Page 28 of Midnight in Paris

‘Usedto?’ Caitlyn arched a pretty eyebrow and looked pointedly up and down Sophie’s body in its flimsy dress.

‘Yeah, we’re just friends.’ It was more complicated than that, but Sophie certainly didn’t feel like explaining herself to the unfriendly Caitlyn.

Caitlyn nodded. ‘But you’re here?’

‘Yes.’ Sophie said bluntly. ‘I’m here.’

The wheel stopped and crowds of students, some already slightly worse for wear, were expelled onto the grass. Tom, laughing with his companion, walked towards them. He slid an arm around Sophie’s back and gave her a squeeze. ‘All right?’ he said. ‘Hey Caitlyn!’ He gave her a nod.

She fixed her eyes on him. ‘I was going to see if you wanted to dance. There’s lessons.’

He crinkled his nose. ‘Maybe later. Not really my thing.’

‘That’s not what you said last year.’

He laughed. ‘It’s amazing what too much punch will have me doing.’

‘Guess I’ll catch you later then.’ Caitlyn shot a look at Sophie, her animosity quite visible, then walked off, raising her hand in an elaborate wave at a group of girls in the distance.

‘She seems nice,’ Sophie said.

Tom looked at her. ‘Caitlyn? Well, she’s…’ He relaxed suddenly. ‘You’re joking,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘I’ve seen friendlier axe murderers.’

‘Ah, she’s all right.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘What now. Want to watch the band? Or apparently there’s a casino somewhere around here?’

‘Could we just get another drink?’

It was around midnight when she lost him altogether. She’d popped to the ladies’ – queueing and pushing past girls who were clustered around the mirrors correcting their make-up – and returned to discover he hadn’t waited for her. She was slightly dizzy and her head ached.

She walked around the grounds, in and out of the marquee, past the buildings, excusing herself as she pushed past raucous groups, exchanging tight smiles with other guests as she made her way. She suddenly felt utterly, utterly ridiculous in her flimsy dress – everyone else seemed to be wearing fitted designs, with thick satin that looked made to measure. Hers looked like a nightdress in comparison.

Laughter filled the air around her and – as she was excluded from all of it – it felt like the loneliest sound she’d ever heard. She’d even dialled Tom’s phone a couple of times but it had gone straight to voicemail.

Tom, she was sure, was somewhere having the time of his life. He seemed to know everyone and people seemed drawn to him like wasps to jam. Groups of lads had passed, asking him along for a beer, girls fawned over him. She’d felt like a spare part even when she was on his arm – and felt, too, that she had no recourse to complain. After all, she was just a friend.

She knew that he wanted to stay until 5.30a.m. when they’d gather together for the ‘survivors’ photo’– a badge of honour for those who made it through the night, but in all honesty, she just wanted to get out of there, get home.

It was dark now and the air had cooled. Other girls had wrapped themselves in pashminas or borrowed their dates’formal jackets. The queues for all the activities showed no sign of abating, and everyone seemed in high spirits.

She began to push her way through the crowd, the dizziness increasing – made worse by the fact she’d been nervous and hadn’t eaten enough – her heels now hazardous against the uneven stone of the paths and the treacherous kicked-up turf.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, making her way through. ‘Excuse me.’

‘Is it Sophie?’ a voice said. She looked up into the catty eyes of Caitlyn. ‘Are you all right, darling? Have you lost yourfriend?’

She ignored her, heading for the gate, wanting more than ever to simply break out into a run and get home as quickly as she could. The voices, the laughter, the music, the joy of other people felt suffocating, and she just wanted to be alone in the cool dark street, away from it all. She never should have come.

As she made it through the final fifty metres, her heel turned and she fell onto her knees, mud staining her dress. ‘Oops,’ she heard a male voice say, ‘someone’s had too many!’ There was laughter but no move to help her to her feet. She got up, her knees stinging with pain, her eyes stinging with tears. ‘Fuck you!’ she wanted to yell at them. But they’d probably just find this funnier than ever.

Someone appeared in front of her as she stood, trying to adjust the strap on her shoe where it had slipped to one side. ‘Sophie?’ a male voice said.

She looked up. It was Will.

‘Oh. Hi,’ she said, suddenly embarrassed, aware that her hair was dishevelled, her mascara smudged. The mud on her dress and the dress itself, so insubstantial and cheap.

‘Are you OK?’

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