There it is! I grab it, ready to turn on my heels and run, when curiosity gets the better of me and I peep in the window. My heart bangs hard against my chest the moment I realise that Ian is in the window, looking out, right into my eyes. Fuck, I thought Woody said he had gone out. And what’s that in his hand? No way. Is that…a woman’s head? I step back from the window in horror, but Ian is straight outside.
‘What are you doing on my property?’ he asks me, his stony face giving nothing away.
‘I, erm, well I came to tell you that we were having a Halloween party. Just to let you know we might be a bit loud, but that you could tell us to turn the music down or whatever if it’s disturbing you,’ I babble. ‘I tried the front door but you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you were backdoor people, you know how some people insist on everyone using the backdoor? My mum tried it once, it didn’t last. So yeah, I thought I’d try the backdoor, in case your mum is the same, and then I dropped my phone and…’ my voice trails off. I can’t help but stare at the “head” in his hands. He’s holding it by a fistful of hair but he’s in the shadows, so I can’t quite make it out. I don’t know what else it could be, all I need to know is that I need to get out of here.
‘My mum doesn’t live here any more,’ he tells me.
‘Oh, OK. Well, bye,’ I blurt.
‘Wait,’ Ian insists. ‘Stop right there. I know you’ve all been spying on me.’
‘Spying? What do you mean?’ I ask innocently.
‘Cut the crap,’ he snaps. ‘I can see your minions watching us right now.’
I glance back at my house just in time to see Millsy and Woody bob down. Those fucking idiots.
‘Look, it’s nothing to do with me,’ I tell him. ‘I just came to tell you about the party and now I’m going to go home.’
I make my way around the side of the house to leave out of the front garden – because I’ve no idea how I’m going to get back over that fence and also because the front garden isn’t secluded enough to murder me in.
I hear Ian follow me.
‘Stop,’ he calls after me. ‘Or I’ll call the police.’
We’re out of sight of my house now, and no one can see us.
‘Fine, call the police, I’m sure they’ll be interested in all the women who come over to your house and never leave,’ I say boldly, except I can’t hide how terrified I am and my voice wavers and cracks.
Ian laughs manically.
‘What’s so funny?’ I ask as Ian approaches me slowly. As he reaches me he raises the severed head to my eye level.
‘That’s a wig,’ I tell him.
‘I know it’s a wig,’ he replies. ‘What did you think it was, a head or something?’
Yes, but I’m not going to vocalise that.
‘It’s for my latest photography project,’ he tells me. ‘I’m photographing men in authoritative positions dressed as women.’
My brain spends a few seconds processing this. That’s why we see women in his house who never leave – we’re not seeing Ian make a hasty exit, we’re seeing the models leave in their normal clothes. That’s why we see him with his hands all over them, he’s making adjustments. That’s why he’s got a wig in his hand – not a human head.
‘Well, we saw you digging a hole in your back garden, and…’
‘I wasn’t digging a hole,’ he explains, ‘I was filling in a hole next door’s dog dug up.’
‘So, where’s your mum?’ I ask him.
‘In a home,’ he replies. ‘What on earth has been going through your heads?’
I laugh to myself.
‘Look, we are having a Halloween party if you’d like to come?’
‘I’d like that,’ he replies. ‘I’ve never been to a Halloween party. Do I have to dress up?’
‘It’s not a big deal if you don’t, but feel free,’ I tell him, suddenly feeling bad. It’s like the neighbourhood sex offender all over again – when will the three of us learn to stop judging books by their covers? Just because Ian is introverted, we just went nought-to-serial killer.
‘Can I bring anything?’ he asks. ‘Anything to eat or drink?’
‘If you like,’ I tell him.
‘OK, I’ll bring soup,’ he replies.
‘OK,’ I say with a laugh. ‘See you in a couple of hours.’
Having left via the front of Ian’s house, it takes me at least five minutes to get back to my parents’ place. As I walk up the driveway, Millsy and Woody come rushing out. Woody is armed with a baseball bat, Millsy with a lighter and can of deodorant.
‘Ruby, you’re OK,’ Woody gasps happily.
