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  “Speaking of the seventies,” Liberty added, directing an obvious smirk over to the uncovered legs on show in the space between the top of Jinx’s socks and the hem of her tracksuit bottoms, “are you planning to shave your legs or is this a considered look? Do you think Jamie digs the whole boho thing? Because, just so you know, it’s not quite the same this time round…”

  “Fuck you, Latiffe!” Jinx screamed, throwing the biscuit she’d been nibbling at Liberty but missing and hitting the wall instead. “How very dare you! Of course I’m going to shave my fucking legs. I’m waiting for you to finally finish hogging that bloody spliff and then I’m going to run myself a long hot tub and wallow in it…oh, for an hour at least. And before you start with the beseeching looks, I’m in Mum and Dad’s bathroom today, so you can piss off to the green one!”

  “Touché.” Liberty waved her hand in the flame of the rose-scented candle in an attempt to intensify its delicious smell. “I like the green one best anyway. Hey, Jinx—” Liberty paused and rolled over onto her front, eyeing her pal before continuing. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell George about Jamie? Are you even going to bother saying anything, or what?”

  “Hmmm,” murmured Jinx, who had actually been thinking about this intensively during the last couple of days but had yet to mention anything about it to her friends. “George knows I like him, obviously. But I haven’t decided whether I should tell him how much I like Jamie. I’ve been trying to think about what’s best, but to be honest we’ve been so freaking busy lately I haven’t come up with anything. What do you think I should do?”

  “I don’t know.” Liberty drew her words out in a manner that indicated she was currently engaging in very deep thoughts indeed. “Maybe…nothing. Yes,” she continued, sitting up as she warmed to her theme. “What’s the point of saying anything when you don’t quite know what you’re saying yet—if you see what I’m saying of course.”

  Jinx, who saw exactly what Liberty meant and liked the thought of saying nothing a great deal more than she liked to think about George’s reaction to the news that she was in love with his best friend, nodded happily.

  Lying in water so hot the mirrors wouldn’t de-steam for hours after she’d pulled the plug, her face and body bright red from the heat, Jinx reached over to replace the pot of intensive Frizz Ease conditioning mask on the shelf at the side of the roll-top bath and ran the hot tap. She dumped half a bottle of Kiehl’s Original Musk into the running water and smiled as the glorious musky scent punched all others out of its way as soon as it hit and mingled with the damp bathroom air.

  Discovered by Kiehl’s in a mysterious vat labeled “Love Oil” in their apothecary in the fifties, it had been rediscovered by Jinx in the Brighton branch of Space NK on one of her many shopping trips there last year. Truly though, gimmick or not, its heavy scent was redolent of romance. It smelt like the most brilliantly passionate love affair but also, somehow, of the bittersweet nostalgia that follows its end. Not that Jinx had ever experienced much of either, but whatever, here’s hoping!

  She took a deep breath and pushed her head back and under the water. She held her breath as long as she could before rising, Thalassa-like, from the water and using both hands to smooth her slick, wet hair away from her face against the back of her head and neck. She examined her rather stubbly calves, reached for Martin’s new razor—God, he went properly psychopathically mad when he eventually cottoned on to the fact his wife and daughter did this far too often—and propped a foot between the taps ready to make her legs shiny and beautiful even in the dead of winter.

  17 George Is a Moron

  Jinx and Liberty both jumped as if shot when their moisturizing session in Jinx’s bedroom was rudely interrupted by a sudden fierce banging against the locked door. George had only been home for five minutes but the noise levels were already verging towards antisocial territory.

  “You’ll have the fucking neighbours round in a minute if you carry that on,” Jinx yelled. “We’re busy—we’ll be down in a second. Fuck off and raid the fridge or something!”

  “All right, all right,” George said, his booming voice not at all muffled by the heavy oak door. “Keep your hair on, Sis—we don’t have any bloody neighbours. See you two downstairs.”

  “I definitely,” said Liberty with a worried glance at the door, “think you should keep all the Jamie stuff to yourself. I don’t think George would be pissed off about it in the slightest, but can you imagine the bloody jokes?”

  “I know,” replied Jinx firmly, pulling on her old favourite black velvet Miss 60 tracksuit bottoms over her now glistening legs. “You’re right, it would be awful. I’d constantly be looking over my shoulder worried about what he was saying and to whom. He’s never quite worked out what’s appropriate and what’s not.” There was a thoughtful pause as she slipped on the hot pink Kenzo T-shirt she’d filched from Caroline’s dressing room on her way back from the bathroom. “Or maybe he has and just doesn’t care who he winds up. Either way, I’m not saying a freaking word.”

  Tripping down the stairs half an hour later in a cloud of L’Artisan Parfumeur’s Fou D’Absinthe—Jinx thought her current favourite perfume the scent equivalent of wearing full body armour, and Bulgari’s au the vert—Liberty’s far more subtle choice, shaved, body oiled, moisturized, nails painted and fake-tanned up to the max, the girls felt very pleased with their pre-party preparations indeed.

