Loveless(68)

‘Fourteen drinks.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘OK, I can’t remember how much I drank.’

‘So why did you say fourteen?’

‘Sounded like a good number.’

We were interrupted by a few other students peering over Pip and Rooney’s shoulders, asking politely if I was OK. I realised I was still lying on the floor, which was awkward, so I sat up and reassured everyone that I was fine and had just had a bit too much to drink, which they chuckled at and went on with their evening. If I hadn’t been absolutely pissed out of my head, I would have been deeply embarrassed, but thankfully I was, and the only thing going through my mind was how much I wanted to throw up.

Rooney pulled me to my feet, one arm round my waist, which seemed to annoy Pip for some reason.

‘We should go chill in the cinema room for a bit,’ said Rooney. ‘We’ve still got six hours to kill. We can get you sobered up.’

Six hours? Sober was the last thing I wanted to be right now.

‘Noooo,’ I mumbled, but Rooney either ignored me or didn’t hear me. ‘Let me go. I’m fine.’

‘Clearly you are not, and we’re going to sit on a beanbag with some water for the next half an hour whether you like it or not.’

‘You’re not my mum.’

‘Well, your real mum would thank me.’

Rooney supported most of my weight as we walked through the floral, twinkling corridors of college, Pip trailing behind us. Nobody spoke until we reached the door of the cinema room and a loud voice behind us cried, ‘PIP! Oh my God, hi!’

In my hazy state I peered behind me at the voice. It belonged to a guy leading a large group of people who I didn’t recognise, most likely because they were from Pip’s college.

‘Come hang with us,’ the guy continued. ‘We’re all going to dance for a bit.’

Pip shuffled awkwardly. ‘Oh – er …’ She turned back to look at me.

I didn’t really know what to say, but thankfully Rooney spoke for me. ‘Just go. She’ll be fine with me.’

I nodded in agreement, giving her a wobbly thumbs-up.

‘OK, well … erm … I’ll meet you back here in, like, an hour?’ said Pip.

‘Yeah,’ said Rooney, and then we turned away, and Pip was gone.

‘Here,’ said Rooney, handing me a large glass of water and a toastie in a folded-up napkin as she slumped down next to me on a beanbag.

I took them obediently.

‘What’s in this?’ I said, waving the toastie.

‘Cheese and Marmite.’

‘Risky choice,’ I said, biting down into it. ‘What if I hated Marmite?’

‘It was the only filling they had left so you’re gonna eat it and make do.’

Thankfully, I love Marmite, and even if I didn’t, I probably would have eaten it anyway because I was suddenly ravenous. The nausea had passed, and my stomach felt painfully empty, so I munched on the toastie while we watched the movie that was currently playing on the screen.

We were the only people in the room. Distantly we could hear the thumping of the DJ’s music in the dance hall, which was no doubt where most people were. There was also some chattering coming from the room opposite, which was serving free tea and toasties, and occasionally loud laughter and voices would drift past the door as students went about their night together, doing whatever to pass the time until the end of the ball at dawn. It didn’t feel like a ball any more – it felt like a giant sleepover where nobody wanted to be the first to go to sleep.

The movie was the best adaptation of Romeo and Juliet – Baz Luhrmann’s nineties one with Leonardo DiCaprio. We hadn’t missed much – Romeo was walking moodily along the beach – so we settled down into the beanbag to watch, not speaking.

We stayed that way, engrossed, for the next forty-five minutes.

That was roughly how long it took me to sober up a little and for my brain to start working again.

‘Where’d you go?’ was the first thing I said.

Rooney didn’t look away from the screen. ‘I’m right here?’

‘No … earlier. You left and then you were gone.’

There was a pause.

‘Just hanging out with some people. Sorry. I … yeah. Sorry about that.’ She glanced at me. ‘You were OK, though, right?’

I could barely remember how I’d spent the time between dinner and the bouncy castle battle. Wandering through the dance hall, sitting in the tea room, exploring the marquee but not having a go on any of the stalls.

‘Yeah, I was fine,’ I said.

‘Good. Did you dance with Jason?’

Oh. And there was that.

‘Nope,’ I said.

‘Oh. How come?’

I wanted to tell her everything.

I was going to tell her everything.

Was it the alcohol? The buzz of the ball? The fact that Rooney was starting to know me better than anyone, all because she slept two metres from me every night?

‘Me and Jason isn’t going to happen,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘Yeah, I … I guess I got that impression, but … I just assumed you were still dating.’

‘No. I ended it.’

‘Why?’