Pandaemonium Part 18

The big beat kicks in.

Has a swig. Mm. Pretty cool. Good move leaving it on the window ledge earlier, even if he had to keep checking every two minutes in case some b.a.s.t.a.r.d thieved it.

Yeah. Here we go. Tonight.

Gaunny be jumping. Gaunny be mental. Gaunny be the berries.

Or at least it will if any f.u.c.ker shows up. f.u.c.king typical, but. All that prep, all that antic.i.p.ation, and he's the only b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the place. Right now, the party's spread out, happening everywhere but but the dining room. the dining room.

Ah, so f.u.c.k. They'll pile in here eventually, through those big double doors, and that's when they'll be requesting all their own s.h.i.te music, so he's making the most of this while it lasts.

There's no going back from here, there's no going back from here.

'G.o.d's sake, how long are yous gaunny be?' Julie asks. 'I can hear the music started already. We'll miss the whole thing at this rate.'

'Calm down,' Theresa tells her. 'We can hear music from about five other rooms as well, because n.o.body's left them yet.' She checks the time on her mobile. 'It's half-eight. The only folk in there'll be Radar kiddin' on he's a DJ and maybe Mr Guthrie. You want to get down there and shake it with the deputy?'

'I'm just sick waiting. It's only a pathetic school disco, and yous are all acting like you're going to some teen-movie prom.'

Gillian rolls her eyes, knowing Theresa can see her in the mirror from across the room and Julie can't. Teen movie prom. What is she like? They're just taking their time, enjoying getting ready. Julie's problem is she always looks a state and she knows knows she looks a state, so seeing other la.s.sies getting dolled up just kind of rubs it in and annoys her. Well, good, because she's starting to annoy Gillian. All she did throughout the day was moan about how tiring it was. She wasn't wrong either: it was obviously so much effort hauling her fat a.r.s.e up and down the hillsides that she didn't have the energy left to b.i.t.c.h about anybody, and when you take away slagging off other people from Julie's patter, that's when you realise her company's s.h.i.te. she looks a state, so seeing other la.s.sies getting dolled up just kind of rubs it in and annoys her. Well, good, because she's starting to annoy Gillian. All she did throughout the day was moan about how tiring it was. She wasn't wrong either: it was obviously so much effort hauling her fat a.r.s.e up and down the hillsides that she didn't have the energy left to b.i.t.c.h about anybody, and when you take away slagging off other people from Julie's patter, that's when you realise her company's s.h.i.te.

She could have done with Debs being around on the hike, she has to admit. That's been so weird, though. First all the vibe about getting split up in different rooms, and then the way she was blanking them. Or rather, it would have been easier if she had had been blanking them: if it had been a pure obvious huffy act, making a big show of ignoring them. Instead, Gillian hadn't even clocked her looking across or anything. She was all caught up with other folk, talking to people she'd normally have nothing to do with, like geeky Adnan, to say nothing of suddenly seeming all best pals with b.l.o.o.d.y Marianne. been blanking them: if it had been a pure obvious huffy act, making a big show of ignoring them. Instead, Gillian hadn't even clocked her looking across or anything. She was all caught up with other folk, talking to people she'd normally have nothing to do with, like geeky Adnan, to say nothing of suddenly seeming all best pals with b.l.o.o.d.y Marianne.

Ach, maybe it was was a huffy act, just a subtle one. Fair do's: she'd got the s.h.i.tey end of the stick with the rooms thing, so possibly she was reminding them not to take her for granted. It b.l.o.o.d.y worked if that was the plan. Still, it was one thing to make out she wasn't bothered being away from them, something else to be actually hanging about with Marianne. Never mind, though. Party time. They'd all have a wee swally and a dance together and it would be back to normal. a huffy act, just a subtle one. Fair do's: she'd got the s.h.i.tey end of the stick with the rooms thing, so possibly she was reminding them not to take her for granted. It b.l.o.o.d.y worked if that was the plan. Still, it was one thing to make out she wasn't bothered being away from them, something else to be actually hanging about with Marianne. Never mind, though. Party time. They'd all have a wee swally and a dance together and it would be back to normal.

'I'm ready,' Yvonne announces.

'You don't want to be going in yet, but,' Theresa warns.

'I know, but I can have a wee wander, get a look at what nick everybody's in, maybe grab some crisps and report back. You coming, Julie?'

'Aye.'

Yvonne and Gillian share a wee look in the mirror. She's a good girl, taking moaning-chops out the way for five minutes. First dibs on the voddy for Y, then.

Gillian reaches for the mascara wand, leans closer to the mirror. Her elbow catches the edge of it and gives it a dunt. The mirror is lighter than you'd expect: swings quite a bit and ends up sitting all skelly. She goes to straighten it, and that's when she notices a tiny wee hole, with light coming through it. There's sound too, the music from through the wall just a little louder now that the mirror has moved clear of the hole.

