'No, but he was working up to it. Mum, Dad and my sister had already gone home. So I sneaked out, to get away from him. Let him find someone else to lech over.'
Nathan sat down next to her and, in unconscious imitation, drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them.
He passed her the wine. She took it.
He said, 'I think you're safe. Right now he's dancing with my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.'
'Ugh.'
'You should see him.'
'I'd rather not. I've seen it. I've felt it. He shoves his hard-on into you, kind of grinds it around. Like you won't notice.'
He shuddered.
The girl said, 'So what makes her your soon-to-be ex? The dancing thing?'
'Nah. It's a long story.'
'Who's in a rush?'
'Long story short, she's seeing someone else.'
'Behind your back?'
'Pretty much.'
She ruffled his hair.
'Poor puppy.'
Something passed between them. The night had magic in it.
They sat for a few minutes, watching the slowly circling sky --until Nathan said, 'I'm freezing.'
'Me too.'
'Would you like to sneak inside and maybe have some drugs?'
'What would your girlfriend say?'
'I don't think she's my girlfriend any more.'
'Just checking.'
'Ha.'
'What've you got?'
'A little bit of coke. There's a room. Up the main stairs, take the dark corridor, the little offshoot.'
'To the guest bedrooms?'
'You've been here before.'
'Every Christmas since I was nine.'
'Cool. Third door on the right. I'll meet you in there.'
'I'll go first. See you in five minutes?'
'Five minutes.'
He consulted his watch. Not yet midnight.
The girl scurried off, lost in the big black overcoat.
He waited on the bench, watching the sky. It was so clear. He saw a satellite, a quick-winking light passing too high and too fast to be an aircraft.
Then he retraced his steps to the house. By now he was beginning to wonder if the girl had been real. He paused on the stoop and remembered how the darkness of the leafy copse had swallowed her up like ink spreading on a drawing. He remembered the cold touch of her hand on his brow.
He walked back inside and was received by a burst of warmth, party chatter, and 'La Isla Bonita'. He re- checked his coat, then cautiously popped his head into the ballroom. Sara was in the corner, talking to somebody, a woman.
He hurried up the stairs and ducked down the twilit hallway. He went to the third door on the right, paused for a moment, and tried the handle.
The door was open and the light was on and the girl was in there.
She'd thrown her overcoat down on the bed. She wore a short skirt and a tight T-shirt with some kind of ironic legend on it. Adidas trainers. In her hand she held several scraps of paper. He saw the word YES. She said, 'What's all this about?'
'You don't want to know.'
'Were you doing a Ouija board in here? Jesus, what are you, twelve?'
Once again, he took the mirror from the wall (in the lamplight, he could see the looped, dried snail-trails of his and Bob's wetted fingers) and laid it on the bed.
He passed her the little pewter tube. He hadn't been able to share it with Bob - to see Bob shove it up his hairy ectoplasmic nostrils. But the girl's nostrils were of an altogether different order. The girl had pretty nostrils, and up them she snorted two of the lines he'd laid out for them.
She sat on the bed and let it begin to work.
She glanced at him. Then she glanced away. Then -- very carefully and very precisely -- she patted the mattress next to her.
'Come and sit next to me.'
He went and sat next to her.
They sat there like that. Their knees were touching. They talked for a bit.
He put his arm round her. She felt tiny. She turned to face him. He moved to meet her. Their lips touched. Her tongue darted between his lips. She tasted of cocaine and cigarettes and wine. He slid a hand beneath the hem of her T-shirt. Her flesh was warm and soft and firm. He pushed her back. Her hands were laced at the nape of his neck. He could feel her ribs. He cupped her breast and squeezed; he felt her nipple harden in the palm of his hand. She arched her back.
The door opened and Bob walked in.
Nathan sat up and said, 'Jesus fucking Christ, Bob.'
He saw that Bob wore an earnest, worried expression. It infuriated him: it made him want to rip Bob's ears off. He said, 'Fuck off Bob.
Please, just fuck off.'
But Bob didn't fuck off. Instead, he said, 'Sara's looking for you.
She's on the warpath, mate.'
Nathan groaned.
'I was introduced to her downstairs,' Bob said. 'She's wondering where the hell you've got to.'
Nathan was bored and angered by the thought of Sara's disapproval; he imagined her tapping her foot and crossing her arms, pouting, flicking back that precisely calibrated fringe.
While he pictured it, Bob turned to the girl and said, 'I'm Bob, by the way. Friend of Nathan's.'
The girl was smoothing down her T-shirt, saying, 'Elise.'
Nathan peeped at her sideways, as if properly to say hello. She peeped back. Nathan's triumphant erection was wilting away. He moaned, 'Sara's the last person I need to see.'
'So let's keep hiding,' said Bob.
'She'll find us.'
At which, Elise nervously checked the door and straightened the hem of her T-shirt again.
Bob wasn't in the mood to give up. He said, 'So let's run away.'
Nathan thought about it for a moment - not too long, because he wanted to look decisive in Elise's eyes.
He said, 'That may be a good idea.'
He unlatched the bedroom window and wrenched it open - then stuck out his head, to see how far it was to the ground.
Nathan told Elise to wait for him while he shinned down the drainpipe, in case he should slip and tumble to his destruction. But once he'd wormed his way out of the window, the descent proved straightforward; he dropped the last two metres with some elan, pleased Elise was there to witness it.
Then she followed him, clambering down with the dexterity of a spider monkey.
Nathan was embarrassed.
They ran for the bushes, the distant thud of disco behind them.
They stayed in the shadows, following the gravel drive towards the main gate. Here, they squatted in a
