Bet Your Life (14 page)

“Good enough to get in?”

“Absolutely.”

One of the bouncers was waiting for my jacket and I shrugged it off with a pang. The last time I’d trusted a coat to a cloakroom, things had gone badly.

Harry grabbed hold of Ryan’s wrist and squeezed it until he dropped my hand. Then Harry took hold of me and spun me around to see the back of my dress. He whistled. “Wow. Ryan, have you seen this?”

“Yep.” Ryan grabbed Harry’s wrist in exactly the same way. “Leave her alone.”

“I’m just looking. Admiring. That’s a hell of a dress.”

“You don’t need to touch her to admire the dress.” The mood was friendly but Ryan’s words weren’t, and one of the bouncers took a step closer to us.

“It’s OK,” I said, freeing myself. “Which way is the party?”

“Through here.” Harry strolled down the hall and I followed. Ryan took hold of my hand again and I let him, rather than having a fight.

“Have a look around. Make yourself at home. Drinks in the kitchen. Dancing everywhere. Bedrooms are technically off-limits but I won’t make a big deal out of it if you sneak in. Except mine. Mine is properly not open to the public.”

“Good to know,” I said, thinking there was no way I was going anywhere near a bedroom in that house.

“Are there many people here?” Ryan asked.

“What do you think? Full house, almost. Come and see.”

A single door led off the hall. It was heavy, huge, and covered in black leather. When Harry pushed it open, the noise and heat hit me and I actually stepped back a little.

“Wow.”

“Good, isn’t it?” Harry spread his arms wide. “My people.”

I was taking in the architecture, which was awe-inspiring: a big double-height open-plan space with vast windows that gave a stunning view of the town and the bay beyond. A glass staircase ran up one side of the room to a gallery and then, I presumed, the bedrooms. A walkway went from the gallery to the other side of the room: more bedrooms and another flight of stairs swooping down to the ground floor, this time metal. Currently the walkway was full of people leaning over the rail and chatting, watching the dancers below. Either Harry’s parents weren’t big on furniture or the place had been cleared because it was almost empty, apart from two enormous sofas pushed back against the walls. It just meant there was all the more space for everyone who was anyone in Port Sentinel to dance, drink, and do things they shouldn’t.

And decadent was the only word for some of the things that were going on in front of me.

The music was so loud it made it hard to think, and it was extremely hot. There were faces I knew in the crowd, but I had to look twice to be sure it was really them. The girls’ eyes were heavy-lidded, their faces were flushed and they seemed languid as they draped themselves around the boys. People had made an effort to dress for the theme. A stunning redhead had diamanté scorpions crawling through her hair. Calliope Roland, who was tall, ice-blonde and model-thin, had painted her eyelids and nails absinthe green, and was carrying around a bottle of the spirit for anyone brave enough to try it.

I squeezed Ryan’s hand and he leaned down so I could shout in his ear, “Isn’t that Lucy Blair? I thought she was going out with Archie.”

“She is.”

“That’s not Archie.” I pointed to where Lucy was wrapped around a guy I’d never seen before.

Ryan shrugged. “Archie’s away.”

“So it’s fine for her to cheat?”

“I didn’t say that. But it’s none of my business.”
Or yours
. I got the subtext.

“I’m not going to apologize for being judgmental about cheating.”

“You’ll never change.”

“Not about that.”

Watching, I felt as if I was on show too. Heads turned, with expressions ranging from interest to outright hostility. Darcy waved at me from her position halfway up the stairs and lifted her glass, saluting my new look. Her dress was a plunging Vivienne Westwood number that knocked at least three inches off her waist. Earlier, I had heard all about the clutch bag she had tucked under one arm, and had seen pictures. It was McQueen, with silver spikes down both sides. She had a matching cuff on one wrist. Still, even if the party hadn’t been themed she’d probably have ended up wearing something similar.

“Get yourselves a drink.” The noise level was too high for Harry to have heard what we were saying, but he’d noticed we weren’t exactly embracing the party mood. “Come on, Ryan. Don’t let me down. We have to show Jess a good time.”

“The kitchen’s that way.” Ryan pointed past me to a white corridor lined with black-and-white photos. It was pretty much packed with people.

