Page 6 of Midnight in Paris

‘And this guy is…?’ Libby had pointed at the other man. He was thicker-set, stronger-looking than Tom, but his face was open and friendly.

‘Oh, this is Will.’ Tom had laughed. ‘I’m afraid that Will was not inA Midsummer Night’s Dream,he’s just his usual, fashion-challenged self.’

‘Whoops!’ Libby had seemed delighted with her mistake. ‘Thought you might have been Lysander or maybe Bottom?’ She’d given a drunken wink.

‘Libby!’ Sophie had admonished. Will was wearing a white shirt, blue jeans. Nothing out of the ordinary.

‘Ah, she speaks!’ Tom had said, making her blush. Then turning to Libby, he’d remarked, ‘She’s quiet, your friend.’

Libby had shrugged. ‘Yeah. Only cos she can’t get a word past me.’

Sophie had felt her face get hot.

‘Don’t worry about Tom,’ Will had then said conspiratorially at her side. ‘It’s actually a compliment. He’s flirting.’

She’d looked at him incredulously. ‘That’sflirting?’

‘He has a pretty high success rate, believe it or not.’

It had been a strange evening of too much red wine, a combination of welcoming banter and borderline flirtation from some of the boys, and haughty disdain from others. At some point, someone had brought out an ancient karaoke mic, inserted a DVD into a small TV in the corner, and soon they were laughing, dancing and cringing to the sounds of outdated nineties hits being belted out by posh boys with mediocre vocal skills.

A few of them had started to dance, a couple more girls had found their way into the party and soon the tiny room was hot, sweaty, filled with a fug of forbidden cigarettes and alcohol. Libby had started dancing with Michael who’d mellowed after a couple more whiskies, and Sophie had found herself sitting alone, sipping dubious punch on a beanbag that had seen better days.

‘Sure you don’t want to dance?’ Will had asked her, sitting down heavily on the edge of the beanbag.

She’d shaken her head, embarrassed. She’d barely touched her drink and had started to sober up, could feel the ghost of a headache throb at her temples. Earlier, a drunken lad had sat next to her and begun talking about quantum mechanics enthusiastically, and she’d found herself nodding along without understanding a word. This was not the kind of party she was used to.

Just when she had been considering how to get Libby’s attention and suggest they got out of there, a plastic cup had been thrust at her. ‘Come on,’ a voice had said. ‘Have a bit of wine. That punch is toxic.’

She’d taken the cup and looked up, seeing Tom, a wide smile stretched across his glittery face. ‘Thanks.’

He’d put out a hand and she’d instinctively put hers out to meet it, then before she knew what was happening, she had been pulled to her feet and into Tom’s arms, rocking away to somehalf-forgotten hit by the Spice Girls. She’d looked back at Will guiltily as she was tugged away.

Close up, she could smell the clean scent of Tom’s aftershave, the slightly musty cotton of his costume, a touch of cigarette smoke. She’d never been a big fan of dancing, but here in this private and crowded space, the most they could do was rock a little to whatever song came on next. She’d caught Libby’s eye across the room and her friend had given her an enthusiastic thumbs up. She had shaken her head emphatically. No. She had not pulled.

The party had passed in a blur of music and drunkenness until one by one, people had drifted off to their rooms or back to the street. Eventually, close to three in the morning, it had been just Sophie, Tom, Will and Libby.

‘Well, thanks for letting us crash your party,’ Sophie had said.

‘Hang on. Youcrashedour party?’ Tom had said in mock surprise.

‘Ha ha. Very funny.’ Libby had given him a gentle smack on the arm.

Sophie had clambered to her feet. ‘We’d better go. It’s like 3a.m.’

‘OK, see you!’ Tom had waved tiredly without moving from his position on the sofa.

‘Can I get you a taxi?’ Will had offered.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Sophie had said. ‘We’re not far. Come on, Libby.’

‘Can’t we sleep here?’ Libby had whined. This was typical Libby – the first few drinks of an evening seemed to energise her, but she’d hit a wall on drink six or seven and simply want to lie down and go to sleep. Sophie had come down one morning to find her out cold on the kitchen floor, propping her head on a tea towel and completely oblivious to the rest of theirhousemates tiptoeing around her and brewing coffee before morning lectures.

‘Lib, no!’ Sophie had said, grabbing her friend’s arm. ‘They might get into trouble, you know we’re not meant to be here. Come on.’

Reluctantly, Libby had acquiesced.

‘Taxi?’ Will had offered again, following as they half stumbled towards the door. ‘Honestly, my treat.’

---