Echo

Rose Garden

I hate parties. Surrounded by people, trying to make small talk and fake-smiling your way through the evening was not a night well spent, in my humble opinion. Having spent most of the evening sat between my grandmother and some balding, middle-aged man who had persistently shown me photos of his hideous cat, I was ready for midnight to roll by and to get the hell out of this hell hole.

Alas, what I want and what Fate decides are two very different things. The clock, ticking slower and slower by the second, had just forced itself past the ten pm mark and there were no signs of my grandmother slowing down. For an octogenarian, Harlow Delaney really was a sprightly woman, if her dancing was any evidence of the fact. Currently, she was on dance partner number three and she'd only been on the dance floor for fifteen minutes.

Then there's me, currently sat at the dinner table, cursing the fact that my mobile phone had died a quick death, the battery sinking below five per cent just as the starter was served. Biding my time until freedom was once again mine, I'd been strictly ordered by Harlow not to mingle with the other guests. I suppose it goes back to the fact that I'd sarcastically told one of the guests at our table that I was a lesbian when he asked me about my love life.

"Is there a boy in your life, Keira?" The man asked, sipping his red wine.

"No," I'd answered, shaking my head. Picking up my own glass filled with water, I placed it near my lips. "But there is a girl."

Taken by surprise by my answer, the man spat out his drink, the disgusting concoction of wine and saliva landing on the gold silk gown of his date. Unimpressed, the woman turned up her nose, shot me a dark glare and then excused herself as I smugly sipped my water. Harlow, meanwhile, dug her nails into my forearm and told me not to talk. Not even when I was spoken to.

To that end, I was surplus to requirements.

"Excuse me?" Someone spoke, clearing their throat. Looking up at where the gruff American accent came from, I see a boy of around eighteen years old staring down at me, nervously shifting from one foot to another. "Are you, by any chance, Keira Delaney?"

I nod but say nothing.

"Your grandmother-" he points towards the dancefloor where Harlow watches us like a hawk. "-made me come over and ask you to dance. She also told me to tell you that you're now allowed to talk and that the first word out of your mouth better be 'yes' in answer to my question."

I blink. "Thanks for the heads up," I say, standing to adjust my gown accordingly. Picking up my clutch bag and water glass, I side step the boy that blocks my exit, stopping only to say, "By the way, you never actually asked me a question, and for the record, that wasn't the smoothest chat-up line in the world. In fact, it was pretty dire. Better luck next time."

With my new found freedom to speak again, the first thing I did was head to the bar, ditching my water and asking the bartender for a Jack Daniel and cola. He stared at me, a confused look on his face, as he studied my eyes. He tilted his head to the right, and then to the left before blinking several times as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Annoyed by his reaction- but not all that surprised by it- I snapped my fingers in the space between his face and mine, forcing him out of the trance. To my advantage, the barman was too embarrassed by his actions to ask me for proof of age and he quickly set about mixing my drink. As this was an open bar kind of party, once my drink had been slid across the bar, I made a hasty exit towards the patio, ducking out of view of my grandmother and promptly hid out of sight.