The most Ellie had ever charged to the card was £15 for a train ticket home and that had been for an actual emergency when her grandmother fell ill, but there had to be at least £100 worth of food strewn across the counter. She knew her parents could afford it, but this was a wasteful expense. Daddy hated waste. Wasting money, wasting time, wasting education.
“Hey, take a plate.” Hollis placed one in her hands.
As each person filed out, she wandered in and searched through the crumbled bags and containers with a delicate touch, afraid to move a single scrap unless necessary because if she moved something, she would start to tidy up, and if she started to tidy up, she would start to clean, and if she started to clean, it would be like when she had chicken pox and Daddy told her not to scratch or it would make the itch worse. If she scratched that itch now, she would never ever stop.
She found her curry and her naan bread, but the rice had already migrated to the front room, piled high on Maeve’s and Oliver’s plates. She said nothing as she squeezed her thin body onto the floor next to the armchair where Hollis sat.
“You can sit here if you want,” he offered, already shifting, but Ellie shook her head. Oliver cracked open a can of Heineken. He raised it in a toast. To her. They were all looking at her and raising their drinks—Lorna a Diet Coke, Maeve a Heineken, Hollis a Foster’s. Ellie hadn’t brought anything to drink.
“To the founder of the feast! Our Princess Ellie!” said Oliver.
“Princess!” they cheered.
Ellie wondered if they expected her to say something, but her contribution was forgotten as soon as they lowered their drinks.
“You know your Dickens?” Lorna asked.
“Not really. But I played Tiny Tim in a panto.”
Maeve snorted beer through her nose and covered her face in embarrassment.
“You did panto?” Lorna asked.
“When I was seven. Besides, I was pretty damn good, I’ll have you know. Bernard Cribbins played Scrooge, and he told me so himself. Even offered to hook Mum up with his agent. Gave her his number.”
Lorna tore off a piece of garlic naan from a large plate on the center of the floor and asked, “So what stopped your illustrious childhood acting career?”
“Mum crashed our car and . . .” He cleared his throat. “We had a car crash. Nothing serious, but it messed up my knee. I could’ve only played kids with bum legs and I’d already played Tiny Tim—the top bum leg role—so what was there to aspire to, eh?”
He laughed, and the room laughed with him. No one but Ellie noticed the shadow upon his face.
Even Maeve, usually so in tune with his emotions, had forgotten to pay attention to Oliver. Her guilt kept her glancing at the front door. She shouldn’t be having a good time with them. But then again, why not? She hadn’t really promised anything, and she hadn’t had Indian in ages. Plus, Ellie was paying. Maeve was skint, and going out would’ve cost her at least ten quid, if not more. This was an economical decision. Everyone laughed, and she joined in even though she didn’t know what they were laughing at.
The evening continued that way, Maeve clinging to the threads of their conversations, too afraid of being cast aside to contribute any worthwhile comments, willing herself to be content on the fringes of this group even though she could have been with Callum instead, where she would’ve been the center of attention. When she thought the others weren’t looking, she’d look at the door, waiting for him to appear. How long would he wait until he realized she wasn’t coming?
When they finished their beers, someone found an old bottle of white wine. Maeve drank it warm from a Hoegaarden glass stolen from the pub. Even after the food was gone and Maeve had resorted to licking her finger and pressing it into the crumbs for something more to eat, they remained together, talking and laughing as the rooms within Caldwell Street warmed for the first time that year. The night could have continued in this way and ended amicably if Oliver hadn’t said, “We should have a party.”
The buoyant mood deflated, but Oliver laughed away the silence. “Come on. It’s been ages! We’ve not had one all term.”
They shifted in their seats.
“I don’t mean tonight, obviously. Next week, end of term. We can blow off some steam. Say goodbye to old Caldwell Street in style.”
If someone had said no right away, before breath could blow life into the idea, Oliver’s proposal would have withered and died. Maeve knew she could do it. Maeve who, unbeknownst to them, had saved them from parties so far this term, she could speak up, and she knew she would be heard because she held the words they wanted to hear.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Everyone turned to Ellie. Maeve swallowed the sentence she’d been forming.
“You do?” Lorna asked.
“It would be great fun to get lots of our friends together. And we could keep it a little more orderly than our other parties. For example, let’s say we can only invite up to three friends each. And everyone has to bring their own drinks and food to share. And it has to end at one.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “One?”
“Two, then.”
“Two-thirty and it’s a deal.” He held out his hand. Ellie hesitated, then shook it. “Go on, then. What do the rest of you say? Party, Ellie’s rules?”
Maeve fell back to the fringes. If she held out now, she’d be a spoilsport.
“Ellie’s rules.” Maeve blurted it out so fast, she sprayed spit but pretended no one noticed and offered her hand to Oliver. He ignored her, and she resumed playing with the crumbs on her plate.
Hollis sighed. “Ellie’s rules.”
Lorna took the longest to reply. “If you say so.”
The conversation picked up again with talk of dates, music choices, and bets on how long it would take the neighbors to complain about the noise, until the front door opened and Callum appeared, face red as if he’d been running.
“Do what you want then!” he shouted outside. A woman’s voice shouted back, but Callum slammed the door, cutting her off. He turned around and stuttered to a stop, surprised to see them all gathered there.
“So you decided to eat in?” he asked Maeve, unable to catch his breath.
Maeve couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even look at him.
“Yeah.” He barked a laugh that tore the awkward silence. “I’ll be upstairs. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Maeve called after him but didn’t follow, and he didn’t answer.
Oliver whistled. “Ooo, trouble with your boyfriend there, love?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Maeve sucked the last crumb off her finger and carried her plate to the kitchen.
“Chill out! I’m only teasing.”
Oliver finished off his beer and crushed the can in his fist. Lorna looked like she wanted to say something but she didn’t, and soon she too was gone from the room. Hollis carried away as much rubbish as he could and did not return for more. Finally, Oliver thought, life was getting back to normal here. It might have been late into the term, but that was better than never.
“That was fun,” he said without sarcasm. “Thanks for backing me up about the party.”
“I need a favor.”