I was closer so I went first, pushing through the crowd and trying not to step on anyone’s toes, literally. It was so crowded Ryan had to let go of my hand at last. I wondered how long it would be before he grabbed it again, and whether I minded. Someone bumped into me. A girl I didn’t know pushed me away, her face twisted in irritation. I tripped over something I couldn’t see and pitched forward, not quite falling. I heard someone laugh as they turned away from me. Tough crowd.

As I ducked out from behind a huge guy dressed as a not very religious monk who had effectively been blocking the whole corridor, I saw something that stopped me where I stood.

Will was standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with someone. A second after I spotted him, he glanced up and his eyes met mine, and he broke off whatever he was saying. The expression on his face was hard to interpret, but it looked a lot like disapproval.

The guy who’d been talking to him looked round to see what had caught Will’s attention. It was Harry’s sandy-haired friend from the coffee shop. He frowned, but obviously couldn’t place me. He turned back and asked Will a question, and got the briefest of answers. I felt heat rising in my cheeks. I’d have gone back the way I came, but there were too many people behind me and the only option was to keep going, say hello, and walk on.

That was the plan, anyway. In reality I got as far as waving and giving Will a tepid, “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

I’d been moving past, but I stopped. “The same as you, I imagine. Having fun.”

“With me.” Ryan, arriving at the worst moment possible. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me round to face him. Then he put his other hand flat on my back where my dress dipped down, pulling me against him.
I own this.

The other boy waved. “Ryan. How’s it going?”

“Good, thanks. How’ve you been?”

While Ryan was distracted, I wriggled out of his grasp and faced Will.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I’m surprised to see you too.” Will’s voice was so cold, it felt as if winter had come early. “You look … decadent.”

“And you look as if you didn’t make much of an effort. Neither decadent nor deadly.”

Wordlessly, he held open his shirt to show me the logo on his T-shirt.

“The Killers,” I said. “Cute.”

“Are you Jess?” The sandy-haired boy held out his hand, grinning engagingly. “I’m Guy.”

“Guy Tindall,” Ryan murmured in my ear. “Seb’s friend.”

“Will and I go to the same school.”

“Really?” I looked at Will. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Guy asked me to come along.”

“It’s good to have someone to talk to. These things can get a bit boring.” Up close, Guy had freckles across his nose and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “After the first couple of nights it’s all a bit same-old, same-old.”

“It’s my first time here.”

“We should get that drink,” Ryan said. He leaned down and kissed my neck, just under my ear. “What is that perfume, Jess? You smell incredible, as usual.”

“Stop.” I pushed him away, embarrassed. I couldn’t help checking to see what Will made of it, and quailed at the expression in his eyes—or rather the lack of expression. He might as well have been carved from stone. “We should go. We’re blocking the corridor. See you later.”

Guy raised his glass. “Looking forward to it.”

As we started to walk away, someone bumped into Ryan. He clashed shoulders with Will, who handed him off.

“Watch where you’re going, mate.”

“You watch it,
mate
.” The two of them glowered at each other.

“Stop it, both of you.” I was genuinely annoyed. “Not here. Not now.”

“Actually, I think here and now would be perfect.” Harry Knowles had appeared at my elbow, as if he sensed trouble, but he wasn’t there to stop it. Quite the opposite. “I needed volunteers for the next bit of the party, and I think you two have just offered your services.”

10

“You have got to calm down.” Ella was stroking my arm while Hugo stood nearby, a glass of water in his hand, presumably in case I felt thirsty while I was crying my eyes out. Darcy was sitting beside me, her head tilted to one side, all sympathy.

“This is completely my fault.” I sniffed. “There’s no way they would be fighting if it wasn’t for me.”

“They never got on,” Hugo said dismissively. “Or at least they haven’t for years. Don’t think it’s about you. They’ve got history.”

“I know the history. Trust me, this is current affairs.” I blew my nose on a bit of kitchen paper and tried to ignore the curious looks I was getting from the people who passed through the kitchen in search of booze, which was basically everyone. I was sitting on a stool at a black granite breakfast bar, wishing I could go home. In front of me there were hundreds of plastic cups filled with the cocktails Harry had made: pink for the girls, naturally, and blue for the boys. They both looked and smelled revolting.

