The Manifesto on How to be Interesting (20 page)

“That's my boyfriend you're talking about.”

“Chill, Jazzy Spazzy, you know what he's like when he gets a lot of attention.”

Jassmine's eyebrows furrowed. “Are girls throwing themselves at him?”

Bree gulped. Scared for those girls. Scared a little for herself…

“What do you think?”

Jassmine straightened out her playsuit menacingly. “Right, let's find him and sort this out.”

“Chill, Jass,” Jessica said, her eyes wide and nervous. “Have a drink first.”

“Okay.”

That didn't take much persuading.

As Jassmine's sort-of friend – bar the about-to-backstab-her part – Bree thought it best if Jass didn't have anything else to drink. The others didn't agree. In fact, they tipped alcohol down her like it was water.

“Raspberry mojitos!” Gemma yelled, pushing a straw into Jassmine's mouth like she was a baby bird. Jass sucked obligingly. “It's always good to get her just that little bit more pissed when she gets psycho jealous,” she muttered to Bree. “Otherwise innocent girls' eyes get plucked out.”

“Riiiiiiight,” she replied. “Jass? Do you want a shot of sambuca?”

Jass nodded.

They stayed at the bar for a while, checking everyone else out, sneering at people they didn't think should've been invited. Emily was far too grateful to be there, it was almost pathetic. She squealed and pointed at every single detail. A few shots sorted her out though. Bree hadn't done shots before, and she couldn't help but think of the disdain that would no doubt be on Holdo's face if he could see her now…downing shots of tequila and licking salt off Gemma's chest, plucking a piece of lemon out of Jass's mouth – all as men looked on helplessly, their pupils (and trousers) bulging with lust.

“Now this is what I like to see,” said Hugo as he and his mates arrived out of nowhere just as Bree was halfway through sharing a lemon slice with Jessica. “Bree, I didn't think you were the type.”

Bree wiped her mouth delicately and looked him straight in the eye. “Well, this party's so crap, there was nothing for it but to get drunk.”

“I know,” he said, looking around at the hundreds of people dancing on the lawn, laughing, snogging. “It's really flopping, isn't it?”

“HUGO!”

Jass launched herself at him like a missile, winding all her limbs around him at once.

“Jass? How much have you had to drink?” He sounded annoyed.

“Not much,” she said, her false indignation ruined by a stray hiccup. “Anyway, it's your eighteenth, I wanted to make sure we celebrate it in style.”

Matty appeared from behind Hugo and spotted Bree.

“Bree, you made it.” He high-fived her. “We didn't know if you girls were coming.”

“What? And miss the sight of you all pissing in Hugo's lake?”

“Oi,” Hugo said. “No slashing in the garden. There's a toilet block for a reason.”

Seth swayed out from behind Hugo, a strong contender for someone drunker than Jass.

“Guys, when the hell are we gonna start dancing?”

“Good point,” Hugo said. “Come on, to the dance tent.”

And the gaggle of them left the bar and entered the strobe-y glow of the dance marquee.

There must,
Bree thought,
be a correlation between popularity and one's ability to dance without looking like an absolute twat.

And as she had only recently become popular, this stint in the dance tent was possibly her biggest test yet.

Hip hop was playing. Actual hip hop. And in true, upper-middle-class Britishness, this meant that all the girls had temporarily forgotten their ethnicity and were dancing like they had the right body parts to shimmy.

The other girls, though, were just about pulling it off.

Gemma played the part of the pole, and the other girls gyrated around her. If they weren't tossing their hair, they were either stroking their boobs or crotch.

Bree supposed with popularity came confidence, and it takes confidence to grind down to the ground, open your legs, and shimmy back up again, while maintaining a nonchalant look of disinterest and being watched by an entire rugby team.

She didn't know what to do. She couldn't dance, no one had ever taught her. She'd once been dragged to a cousin's fancy wedding and managed to get through by pointing her finger in the air. If she tried to be sexy in the conventional way, she would fail instantly. There was nothing for it but to brazen out some kind of invented move and hope people thought it was the new thing.

She shrugged her shoulders mechanically and jolted her body about in time to the music. She then added in a little step-tap, step-tap. And then decided to look completely and utterly bored by the whole process.

