The Funny Thing About Love

32. Charlie

32

CHARLIE

Over Daphne’s shoulder, I watch Nell walk away from the bar.

I keep hoping she’ll turn around so I can wave her back over. But she doesn’t. I see her accept a few more Sylvanian Families-sized nibbles from a passing waiter, and then I lose her as she disappears into the crowd.

I take another sip of my drink and turn my attention back to Daphne.

It’s pretty hard to focus on what she’s saying though, because this whole situation is so utterly ridiculous.

I swear something was about to happen between Nell and me a few minutes ago. I could feel something crackling between us – that fizzy, nervous electricity I felt when we first met. And then suddenly . . . suddenly I’m being jabbed in the ribs by another hot girl.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about Daphne since our random, flirty meeting a few days ago. Keeping an eye out as I walked to the lifts or the kitchen in case I saw her again. But I’ve thought about Nell way, way more. And now, as I watch her disappear into the crowd with a thud of regret, I don’t even have to think twice about who I’d rather be talking to.

But I don’t want to seem like a dick, so I make a concerted effort to pull all my focus back to Daphne. She’s midway through a long story about how much she hates Marie – her mug-hoarding boss – how she can’t wait until she ‘fucks off on holiday’ next week. I nod along dumbly. I can feel her breath on my cheek as she talks. She really is leaning in pretty close to me. I mean, it’s loud in here, but is it that loud? She’s already told me she’s on her third drink of the evening, which might go some way to explaining all the rib-jabbing and arm-touching.

‘You guys want to see a card trick?’

Daphne’s anti-Marie diatribe is interrupted by the roaming magician, who pokes his grinning, ginger-bearded face between us.

Daphne claps her hands and beams at him. ‘Oh my God, yes! I used to be obsessed with Dynamo. Ob-sessed!’

‘Oh, he’s a hack. I’m miles better than him,’ the magician says sniffily. He starts shuffling the cards quickly between his fingers. ‘OK, I want you to think of a card. Any card. Picture it in your mind. Concentrate on it . . .’ His focus is entirely on Daphne; I’m not sure he’s even noticed I’m here. I don’t mind, to be quite honest, as it gives me the chance to scan the room for Nell. I can see Clara, the girl she was talking to a second ago, but I can’t see her. I feel bad – I hope she doesn’t think I purposely ditched her. But then she hardly needs me to look out for her, does she? She’s probably chatting to someone else somewhere. I crane my neck to try to see over the bar –

‘Fuck! Charlie – did you see that?!’

I feel Daphne grab my wrist and realise I’ve completely zoned out. She’s staring at me open-mouthed while the magician smirks and strokes his goatee. ‘He totally got my card!’ Daphne shrieks. ‘How did you know I was thinking of the eight of clubs?!’

‘I’d tell you, but the Magic Circle would revoke my membership,’ the magician says, performing a mildly irritating bow.

‘That was amazing,’ Daphne says. ‘Charlie, wasn’t that amazing?’ Her other hand is back on my arm as she smiles up at me. God, she really is stupidly attractive. The magician is still gawping at her, his smirk now transformed into a borderline leer. But she’s looking at me. I’m sure there are plenty of guys in here who would give anything to switch places with me right now.

So why can’t I stop thinking about Nell?

The magician saunters off, still shooting admiring glances at Daphne’s back as he goes. The music changes and Daphne’s grip on my wrist tightens.

‘Oh my God, I love this song!’

I recognise it straight away. It’s Lina’s big hit, ‘Down There’ – the annoyingly catchy RB tune she performed on Punching Up.

‘Hey, wasn’t she on your show last week?’ Daphne asks me.

I laugh. ‘It’s not my show. But, yeah – she hosted last week.’

She cocks her head at me. ‘It’s kind of your show though, right?’

‘What do y—’ I’m halfway through the question when I understand the answer. It’s like being punched in the stomach.

‘I actually met your dad last week,’ she adds. ‘He came down for a presentation in our department. He seems really cool.’

