as she swings her legs from the arm of the sofa, bending forward to pull on her heels.
If Beatrice suspects the internal struggle I’m having with my emotions, if she knows I was moments away from kissing her, from making the biggest fool of myself, she doesn’t let on. Instead she jumps up and offers her hand to me. ‘Come on,’ she says, her usual bright bubbly self. ‘Let’s go and dance.’
I take her hand and follow her humbly from the room.
The mood has changed when we re-enter the drawing room. Someone has dimmed the lighting and a monotonous house tune that is devoid of a chorus or verse is thumping away. Monty is swaying in the middle of the floor with a drink in his hand and his eyes closed.
I open my mouth to comment when I see a girl I recognize weaving her way through the sweating, heaving crowd towards us. She’s wearing a cute babydoll dress that suits her petite figure and her bleach-blonde pixie crop has been gelled off her face. Her large dark eyes are entirely focused on Beatrice. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ she says querulously when she reaches us. Her voice is thin and reedy. And then it hits me who she is: Cass, the photographer who lives with Beatrice.
‘Cass, you remember Abi?’ Beatrice says. ‘She’s going to be our new housemate.’
Cass drags her eyes reluctantly from Beatrice to murmur a hello before turning her gaze back to her. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she says.
‘Okay,’ says Beatrice, taking her hand, as she did with me half an hour earlier. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she says, flashing me an apologetic smile and I have no choice but to watch as they walk hand in hand further into the room and I can’t help the white-hot flame of hurt that flickers in the pit of my stomach.
I consider calling a taxi and leaving. I’m humiliated by what happened with Beatrice in the music room, and now I’ve been jettisoned for Cass. There is no reason for me to stay. I hover in the doorway self-consciously and I’m about to make a run for it when I spot a familiar face in the crowd by the large bay window. He’s dancing with two guys and a girl I’ve never met and he doesn’t notice me at first. I watch as he moves his body with the confidence of someone who knows they can dance. A waiter breezes past and I take another cocktail from his silver tray and sip it while staring at Ben; at his long legs encased in dark indigo jeans, at the crisp white shirt that’s open exactly the right amount to show off his tanned neck and contrasts with his expensive fitted charcoal blazer. I’d forgotten how attractive, how sexy, Beatrice’s twin brother is.
Then, as if he’s sensed me assessing him, he lifts his hazel eyes in my direction and he grins at me and I draw breath. He is extremely good looking. He stops dancing and we drift towards each other like two magnets and I’m unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. He’s so tall, taller than I remember, his sandy hair longer and more tousled, and before I know it we’re face to face. I suddenly have the urge to throw myself into his arms, to nuzzle against his chest, inhaling his lemony scent. He’s so different to Callum, the eternal student with his scruffy trainers and mussed-up hair. Ben seems more sophisticated, more grown-up somehow, even though at thirty-two they are the same age.
I process Ben’s full sensual mouth, his freckles scattered across the bridge of his straight nose. They belong to him but they are part of Beatrice’s beautiful face too and it suddenly occurs to me, in that moment, that some of Ben’s attraction is that he’s her brother, her twin. He’s the male version of her.
‘Abi,’ he says, his lips twisted in a smirk. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Hi, Ben,’ I say shyly. ‘I came with Beatrice.’
‘Of course you did.’ He’s smiling but I notice a coldness to his tone and his eyes flicker to where Beatrice is standing with Cass. She turns in our direction, a scowl decorating her pretty face and it has the same effect on me as a child’s scribble would have on a famous painting.
‘Have you two had a row?’ I ask, shocked at the animosity I detect in Beatrice’s eyes. Or was that aimed at me?
‘You could say that,’ murmurs Ben, much to my relief. Ben doesn’t take his eyes off Beatrice. It’s almost as if they’re having a staring-out contest, maybe a game from their childhood and I’m frozen out, invisible, it’s the two of them, always the two of them. How can there be room for a third? I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting.
Then his gaze snaps back to meet mine and I exhale, grateful that I’ve got his attention again. ‘I’m desperate for a cigarette,’ he says. ‘Do you want to join me in the garden?’
I follow him back through the chequered-tiled hallway, edging past a group of lads hanging out in the kitchen and dump my half-empty glass on the worktop before stepping into a large garden. It’s a fresh spring night and I wrap my arms around my thin blouse, wishing I had brought a coat but relieved that at least I’m wearing jeans and not the one skirt that I possess.
‘Here, have this, you look freezing,’ he says, inching off his blazer and placing it over my shoulders. The light from the kitchen casts a glow over us and I can see the outline of his slim body through the cotton fabric of his shirt. He huddles nearer to me, cupping his hands around his lighter as he sparks up his cigarette, the tip crackling and glowing as he takes a puff and then offers the packet to me. I haven’t smoked in a long time, but I take one gratefully, thankful that I have a use for my hands. He lights it for me and I inhale deeply, instantly calmer as the nicotine travels to my lungs. Oh, I’ve missed this.
‘So,’ he says, exhaling puffs of smoke that disappear into the dark night. ‘I hear we’re going to be housemates.’
I stamp my feet against the cold and nod. ‘Not until mid-June. I’ve got to give my landlord a month’s notice on my flat.’ I take another drag on my cigarette.
‘It’s a shame you’re moving in,’ he says, a shy smile on his lips. I stare at him mutely, disappointment coursing through me that Ben doesn’t want me to move in. Have I offended him in some way? We seemed to get on well at the party on the night of the open studio.
‘We have a house rule, you see,’ he says gravely. ‘No romances between housemates. Beatrice is very particular about it.’
My face flames and I try and hide it by blowing on my hands theatrically even though it’s not that cold.
‘And I was hoping that maybe you would come out for a drink with me sometime? But I’m not sure that would go down too well, now that you’re going to be moving in.’ He regards me intently over the tip of his cigarette.
I’m speechless. He’s attracted to me, I can hardly believe it. He flicks his cigarette butt into the flower bed where it glows orange against the brown soil before slowly burning out.
‘Well, I’m not a housemate yet,’ I say shyly.
‘That is true.’
We stare at each other and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me; my heart bangs against my chest at this unexpected turn of events.
‘So you will come out for a drink with me?’ His voice is hopeful, his pupils dark as he inches closer.
‘I will,’ I almost whisper, without breaking eye contact. We stand together for a few moments, neither of us speaking. Come on, kiss me, I think.
A far-off peal of laughter breaks the moment and he moves away from me slightly to retrieve his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans. When he asks me for my mobile number, I reel it off to him and he taps it into his phone. Then he rings my mobile so his number is stored on my phone as well.
‘No excuses, no saying you’ve lost my number,’ he jokes. ‘The joys of modern technology.’
I laugh, knowing I’d never have the nerve to ring him unless he called me first. I’m about to open my mouth to say something when I notice Ben stiffen. His eyes shift away from me to look at someone or something over my shoulder. I turn and see