Chapter 15
Ember
“Be honest, do I look like a stripper?,” Amy says as she enters the kitchen disco that we’ve currently got going on.
She’s wearing a skin-tight catsuit with humongous stiletto heels. Her flaming Red curls are slicked back in a tight ponytail, and her face is half-concealed by a cat mask.
“No, but you do look like a basic bitch,” Toby mutters under his breath.
Amy guffaws in horror, “You weren’t invited!”
This causes him to immediately start grinning like a Cheshire cat, “One- I live here, so you can’t ban me from my own kitchen. Two- luckily for you- I was only grabbing a corona from the fridge anyway.”
Amy’s body actively softens now in relief.
“But I mean, now that I know that you really don’t want me in here, that makes me want to stay all the more,” he says smugly.
She’s sporting him daggers now, “Don’t. you. dare.”
He chuckles to himself before leaving the kitchen, knowing he had her hooked like bait to a fish.
I bite the insides of my cheeks, trying my hardest to refrain from laughing as I look at Amy with her face like thunder. “You look amazing Am,” I beam, trying to win her over.
We’d completely transformed the kitchen. What was once a boring magnolia room, with hobs splattered in pasta sauce and a grotty bin overflowing with mouldy pizza boxes, (the true horror), was now a hellish gateway fit for any demon. Poppy, Amy, and I practically spent the entire day Halloween DIY-ing. We’d been to the pound shop and bought a ton of tacky ghoulish décor and trick-or-treat snack bags that were of course, only for us. The room was now illuminated by the candlelight of the giant carved pumpkin, the ceilings were sprawled from corner to corner in thick fake cobwebs, a skeleton was now taking residence on the mini tub sofa, plastic spiders, bloody handprints, and half-eaten limbs covered the floor, and we plastered the breakfast bar with a spread of salty and sugary treats, ranging from jelly devils to iced-ghost biscuits, to pickled onion crisps in the shape of human toes. We’d also got crafty, deciding to paint on some white paper cups for drinks. There were now a ton of colourful designs, sporting quotes like ‘ghouls just want to have fun’ and ‘I’ve got boos’ with a little drunk ghost scrawled on the front. Just to add to our extra-ness, we even bought another kitchen sink bowl, filled it up with tap water, and placed in about 10 Red apples. It wouldn’t be a true Halloween party without apple bobbing after all.
“Alexa, play a Halloween playlist!,” I shout to the room.
“Now playing: Top Halloween Bangers on Amazon music,”she echoes.
Monster Mash starts blaring through the speakers and I feel like I’m back at a year 6 Halloween school disco. Tonight was going to be fab; I just knew it.
“Ooo!,” I hear Amy squeal as Poppy walks through the door, I didn’t even need to ask to know that she’s dressed as Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction. Her crisp white shirt, black flares, bloody nose, and short Black wig told me everything I needed to know.
“You look amazing!,” I sing. “I’m honestly jealous that you can pull off that haircut too.”
She laughs, “Don’t try and convince me to cut it into a Bob, because I’m actually considering it after this.”
I stare at them both like a proud mother. They both just looked so insane in their costumes. We purposefully didn’t tell each other what we were planning to go as, which could have been a catastrophic move, especially if we ended up wearing the same thing. But thankfully, the stars were aligned, and we all found individual fits. As for me, I was dressed as one of the Fembots from Austin Powers, sporting a baby pink lacy nightdress that just about reached the mid-point of my thigh, with feathers on the bust, pink heels, a pair of pink gloves that went up to my elbows and a huge blonde beehive wig that was at serious risk of giving me a headache by the end of the night. How women in the 60s used to cope with this absolute mountain on their heads, I’ll never know.
“And look at you Blonde Bombshell!,” Poppy grins, running her hands through the ends of my wig.
“I’ve noticed you’re wearing the shortest dress possible…could that possibly be for a certain someone?,” Amy chimes in, smugly.
Tutting, I shake my head. “Not this again. We’re just friends, okay? Well, if you can even call us that, we still don’t know each other that well.”
“Friendly enough to invite him though,” Amy winks. “And hey, no judgement here. The sluttier, the better.”
I knew I’d regret telling them about our chat in the booth. I was providing them with the ammo for my demise. I just felt like it would be nice to invite him and truth be told, I did want to see him again. There was nothing suspect about that though. I just liked hanging out with him, like I liked hanging out with Poppy and Amy, that was all.
“Just please do me a favour and don’t embarrass me tonight please,” I roll my eyes, trying to suppress my smile.
“Can’t promise that I’m afraid,” she sighs, “but I’ll try my hardest to be on my best behaviour,” she follows with a salute.
I cringe, fearing for the situation I might have just put myself into tonight. Heading over to the breakfast bar, I grab a bottle of Rose, pop off the lid, dunk in a straw, and start slurping from the bottle.
“Hey! No downing the bottle for yourself,” Amy shouts, pointing an accusing finger in my direction.
Poppy laughs, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “you can drink the whole thing before the boys arrive. But just really remember what happened the last time you got pissed around Arthur.” She knew exactly what she was doing by saying that.
Immediately, I pry myself away from the bottle and place it back down.
Yeah. Perhaps not.