‘Yep. Yeah.’ I take a gulp of negroni and wince as it goes down. Is this the only reason she’s talking to me? How does she even know I’m related to Nick? It reminds me of Grassmere, where people would pick their friends based solely on their family name.

‘You know they’ve got a dance floor through there?’ Daphne says, nodding across to the other side of the room.

‘I’m . . . I’m a pretty awful dancer,’ I shout over the music, sensing this could be my out.

I don’t think she even hears me. She just drains her negroni, places it back on the bar and takes my hand. I follow her as she leads me through the crowd towards the dance floor. I catch the magician giving me a you-lucky-bastard glare as I go. But my mind is still on Nell. For some reason, the idea of her seeing me dancing . . . Well – I did want to make her laugh again. But with me ideally, not at me.

The dance floor is already packed, and people are pissed enough to be throwing some ridiculous moves. One guy with floppy hair is energetically breakdancing and another in a striped Ralph Lauren shirt is trying, pretty unsuccessfully, to do the ‘robot’. I start half-heartedly swaying on the spot in front of Daphne, who’s winding and twirling like she’s in a music video. My eyes keep scanning for Nell.

Suddenly, I clock her. She’s over by the entrance, talking to a guy I’ve never seen before. I’m so happy to see her that I don’t even try to be subtle in front of Daphne – I just raise my arm and start waving. But Nell isn’t looking in my direction. All her focus is on the guy.

‘Who are you waving at?’ Daphne leans in to shout at me.

‘Just that girl I work with!’

Daphne raises her eyebrows. ‘You guys aren’t . . . together, are you?’

‘No! No, we’re just friends!’

She smiles and carries on dancing. So do I. I decide then and there to make a concerted effort to only look over at Nell once during each song. That way – I hope – I won’t seem rude to Daphne, or creepy to Nell. But by the time the next song finishes, and I look over, she’s disappeared. So has the guy. I feel a throb of something – disappointment? Jealousy? – but before I have time to figure out which it is, Daphne leans back in.

‘I’m knackered,’ she says, and points over at the photo booth. ‘Hey – what do you think? Shall we?’

I just nod and follow her. My head is getting woozy now – those negronis really were piss-takingly strong – and it’s impossible to line your stomach with these laughably small canapés.

Outside the photo booth, Daphne grabs an armful of props from the box and draws back the curtain. ‘After you . . .’

The seat inside is so tiny that she has to perch on my right knee. She turns to me as she sits down. ‘Is this OK? I’m not crushing you, am I?’

‘No, of course not.’

She presses the button, and when she turns back, her face is literally inches from mine.

‘Hey,’ she says softly.

I gulp. ‘Hey . . .’

It’s dark in here, and the music is muffled by the thick curtain. It feels like we’ve found a secret hideout – a little oasis of calm in among the madness of the party.

Daphne closes her eyes and leans towards me. Oh fuck. Is this actually happening? My body responds in a fairly predictable way, given that a hot girl is apparently about to kiss me. But my mind is still on Nell. It’s strange – there’s no good reason why I shouldn’t kiss Daphne. I’m just not sure if I want to kiss Daphne.

And then I’m kissing Daphne anyway. The flash goes off, the bulb drenching the booth in blinding white light that I can see even with my eyes closed. And then it goes dark again. I feel Daphne pull away, and when I open my eyes, she’s smiling at me. ‘That was nice,’ she whispers.

‘Erm, yeah. It was.’

She throws back the curtain and makes to step back out. ‘Shall we get another drink?’

I’m already way too pissed, but I don’t really feel like I can say no. As I follow her back out into the bar, my eyes dart around frantically for Nell. But there’s no sign of her. The thought that she might have left with that guy drifts into my head, making my stomach churn.

The booth makes a whirring sound and our photos drop into the slot. Daphne reaches down and picks them up. She glances at them and smiles – then places them straight into my hand.

‘Here you go, you can keep these. Memento of tonight.’

I look at them. Four identical images of me, with my eyes shut, my lips pressed firmly against Daphne’s.