A white-haired woman who looks a lot like my nanna, is crawling on the ground next to me, trying to get through people’s legs. Nice tactics. Her glasses dangle from a chain around her neck.
“Three minutes?” I repeat, peering round Roxy then looking back down at the old woman. “It’s not supposed to start for another half an hour?”
“Yes! Three fucking minutes! The organisers have pulled their usual last-minute shit.” she shouts. OK, Nanna enjoyed the odd swear but never the F-word. “Keep your eyes on the prize, curly.”
Good point. The steward next to the cauldron looks at his watch then holds two fingers up in the air. I squeeze Roxy’s hand and she pushes forwards. There’s a yelp from behind me and I look round just as the old woman sinks her teeth into the ankle of Tuxedo Vampire.
“You crazy old lady!” he screams.
“You stepped on my finger!” she shouts back. “I have arthritis!”
I swallow. It’s likeThe Hunger Gamesin here.
We keep pushing forward but the crowd is at least ten deep, and I can tell from Roxy’s tense shoulders we might not make it. There’s another shout and the pressure from the crowd behindme lessens. I look round and Tuxedo Vampire is on his back, on top of the old lady. Fake McKinley leans over them trying to help her up. I frown at the three of them; it’s possibly the strangest thing I’ve seen at one of these conventions and, let me tell you, you see a lot of stuff.
Fake McKinley manages to roll Tuxedo Vampire off the old lady, but they’re getting jostled so much she can’t get up. He hunches over and shields her from everyone. She spots me watching.
“Curly! Curly!” she calls, her voice shaky.
She’s holding something up in her hand. I glance at the steward on stage. He’s holding one finger up. One minute to go. The crowd pushes harder and Roxy and I move closer with it. People clamber onto the stage, cheering and jumping around after they drop their name in the cauldron. I swallow and look back at the woman. She looks smaller now.
“Curly!” she calls again.
I let go of Roxy’s hand and push my way through the bodies back to the old lady. I reach out to her, and Fake McKinley nods at me. I put my arm around her shoulders and he takes her wrist, but she shakes us off, holding up a piece of paper.
“You came back for me,” she says, her eyes watery.
“Come on, let me help you,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.
“It’s too late for me,” she says. “You’re young; you still have a chance.”
“I won’t leave you,” I say, trying to pull her up, but she feels so small, so fragile.
She shakes her head and pushes the paper into my chest.
“Take this. Please,” she says. “You’re my only hope.”
I look down: it’s her entry form. Her name – Dorothy Churchman – written on it in beautiful curvy writing.
I glance at Fake McKinley, who’s watching me (I think) through the mesh on his mask. He’s managed to get Dorothyinto a sort of sitting position and she’s put her glasses on.
“Eliza!” Roxy frantically waves me forwards, her eyes darting around in panic. “Eliza, what the fuck?!”
I take a breath and look back at Dorothy, her eyes, now giant behind her glasses, pleading with me. My fingers tighten around her entry form and I nod, my resolve as strong as my crowd-dodging thighs.
“OK,” I say, then kiss Dorothy on top of her soft white hair. I nod at them both. “Mind your hip, Dorothy!”
I stand and assess the crowd. There are less people around now, some have given up and are floating towards the bar, and others are making a final push to the stage.
“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight . . .”
The countdown starts without warning. Roxy is standing a few people ahead of me, a mix of anger and confusion on her still beautiful face. There’s no way we’re getting to that cauldron through this lot. My mouth is dry and my heart clangs in my chest. I take one last look at Dorothy, who nods at me, her eyes full of hope, and I know I have to find another way up onto that stage.
“Twenty-three, twenty-two . . .”
There’s nobody behind us now; everyone is at the front, scrambling over each other. I race over to Roxy and, ignoring her protests, rip her entry from her hand and run back towards Dorothy and Fake McKinley, where the Tuxedo Vampire is still sitting, slightly bewildered on the floor.
“Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen . . .”
