actually, there’s quite a lot of sex, I’d say. A lot of people ruined by broken hearts and jealous lovers.’
Me too , I nearly said. I am utterly ruined by my last love. My lost love. I caught myself: drunk and maudlin, a fatal combination. I tried to focus; to place his accent. Very faint. A burr, maybe Midlands, West Country perhaps. I felt a pang for Pendarlin again.
‘Which play are you doing?’
‘ Twelfth Night .’
I vaguely remembered it from A-level English. I could just see him as the handsome angry prince who bangs on about music being the food of love, fighting desperately for the girl he wants. How romantic. I found I’d drained my wine.
Seb grinned. ‘Actually, if you want a bit of sex, there’s even some cross-dressing going on in Twelfth Night .’
‘It’s not sexy, cross-dressing, though, is it?’ I frowned, concentrating hard. ‘I thought it was about disguise and hiding. You’re not playing the one who burps, are you?’
‘Sir Toby Belch? No, not this time, sadly. He’s very funny, though.’
‘Or the one that wears yellow socks?’ I hiccuped gently and contemplated him. ‘I see you more as Hamlet, you know.’
Seb smiled inscrutably. ‘I guess most of us “thesps” like to think we’ve got him in us.’
I was steeling myself to ask whether Seb would like another drink when he stood up. ‘I’ve got an early start.’ He smiled atme as I bit down the disappointment, squinting up at him. ‘So, Maggie Warren.’ He was very gorgeous, and I was a bit drunk. I might be ruined by Alex, but I was still capable of rebounding heavily. It was definitely better that Seb left immediately. There was no telling what I might do when I was in my cups. My C cups. I started to smile.
Taking my hand, he held it for a minute. Or perhaps it was my imagination; perhaps it was a mere second. His skin was very cool against mine, which was burning hot. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
I stood up too. ‘Oh, yes. Likewise.’
He stared at me for a second, and then he grinned. ‘And watch out for that dance floor. It’s got a mind of its own.’
This time I did blush. ‘Oh yes, I will. I mean, it was Bel. You know Bel when she gets going. She knocked me over.’
But he’d already been swallowed up by the heaving throng, which was getting wilder by the minute. I gazed after him – and then suddenly Bel and Johnno were standing before me – or, rather, Johnno was standing, holding a slumped Bel upright. ‘Bit tired and emotional, you know. I think I’d better take her home.’
‘Who was that?’ she slurred.
‘Seb. Sebastian Rae. The actor.’ His name sounded unwieldy on my lips.
‘Oh yes,’ she nodded, then turned a gentle green. ‘You know, I actually really don’t feel too good. At all, actually.’
After Johnno had removed Bel in some haste, I realised I had little inclination to join the hysterical shrieking fracas that was the last hour or two of a good party. There was really no one left who I even wanted to talk to. For one insane moment I contemplated calling Alex. Because of that, I knew I must go home to bed. Grappling with my coat and bag at the cloakroom, Charlie wafted up beside me and scooped up the confetti packets I’d just knocked off the side. ‘Oh.’ I gazed at one sadly before plopping them back in the bowl. ‘We forgot to throw the confetti.’
‘What a shame,’ Charlie said insincerely. ‘Need a lift, darling?’
‘It’s the wrong way, isn’t it?’ I concentrated on not slurring. ‘A cab’ll be fine, thanks, Charlie. There’ll be loads around I expect.’
‘Suit yourself.’
It was freezing outside, the frenetic hubbub of nearby Piccadilly not lessened by the late hour. On the edge of the kerb I shrugged my coat round my shoulders and looked hopefully for a taxi, for the usual hustlers hoping for a fare. Of course, tonight there were none to be found. The cold air made me realise just how tired and hazy I really was, and I was
Me too , I nearly said. I am utterly ruined by my last love. My lost love. I caught myself: drunk and maudlin, a fatal combination. I tried to focus; to place his accent. Very faint. A burr, maybe Midlands, West Country perhaps. I felt a pang for Pendarlin again.
‘Which play are you doing?’
‘ Twelfth Night .’
I vaguely remembered it from A-level English. I could just see him as the handsome angry prince who bangs on about music being the food of love, fighting desperately for the girl he wants. How romantic. I found I’d drained my wine.
Seb grinned. ‘Actually, if you want a bit of sex, there’s even some cross-dressing going on in Twelfth Night .’
‘It’s not sexy, cross-dressing, though, is it?’ I frowned, concentrating hard. ‘I thought it was about disguise and hiding. You’re not playing the one who burps, are you?’
‘Sir Toby Belch? No, not this time, sadly. He’s very funny, though.’
‘Or the one that wears yellow socks?’ I hiccuped gently and contemplated him. ‘I see you more as Hamlet, you know.’
Seb smiled inscrutably. ‘I guess most of us “thesps” like to think we’ve got him in us.’
I was steeling myself to ask whether Seb would like another drink when he stood up. ‘I’ve got an early start.’ He smiled atme as I bit down the disappointment, squinting up at him. ‘So, Maggie Warren.’ He was very gorgeous, and I was a bit drunk. I might be ruined by Alex, but I was still capable of rebounding heavily. It was definitely better that Seb left immediately. There was no telling what I might do when I was in my cups. My C cups. I started to smile.
Taking my hand, he held it for a minute. Or perhaps it was my imagination; perhaps it was a mere second. His skin was very cool against mine, which was burning hot. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
I stood up too. ‘Oh, yes. Likewise.’
He stared at me for a second, and then he grinned. ‘And watch out for that dance floor. It’s got a mind of its own.’
This time I did blush. ‘Oh yes, I will. I mean, it was Bel. You know Bel when she gets going. She knocked me over.’
But he’d already been swallowed up by the heaving throng, which was getting wilder by the minute. I gazed after him – and then suddenly Bel and Johnno were standing before me – or, rather, Johnno was standing, holding a slumped Bel upright. ‘Bit tired and emotional, you know. I think I’d better take her home.’
‘Who was that?’ she slurred.
‘Seb. Sebastian Rae. The actor.’ His name sounded unwieldy on my lips.
‘Oh yes,’ she nodded, then turned a gentle green. ‘You know, I actually really don’t feel too good. At all, actually.’
After Johnno had removed Bel in some haste, I realised I had little inclination to join the hysterical shrieking fracas that was the last hour or two of a good party. There was really no one left who I even wanted to talk to. For one insane moment I contemplated calling Alex. Because of that, I knew I must go home to bed. Grappling with my coat and bag at the cloakroom, Charlie wafted up beside me and scooped up the confetti packets I’d just knocked off the side. ‘Oh.’ I gazed at one sadly before plopping them back in the bowl. ‘We forgot to throw the confetti.’
‘What a shame,’ Charlie said insincerely. ‘Need a lift, darling?’
‘It’s the wrong way, isn’t it?’ I concentrated on not slurring. ‘A cab’ll be fine, thanks, Charlie. There’ll be loads around I expect.’
‘Suit yourself.’
It was freezing outside, the frenetic hubbub of nearby Piccadilly not lessened by the late hour. On the edge of the kerb I shrugged my coat round my shoulders and looked hopefully for a taxi, for the usual hustlers hoping for a fare. Of course, tonight there were none to be found. The cold air made me realise just how tired and hazy I really was, and I was
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