Page 60 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Yes! Yes!” Caitlin exclaims, giving my shoulder a push. “Go and dance!”

I get to my feet and Patricia pulls me into the crowd. I try to focus on the music, and even though I would usually be in my element, losing myself in the crowd, I just can’t seem to get into the party spirit. I close my eyes and I see Lucky’s face when he looked at Caitlin.

The band plays for another thirty minutes. It is now well past two a.m. and the crowd is thinning out. By the time Patricia and I catch up with Caitlin and Bernie we are just about the only people left, and Bernie and Caitlin have put away a good amount of the remaining whisky.

Patricia assesses the situation with a sigh. “I’ll have to get him home,” she says as Bernie peers groggily at the pair of us. “He’s useless when he’s like this. Will you be all right with Caitlin?” she asks, although the question seems a little rhetorical.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “I’m sure I can manage…” I trail off. I am not actually sure I can manage at all. I don’t know where we are or where we are going, and judging by the fact that Caitlin is slumped over the table with her head resting in her arms, she isn’t going to be much help either.

“Al will find you a taxi, don’t worry,” Patricia says, wrapping her fingers around Bernie’s wrist and heaving him to his feet. “Come on, darling,” she calls to him in a sing-song voice. “Let’s get you home.”

“Home?” he repeats, swaying on his feet. “What a good idea. Excellent. Excellent.” He sways some more.

“Yes.” Patricia sighs a put-upon sigh. “It is a good idea. Let’s go. I can’t believe you’re the one I’ll be tucking up into bed tonight, you old soak.”

Bernie beams at her. “Are we leaving little Lou?” he asks then, looking mournfully in my direction. “Little Lou. My little rosebud.” He pulls me close to his chest. I think I could probably get drunk myself just from the fumes on his breath.

“Goodnight, Bernie,” I say, patting him on the arm. “I hope you don’t feel too bad in the morning. I’ll see you at the party on Friday.”

“Party,” Bernie repeats. “Friday. Oh, the masks.” A wicked smile appears on his face. “People behave so badly when they wear masks,” he slurs. “Not that we need an excuse really.”

Patricia tugs him along and the pair of them stumble up the stairs, calling their goodbyes over their shoulders.

When they have both disappeared I turn to survey the situation. Caitlin is still slumped over the table. And I am alone.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

“Caitlin,” I say gently, shaking her arm.

She looks up blearily. Her red lipstick is smeared and she beams at me. “Lou!” she says. “Lou!”

“Yes, it’s me.” I slide into the seat across from her. “It’s time to go home,” I say.

“Home?” Caitlin frowns. “No!”

It is like trying to reason with the triplets. “Everyone’s gone,” I point out. “There’s no music. It’s time to go.”

“No, no, no.” Caitlin is shaking her head. “We’ll go somewhere else,” she slurs. “Somewhere else…” She rests her head back on the table, unable to finish her thought.

I spot Al standing by the stage, talking to the double bass player, and I wave helplessly. She takes pity on me and comes straight over.

“Uh-oh,” she says, taking in the sight of Caitlin slumped in her seat. “When she said to bring the bottle I didn’t think she meant just for her.”

“Oh, Bernie put a good dent in it too,” I say ruefully. “Patricia said you may be able to get us a taxi so that I can take her home?”

“Sure,” Al says, smoothing Caitlin’s hair back from her forehead. “We’ll get you home safe, don’t worry.”

“I’ll take you both home,” a voice says, and I look up to see Lucky standing in front of us.

“Oh, no,” I yelp, flustered. “You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to be any trouble…” I trail off.

“It looks like your friend is the one who’s trouble,” Lucky says, and it could have been a joke except, when his eyes fall on Caitlin, his lips are pressed into a thin line. The emphasis that he puts on the words “your friend” is almost funny. Does he really think that after this evening I don’t know what’s between them?

“She … she’s not feeling very well,” I say lamely, and the look in Lucky’s eyes tells me not to bother.

“What’d you give her so much to drink for?” He turns to Al, anger in his voice.