There are those dimples again.
“Unless you want to come with me? Just for an hour, like,” I venture, barely able to hear my own voice over the violent thudding in my chest.
“Where did you say it was again?” My heart slows a little. I should have known he wouldn’t want to come to some stupid drama party.
“Near here, I think. Some old theatre with an abandoned basement studio.” Eww, even saying it out loud makes me shudder. Why do I want to go so much? Something like this is way more Meghan’s scene.
“The old Regency?”
“Yeah. Do you know it?”
“Yeah. It’s near here.” He lowers his voice, taking a step closer and brushing my shoulders with gentle hands. “They say it’s haunted.”
“So I’ve heard,” I breathe, tingles shooting out of his fingers and directly into my nerve endings. “It’s not really my thing, anyway.” I’d much rather stay here all night, waiting for a glimpse of that stomach again. Tommy’s eyes are liquid yumminess and I blink quickly, trying not to drown in them. “Besides, there’s this girl Jasmine who’ll be there and she loves making me miserable.”
“Jasmine?”
Ugh, what did I mention her for?
“Er, yeah. She’s just this girl on the course.” I brush it off but I’ve piqued his interest.
“And she’s what? An entitled brat?” He smirks at me as I start to laugh. Talk about hitting the nail on the head.
“Pretty much,” I agree, filling him in on cardigan-gate. “She’s taken a dislike to me for some reason. So, there’s not much point in going, I’d only be punishing myself.”
“Hmm.” Tommy thinks for a second. “Wait here,” he says, turning back to the museum entrance. “I’ll be right back.”
“OK.” I’m left on the street, more than a little confused. I lean back against the wall as the minutes tick slowly by and watch dark-suited office staff rushing home from work. Jess! I tap out a quick text and fill her in on the situation and as I do my phone pings – it’s her. She’s stuck at the library, there’s been a leak or something and she’s on operation save the books. I try not to betoohappy about the turn of events and let her know I’ll call her after the party. After what seems like forever, Tommy emerges from the sliding doors, his bag looking much fuller than it did before.
“Come on, then.” He holds out a hand for mine. “Let’s show this Jasmine who’s boss.”
“Come in.” A deep, theatrical voice booms up from the depths, scant torchlight flickering from the cellar. The metal rail is cool in my grip as we climb down, feet echoing as we descend from the street into a basement.
The flashlight flickers as I arrive at the bottom, illuminating the face of one of the lads from the course. Ben, I remember.
“Hey,” I try, but my voice is swallowed by the thick, black silence. “Hey,” I repeat, louder, trying to sound more self-assured. “We’re here for the party?” Tommy clatters down behind me and his presence makes me a tiny bit braver.
“Duh,” Ben says, but he’s smiling and beckons us to follow him. “Niamh, right?”
“Yeah. And this is Tommy.”
“Cool.” He nods and Tommy copies him in that weird way lads do.
“This place is great,” I say.
“I’m doing a work placement here,” says Ben. “That’s how I got the key.”
We follow the bobbing light down a dark corridor, the beam flashing over whitewashed brick walls. I trail a hand out and my fingers come back damp and smeared with dust. I wipe the grime hastily on my jeans. We follow in silence until Ben stops and pushes a door open, holding it with one hand as he clutches the torch under his chin with the other, gurning at us like we’re at a five-year old’s Halloween party.
“Enter . . . but beware!” He chuckles to himself as he walks back to the entrance, the door creaking shut behind him.
I blink a few times, trying to acclimatize my eyes to the darkness. It’s a large studio and everything – the floor, walls, even the ceiling – is painted black. There are a few small knots of people, some who I recognize from the course, scattered around the room, clutching cans and making hushed conversation over dozens of tealights. The welcome warmth of Tommy’s hand on my lower back reminds me that I’m not on my own and I start to sink into it, until I hear a familiar, sneering voice.
“Ugh, what isshedoing here?” Jasmine emerges from the gloom, her hair golden and gleaming in the candlelight. Her eyes are nasty, narrow slits, but then she sees Tommy and they widen.
“Well, hi there,” she purrs in a voice I’ve never heard. She holds out a hand, like she’s royalty or something. “Jasmine.”
Tramp.