“Wooooahhhhhhhhhhhhh, go Bree!” Gemma yelled.

When the girls subtly altered their dance moves to look more like hers, she knew she'd pulled it off.

The music was thumping, the beat infectious – although Bree would still never listen to it anywhere else. Hugo and the lads were jumping on top of each other's backs, spilling beer over each other, or doing lame attempts at dancing too. Jassmine was getting more and more disorientated. She kept flicking her hair back. It wasn't falling into place any more though – instead it was becoming more dishevelled. And once she noticed Bree getting attention, she took action. She hurled herself into the middle of their makeshift circle, grabbed Hugo and pulled him towards her. She turned her back to him and grinded up against him, using her arse. She'd obviously picked up a few tips from that recent documentary,
Lap Dancing Uncovered
. Bree thought Hugo would love it, but in fact he looked a bit uncomfortable. Each time Jassmine flicked her hair back, it whipped him in the face. She didn't notice. She was too determinedly channelling her inner stripper.

Distracted, Bree felt something rub up against her bottom. Something…bulgy. She whipped her head round.

It was Matty. Grinding on her.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

He grinned. “Come on, it's just dancing.”

“No. It's sexual assault. Get your bollocks off me. Now.”

Matty laughed and did as she said.

“COCKBLOCK!” Seth yelled, his face all sweaty.

Everyone laughed. She caught Hugo's eyes and a moment passed between them. A shiver ran down her back. She lost her balance on the grass in her wedges and tripped a little.

“You okay?” Jessica caught her and pulled her up.

“Yeah I'm fine.”

“Matty SO fancies you.” She sounded almost wistful.

“Nah, he just got horny watching the Jass and Hugo sex show.”

She looked back at them but Hugo had disappeared. Jass stood with her arms wrapped round herself looking confused and upset.

“He. Just. Left!” she half-screeched, punching her fists towards the ground like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

“Abort the tent. Abort the tent,” Gemma yelled cheerfully into Bree's ear, and the girly gang bustled Jass out of the marquee, leaving the rugby boys behind.

She was wasted. Losing it. Bree had never seen Jass like this before.

“Where's Hugo?” she yelled into the darkness. A group of passing girls stared at her. Bree steered her away by the shoulders.

“Come on, let's get you some fresh air away from the tents.”

“Do you know where he is?” she demanded. “I bet you do. You've always fancied him, haven't you?”

Bree was about to protest but Gemma put her hand on Bree's shoulder.

“Ignore her. She accuses one of us of shagging him every time she gets really drunk.” She turned to Jass. “Come on, Jassy-min. Bree doesn't fancy Hugo. And even if she did, he's only got eyes for you.”

They coaxed her towards a quieter bit of the party – a pond with a water fountain lit up by sparkling lights. Away from the music and fuss, Jass appeared even more wasted. She slumped on a bench and slid down to one side.

“HUGO?”

Christ – she sounded nuts.

“He's coming. He's just saying hello to all the guests.”

“Hugo. I LOVE YOU!”

“And he loves you too, sweetheart.”

“You. Bree! She wants to shag him – well you can't, HE'S MINE.”

“Jass, I don't want to shag your boyfriend.”

“Okay then.”

She was momentarily satisfied and closed her eyes. The lights lit up her face and, it had to be said, Jass had looked better. She was sticky with sweat, she'd smeared half her make-up off, and her hair was sticking to her head. Jessica and Emily came and crouched round their Queen, offering noises of encouragement.

“Jassmine, are you okay?”

“Don't worry, Hugo will be back soon.”

“You look so pretty tonight.”

Gemma rolled her eyes at Bree.

Jassmine smiled, her eyes still closed, then she opened her mouth to talk again…

“…I'm gonna be sick.”

“Quick,” Bree yelled, “into the pond.”

It was too late. Jass vomited – gross, cherry-smelling vom – all over the perfect patio stones.

Nobody really knew where to look. It was like seeing Her Majesty the Queen blowing chunks all over Buckingham Palace. Bree scooped back the majority of her hair and patted her on the back.

The puking went on for a while.

“Jass, you okay?”

She spat onto the paving stones. “I'm fine, thanks. I'm just going to lie down here for a moment.”

