Page 46 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

“Amalphia? Justin?” Aleks sounded cross.

“Leave him,” whispered my friend. “He’s another one that could do with stewing.”

Ignoring Justin’s advice, I walked unsteadily to the door and opened it, interested to see what would happen, and wanting to get it over with rather than lying in bed worrying about it.

“What is this that is happening?” asked a slightly dishevelled Aleks, leaning on the door frame. “Where have you been all night?”

I leant against the wall for support and stared at him, also trying to understand what was happening.

Justin stepped in. “Drop the concerned act, Zolotov. We witnessed the face-sucking.”

Aleks shrugged and held his hands up as if in confusion. “She kissed me. I pulled back. It is nothing. A confused moment. You cannot think there is anything else to this? Malphia?” His tone softened as he looked at me from the doorway. “You are so young. Sophisticated people, they laugh and have fun in social situations like tonight. None of it means anything.”

Justin was apoplectic. “That’s not sophistication, chum. Sticking your tongue down the throat of that cow was sleaze, whatever you’re dressing it up as. Now leave us alone, you patronising prick.”

“I didn’t—” said Aleks, but then Justin slammed the door in his face and locked it too.

My legs gave way and I slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Is Simone sophisticated?” I asked doubtfully.

“She’s a scrawny bitch. Look, we’re all pissed. He is too. Let him stew. Good word that. I like that Holly wench. There’s a distinct lack of sorry in the Zolotov tonight. Maybe it’ll be different tomorrow. And if not? A quick shag with Hearst will make you feel better.”

“Justin, please…”

“I’m telling you, it’ll be easy. Listen.” He took a drag on the whisky bottle and passed the fiery oblivion to me. “You go to his room and ask if you can have a condom. Say it’s an emergency.”

I choked on the burning drink.

“Watch it, Treadwell. Anyway, then you ask, very politely, if you can stay there and use it. I swear, you won’t have to say anything more.”

I stood up, with a little difficulty, and smiled at him. “There’s only one man’s bed I’m headed to tonight.” And I walked across the room, got into it and fell asleep almost at once.

Chapter 14

Myheadthrobbedasif someone were hammering inside it. A memory, something bad, lay just out of reach. Justin slept peacefully beside me. I padded to his bathroom to get water, and the hammering sound came again, this time accompanied by a voice.

“Only me!” called Holly from beyond the door.

The smell of the breakfast tray she carried was unpleasant, but the orange juice was nice.

“My face is actually melting off my skull,” groaned Justin, sitting up in bed, though he perked up at the sight of toast.

“Aye,” said Holly, picking up the empty whisky bottle off the floor. “You’ve to do a ballet class. Only a short een,” she specified on seeing our horrified faces. “Bit of dancing with your partners, I think.”

“Well, hopefully that means Will, because…” The sentence wouldn’t complete. The onset of recall was vivid and raw.

“Oh, it winna be him,” she said. “I’ll let him oot in a bit and send him to bed.”

“He’s still in the cupboard? Holly, he didn’t touch me. It was me who hurt him. You’ve got to let him out. Or I can go and do it.”

She put her hand on my arm. “Dinna upset yersel, quine. I’ll de it. You get ready for your class.”

Back in my own room, relieved not to have met anyone on the stairs, frailty and reluctance contributed to the slowness of dressing. Justin arrived, and we lumbered down and round together, lamenting that we had not thought to take the elevator.

Class had already begun in the dungeon. Michelle barked at us to take our places behind everyone else at the barre. Aleks ignored us. I tried to focus on technique, but we’d missed the slower warm-up and it was all impossible. Justin and I leant on each other in the centre as Paul gave a difficult-to-follow lecture about alcohol and neurotransmitters and cerebral activity. The gist was that our brains had deteriorated the more we drank, which hardly seemed like a ground-breaking discovery.

“The only exceptions were Miss Treadwell and Mr. Hearst, who shared a joint clear peak quite late on in the evening,” Paul said, fascinated by on-screen squiggles.

“Where is he, anyway?” asked Michelle. “I assumed he was just late like you two.” She was painfully loud.

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