There's a flash of movement beyond, something flesh-coloured. She presses her forehead to the wall and closes her left eye, peering with her right.

'Oh. My. G.o.d.' Her last word is a whisper, as she remembers belatedly that the sound travels both ways.

'What?' Theresa asks.

Gillian doesn't speak, but instead makes a beckoning wave with her right hand, suppressing a giggle, her cheeks glowing with a combination of humour, embarra.s.sment and delight.

'What?'

'Shh.'

Gillian points to the gap and Theresa takes a peek. Theresa springs back from the wall a moment later, her expression an incredulous mirror of Gillian's. Through the wall, she has just seen Jason and Liam in their boxers, obliviously getting themselves ready for the evening ahead.

Theresa helps herself to another swatch, then the two of them start playfully nudging at each other for control of the peephole.

'Hang on though,' Theresa whispers, 'does that mean they could have been spying on us?'

'No. It's only covered on our side.'

'Dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d whoever it was did it, though.'

'Aye,' Gillian giggles, helping herself to another eyeful. 'Shameful.'

'Seriously, though,' Theresa goes on. 'You're a disgrace.'

'Me? How?'

'You've been at that mirror putting on your warpaint for ages. If you'd noticed the hole a bit sooner, we'd have got to see their c.o.c.ks.'

'Oh G.o.d. Are you really sure about this?' Marianne asks. 'Feels like I'm doing Molly Ringwald on Ally Sheedy in reverse.'

'I'm sure, I'm sure,' Deborah replies. 'It's only make-up.'

'And hair,' Marianne reminds her. Marianne's pretty sure she didn't get the Ringwald-Sheedy reference, hopes she doesn't think it was some kind of lesbian thing. 'I'm just scared you're gonna freak out when you see the mirror.'

'I promise I won't.'

'I'll remind you you said that. Maybe I'll get you to record it on your phone, so I can play it back.'

'Oh, I'm excited now. Must be pretty dramatic if you're acting this way.'

'It's pretty dramatic.'

'Is it nearly done? Can I see yet?'

'Just another little lick of . . . And let me dab around the lines with . . . Keep still, that's it.'

Marianne breathes in. It was finished about three minutes ago, but she's been fiddling around the edges here and there, procrastinating to delay the moment when Deborah gets to see the results of her Goth-over.

'Oh come on, you've got to be finished by now.'

'Okay. Yeah, that'll have to do. Try and remember what you said, and no violence.'

Deborah steps away from the bed and has a look in the mirror. She gasps.

'Oh s.h.i.t,' Marianne says, squirming.

Deborah just stares and stares and stares, speechless.

'I'm sorry.'

Deborah is shaking her head.

'It'll all come off. Five minutes. Got these great wipes.'

Deborah is still saying nothing, just staring, staring, staring. Whenever she's spent ages trowelling on the slap, the results have reminded her of the telly she had as a kid, when the picture tube started dying and her dad turned up the colour settings to compensate. Same face, only brighter. Every time she's ever looked in the mirror, in fact, she's seen the same face. Not now, though. Not tonight.

'It's amazing,' she says. 'I love the eyes. Like Cleopatra or something.'

'Yeah, but that's just you seeing it. Are you ready to debut the new you in public?'

'Absolutely,' she says, and she can't wait. 'I mean, you said Cameron's into this kind of music, right?'

'Yeah, but I'd stay off the subject if I were you, because it's going to take him no time to suss out that you're not.'

It's not about Cameron, though: she's just saying that for cover, a reason that feels easier to admit to. The real reason is that she feels like a different person, so she wants to look like a different person. A get-it-up-you as well? A wee bit. And yeah, actually it is a little bit about Cameron too.

Cameron hands Adnan a can of Irn-Bru and they clink them together in a 'cheers' gesture, leaning against the frames of the big windows in the reception area. It's pretty busy there right now, everybody in a kind of holding pattern between emerging from their rooms and actually venturing into where the party is supposed to be.

'You look in?' Adnan asks, referring to the fact that Cameron's trip to the improvised drinks bar - tended by the cheerful Mrs McKenzie from the side door of her kitchen - had taken him past the dining room.

'Aye. Still empty.'

They both laugh, not meaning Radar any harm. Mad b.a.s.t.a.r.d's in his element in there anyway, but there's a bit of a Catch-22. He's taking advantage of no b.u.g.g.e.r turning up yet to bang out a load of his own faves, but the problem is that he isn't going to tempt anyone into the hall while that stuff is playing. Glasvegas, for f.u.c.k's sake. Muse. Korn. That said, not all of what Radar's put on has been reveller-repellent: there's some good danceable stuff in there, but you've got to call canny.

