The party is in full swing, and it’s going amazingly. Everyone is eating, drinking and being merry. Millsy invited one of his cool DJ friends, Woody did an awesome job making the house look all spooky and, as promised, Weird Ian brought soup.
‘It’s tomato,’ he told me, waggling the ladle around in the big pot of red gunge as he hovered on our doorstep. ‘Like blood.’
‘What are the white balls?’ I asked, a little grossed out.
‘Pickled onions,’ he told me. ‘I thought they looked like eyeballs.’
So far, everyone is having a lovely time – although Ian is the only one I’ve seen eating the soup.
‘Ruby, come here,’ Woody calls my name as I walk across the living room.
‘This is –’
‘Elsa, nice to meet you,’ I interrupt, greeting the blonde girl in front of me who is absolutely nailing the Frozen character.
Ah, I really miss my blonde hair. Now more than ever. It would have been perfect for my costume tonight; I’m having to wear a cheap, nasty wig instead. Because my change in hair colour was so last-minute, so was my trip to the fancy-dress shop. When I got there, people were queuing around the corner. They had a rope system, letting people in a few at a time – like a nightclub. Or Hollister when there’s a sale on. So by the time I got in there, there wasn’t much left. The wig I’m wearing is more Donald Trump than Daenerys Targaryen.
Woody laughs. He sounds pretty drunk.
‘Hello,’ she says enthusiastically. My God, she’s absolutely hammered.
‘She’s a dancer,’ he tells me. ‘Millsy introduced us.’
‘Cool,’ I reply, dragging the world out, slowly. ‘Well, I’m going to go find Millsy and see what he was thinking.’
I laugh awkwardly as my brother and his new friend look on, confused.
As I approach Millsy he springs into his Game of Thrones character.
‘Moon of my life,’ he says, thrusting a glass of an unidentifiable punch into my hand.
‘My sun and stars,’ I reply. ‘A word please.’
‘Sure.’
I drag Millsy away from the crowd he was entertaining with his Dothraki moves, swinging around the replica arakh weapon that he bought on eBay.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘Why did you introduce my drunk brother to an even drunker blonde babe? You know how he’s feeling at the moment.’
‘Exactly, he needs cheering up – nothing cheers up a guy like a pretty lady.’
‘He’s married, Millsy. He’s married and he’s miserable and you just introduced him to a drunk, sexy, blonde temptation.’
Millsy thinks for a moment.
‘Rubes, I’ve had a bit to drink, I apologise, but you’re right – that was a fucking stupid move on my part and I’m sorry.’
‘You’re just full of stupid moves at the moment, aren’t you?’
He nods sheepishly.
‘Right, let’s just go talk to him, take over the conversation, I’ll take him, you take her, we separate them, crisis averted.’
“My sun and stars” nods in agreement to the plan, but as we head back into the living room, they’re nowhere to be seen.
‘Crap, where have they gone?’ I ask no one in particular.
‘Looking for someone?’ Ian asks, rocking up next to us, eating (probably) his millionth bowl of soup.
‘Spiderman,’ Millsy tells him.
‘Ah, he went up to one of the bedrooms,’ Ian informs us with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
‘What?’ I shriek. I run upstairs.
‘Oh shit,’ I hear Millsy shout as he runs after me. ‘Look, this is my fault, so just calm down.’
‘I will not calm down,’ I snap back. ‘I will not let every relationship I’m aware of be based on lies and shit and bollocks.’
OK, so in my slightly inebriated state, I’m not the most eloquent, but I know what I mean, and I need to put a stop to this.
We burst into Woody’s old room, only to find Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia in bed together – only identifiable by her hair and his lightsaber.
‘Sorry, guys, as you were,’ I tell them.
‘You know you’re related, right? Millsy laughs.
I shake my head at him.
‘I don’t have time for your jokes.’
‘Not even the good ones?’ he asks.
Next up, I try my parents’ room. In there we’ve got someone going down on a Minion.
Millsy and I pause for a second, trying to work out what we’re looking at.
‘Dude, what the fuck?’ the Minion complains.
‘Dude, you are in my mum and dad’s bed. So quit your bitching about privacy. And what are you supposed to be?’ I ask his female friend.
‘I’m naughty nurse,’ she tells us.