“No, not in the puke!”

And hats off to Gemma, she grabbed her away just in time. Jass collapsed on the bench and promptly fell asleep – a big grin on her face.

Everyone looked round at each other. With Jass unconscious, Bree gave the instructions.

“Okay. We need to get Jass somewhere warm. Do you reckon you guys could carry her to the chill-out tent?”

Gemma nodded in agreement.

“But Jass won't want anyone to see her like this,” Jessica protested.

“She also won't want hypothermia. Will you help walk her?”

“Okay then.”

“It's pitch-black, no one will see. Just put her in a quiet patch until she sobers up.”

Gemma began tapping Jassmine's face.

“Jass, wake up, honey.”

Jass batted her away with her eyes still closed.

“Go away. Bad baby.”

“Jass, do you think you can get up and walk with us to the chill-out room?”

“I think you're a poo-poo head.” And then Jass opened her eyes and threw her face back laughing.

Gemma smiled wryly. “Ladies and gentlemen, she's back with us.”

“POO-POO HEAD, POO-POO HEAD!” Jass laughed manically.

“Bree?”

“Yeah?”

“She still looks a bit pasty. Do you mind going into Hugo's house and finding a medicine cabinet? There must be one in one of the bathrooms. Hopefully there'll be those diarrhoea sachets in there – you know? The powder you add to water they give dehydrated people? Diro-rite or something? Well, they're also brilliant at sobering people up. Do you mind having a look?”

“Not at all. Is she okay, you reckon?”

“She's always fine after she's sick. Bloody Hugo though. She only ever gets like this when he's not treating her well. I told her not to go back there but she…well, it's Hugo, isn't it? Who wouldn't?”

Bree couldn't disagree.

“Which one's his house?” she joked.

Gemma smiled. “Oh, it's quite hard to find. It's a very modest little place – shall I draw you a map?”

Between Gemma and Jessica and Emily, they managed to heave Jass up and did a stagger-sway walk back towards the party.

Bree walked on ahead, scared she would trip in her massive wedges over a branch or something. It was so dark, but the lights from the party beckoned her towards the big house. As she got nearer, she could tell by the vibe that the party was peaking – peaking into a drunken hedonistic mess. There were couples everywhere, snogging against tents, groping each other with that unabashed lack of insecurity that alcohol gives you. She dodged more than a few puddles of sick. It was hard to get anywhere quickly as everyone she passed seemed desperately pleased to see her, trying to embrace her in a group hug, or pull her towards the music tent to watch “the totally awesome band”. The noise was deafening and disorientating.

She finally got to Hugo's house and slid a glass door to one side, closing it behind her. She leaned against it and savoured the quiet for a moment, sighing. She'd felt okay with drunker people around her…but in the quiet warmth of Hugo's kitchen, she realized she was pretty wasted too. It took a moment or so to calm her thoughts and stop her head spinning. She looked around. It was a very nice kitchen…black everything, with every state-of-the-art mod con the world had invented.

Right, medicine cabinet.

She walked down a long cream corridor, cautiously opening doors and hoping she wouldn't find anyone behind them. She wasn't sure where Hugo's parents were, but he'd been pretty insistent that his house was out of bounds during the party. Perhaps they were holed up in their bedroom somewhere? Watching nervously from behind the curtains and wincing whenever they heard a smash. If that was the case, she didn't want to be the one who disturbed them. But room after room was empty. She found a gym, a sitting room, a dining room with a chandelier and enough seats for the UN summit, and at least five spare bedrooms. It didn't take long to find a bathroom with a hopeful-looking cupboard. She found the Diro-rite amongst the usual paracetamol and antidepressants
.
She grabbed two sachets and was about to make her way back into the party when she spotted an unexplored room, the door ajar. Through the gap she could see a sleazy poster.

It had to be Hugo's bedroom.

She knew she needed to get back. That Jassmine needed looking after. The kind, sensible side of her brain told her to take the sachets, give them to Jass, and help cover up her drunkenness like a good popular citizen. But the bitter side of her reminded her that Hugo was the next big rule to tick off on her manifesto list. That he was a key part of this social experiment. And that any scrap of information about him would help her piece together the weird puzzle of who he really was.