Cameron just hopes Radar doesn't blow his wad too early by playing 'Mogwai Fear Satan' while there's still tumbleweed blowing about the place. He and Radar made their own dance mix of it on Radar's PC a couple of months back. Took them the best part of a weekend. Alb.u.m version lasts sixteen minutes; theirs is pushing half an hour, but it's f.u.c.king amazing. Perfect for a night like this. He really, really wants to dance to it, lose himself in it, but it would be all the better if it wasn't f.u.c.king Radar, Ewan or Adnan he ended up dancing with.

Hence the cans of Irn-Bru containing nothing but Irn-Bru. A lot of folk are looking forward to getting leathered, and it's tempting for a laugh, but not as tempting as other possibilities. He wants to stay straight tonight, at least until being forced to accept there's no chance of getting off with anybody. So he'll probably be steaming by half-ten.

Radar's making a timely plea for company by flinging on 'Human', the floor-filler from the Killers. There's a bit of through-traffic in reception now, a few bodies piling into the hall. Cameron sees Ewan making his way towards him, Matt in tow. Ewan makes a subtle wee gesture for Cameron's benefit by circling his thumb and forefinger, which is when he notices Deso not so far behind. Ewan's been talking about scoring a bit of blow, and he must have got it sorted. Cameron isn't that fussed. Cannae be a.r.s.ed going outdoors, for one thing, to say nothing of the ha.s.sle playing the ball-and-cups game with Deso, Fizzy, Marky and Beansy. As part of the strategy to prevent their collective stash getting 'taxed' by Kirk and his mates, they've been keeping the stuff moving between them, so that only two of them know for sure at any given time who is actually holding.

'Hey, Adnan,' Ewan says. 'Any chance of another wee look through your telescope?'

'Bet you that's what all the la.s.sies say,' b.u.t.ts in Deso as he pa.s.ses.

'f.u.c.k off, Deso,' Ewan shoots back, laughing.

Adnan laughs too, though he thinks Ewan might be taking the p.i.s.s. Folk can be a bit two-faced like that: happy enough to geek out one night, but wanting to act like they think it's a joke in front of their cooler pals.

'Seriously, but,' Ewan goes on. 'Any chance?'

And he is is serious. WTF? serious. WTF?

'You not prefer to get down with DJ RG?' Adnan asks.

'Me and Matt here want to mellow out, man, if you hear what I'm saying.'

Adnan does hear what he's saying, and he's not sure he likes the sound of his most prized possession being entrusted to two guys with a stated intention of getting stoned.

'You won't see much just now. Too much light round here tonight.'

Adnan spots Marianne making her way into reception. Then he double-takes and realises there's two of her. Unless, f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, that is is Deborah. Deborah.

Marianne catches him staring, looks back and gives him a smile. And that changes everything.

'Do you think we could see more if we took it outside, then?' Ewan asks.

Cameron has clocked the Goth-chick double vision. He and Adnan share a look. They've both seen interesting possibilities and Ewan is offering the opportunity for swift gooseberry removal.

'Yeah, absolutely,' Adnan says. 'If you take it to that clearing we came through on the way back from the hike, the trees will mask off all the light pollution from here. Go for it.'

Fear. The gravest fear. So many battles fought, wounds and scars to remember them by, never an enemy so terrifying, so blood-thirsty. No shame in this: no shame in running, in hiding.

So much slaughter. So much death.

Run.

Even if a way can be found, a way out of this labyrinth, he can never go home. He is in a different world now.

But he can can survive. survive.

'These things are just awful, aren't they?' suggests Maria.

'I know,' Bernadette agrees. 'Why do we need to have them? It's like some kind of indoctrinated ritual. It's Sat.u.r.day night, so the young members of the tribe must must all congregate and pretend to enjoy it.' all congregate and pretend to enjoy it.'

Caitlin is trying very hard to keep her mouth shut, though it's difficult to keep pa.s.sing up these open goals. She's opted to accept her lot for the time being and try to be pleasant company, rather than seem huffy (or indeed look like a complete Billy No-Mates) by hanging about on her own tonight.

Since returning from the hike, Rosemary has actually been quite bearable: solicitous without being cloying. Caitlin wonders whether her lone-wolf routine on the walk sent a message, or is it that she's just feeling a little more tolerant herself due to her guilt about blanking Rosemary all the time.

'There has has to be a party, there to be a party, there has has to be a disco,' Bernadette goes on. 'It's like primary school again. n.o.body's even interested. They're all out here instead of in the dining room.' to be a disco,' Bernadette goes on. 'It's like primary school again. n.o.body's even interested. They're all out here instead of in the dining room.'

'Mmm,' is all Rosemary can bring herself to say. It's a murmur of agreement, one she fears may not have sounded too convincing, but Bernie's a.s.sumptions will prevent her scrutin ising it for ambiguity. Rosemary doesn't even know what she feels about it; or what she's allowing herself to feel about it. The party looks pretty inviting to her: rich with the promise of something she can't quite define. Most people are still in the reception area, but the atmosphere even out here is . . . interesting. Pregnant. Everyone looks so different dressed up; altered enough to be new to each other.