Chapter 30: One Last Dance

I showered and shaved in my ensuite at five thirty. By six I was dressed in my tuxedo and downstairs in the kitchen pouring Champagne. Mark was also in a tux and readily accepted a glass from me after I’d poured it. The girls were still upstairs.

“What time you headed to Hannah’s?” he asked.

“I need to be there by Seven, so probably leave here about quarter to.”

He nodded. “Cool. I told the boys to meet us here, if that’s okay?”

“It’s your home as well as mine, Mark.”

The boys he was referring to were three of the lads who’d been on the same corridor as us last year in Wintersmith—Jon, Micky and Mazher.

“Good, thanks. I didn’t think you’d mind. They should be here any time now. Still can’t believe they’re having this thing out in the sticks and we’ve got to get a fucking taxi. Waste of fucking money.”

“I’ve told you, I’ll cover the taxi. The alternative was having a designated—”

“No fucking way. Fuck that shit. Drinking fucking coke all night. Fuck that.” He smirked. “Thanks, though. For the taxi.”

I nodded. I knew Mark wasn’t comfortable letting me pay for him for pretty much anything—well, anything other than food. He’d happily let me pay for a pub lunch any time I offered.

Just then the bell rang and Mark went to let his friends in. I greeted them all as they came into the kitchen and poured them each a glass of Champagne.

“Hey, slow down. Fucking savour it,” Mark said as Mickey started to quaff from his flute. “That’s the fucking good stuff, not some cheap plonk.”

“Ignore him,” I said. “There’re five more bottles. Although I’ve got to take two with me to Hannah’s, so three more, really.”

“So fucking what. Fucking savour it,” Mark said with a grin. “Try and be a bit sophisticated. Like what I am, right?”

We all laughed at that.

“Sophisticated?” Imogen said from the doorway. “Chance’ll be a fine thing. Still, it’s not like I’m complaining.”

Talk about looking stunning!

She wore a dark emerald off-the-shoulder dress with a tight bodice and flowing skirt. Her long red hair cascaded in waves down her back and over her bare shoulders. I couldn’t see her feet, but I knew she had to be wearing fairly high heels because she was almost as tall as Vanessa, who stood behind her and was usually a few inches taller.

Imogen walked slowly towards Mark, a smile on her face and fire in her eyes. With each step, the slit in the left-front of her dress revealed a leg clad in black nylon and, as I’d guessed, ludicrously high heeled shoes—the same dark emerald as her dress.

When she was standing in front of my best friend, she put her hand on one of the two champagne flutes he held—the full one—and said, “That for me?”

Dumbly, he nodded.

She took it from him, said, “Thank you,” then tilted her face up.

Mark smiled, then bent forward to plant a tender, loving kiss on her lips.

I smiled. “Well,” I said. “It’s about bloody time.”

“Oh, catch up, Paul,” Vanessa said. She was standing next to Mickey, who was looking very pleased with himself. “They’ve been a couple for months.”

“Have they?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes at me. “They’ve not exactly been hiding it. Well, not from everyone else. I guess they’ve been a little bit more discreet around you.”

I looked at my friends, who now had an arm around each other’s waist. Mark shrugged. “You’ve had a lot on your plate, mate.”

I shook my head and smiled. I was happy for them.

I held out the second flute that I was holding to Vanessa. She stepped forward to take it then went back to stand by Mickey, who put his arm around her waist. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled back and winked. Dressed in a classic black evening dress that accentuated her glorious hourglass figure, she looked happy. Content. She’d moved on from me, that much was clear.

I was happy for her too, just as much as I was for Imogen and Mark.

“Okay,” I said, “this feels a little weird, but seems appropriate. A Toast.” I raised my half-full flute. “To good friends. May you all have a fantastic night, a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Healthy New Year. To Good Friends.”

Mark raised his flute in response. “Good Friends.”

There was a chorus in reply from Vanessa and the other boys.

“Sod that,” Imogen said, her arm still around Mark’s waist. She raised her own glass, looked straight at me and said, “To Family.”

I nodded and raised my glass to her but didn’t reply. She knew how I felt about her. And about Mark. I didn’t need to say it.

I arrived at Hannah’s Student Village house at about five to seven. I’m nothing if not punctual—which it turns out is more than could be said for Hannah or any of her housemates.

I knocked on the door and a voice from the other side yelled, “Who is it?”

I think that was Kim, but couldn’t be sure.

“Paul.”

“You’re early!”

Giggling. There was giggling. That’s never good.

“Only by about five minutes.”

“Yeah, well, none of us are ready. Go and walk around the block or something.”

There was some whispering that I couldn’t make out followed by, “Actually, go and get a drink in The Cap and come back in twenty minutes. We’re going to text the others and tell them the same.”