‘I’m fine. It was all a big misunderstanding,’ I assure them. ‘But, before I tell you all about it, were you just coming to save me with a baseball bat and a DIY flame-thrower?’
The boys nod sheepishly.
I smile, touched, until I realise Woody is wearing his Spiderman onesie.
‘I see you found time to put your costume on,’ I notice, raising my eyebrows in disbelief.
‘Rubes, I spent hours tracking that onesie down, you know that,’ Millsy reminds me. ‘Plus, it would’ve looked badass – and if we’d made the news…’
I shake my head in despair.
‘Let’s just get ready for the party,’ I say. ‘And I’ll tell you what happened with Ian while we do – I invited him to the party, by the way.’
‘So Weird Ian isn’t weird?’ Woody asks.
‘Oh, he’s definitely weird,’ I tell them. ‘He’s bringing soup.’
Chapter 32
The party is in full swing, and it’s going amazingly. Everyone is eating, drinking and being merry. Millsy invited one of his cool DJ friends, Woody did an awesome job making the house look all spooky and, as promised, Weird Ian brought soup.
‘It’s tomato,’ he told me, waggling the ladle around in the big pot of red gunge as he hovered on our doorstep. ‘Like blood.’
‘What are the white balls?’ I asked, a little grossed out.
‘Pickled onions,’ he told me. ‘I thought they looked like eyeballs.’
So far, everyone is having a lovely time – although Ian is the only one I’ve seen eating the soup.
‘Ruby, come here,’ Woody calls my name as I walk across the living room.
‘This is –’
‘Elsa, nice to meet you,’ I interrupt, greeting the blonde girl in front of me who is absolutely nailing the Frozen character.
Ah, I really miss my blonde hair. Now more than ever. It would have been perfect for my costume tonight; I’m having to wear a cheap, nasty wig instead. Because my change in hair colour was so last-minute, so was my trip to the fancy-dress shop. When I got there, people were queuing around the corner. They had a rope system, letting people in a few at a time – like a nightclub. Or Hollister when there’s a sale on. So by the time I got in there, there wasn’t much left. The wig I’m wearing is more Donald Trump than Daenerys Targaryen.
Woody laughs. He sounds pretty drunk.
‘Hello,’ she says enthusiastically. My God, she’s absolutely hammered.
‘She’s a dancer,’ he tells me. ‘Millsy introduced us.’
‘Cool,’ I reply, dragging the world out, slowly. ‘Well, I’m going to go find Millsy and see what he was thinking.’
I laugh awkwardly as my brother and his new friend look on, confused.
As I approach Millsy he springs into his Game of Thrones character.
‘Moon of my life,’ he says, thrusting a glass of an unidentifiable punch into my hand.
‘My sun and stars,’ I reply. ‘A word please.’
‘Sure.’
I drag Millsy away from the crowd he was entertaining with his Dothraki moves, swinging around the replica arakh weapon that he bought on eBay.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘Why did you introduce my drunk brother to an even drunker blonde babe? You know how he’s feeling at the moment.’
‘Exactly, he needs cheering up – nothin
g cheers up a guy like a pretty lady.’
‘He’s married, Millsy. He’s married and he’s miserable and you just introduced him to a drunk, sexy, blonde temptation.’
Millsy thinks for a moment.
‘Rubes, I’ve had a bit to drink, I apologise, but you’re right – that was a fucking stupid move on my part and I’m sorry.’
‘You’re just full of stupid moves at the moment, aren’t you?’
He nods sheepishly.
‘Right, let’s just go talk to him, take over the conversation, I’ll take him, you take her, we separate them, crisis averted.’
“My sun and stars” nods in agreement to the plan, but as we head back into the living room, they’re nowhere to be seen.
‘Crap, where have they gone?’ I ask no one in particular.
‘Looking for someone?’ Ian asks, rocking up next to us, eating (probably) his millionth bowl of soup.
‘Spiderman,’ Millsy tells him.
‘Ah, he went up to one of the bedrooms,’ Ian informs us with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
‘What?’ I shriek. I run upstairs.
