Page 89 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

“Fucking Zolotov?” he said.

“What?”

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it? Heats the bed up for you, does he?”

I stood with my mouth open, unprepared for the conversation, wanting to run away from it, yet frozen to the spot in shock.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he demanded.

“Yes. I tried to. It was difficult.”

“How old is he anyway? You after his money, or something?”

“You bastard,” came out in a hoarse whisper, and I unfroze and ran for the stairs.

He caught my arm at the foot of them. “And what’s he doing? Have you thought about that, Malph? Screwing his way round the castle? First Simone, now you. It’ll be someone else soon.”

“No, Will,” I snapped, snatching my arm away from his grasp. “Don’t tar him with your own habits. You’re the one who screws around. With everyone except me, of course. Is that what this is about? You never loved me, so you don’t think anyone else could either?”

He shook his head in a stunned manner.

“Well, fuck you, Will Hearst. Stop judging my life and look at your own!”

I ran all the way up to my room and kicked the door, decided that Will’s shin would be the better recipient of such violence, and reversed the run.

The foyer was empty. I ran to the door and saw the bus just disappearing into the trees. I jumped in rage a couple of times on the outside step before sprinting up to Will’s room. It felt good to pummel the pillows, but they released an aura of crisps and a musky something that soon had me flop down upon them, defeated.

I should have told him. Of course I should have. How had he found out? Simone and Sadie had been being bitchy last night. Did they know? Had they said something? I was suddenly struck by the fact that Will had never actually told me about his relationship with Sadie. For a moment the realisation was enraging, but I recalled how it had felt to learn about it in an accidental manner.

I sighed and sat up, and took in the horrendous mess of the room. Will. I made his bed, removing all traces of my pillow abuse, and then moved on to the floor. How many socks could one person own? The laundry basket was soon full, and I sat on the bathroom chair and blew my nose on one of the socks, tidying having somehow made me cry.

What if Will’s anger didn’t pass? He had looked at me like he hated me. What if he didn’t come back? I wanted to chase after the bus. Communication was needed: calm, grown-up communication.

Composing the text took some time. I was a bit incoherent, but desperate in my attempt to make him understand that I had wanted to tell him. Sorry was said in a variety of ways, both for the secret and for the things shouted in rage. I finished with:Will, I love you, I need you, please don’t leave me.

Oh no. I’d just sent a confused babble of momentous length to a profoundly dyslexic person. The bathroom got an adrenaline-fueled clean, and finally the phone beeped.

Ignore me, Treadwell – I’m a wanker.

Relief laughed out as I walked back into the bedroom, got under the duvet, and typed:You’re not a wanker, Will.

Him:I am - hungover as well - sorry.

Me:Should this wanking issue be a worry then, seeing as I’m lying in your bed?

Him:WTF?

The phone rang before an explanation could be written.

“What the fuck you at now, Treadwell?”

“Following the example of those around me and sleeping my way round the castle.”

“Malph, you gotta forget that. I didn’t mean it. It was just a shock. I saw you last night.” I’d clearly been altogether too visible the previous evening. “In the elevator,” he clarified.

“Oh.” I cringed.

“But you’ll forget the crap I spouted?”

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