I look down at my car crash of a dress and feel my cheeks drain of colour.
One or two people glance my way, including the tattooed vampire Eva helped up off the floor. Meanwhile, the DJ sounds delighted with the answer. ‘Well done! You’ve won your free drink. But there could be a bonus round for you as I noticed a lookalike of our favourite prom queen near our sofas earlier. Although maybe I got that wrong and she came as a blood clot?’ He doesn’t deserve the sniggers he gets for that joke– it was lame before he gave birth to it. ‘Obviously we can’t have people shagging in a public place, but Carrie, if you’re willing to give “Joe the serial killer from just off Uxbridge Road” a quick kiss you could both win yourself a voodoo vodka or an extremely bloody Mary.’
Someone shouts something and the crowd parts to reveal the DJ pushing through with Joe shuffling along behind him in the box. As they come closer, I notice red liquid dripping from the knives plunged in either side of it. You have to buy toy knives for this costume so it wasn’t an impulse decision. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Eva haul herself onto the bucking ghoul and rest her large breasts either side of its neck. She holds on with an iron fist. There’s no way she’s toppling.
Joe and I come face to face, without any froth to flirt over or crossword chit-chat to fall back on. Just a girl covered in fake blood standing in front of a boy in a cardboard box, wishing she could die a similar death to her nightdress. There’s no snap or crackle between us, only the pop of the microphone and a weird tension in the air.
The DJ ramps up the excitement as Eva begins to suffocate the ghost into submission. ‘So, Carrie, one little kiss with “Kellogg’s” here and the magnificent Maleficent will be all over you both with free drinks.’ The drunken punters find this hilarious, while I burn up and Joe looks like he wants to stab himself with his fancy dress accessories. ‘In your own time—’ the DJ smirks ‘—but if you wait much longer we’ll be onto the Movember promotions.’
I think Joe would swap his cardboard box for a wooden one if it got him out of here and I try to imagine him making me a coffee that isn’t tainted by the memory of this. But at the same time, I have to admit I’m not hating the idea of a cheeky snog. Cleanly shaven tonight, he’ll probably have sprayed himself with something gorgeous. I think back to the half-hour I spent in Boots last week, sniffing bottles of expensive cologne, wondering which one he might wear for a night out. When I knocked over a bottle of Eau Savage, I dabbed some on my own skin, mentally transporting myself into his arms. And now I have the perfect opportunity to smell him for real.
The DJ starts a slow clap and the crowd chants, ‘Snog, snog, snog,’ at his behest. I glance over at the bucking ghost where Eva is tightening her hold, a grim determination in her eyes. The fake cereal box has been moulded around Joe’s shoulders, leaving his hands and arms free. They ripple with muscle, and I can see he’s been working out on more than an espresso machine. I raise an eyebrow, seeking his permission to give the crowd what it wants.
He decisively nods, before leaning in to meet me halfway.
When he closes those baby blue eyes our lips meet. They aren’t cool, as I expected, but warm and smooth. As they skim mine, the butterfly-wing effect produces a storm in my stomach. I want to go in for more, but equally don’t want to look like a horny prom queen in full view of my ex-boss, psycho milkman and a Captain America who must have wandered in from a birthday party. ‘Snog, snog, snog,’ shouts the crowd, dissatisfied by our shyness. In the corner, Eva digs her thighs into the backside of the mechanical ghost and holds on for dear life. In frustration, someone starts a new chant of ‘shag, shag, shag,’ and the rest of the crowd takes it up.
‘If he feels hard down there be aware it could be a cleaver. But then again maybe he’s just very pleased to see you …’ says the DJ, amusing himself as no one else is listening.
Joe purses his lips, probably trying to decide whether to go along with it. But I’m not having any trouble working out what I want. Tonight, I am Carrie White, a woman so in touch with her emotions she can burn down a school hall full of mean girls before exploding a gas station on her way home. And tonight, her blood-spattered body is telling her to grab the man she fancies and make him her own. Squashing my inhibitions, I flash him a come-on smile. A smile tugs at his mouth in return as he runs his fingers through his hair with a calloused hand. Encouraged, I go for it, leaning in and brushing his lips with mine. When I pull back, the crowd chants more insistently. His resolution crumbles. My pulse races as he takes me in his arms and kisses me properly, tongues and everything. It climbs further when he strokes the fake blood on my arm. Finding that strangely compelling, I take it up another gear. Grabbing the side of his hip I attempt to diminish the space between us, but the aforementioned cleaver gets in my way. I yank it out, and as the plastic knife drops to the floor, he lets go of whatever was holding him back.