“Okay. Shall I just leave these two champagne bottles on the doorstep?”

“You bought Champagne?” That was definitely Hannah’s voice. “You mean the real stuff?”

“Yes, the real stuff.”

“God, you’re amazing! Leave it there and I’ll put it in the fridge. I promise not to let anyone open it until you come back.”

By The Others I assume she meant Hannah’s housemates’ dates for the evening—I knew they all had one, I just didn’t know who any of them were. So I did as I was told, although, given I’d already had two glasses of champagne, I just ordered myself a coke. There was no point in getting too tipsy too early.

Like I said, I didn’t know who the other girls’ dates were, but about five minutes after I’d ordered my drink, four young men in tuxedoes entered the pub, laughing—well, guffawing, really—and shouting.

“I don’t know why any of you are surprised,” one said, sounding like the worst imaginable Home Counties Public Schoolboy. “I mean, when have you ever known the totty to be ready on time for anything, what?”

Look, I know I shouldn’t be prejudiced, but after my upbringing in Micester and The Great Divide, I really can’t help it. And these four—okay, so far only one had spoken, but these types stick with their own and hunt in packs—were even worse than The Villagers that went to Micester High. They were the ones who’d have gone to fee-paying Westmouthshire Grammar. Stuck up and full of themselves, thinking they are better than everyone else—masters of the universe, even.

“Yeah, well, whatever, right?” said another, sounding just as posh. “Lotts said she’d make it worth my while, and I’ll bet Libs will do the same for you. Plus, we have time for one more drink—and that can’t ever be a bad thing.” He looked up and shouted across the room, “Barman, four drams of your finest Scotch.”

I rolled my eyes, shook my head and turned away from them to lean on the bar. We weren’t the only ones in there by any stretch, but I was the only other one in a Tux, so if Lotts or Libs had told these arseholes—

“You must be Paul,” one of the four said as he slapped me on the shoulder. “Hannah’s bit of rough, right?”

I turned my head towards him and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Scotch, old chap? You’ve had Scotch before, right? The good stuff, I mean, not the cheap rubbish they usually push here.”

“I’m good, thanks.” I held up my glass. “Pacing myself. Plus, you really shouldn’t be mixing Champagne and Scotch. Ruins both.”

“Ha, nonsense. They say that but a man needs to learn to hold his liquor and still guzzle the champers, what?”

The barman put four glasses on the bar, two either side of me. “Three pounds each.”

There was grumbling from either side of me, with one of them muttering, “It’s gone up.”

I caught the barman’s attention and, taking my wallet from my inside jacket pocket, I said, “I’ll get these.”

It was a good bet that the Ball venue would accept payment by card, but I tried to live by a better safe than sorry attitude so had made sure to withdraw five hundred in cash just in case. I didn’t normally carry that much on me—usually I kept it below fifty—but I didn’t want me or any of my friends to miss out because we hadn’t taken enough with us. Between taxis, drinks, food and the advertised casino, I had no idea how much we might all get through.

I opened my wallet, trying my best to subtly make sure the posh boys around me could see the stash of notes inside, and took out a five and a ten, which I handed to the barman. “Keep the change.”

The guy to my left—none of them had introduced themselves yet, either through rudeness or just an assumption I’d know who they were—smirked and casually said, “Been saving up for tonight, eh, Chap?”

Like all of his type, he’d assumed I was a poor student not on his financial or social level.

If only he knew.

I just nodded. Then I glanced at my watch and said, “Nearly quarter past. Drink up, we better get going. Don’t want the totty moaning that we’re late and messing up their schedule. Right?”

It was decidedly odd walking through the Student Village back to Hannah’s house with four men I didn’t know and already didn’t particularly like. Knowing that all four of Hannah’s housemates had gotten themselves dates for The Ball, I’d ordered—and would be paying for—two seven-seat taxis to ferry us to the venue. With ten of us in total, I expected we’d go six in one taxi and four in the other. I’d insist on being in the one with four.

Ordinarily I’d have just paid for the taxis and not made a big deal of it or even really thought anything of it, and the girls all knew that. They didn’t know everything—I was certain Hannah had been discreet—but they knew I’d pay for things like that and not ask anything in return. But I was sort of hoping that these condescending arseholes brought up the taxi fare just so I could tell them I had it covered in as haughty tone as I was capable.

But something told me they wouldn’t mention it. That type never do.

They just assume.

Arseholes.

They walked two-by-two, a few steps ahead of me. I knew my place. Or rather, I just didn’t want to be drawn into their juvenile Posh-Boy bullshit. They really were tiresome.