‘Oh shit,’ I hear Millsy shout as he runs after me. ‘Look, this is my fault, so just calm down.’
‘I will not calm down,’ I snap back. ‘I will not let every relationship I’m aware of be based on lies and shit and bollocks.’
OK, so in my slightly inebriated state, I’m not the most eloquent, but I know what I mean, and I need to put a stop to this.
We burst into Woody’s old room, only to find Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia in bed together – only identifiable by her hair and his lightsaber.
‘Sorry, guys, as you were,’ I tell them.
‘You know you’re related, right? Millsy laughs.
I shake my head at him.
‘I don’t have time for your jokes.’
‘Not even the good ones?’ he asks.
Next up, I try my parents’ room. In there we’ve got someone going down on a Minion.
Millsy and I pause for a second, trying to work out what we’re looking at.
‘Dude, what the fuck?’ the Minion complains.
‘Dude, you are in my mum and dad’s bed. So quit your bitching about privacy. And what are you supposed to be?’ I ask his female friend.
‘I’m naughty nurse,’ she tells us.
‘Yes you are,’ Millsy replies. I roll my eyes, grab him by the wrist and head for my old bedroom.
‘Eww, in my bed, seriously,’ I moan.
Once through the door I can just about make out Spiderman on top of a girl. I flick the light on, grabbing my brother by the scruff of his onesie, pulling him off. Except it isn’t Elsa underneath him, it’s the Black Swan.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I ask, releasing him.
‘I thought that was obvious,’ he replies. That’s when I realise it’s not my brother, it’s someone else in a Spiderman onesie.
‘She’s just reminding you that with great power comes great responsibility. So rubber-up,’ Millsy tells them, ushering me out of the room.
‘Oh my God, I feel sick,’ I confess. ‘I was sure that was him.’
I hear the toilet flush before the bathroom door opens. Woody strolls out.
‘Hey sis, hey Millsy. Everything OK?’ he asks.
‘Where’s Elsa?’ I demand.
‘She was really drunk so I put her in a taxi home. Why?’ he asks, puzzled.
I kiss my brother on the cheek.
‘You’re a good man, you know that? Maybe the best.’
‘Hey, what about me?’ Millsy asks.
‘You’re a cu –’
My brother places his hand over my mouth, stopping me from cracking a cheeky joke.
‘My God, I hope you washed that,’ I say, pulling a disgusted face.
We make our way back downstairs.
‘Ooh, jelly shots,’ Millsy exclaims excitedly, grabbing a tray of them from the table. ‘I have it on pretty good authority that whoever made these, made them really strong.’
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I say, watching him knock them back.
‘It was,’ he replies proudly.
‘And yet here you are, consuming enough to get a rugby team hammered,’ I laugh.
Millsy pulls a face.
‘What? I can share. Here’s one for you,’ he tells me, pushing one of the little, brightly coloured, ridiculously alcoholic jellies into my mouth. ‘And what about you…Hitler,’ he says, turning to the person next to him. ‘You’ll have one, right?’
‘I’ll have two,’ he replies. ‘But I’m not Hitler, I’m Charlie Chaplin.’
‘Where’s your hat then?’ I ask, knocking back another shot before turning to look him in the eye. ‘Oh my God, Nick! You came! As Hitler!’
‘I’m not Hitler, I’m Charlie Chaplin,’ he insists again, angrily. ‘Someone stole my hat!’
The dark suit, the slicked-down hair, the little moustache and the stern look on his face. It’s amazing how a bowler hat is the only difference between Charlie Chaplin and Adolf Hitler. It’s a small, but much needed part of the costume, it turns out.
‘Of course they did,’ Millsy says angrily. He obviously and unashamedly shoots me a filthy look, to let me know just how annoyed he is that I’ve invited Nick. When he vowed to never be in the same room as him again, I promised him (with a fist-bump, no less) that I would always do everything in my power to make sure he never had to come face to face with him ever again – now it’s happened twice in one week.
‘Ruby invited me,’ Nick tells him. ‘So I’m here. It’s good manners – I can explain manners to you if you like?’