‘Yes you are,’ Millsy replies. I roll my eyes, grab him by the wrist and head for my old bedroom.
‘Eww, in my bed, seriously,’ I moan.
Once through the door I can just about make out Spiderman on top of a girl. I flick the light on, grabbing my brother by the scruff of his onesie, pulling him off. Except it isn’t Elsa underneath him, it’s the Black Swan.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I ask, releasing him.
‘I thought that was obvious,’ he replies. That’s when I realise it’s not my brother, it’s someone else in a Spiderman onesie.
‘She’s just reminding you that with great power comes great responsibility. So rubber-up,’ Millsy tells them, ushering me out of the room.
‘Oh my God, I feel sick,’ I confess. ‘I was sure that was him.’
I hear the toilet flush before the bathroom door opens. Woody strolls out.
‘Hey sis, hey Millsy. Everything OK?’ he asks.
‘Where’s Elsa?’ I demand.
‘She was really drunk so I put her in a taxi home. Why?’ he asks, puzzled.
I kiss my brother on the cheek.
‘You’re a good man, you know that? Maybe the best.’
‘Hey, what about me?’ Millsy asks.
‘You’re a cu –’
My brother places his hand over my mouth, stopping me from cracking a cheeky joke.
‘My God, I hope you washed that,’ I say, pulling a disgusted face.
We make our way back downstairs.
‘Ooh, jelly shots,’ Millsy exclaims excitedly, grabbing a tray of them from the table. ‘I have it on pretty good authority that whoever made these, made them really strong.’
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I say, watching him knock them back.
‘It was,’ he replies proudly.
‘And yet here you are, consuming enough to get a rugby team hammered,’ I laugh.
Millsy pulls a face.
‘What? I can share. Here’s one for you,’ he tells me, pushing one of the little, brightly coloured, ridiculously alcoholic jellies into my mouth. ‘And what about you…Hitler,’ he says, turning to the person next to him. ‘You’ll have one, right?’
‘I’ll have two,’ he replies. ‘But I’m not Hitler, I’m Charlie Chaplin.’
‘Where’s your hat then?’ I ask, knocking back another shot before turning to look him in the eye. ‘Oh my God, Nick! You came! As Hitler!’
‘I’m not Hitler, I’m Charlie Chaplin,’ he insists again, angrily. ‘Someone stole my hat!’
The dark suit, the slicked-down hair, the little moustache and the stern look on his face. It’s amazing how a bowler hat is the only difference between Charlie Chaplin and Adolf Hitler. It’s a small, but much needed part of the costume, it turns out.
‘Of course they did,’ Millsy says angrily. He obviously and unashamedly shoots me a filthy look, to let me know just how annoyed he is that I’ve invited Nick. When he vowed to never be in the same room as him again, I promised him (with a fist-bump, no less) that I would always do everything in my power to make sure he never had to come face to face with him ever again – now it’s happened twice in one week.
‘Ruby invited me,’ Nick tells him. ‘So I’m here. It’s good manners – I can explain manners to you if you like?’
‘Yeah, sure, and while you’re at it, explain to me how it’s good manners to turn up to a party dressed as Hitler,’ Millsy snaps back.
‘I bloody told you, someone stole my bloody hat the second I got here,’ Nick replies, raising his voice.
‘OK, time for me to intervene,’ I say, physically getting between them. ‘Millsy, go do some more jelly shots until you don’t give a shit about anything any more, which I’d estimate at like three more. You’re angry drunk Millsy right now, I need you somewhere between here and the Millsy who tries to have sex with furniture, ideally.’
‘That was one time,’ he mutters to himself as he wanders off, knocking back more shots.
I turn my attention back to Nick.
‘You came,’ I say brightly. A couple of people walk past and one mutters something about how insensitive Nick’s costume is, causing my smile to fall. ‘OK, let’s find your hat before you get your head kicked in, yeah?’
‘OK, sure,’ he replies.
We stroll around the room that is busy with people all pretending to be something they’re not, but no one is doing a better job than I am right now. I’m so crazy for Nick, so why can’t I just be honest with him?
‘So, what’s Heather dressed as?’
‘Eva Braun,’ he replies.
I stop in my tracks and stare at him.
‘I’m kidding, Ruby,’ he says with a bit of a laugh. I’m not sure if I was surprised by the fact she might actually be dressed that way, or by just how appropriate an outfit that would be for her. ‘She’s not here.’
