“Glad someone’s having a good time.”
She set her mug on the edge of the desk, jabbed the bookmark into Hitchcock and gathered her strength for what she needed to do next. The wet tea chilled her, but with her hand on the doorknob she hesitated. Her toes curled into the carpet. Would she be able to hold in her rage, or would something snap? Would she unleash a torrent of hate and vitriol on all those in the house, a tirade she knew would only result in her ridicule? Or would she be able to hold it together? Could she grab a towel from the bathroom and return to her sanctuary unscathed?
The thumping in Callum’s room continued. Tea dripped into her knickers. Holding her breath, Lorna opened the door, avoided eye contact with anyone who might’ve been in the hall, and took the two steps into the bathroom. She exhaled.
Then took a step back.
Callum, on his knees, was vomiting into the toilet. Whatever he had drunk came pouring out of him, splashing into the bowl like someone dumping a pot of soup. Her feet warmed the cold tile as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Callum, looking pale and worn, rested his head on the toilet seat, arms hanging slack at his sides.
Lorna took a step forward, grabbed the nearest towel off the rack, and retreated to her bedroom.
In Callum’s room, the thumping couple laughed as she changed pajamas and wiped herself off. She opened her window, tossed the remainder of the cold tea into the hedges below, and boiled water for a fresh cup. She didn’t leave the room for the rest of the night, not until she heard the shouting the next morning. But that came later.
As Lorna boiled water, Ellie held court in the front room, lounging in the brown armchair. Someone kept topping up her glass with nice cold white wine. All of her rules had been broken, except one—that the party would end at 2:30 a.m. According to her watch, it was 2:25, and the party looked like it wouldn’t be over any time soon. Ellie found she didn’t mind. She was having a splendid time. Everyone was. The music was good and people were dancing. Someone filled her glass again, and she thanked the person but couldn’t remember his name. Or hers. It was hard to tell. The hair was short and her vision had gone a bit blurry, but it didn’t matter. This party had become a celebration, and she didn’t want it to end.
Then she saw Maeve alone, leaning against the closet under the stairs, an empty glass dangling from the fingers of her lowered arm. Her hair had given in to the humidity and frizzed in all directions like she had been electrocuted, and her makeup, which Ellie had so painstakingly applied, was smeared. A wine stain marred the hem of her yellow dress—a dress that was really a bit too small and cut into the flesh around her arms. No one else seemed to notice her, yet Ellie felt Maeve’s misery spreading like the wine stain, touching everyone who passed. Ellie couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Maeve. Maeve!” She waved her over. “Poppet, your glass is empty. What’ve you been drinking? Never mind. You must try this wine.” She tapped her anonymous caretaker on the elbow. “Be a dear, would you, and fill my friend’s glass? Cheers! You’re ever so kind.”
Maeve stood awkwardly before Ellie as both their glasses were filled.
“Here. Sit here.” Ellie patted the armrest.
Maeve leaned against the edge, staring into her drink. “I really shouldn’t. The wine’s already going to my head.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” Ellie laughed. “Come on. Let’s drink together.”
They did.
“Now tell me. What’s got you in the doldrums?”
Maeve looked at the people around them, the ones with whom Ellie had been chatting, the ones who were listening now.
“Give us some privacy, please. Housemates only!” Ellie shooed them away. “Go on then. You know you can tell me anything.”
“I’m tired. That’s all. It’s been a long night.” Maeve took another long sip of wine.
“You’re not thinking of going to bed, are you? Oh, don’t be like Lorna, please. You know, I didn’t want to say this, but it is going to be so much nicer without her here next autumn, isn’t it? She’s such a wet blanket when it comes to these things.”
“It has been a nice party. It has. I . . .”
Ellie watched Maeve’s gaze as she glanced across the room at Oliver flirting with a slutty ginger whose breasts threatened to escape her top.
“You know,” Ellie said, “you just have to make him notice you, that’s all.”
“We’ve lived together almost a year.”
“Nine months.”
“That’s almost a year. And if he hasn’t noticed me by now . . .” Maeve let her sentence trail off and finished her glass. Ellie poured her a refill.
“Callum’s noticed you.”
“God! Could everyone shut up about Callum? I don’t like him. He’s tall and weird-looking and always has this stupid look on his face like someone’s kicked his dog.”
“Does he have a dog?”
“I don’t know! And I don’t care. I just want this year to be over so he can move out and I never have to see him again. He’s so fucking annoying.”
“Ellie.”
Callum towered behind Maeve, his face cast in shadow. Maeve gasped and ran out of the room while Ellie tried not to laugh. His face remained neutral.
“Yes? What is it?” she asked.
“I was wondering if I could crash in your room tonight? There’s these people in mine, and I can’t shift them, so I was hoping . . .”
“Oh, Callum. You should’ve locked your door like the rest of us.”
His hands turned to fists. “My door doesn’t lock. I’ve said that almost every single day since we moved in, and I say it every single time you lot say you want to have a party. Don’t you remember anything?”
Ellie despised aggression to begin with, but aggression on Callum looked unnatural.
“Sorry.” She sipped her drink to avoid eye contact.
“So can I crash there or not?”
“Have you asked Hollis or Oliver?”
“Of course I did. You think I’d come to you first? But they’re planning on having some girls spend the night.” Ellie didn’t like him like this. Had Callum always been an angry drunk? Had she ever even seen him drunk? She chewed on her lip and pictured the sanctity of her room spoiled by this drunken, angry, sweating boy.
“I really don’t know.”
“Seriously? You owe me, Ellie.”
“Look, I’m not sure where my key is right now. I hid it somewhere to keep it safe, but when I find it—”
“Can you look for it now, please?”
She crossed her legs. “No, actually. I can’t. I’m enjoying myself. When I feel like getting up, which means losing this chair, I’ll look for it and let you in. All right?”
Callum shook his head, then swayed as if the motion made him ill. “You’d rather not lose a chair than help out a friend?”
“It’s not—”
“Nope. I get it. I finally get it. You’re only nice when you want something. Lorna’s tried telling me that for months, but I wanted . . .” He shook his head and laughed. Then held up his hands and walked away, disappearing into the party. Ellie leaned back in the chair and waved her new friends back over. They filled her glass and they talked and they laughed and Ellie thought briefly of Callum and wondered what he would do if she continued to refuse his request. Then she drank more wine and let the thought float away.