“Come on, Niamh.” Tommy grabs my hand and brushes past Jasmine as though he hasn’t even seen her. “Let’s check this place out.”
I stifle my giggles as we start to explore the room, stepping around the little pockets of people cradling cans and bottles. A few people throw me a wave but on the whole, they are gawping at Tommy.
Can’t say I blame them. I straighten my shoulders and flick my hair in a way that says, “That’s right, he’s with me.”
“It’s freezing down here,” I murmur, as we find a spot in the corner. Someone has thrown down some cushions, which on closer inspection are actually old, backless theatre seats, their red velvet threadbare, golden studs tarnished and dull. I thud down on one, careful to avoid the stumpy candles on the ledge behind us (I learnt my lesson when Auntie Donna caught her hair on the Advent wreath last year – she still won’t wear hairspray) but I regret it immediately when Tommy disappears behind a grey cloud.
“Ewww,” I splutter, “dusty.”
“Just a bit.” Tommy drops down much more gracefully than I managed and shrugs his hoodie off as the air clears. I see Jasmine glaring at me from the other side of the room, her face petulant. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”
The look on Jasmine’s face is just priceless. I shrug it on, relishing the warmth and the way the arms are slightly too long on me. Emboldened, I lean forwards and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he says, pulling his seat closer, his long lashes lowered. His eyes are firmly on my lips. “So,” he leans in, “what do you want to do?”
My eyes have barely fluttered closed when a jarring squeal of static tears through the air.
“Come on, people.” Jasmine has an old microphone in hand, the lead disappearing to an ancient sound system in a tangle of wires. “This is boring. We need to do something fun.”
“Spin the bottle!” a male voice shouts and a group of lads start to snigger and nudge each other.
“I don’t think so,” Jasmine sneers, glancing around the room. “Where’s Ben?”
“Here.” Ben waves. “You called?”
“This place is supposed to be haunted, right?”
He shrugs. “Apparently. There used to be an old tavern or something here before the theatre. The story was that not everyone who checked in would survive the night. . . I think the owner was knocking them off. All very Sweeney Todd.”
“Perfect.” She bares straight, white teeth and presses her lips to the microphone. “Because I think we should do a séance.”
“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” I whisper to Tommy, as the rest of the party erupts into chatter and begins to migrate towards Jasmine. My skin feels as though a thousand six-legged creatures are crawling around on it. “Thisreallyisn’t my thing.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Tommy pats his bag. He’s grinning. “I have a trick up my sleeve. Her little séance ideas fits in almost too perfectly.”
Despite my panic, curiosity stirs. “What’s in there?”
“Wait and see.” He stands up, brushing dust from his dark jeans. He fits in down here, all dark and brooding against the chipped black walls, the shadows setting off his strong jaw and making his cheekbones razor sharp. He holds out a hand. “Do you trust me?”
“Now.” Jasmine is seated at the self-appointed head of the circle, her voice low as she extends a delicate, beringed hand to either side. “Take the hand of the person next to you.”
I shuffle uncomfortably, pins and needles already shooting up my legs. The cold of the floor soaks into my bones and my teeth begin to chatter. The girl next to me offers her hand and I’m about to take it when Tommy’s voice echoes around the room.
“I have something better than a séance.” He drags his battered old satchel in front of him and tugs at a rectangular box, its corners snagging on the worn leather. He eventually prises it free and thrusts it into the circle.
Jasmine swigs from a clear glass bottle and gives him a savage grin.
“A board game? Oh, sweetie. We’re not here for Monopoly.”
“Take a closer look.” His voice is calm. I strain my eyes to look at the box. It’s old, that’s for sure, worn brown card, sepia-toned and tattered at the edges. The bottle makes its way around and I get a whiff of something that could probably strip my nail polish, so I push my lips together, pretend to take a swig and pass it on to Tommy. He ignores me, staring intently at Jasmine. A little knot of jealousy forms in my stomach. The skin on my lips burns.
“Fine,” she sighs, leaning forwards to pull the box towards her, all jangling bracelets and sparkling rings, like some kind of trust-fund fortune teller. “Oooooh...” She sits back, fixing her eyes on her enraptured audience. “Now we’re talking.”
She eases the lid from the box and I know she’s aware that every single pair of eyes is on her. She flings it carelessly to the side and I cringe, knowing that if it came from the museum, it’s at least a century old. She lifts out a package and slowly unwraps a small, heart-shaped piece of wood, solid except from a circle bored clear through the middle. A larger cloth-wrapped package follows and she grunts under the unexpected weight. She places it on the floor and the material slides away, exposing a varnished wooden board.
“Oh, hell no,” I hear someone mutter.
“Chicken?” Jasmine challenges. A few people start to leave the circle. “I thought so,” she mocks, encouraging the remaining few to move in closer. Now that I can see what it is, I’m ready to clear out too. Then a hand on mine and a whisper in my ear changes my mind.