“I still don’t understand what happened,” Ella said. “You bumped into Will, and he and Ryan had a fight.”

“Not even a fight. A scrap. But Ryan had been winding Will up about being at the party with me, so it was all a bit tense. And then Harry—”

“Our host,” Hugo interjected for Ella’s benefit.

“—turned up and said they’d volunteered. And when Will asked for what, he said they had to fight.” I had long since abandoned any attempt to keep my eye makeup pristine but I was a bit alarmed at the amount of black that was coming off on the kitchen paper. “How do I look, Ella?”

“Sad panda.” She dabbed under my eyes, but from the look on her face it wasn’t helping much. I waved her away.

“The two of them went off with him and I don’t know where. And now everyone is betting on who’s going to win, as if it’s perfectly acceptable for the two of them to batter each other. As if it’s entertainment.”

“Well, boxing…” Hugo said.

“This isn’t boxing. It’s fighting, pure and simple.” I started going through my bag, looking for my phone. “I bet Dan Henderson would turn out for this if I told him his son was involved.”

“You can’t.” Ella put her hand over mine to stop me. “I don’t know Will but I know boys, and he’s not going to like his dad turning up to rescue him, even if he is on duty.”

Darcy nodded. “Besides, Will could just leave if he didn’t want to fight. He’s not in prison.”

“Oh, he wants to fight.” I thought of the look on Will’s face and shivered. “I don’t know who I should be more scared about.”

“Who’s the favorite?” Ella asked.

“Ryan, by a mile,” Hugo said. “That’s just because everyone knows him and they think he’d be handy in a brawl.”

“I think that’s true,” I said slowly, “but I think Will has more to prove.”

“Less to lose.” Guy Tindall came and leaned on the breakfast bar; the pendant lights reflected in the small steel-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down his nose. “This fight has the potential to be an absolute classic. My money’s on Will, for what it’s worth.”

“Mine too,” Darcy said, sounding a little too enthusiastic for my liking.

“Guy, you have to do something to stop them.” My voice cracked on the word “stop.”

“Can’t, I’m afraid. But don’t worry. It’s not a big deal. It’s not as if they’re gladiators. They don’t have to keep fighting until one of them dies.”

“Who decides the winner?”

“Either it’s a knockout, or one of them gives up, or Harry calls a halt, which will be if either of them draws blood. No blood on the upholstery is the rule.”

I shook my head. “Neither of them is going to stop. Neither of them gives up on anything that matters to them.”

Guy levered himself onto the stool beside me. “And you’d know about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I share a study with Will. He may have mentioned you once or twice this term.”

“What did he say? Does he hate me?” The second question tumbled out before I could stop it.

“Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

“No reason.” In the bright lights of the kitchen I could see a shadow on Guy’s jaw, and the more I looked at it, the more I was convinced it was a bruise. I looked down at his hands and saw that they were swollen, his knuckles purple with bruising and grazes. “Who have you been fighting?”

“What?” He looked taken aback for the first time. “Oh. Just a friend.”

“Some friend. Who won?”

“I did, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound too sure,” Hugo drawled.

“You can get the better of someone in a fight and still not get what you want.” For a moment his face was unutterably bleak. The next second it had changed back, so I almost thought I’d imagined it. Guy stood up straight. “Like I said, these fights aren’t a big deal. Just enjoy it.”

“What is there to enjoy?” I asked Ella as he left the kitchen. “This is sick, isn’t it?”

Ella didn’t get a chance to answer. A voice said, “It’s just what they do.”

I turned to see Claudia standing beside me, with Immy behind her. Immy’s hair was still pale pink, but now straightened, and as a look it was actually starting to work for me. They both looked concerned.

“Are you OK?” Claudia asked me.

“Not really. I can’t believe this is a regular thing.”

“Every night,” Immy said. “Harry and his friends like betting. And fighting.”

“But it’s just stupid.”

“It’s how they settle things,” Claudia said. “Whatever they’re upset about.”

“I didn’t think you’d like this.” Darcy took hold of one of my hands.

“You were right. Even if it wasn’t Will and Ryan fighting…”