe, tall and wearing all black. He handed the singer a glass of red wine and sat down beside her on the stairs. “So I brought you that instead. Couldn’t remember what you asked for, though, so you’ll have to drink it whatever it is.”
She took a sip and saluted him with the glass. “You had me at merlot.”
Her server groaned. “Your puns get worse and worse the drunker you get, Tiff.”
My breath caught in the back of my throat and from the corner of my eye, I saw Gemma and Gary, at the top of this flight of stairs, stiffen. “Tiff?”
“Yeah. And you’re Kit.”
“How did you…?”
“Gary and Gemma. We’ve spoken on the phone. While inviting them to the party.”
“And me?” I frowned. “Was I an afterthought?”
“Nah.” Tiff giggled. “You’re the guest star. The main attraction. The whole point to— Anyway. Have you met Isaac?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Her flitting from one subject to another too fast for me to keep up made my head spin. This evening was confusing me already and it hadn’t even begun.
“Isaac?”
“Yeah. Isaac.”
He companion gave a smile, said nothing, let Tiff do the talking.
“His real name’s Isaac Beckett but I call him Isaac Cox.”
“You…? Why…?”
“Say it slowly, and think about it.” Isaac shook his head. “Her idea of a joke.”
“It’s both a name and a job description.” Tiff raised her glass once more, before draining it in a couple of gulps. “Go get me another, there’s a good lad.”
“Don’t we need to stay out here?”
“What’s more important? Me getting drunk enough to fit both of you in later, or blocking the stairwell? Besides, I’m enough. If he”—at this, she nodded at me—”tries to get away, I’ll start screaming or throw myself down the stairs.”
“Again?” Isaac sat up straight, shaking his head in obvious amazement.
“All right, wait a minute.” Ice water zipped up and down my spine and I barely resisted the urge to shiver at the slow realisation of what was going on.
“Um, Kit? Maybe we should go inside now,” Gemma began, but I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder, glared at Tiff.
“Do you make a habit of throwing yourself down the stairs?”
“Only when completely necessary. But, you know, tonight’s set-up might well be worth a suicide mission, so…”
“Set-up?”
“Oops, did I say set-up? I meant party! There’s nursery sandwiches in the kitchen, crusts cut off. Cucumber. Salmon. Even that godawful crab paste shite St—”
“We really need to go in now, mate,” Gary said. “It’s getting cold out here, right? Brr. Chilly. Need a drink? Sure there’s plenty of beer in there, right, Tiff?”
“Wait.” I pointed at Tiff. “You’re Tiffany?”
“That’s me.” She grinned, raised her glass, saw it was empty, and the grin fell away.
“Bugger. Oh well, anyway, yeah. I’m Tiffany.”
“That’s Isaac.”
“Jesus, this guy’s catching on quick, isn’t he?” Isaac muttered, shaking his head slowly.
“Yes, that’s Isaac,” Tiffany confirmed. “And this is my housewarming party. Welcome to my humble abode. We’ve only lived there for a few weeks, but now we’ve got it all decorated, we’re ready for visitors, so…”
“We? As in you’re the girl with two boyfriends, right? Jason and this guy.”
“Isaac Cox, both a name and a job description.”
“Tiff, Tiff, you’ve already told that joke,” Isaac said.
“Have I really?”
“Yes, you—”
“Are you sure? I could have sworn—”
“Yes, and the ‘had me at merlot’ pun. Every. Fucking. Time.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “The drunker she gets, the worse her jokes. You guys go ahead, help yourself to a drink. There’s plenty in the kitchen—”
“And sammiches!” Tiff shouted, completely mispronouncing the word in her drunken state and not caring one bit, I guessed. “Don’t forget the nursery sammiches. Took fucking ages doing them, I did. Cutting the crusts off. They make your hair go curly if you eat them, you know.”
“Sammiches?” I echoed. “I mean, sandwiches?”
“No, bread crusts. Didn’t your grandmother ever tell you? Eat your crusts, they’ll make your hair curl? I hate curly hair. ‘Course, someone in the family got the curly genes, and me? I got the hair straighteners. Never leave home without them. Luckily, this is my home, so—”
“Yeah, this is your flat? You live here?”
“We do, yeah.”
“You and Isaac? And Jason, wasn’t it?”
“No, them? God no.” Tiff grimaced. “They’re my harem, but I couldn’t stand to live with either of them.”
“More like we couldn’t stand to live with you,” Isaac put in.
“You shut it, or I won’t let you on backdoor duty again.”
“Ugh. Oh God. Too much information.” Behind me, Gemma groaned. “I don’t even want to think about…”
“More’s the pity,” Gary murmured.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I shrugged. “It’s not so bad if you go slowly and use lots of… Anyway, look. Tiff? So you said ‘we’ lived here. If it’s not Jason or Isaac, then…” Fuck, fuck, fuck, please tell me I’m wrong. No, let me be right. No, I’ve never wanted to be wrong so much in my life.
“Ah.” Tiff cleared her throat and for what I guessed was the first time in a long time, looked sheepish. She barely met my eyes as she spoke. “Yeah. I kinda live with my brother. I believe you two are acquainted?”
“Fuck.”
“I believe such an activity occurred between you, yes. Um, could I interest you in a—”
“Steven?” Somehow I managed to choke out the word, feeling relieved and terrified and so. Fucking. Gullible. “Steven lives here?”
“Yes.” A sixth voice to add to the conversation appeared behind me and I turned on the stairs to look up at him, standing in the flat’s doorway. No frown, and no smile either. I couldn’t tell if he was majorly pissed off at my being anywhere in
