The other possibility — the one she had been fantasising about all week — was that Tom would not merely welcome her, but be amazed how stunning she was out of school and treat her as the woman she was, the gorgeous bird he was secretly longing to be alone with. If that happened, the rest of year eleven would drool with envy.
Being realistic, the best hope was somewhere between those two. Just let him be cool and allow her to melt in with the other partygoers.
Before leaving the taxi at the gate of Fortiman House, she asked the driver for his card and said she might call him later, depending on her plans. How could she tell? If everything clicked, and she pulled Tom, she wouldn’t need a ride home.
Buoyed up with that thought, she stepped up the drive in her knee-high platform boots with the leather tassels flicking her knees while she told herself the big house up ahead didn’t look the least bit spooky in the moonlight. Her insides were not turning to jelly. Once she’d broken the ice and got a drink in her hand, the rest would be a gas. She hadn’t come unprepared. In one of her zipped pockets she had an ecstasy tablet she’d kept when one of the boys was handing them out at the last prom.
She couldn’t hear any sounds yet, but it was probably a touch chilly for the party to be outside. Anastasia had said they moved into the studio in the winter months, so she headed there and as she got closer the comforting beat of rock music reached her ears.
Then she heard something else a few yards off.
‘Hi, cutey.’
She froze.
The husky male voice had spoken out of nowhere. She looked left and right. It was difficult to see anything except vague shapes apart from a tiny glimmer of red that was possibly the tip of a lighted cigarette. She screwed up her eyes and made out a figure leaning against a tree trunk and wearing some kind of naval officer’s jacket and cap.
He spoke again, ‘Don’t I know you? Yes, I do. You’re one of the schoolkids.’
She was so annoyed that her nervousness evaporated. Great, she thought. I go to all this trouble and get an insult like that. ‘I’m not a schoolkid. I’m a student,’ she said. ‘I have a name, you know. I’m Ella. And who are you?’
He took a step out of the shadow and she recognised his pot belly and still struggled to think who he was.
Him?
She hadn’t expected Davy the model would be among the guests. He dropped the cigarette and trod on it. Then — in case she still didn’t know him — he took up a posing stance with hands clasped behind his neck. ‘Here’s a clue.’
‘Give me a break,’ she said. ‘That’s so ridiculous. I can see who you are.’
‘No probs,’ he said, stepping still closer. ‘It happens to me all the time — in the street, in the pub, in buses and trains. People I’ve posed for stare at me and think where the hell have I seen that handsome guy before? They’ve looked at me for hours on end but it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference. In the studio they see me as an object, not a human being. In my clothes and out and about I’m something different again. Try me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Ella said, getting scared and trying to sound unimpressed. She wasn’t used to middle-aged men making a play.
‘It works in reverse,’ Davy said. ‘If I was to see you without your kit on I’d be hard put to recognise you. Well, I say that. I wouldn’t mind putting it to the test.’
‘Get lost,’ she said in a hiss that she hoped was pure goth. ‘That’s disgusting.’
‘Chill, babe,’ he said. ‘I was only making a point. People look at a model, but they don’t actually see him. I just proved it, surprising you.’
‘You didn’t. I knew exactly who you are.’
‘Are you here for the party?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘What’s Tom going to say?’
‘I don’t care. It’s not that kind of party, is it?’
‘What — drugs?’ He shook his head. ‘Ferdie wouldn’t stand for it and I don’t think Tom would, either. I have to come out here for a bloody smoke — and it’s not even whacky baccy.’
‘Are they drinking?’
‘Only wine and stuff. I’ve had my smoke. I’ll go in with you.’
Her instinct was to tell him to get lost, but she reconsidered. This, she thought, could be helpful, being seen with Davy and not making a solo entrance. She’d dump him at the first opportunity.
She fluffed up her hair and followed him to the studio door. He opened it and the decibels hit them.
Brilliant, but terrifying. She got the shakes. She took the tablet of E from her pocket and gulped it down.
She needn’t have worried about being conspicuous. The lighting was almost non-existent, a few candles in glasses at each end of the room and some sort of coloured lantern hanging from the ceiling. Davy shouted in her ear, ‘Want a drink?’
‘No.’
‘It won’t hurt you.’
‘I said no.’
‘Let’s dance, then.’
She didn’t fancy this fat slob one bit, but it was a reason to get away from the door and be a part of the action, so she allowed him to take her arm and move closer to the centre, where others were gyrating to ‘Rumour Has It’. Making sure she kept out of range of Davy’s pudgy hands, she let the music animate her arms and hips a little while her eyes got used to the near darkness. She thought she could see the elegant Anastasia on her right flicking a feather boa in time to the beat. And presently she heard a loud ‘Hel-lo’ in confirmation.
She nodded and smiled.
Cool. I cracked it, she thought. I’m in.
Anastasia drifted out of focus and in her place was the guy everyone called the Bish, making a much more frenetic movement, a sort of ungainly jig, frankly ridiculous. Tonight he wasn’t in bishop mode. Instead of the clerical shirt he was in a kaftan, head back, eyes popping. He didn’t recognise her, but by the state of him he wasn’t recognising anyone.
She turned with the beat and saw a couple of people she thought she didn’t know until she realised one of them was Charcoal Charlotte, now scrubbed up and presentable in a pink frock, but with an equally stupid look on her face, eyes rolling. From what she could tell in the candlelight, the studio was packed, and most of the guests were well sloshed. None of them would bother about an uninvited guest. Every second that passed was adding to Ella’s confidence.
The music merged into another Adele number and she made a sideways move to get out of Davy’s range. Briefly he looked to be following, but then Anastasia took a step backwards, blocking his way without meaning to. Ella took her chance and squeezed into a space and zigzagged away. She didn’t stop until she reached the far side of the studio where some non-dancers were standing, drinks in hand. She moved close to them and looked over her shoulder. She’d lost Davy.
She took out her smartphone and texted Jem and the others: full moon guess where I am.
‘I know you,’ a voice said.
Oops. She looked up and saw Tom’s father Ferdie in a Hawaiian shirt.
‘But only by sight,’ he added. ‘Which one are you?’
She thought about giving a false name, but thought better of it. This old guy was no fool. ‘Ella.’
‘Are the rest of the gang with you?’ He sounded as if he hoped the entire art group had turned up.