‘Yeah, sure, and while you’re at it, explain to me how it’s good manners to turn up to a party dressed as Hitler,’ Millsy snaps back.
‘I bloody told you, someone stole my bloody hat the second I got here,’ Nick replies, raising his voice.
‘OK, time for me to intervene,’ I say, physically getting between them. ‘Millsy, go do some more jelly shots until you don’t give a shit about anything any more, which I’d estimate at like three more. You’re angry drunk Millsy right now, I need you somewhere between here and the Millsy who tries to have sex with furniture, ideally.’
‘That was one time,’ he mutters to himself as he wanders off, knocking back more shots.
I turn my attention back to Nick.
‘You came,’ I say brightly. A couple of people walk past and one mutters something about how insensitive Nick’s costume is, causing my smile to fall. ‘OK, let’s find your hat before you get your head kicked in, yeah?’
‘OK, sure,’ he replies.
We stroll around the room that is busy with people all pretending to be something they’re not, but no one is doing a better job than I am right now. I’m so crazy for Nick, so why can’t I just be honest with him?
‘So, what’s Heather dressed as?’
‘Eva Braun,’ he replies.
I stop in my tracks and stare at him.
‘I’m kidding, Ruby,’ he says with a bit of a laugh. I’m not sure if I was surprised by the fact she might actually be dressed that way, or by just how appropriate an outfit that would be for her. ‘She’s not here.’
Wait, Heather hasn’t come with him? I know they had plans together tonight. Could there be trouble in paradise? I feel a fleeting glimmer of hope.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll find your hat, we’ve got all night. Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’m not staying,’ he replies quickly. ‘And I’m driving. I only came because I said I would.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I tell him, trying to pull my mouth into a smile, but the truth is that I don’t want him to go. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him how much he means to me. But despite this glimmer of hope, I don’t think that’s what he wants me to do.
Millsy staggers over. He was drunk before, but the recent barrage of shots to his system have clearly kicked in. But he isn’t angry drunk Millsy or horny drunk Millsy
, he’s a Millsy I’ve never witnessed before: emotional drunk Millsy.
‘Nick, I need a word, mate,’ he insists, grabbing him by the shoulders, pushing him down onto the nearest sofa before taking a seat next to him.
‘Millsy, maybe don’t say anything at all,’ I insist, suddenly worried sick about what my bestie might say while under the influence. I trust him implicitly, of course – when he’s sober. But when he’s drunk and he doesn’t know what or who he’s doing, or worse, what he’s saying, that’s when I need to be worried. This man knows all my secrets.
‘I need to ret the secord straight,’ he slurs insistently, muddling up his words.
‘What?’ Nick asks, clearly annoyed that he’s having to deal with Millsy at all – never mind when he’s smashed and even more of an acquired taste than when he’s sober.
‘What?’ Millsy repeats back to him.
Millsy thinks for a moment.
‘I need to set the record straight,’ he says – somehow managing to nail each of the seven words this time. ‘When you knocked on Ruby’s bedroom door, and you heard sex noises, that wasn’t Ruby, no one wants to have sex with Ruby,’ he explains.
‘Wow, thanks,’ I can’t help but interrupt. I know that he’s trying to help me out here, but he’s not exactly painting a very alluring picture, is he?
‘It’s true,’ he continues. ‘Except Deano, obviously. He considered sleeping with her even when she had thrush.’
Oh my God, he’s making this so much worse.
‘I…I didn’t have thrush,’ I insist.
Nick just looks back and forth between us, confused.
‘The thing I’m trying to say,’ Millsy starts, thinking for a second, wracking his brains for what he was actually trying to say, ‘it was me making those noises. Alone. You get what I’m saying?’
‘You were making sex noises alone,’ Nick repeats back to him. ‘Yeah, I get exactly what you’re saying.’
‘Good, good,’ Millsy replies, for some reason talking with his eyes closed now.
‘So when I heard you saying “you like it like that, bitch?” that was you, alone, talking to yourself?’ Nick asks for clarification.
Truth Or Date Page 21