Pulling me as close as a couple can get with a massive cereal box jammed between them, he seeks out my tongue in earnest. We ebb and flow together in a kiss I didn’t realise I needed so desperately. He moves a hand to the back of my neck and traces small circles at the base of my hairline. My breathing becomes ragged as we deepen the kiss even further. Blocking out the punters, the DJ and the mechanical whirr of the bucking bronco, I focus only on Joe and the sensations his lips, tongue and hands are creating in every part of my body. Time expands, before contracting like knicker elastic when Eva flies off the ghost, soars over the crash mats and knocks a table of nearby drinks to the floor.
Concerned for her safety, I pull away. But I’m beaten by the vampire she picked up earlier, and Kai, who gets off his backside for once.
When I turn back to Joe, the moment has passed. Stale air and embarrassment come between us as the referee declares Eva the bar’s most impressive ghost buster. When the crowd’s chant begins again as ‘shot, shot, shot!’ the ref snaps his fingers and Maleficent approaches Eva with her syringes. As theSquid Gameguard gags on a blue drink, Joe grabs my arm and leans into me. Maybe all is not lost? My insides ignite at his proximity, and I help him close the gap between us once more.
But it seems his flame has gone out. If it was ever sparked. ‘That was horrible,’ he shouts into my ear.
Horrible? Disappointment surges through me. Taking a step back, I snag the edge of my prom shoe in the carpet. He automatically reaches out to steady me as Maleficent bears down on us to deliver our ‘shag, stab, void’ rewards. I pull my arm away and open my mouth to accept my winner’s shot, wishing it was a barrel of moonshine so I could obliterate the last few minutes. A tang of tomato with a dash of Worcestershire sauce hits my tongue and I nearly choke on it. Was my kiss as distasteful to Joe? For me it felt thrilling, but maybe he felt like he was sucking face with The Scream.
Captain America climbs onto the bucking ghost with the intention of setting a new record and instantly cracks his nose on his own shield. Shivering in my thin dress, I excuse myself to put some lipstick on– a pointless exercise given my face is a toxic mix of fake blood and very real shame. But on an impulse I turn back and ask him why he came.
He replies without hesitation. ‘I was supposed to go trick or treating. My plans changed at the last moment so I thought I’d pop down and see if I could catch up with you. The guy on the door felt sorry for me when he heard my sob story and let me in without a ticket. I saw from across the room you’d come as Carrie, but never would have … Oh!’ Joe looks down at the box, patting the back of it before reaching down to its furthest edge. ‘My phone’s ringing.’
Never would have what? Chosen a woman so inept at snogging she should go home and practise on her pillow? A second later, he turns to me. ‘This call could be important. But I can’t reach my cell as I strapped the box to my middle and my arms aren’t long enough to reach under it. Any chance you could help me grab it from my jeans pocket?’
Wishing I was anywhere else in the world but here, I crouch in front of him. Realising how close I am to his cardboard crotch I feel myself going red as a pulse of excitement runs from my core to my fingertips. Despite his earlier rejection, I itch to reach out and run my fingers up and down his jean-clad thighs. But instead, I shove my hand up into the box, snaking my fingers around his taut rear as I try to locate the phone. Face pressed against the fake Kellogg’s box, I tell him I can feel it vibrating, which does nothing to make the situation less awkward. Patting the pocket and then reaching into it for the gadget, I decide the night could only get more bizarre if a full moon turned us all into zombies. As I pass it over I catch sight of a name on the screen. ICE. Who’s that? A rapper? A contact for his Frappuccinos? He turns away to take the call.
His conversation is short and sweet. He’s back with me in seconds.
‘I have to go.’ He palms his phone, presumably he can’t face going through all that rigmarole again.
I’ve had time to think about his story and there’s one detail that doesn’t add up. ‘Trick or treating?’ My disbelief is reflected in my voice. ‘No one over the age of ten gets all dressed up to do that?’
He looks embarrassed. ‘It’s a thing. Where we are.’
‘It’s a thing– where you are?’ I repeat like an idiot, wondering who the ‘we’ is.
‘You go much beyond the Bush Theatre and it’s a foreign country really.’ He sends me an apologetic smile. ‘Oh, there’s something I wanted to ask you. What has twenty-three letters and spells out a fear of Friday the thirteenth.’
‘“Paraskevidekatriaphobia.” The word’s too long to fit in a crossword so why do you want to know?’
‘I just wanted to hear you have a go at saying it.’ We are back in the friend zone, his smile undiminished, even if mine is on the verge of extinction. ‘Gotta run. Sorry I can’t stay and enjoy the fun.’
He exits as discreetly as a walking box of Rice Krispies can. When I return to the sofa, Kai and Eva are all over each other, her tights lying abandoned next to them. I sit down, deflated. At least the cereal killer of Uxbridge Road didn’t opt to stab or void me. That’s something, I suppose, especially as he came fully equipped for both. Tonight was a horror story, but unlike Carrie, I can’t take my frustration out on the crowd.
Chapter 13