Wait, Heather hasn’t come with him? I know they had plans together tonight. Could there be trouble in paradise? I feel a fleeting glimmer of hope.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll find your hat, we’ve got all night. Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’m not staying,’ he replies quickly. ‘And I’m driving. I only came because I said I would.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I tell him, trying to pull my mouth into a smile, but the truth is that I don’t want him to go. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him how much he means to me. But despite this glimmer of hope, I don’t think that’s what he wants me to do.
Millsy staggers over. He was drunk before, but the recent barrage of shots to his system have clearly kicked in. But he isn’t angry drunk Millsy or horny drunk Millsy, he’s a Millsy I’ve never witnessed before: emotional drunk Millsy.
‘Nick, I need a word, mate,’ he insists, grabbing him by the shoulders, pushing him down onto the nearest sofa before taking a seat next to him.
‘Millsy, maybe don’t say anything at all,’ I insist, suddenly worried sick about what my bestie might say while under the influence. I trust him implicitly, of course – when he’s sober. But when he’s drunk and he doesn’t know what or who he’s doing, or worse, what he’s saying, that’s when I need to be worried. This man knows all my secrets.
‘I need to ret the secord straight,’ he slurs insistently, muddling up his words.
‘What?’ Nick asks, clearly annoyed that he’s having to deal with Millsy at all – never mind when he’s smashed and even more of an acquired taste than when he’s sober.
‘What?’ Millsy repeats back to him.
Millsy thinks for a moment.
‘I need to set the record straight,’ he says – somehow managing to nail each of the seven words this time. ‘When you knocked on Ruby’s bedroom door, and you heard sex noises, that wasn’t Ruby, no one wants to have sex with Ruby,’ he explains.
‘Wow, thanks,’ I can’t help but interrupt. I know that he’s trying to help me out here, but he’s not exactly painting a very alluring picture, is he?
‘It’s true,’ he continues. ‘Except Deano, obviously. He considered sleeping with her even when she had thrush.’
Oh my God, he’s making this so much worse.
‘I…I didn’t have thrush,’ I insist.
Nick just looks back and forth between us, confused.
‘The thing I’m trying to say,’ Millsy starts, thinking for a second, wracking his brains for what he was actually trying to say, ‘it was me making those noises. Alone. You get what I’m saying?’
‘You were making sex noises alone,’ Nick repeats back to him. ‘Yeah, I get exactly what you’re saying.’
‘Good, good,’ Millsy replies, for some reason talking with his eyes closed now.
‘So when I heard you saying “you like it like that, bitch?” that was you, alone, talking to yourself?’ Nick asks for clarification.
‘Exactly,’ Millsy replies. ‘I was saying it to myself.’
‘You’re fucking weird,’ Nick tells him.
While I kind of commend Millsy for doing the right thing, setting Nick straight that I wasn’t in my room that morning, he probably should have done it better/sober. All he’s done is made it sound like he’s been jacking off in my bed, talking dirty to himself.
‘You’re fucking weird,’ Millsy replies. ‘God knows why you’ve got women fighting over you.’
Nick’s eyebrows shoot up.
‘OK, Mr Mills. Time to get you to bed.’
‘I’m not going anywhere, make him go. He’s the fucking loser we’re always talking about how much we hate. Laughing at him because he’s so lame. Remember when you pretended to be him?’ Millsy laughs hysterically. ‘When you put on his stethoscope and did his voice and listened for your own heartbeat but said you couldn’t find one because you were a robot? That shit was funny, mate.’
I’ll admit, I did do that, but it was a long time ago, and it was after he yelled at me for not folding the tea towels properly. I was only venting my anger, I didn’t mean it.
‘I’m going,’ Nick says, climbing to his feet before storming off.
‘Nick, wait,’ I call after him. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
But he’s not listening. And now he’s gone.
I sit down next to my so-called best friend.
‘Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten us into, Millsy,’ I say with a sigh. As sidekicks go, it’s all or nothing with Millsy. He either does the absolute worst thing or the absolute best thing in all situations.
‘Come on,’ he insists, placing an arm around me as he springs back to life. ‘Let’s go drink some more.’
See what I mean, as much trouble as he causes me, sometimes he knows exactly what I need.