‘Stop talking!’ she shrieked. ‘Take me, Joseph, take me now, and make me feel like a woman!’
‘Fucking hell, I’m very sorry but would you mind putting your top back on?’
It was time to intervene.
‘Aunt Carole?!’ I bellowed, banging on the door. ‘Are you in there?’
‘Sophie?’ Joe yelled. ‘Help!’
Taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst, I pushed open the door. Joe was up against the wardrobe, Aunt Carole pinning him in place with two surprisingly muscular arms and the room in complete disarray. Someone had been working out. She was down to her matronly bra and pleated tartan midi-skirt, her face sweaty and red, and she was looking at Joe the same way I looked at a Greggs steak bake the morning after a heavy night which couldn’t possibly be a good thing.
‘Run along, Sophie,’ she instructed without moving. ‘Joseph and I are having a little chat.’
‘Yes, that’s absolutely what it looks like,’ I replied, keeping my gaze firmly on her feet. ‘If you’re finished traumatising your favourite author, Uncle Bryan is looking for you.’
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Joe dipped out from between her arms and bolted past me onto the landing. Without him in sight, whatever had possessed her fell away and Carole staggered backwards and sat heavily on the bed.
‘I don’t know what happened.’ She plucked her cardigan up from the floor and slung it around her shoulders, eyes still glazed over. ‘It’s that book, Sophie, it must be. The thing is wicked.’
‘It has caused more than its share of problems,’ I agreed, backing out the room. ‘Anyway, I’d better be getting back to the party.’
‘It would be much appreciated if you didn’t mention this to your uncle,’ she called after me. ‘Or anyone else while we’re at it.’
‘Your secret is safe with me,’ I promised, silently wondering who would believe me even if I did try to tell them.
‘Then she asked me to help her get something down off the top of the wardrobe,’ Joe said, looking pale and ghostly when I found him in the kitchen, washing his hands and splashing water on his face. ‘The next thing I knew, she was bouncing across the bed and claiming we were twin flames with her hands on my—’
‘Please don’t finish that sentence,’ I said, smiling politely at the other partygoers glancing our way with concern. ‘You’re safe now.’
He shuddered and pumped the handwash again.
‘You’ve created a monster. What if there are other women out there, launching themselves at unsuspecting men?’
‘The unsuspecting men should be so lucky.’
Turning off the tap, I passed him a hand towel. ‘I’m sorry, that must’ve been really …’ I paused and revisited the scene in my mind. ‘Well, from my perspective it was mostly very funny. But I am sorry.’
‘I’ll never be clean again,’ he muttered as he rubbed his hands violently with the towel. ‘Is there any bleach around here?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but there’s alcohol outside. Let’s get you a drink.’
He followed obediently, completely silent as we passed through the party in search of booze. It waslater than I’d realised and night was finally drawing in and the rain thankfully holding off. Dad’s string lights glowed brighter by the second against a pinky-purple sky as darkness fell, and that soft, hazy, only by night feeling of possibility sparkled inside me as we poured ourselves large measures at the trestle table Mum had kept well stocked with booze.
‘Thank you for the save,’ Joe said, clutching his glass for emotional support without actually drinking. ‘That was scarier than the time I got trapped in a lift with Courtney Love.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ I replied. ‘Please, I mean it, never mention it again. I’m just glad I made it before you did something you might regret.’
He stepped around me to block my view of the rest of the party, as though I could see anything but him in the first place. ‘At the risk of sounding like a cliché, we need to talk.’
My head dipped low and my hair slipped over my shoulders to frame my face. ‘About the book, I know.’
‘Not about the book,’ Joe said, one hand raising my chin so I could see the raw desire in his blue, blue eyes. ‘We need to talk about you and that dress and whatever the fuck it is you did to me this afternoon because I haven’t been able to think straight since.’
A wave of need rolled through me and my lips gently parted. I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t prepared.
‘Joseph!’ Gregory’s voice cut through the night like a rusty bread knife, sawing away at my last nerve and shattering whatever fragile thing was between us. ‘Get over here, I want you to meet my old pal!’
‘Saved by the Brent,’ I murmured, Joe’s shoulders sagging at the sight of his dad, arm around the shouldersof a world famous and incredibly uncomfortable fantasy author.
