The Day She Came Back(57)
‘Let’s just go with the flow, see how things develop and keep chill. Okay?’ He had kissed her then; the number of kisses she had lost count of, but she knew it was a lot more than thirteen. In truth, she felt more nervous about the party than excited, but she didn’t want to quash Flynn’s excitement. Not only did she want to please him but, for one night, she wanted to be the kind of girl who had a party and didn’t give a fig what the neighbours thought. Flynn handed her the joint, which she took into her fingers.
‘Okay.’ She kissed him again.
After sleeping late and eating one of Flynn’s gargantuan breakfasts, much of Saturday was spent in preparation. Victoria had run the vacuum over the carpets and swept the flagstones. All precious or valuable items had been locked in the cupboard in Grandpa’s old study on the second floor, and shelves and surfaces had been cleared of glassware and ornaments, replaced with coasters, should someone decide to abandon a glass or can on a shiny surface. The door to the garden room was locked. Access to Prim’s beautiful plants was strictly forbidden. Victoria carried with her a feeling of intense anxiety, unaware that hosting a party would bring this much pressure. There were a million things to worry about: would people turn up? And if they did, would they have a good time? Did they have enough booze? Would people drink too much? Would the music be too loud? Not loud enough? What if the whole thing was a flop? Should she and Flynn sneak off upstairs? When could they sneak off upstairs? What should she wear? How should she do her hair? These last two items would have been a doddle with Daksha on hand to offer advice, but her friend was far from on hand and this thought was constantly at the front of Victoria’s mind. Daksha’s absence removed a huge chunk of her joy.
‘Wowsers! You look fricking amazing!’ Flynn grinned at her from the open door of the bathroom across the landing as she took the small gold-tasselled key and locked the door to Prim’s bedroom before putting it in the brass plant pot on the landing. She walked slowly towards him in her silver high heels – the first time she had ever worn them, having bought them from a charity shop a few months earlier. Her legs were shaved and slathered in glossy lotion and her perfume spritzed in long bursts. The look on his face was one of appreciation as he took in the oversized shirt she had decided to wear with a large leather belt around the waist, thus turning it into a dress. A very short dress, but a dress nevertheless. Her hair was loose, and she had, for the first time in her life, applied fake tan to her pale, freckled skin. And with a slick of red lipstick purloined from Prim’s dressing table, she was all set.
‘I mean it – amaaaa-zing!’ He whistled, reached out, pulled her to him and, with his hand in the small of her back, kissed her. ‘You want some?’ He proffered a joint he had rolled earlier and she took a single long, deep draw before heading down the stairs and into the kitchen for a cold glass of wine. She felt euphoric, excited, elated and sexy – the heels certainly helped, but there was no doubt this was shaping up to be quite possibly the best night of her life! She felt magnificent!
Victoria hadn’t planned on getting drunk, far from it, but nervous anticipation meant she knocked back more than she might usually; in fact, more than she ever had. Her state of inebriation not only helped combat the horrible feeling of isolation without Daksha by her side, it also felt like the only way to handle the terrible lag between getting ready for the party and people actually arriving. She sipped wine quickly and refilled her glass regularly, taking the joint from Flynn’s fingers whenever he passed. He was busy, preoccupied, whispering in corners with his mate and queuing up tracks for later. It was a reminder of how new they were that, rather than take his hand as she wished, she felt more comfortable dancing alone in the kitchen, practising a few steps and watching her reflection in the window to check out her moves. She looked good and was at the glorious arc of inebriation where she didn’t realise quite how drunk or stoned she was.
She watched Flynn and his friend swallow a pill and grin at each other.
‘Boyfriend . . .’ She practised the word out loud, and it made her laugh. ‘’Smyboyfriend . . .’ she slurred, raising her glass to him.
Sab and his two mates had set up the decks in the drawing room, where the furniture had been pushed to the sides of the room and the rugs rolled and put in a spare bedroom. The three of them nodded their heads in time to the relentless beat of a track that to her untrained ear sounded exactly like the last one they had played. She knew, however, it was more than her credibility was worth to ask if they had any Ed Sheeran or George Ezra.
Flynn caught her eye and winked; as usual, desire flared in her gut. This was happening: she was hosting a party with Flynn McNamara and, of all the girls he knew, she was the one he wanted. For the first time ever, Victoria felt a swell of something in her chest, and it felt a lot like belonging, a lot like popularity, and she liked it. In that moment she wasn’t thinking about Prim, she wasn’t thinking about Sarah, she wasn’t thinking about much, other than getting Flynn alone, upstairs, and the sheer joy of feeling his hands on her skin. The thought in itself was enough to make her throw her head back and laugh! It was like she had a glorious secret.
With a glass of wine in her hand, she heard Flynn and the DJ boys laughing loudly in the drawing room and, just as she was wondering if anyone was ever going to show, and caring little at that point whether they did or not, she heard a different kind of laughter. Guests! By the time the first of the revellers arrived, a little after 10 p.m. she was positively sloshed and viewed proceedings through an alcohol-induced haze.