When we got to the girl’s place, the door opened before any of us had a chance to knock. Someone must have been watching for us.

Kim greeted us and gave one of the Posh-Boys a kiss on the cheek. She told the rest to go into the kitchen and find the other girls. But as I got to her, she leaned in close and whispered, “Go upstairs. Hannah’s in her room. Knock on the door then wait on the landing.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” she said. “It’s worth it.”

I did as instructed, and after knocking Hannah’s door she said from inside, “Paul?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” She paused. I guess she took a deep breath—it’s what I’d have done. “Take a few steps back from the door—about in the middle of the landing—then close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you. Okay?”

I nodded. Which was pointless. “Yep.” I took a few steps back, then closed my eyes. “Okay. Ready.”

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay.”

I heard the door in front of me open and then click closed. It was so tempting to open my eyes a crack and take a peek, but Hannah clearly wanted to do a reveal of the dress I’d bought her, so I played along and focused on keeping my eyes shut.

There were footsteps on the landing’s laminate flooring. Slowly, one after the other.

Then I could feel Hannah’s breath on my face.

Then a pair of lips pressing against mine.

The footsteps retreated and finally, Hannah said, “Okay, open your eyes.”

I paused for just a second. Then as slowly as she’d walked toward me, I opened my eyes.

I stared. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t blink. I think my eyes widened and my jaw went slack. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. So, I just stared.

“Paul?” There was uncertainty in her voice.

I shook my head. “You look ... That dress is ... I just...”

She was trying not to show her emotions, I could tell. My reaction probably wasn’t what she’d expected—or perhaps what she’d hoped for.

I needed to rectify that.

“You’re beautiful,” I said, smiling. “That dress is incredible. And I just can’t believe that I get to take you to The Ball tonight.”

She blushed and looked at the floor to her right. Then looking back at me she said quietly, “You really think I’m beautiful?”

“It’s not a matter of opinion.”

She looked into my eyes and blinked before saying, “I don’t think you’ve ever told me I’m beautiful before.”

“Haven’t I?”

She shook her head.

“Then I apologise. I can only assume it’s because I don’t like stating the obvious. But you are. You’re beautiful.”

Her shy smile turned into a smirk and she held her hands out from her sides in invitation to appraise the dress. “So ... Worth the money?”

“Oh, it was worth the money.”

It was purple. No, that’s the wrong description—even a stupid boy like me knows that purple covers everything from light lilac to that dark pink ink you get in printers to almost bluey-black.

Indigo. That might be the best word. A very dark, very rich indigo. In low light it would easily be mistaken for black. It was velvet and hugged her curvy frame like a glove—narrowing at the waist then flaring at the hips and pinching in again to about mid-thigh before falling straight down to floor. There was a slit up to that same mid-thigh point, at the front but just off to the left.

Two wide straps over her shoulders plunged down to form a deep V-neck which showed off her glorious cleavage to maximum effect. And it had two short, loose, sheer sleeves, which fell about half-way down her upper arm and were covered in small sequins.

Her makeup was subtle rather than showy, and her long blonde hair was pulled back off her face in what I assume was a ponytail.

Only I was wrong.

“What do you think of my hair?” she said, turning around to show me.

“Wow,” I said. “That must have taken ages.”

She looked over her shoulder at me. “It did. So I hope you don’t ruin it later tonight by pulling on it too hard.” She smirked. “Well, I hope you don’t ruin it too much.”

It was styled into a loose braid on the back of her head, held together with a ribbon that matched her dress at the base of her neck, then the rest of it fell in a messy, wavy ponytail down to the middle of her back.

It was appropriately flashy for Christmas, but appropriately low-key for a student.

And yes, it would make a very nice handhold later that night when we got up to our room.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go and open that Champagne before the taxis get here.”

In a lot of ways, The Ball was much like any other night out I’d had with my friends over the past eighteen months or so. Yes, we were all dressed in our finest, as they say. Yes, the venue was farther away and very fancy. Yes, there was a small casino in a separate room with some card tables, roulette, and craps. Yes, the live entertainment was a popular band from London who’d had a few chart hits in the past couple of years. But mostly it was just about spending time with my friends, drinking, dancing, laughing and enjoying ourselves.

I spent most of the evening with Hannah, but we weren’t joined at the hip. She spent some time with her friends, particularly her housemates and I spent a good deal of time just chatting shit with Mark, Jem and Phil and the three lads who’d tagged along with Mark who, I’m ashamed to say, I really didn’t know all that well despite how long we’d lived on the same corridor last year.

They were good lads, actually. Solid. Dependable. At least, that was the impression I got. I understood why Mark thought of them as friends. I made a mental note to try and spend some more time with them and get to know them better in the New Year.