  They pulled up short when, through the banisters and the half-open door beyond, they spied a small blonde girl lounging on the overstuffed white sofa in the huge drawing room the Slaters hardly ever used. Decorated predominantly in varying shade of white and cream, it contained Caroline’s beloved baby grand piano, hundreds of family photographs in all kinds of frames, and shelves groaning under the weight of myriad poetry books. It was very much Caroline’s room and the family normally only hung out in there to drink champagne and open their presents on Christmas Day.

  “Oh fuck,” moaned Jinx to Liberty as the girl stood up. “I’m sure that’s fucking Lydia. She was such a bitch to me on New Year’s Eve—God, I hope she’s not coming to Jamie’s party too.”

  “I bet you she is,” Liberty replied, equally morosely, for she’d heard all about Not So Lovely Lydia’s New Year’s Eve antics from a still-irate Jinx at the beginning of term. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have brought her back here, would he?”

  “Finally!” George, clutching a bottle of Laurent Perrier Rose and four champagne flutes, which looked too cozy by half as far as Jinx was concerned, pushed through the swing door from the kitchen and stood looking up at them from the hall with a very cheeky grin. “I thought you might have died up there. Come and have a drink.”

  Jinx, thinking what an absolute bona fide fool he was, grimaced at him as Lydia stood up—very elegantly considering the ridiculously high heels on her pointy black shoes and the fearsomely tight black pencil skirt she was sporting underneath a ruffled cream silk shirt—and moved over to the marble fireplace, affording her an excellent view of the two halfway down the stairs. Jinx knew she and Liberty were being appraised as Lydia reclined against the marble shelf with her back to the grate, slowly lit a cigarette, and as she exhaled, pushed her chest out and sucked in her tummy—such as it was, it was pretty flat anyway.

  “Jinx,” she said eventually, in an incredibly fake nice voice, as if the New Year’s Eve incident had never happened. “How lovely to see you. And this must be the famous Liberty.”

  “Hmm,” Jinx grunted rudely, barely looking at Lydia—who she still couldn’t quite believe was in her house like this—before she turned straight back to a grinning George, who was clearly oblivious to any tension whatsoever. “We need to ask you something—can we have a word upstairs please?”

  “Sure thing,” said George expansively. “Let me dump the champers down here and I’ll be straight up.”

  Jinx didn’t bother to reply but pulled a disgusted face, grabbed Liberty’s hand and stomped back up
stairs, where the two of them hovered round the corner from the bathroom long enough to hear Lydia’s tinkling laugh ring out loud, proud, and evidently very pleased with itself indeed from the drawing room.

  “Christ!” hissed Jinx, “that’s high-pitched enough to break the fucking glass on every frame in that room. Mum would go mad if she knew he was letting that slut smoke in there too. What’s he thinking of, inviting her to Jamie’s tonight? Last time he saw her he couldn’t get away fast enough. What a fucking idiot.”

  “What’s up, Sis?” George asked, running up the stairs two at a time before sweeping Jinx off her feet and spinning her round in a huge bear-hug. “Excited about tonight?”

  “Put me down!” squealed a not-at-all-amused Jinx, thumping him on the back in protest at the same time. “And what the hell are you doing bringing HER? I thought you hated that bitch!”

  “Ah,” George said suavely, before turning round to administer the same greeting to a grinning Liberty and thereby buying himself a few seconds to think of an explanation that would satisfy his irate sister. “Yes. Well. Things have—shall we say—changed on that front. Ready for the party?”

  18 Big Pimping It

  George pulled their car UP opposite the imposing white building where Jamie’s penthouse apartment occupied the whole top floor. Jinx reflected that it was a very good thing George had been given such an amazing new car stereo for Christmas. She and Liberty had spent the whole two-hour journey sitting in the back and singing along to the Dance Anthems album they’d lifted from Gaymian’s room, whilst furiously texting their friends and each other about what a total loser George’s girlfriend was.

  Unable to hear anything Lydia might have said to them, they ignored her pointedly anyway, reasoning, as they so often did when presented with any situation out of the ordinary, that it was worth it for the practice, if nothing else.

  Jinx checked her face for the last and final time in her hand mirror. She was delighted to see her mascara had for once stayed put on her eyelashes and her nose still looked as pleasantly shine-free as it had in the bathroom mirror just before they’d left home.

  Liberty nudged Jinx hard in the ribs, winked and pointed up to Jamie’s windows and surrounding decked balcony, just visible from the road as George backed expertly into a space right in front of the building. All was in darkness save for a few multicoloured pulsing disco lights that illuminated, off and on, a couple kissing on the balcony. When George cut the engine they could all hear the dull yet wildly exciting throb of some seriously hardcore house music pumping through the night air.

  Liberty snatched Jinx’s mirror out of her hand and, using the glow from the streetlights outside, pouted at herself for a few seconds from various angles. A pleased smile showed she was extremely happy with the stunning reflection pouting right back at her. She slipped on the crushed silk Miu Miu heels in burnt orange she’d kicked into the foot as soon as they’d set off, opened the back door, stood up, and smoothed down the front of her black Stella McCartney black bubble dress. She’d straightened her long hair so that her choppy fringe swept seductively over one eye and she looked gorgeous. Good enough, as George had rather inappropriately said after doing a double take when he saw her walk down the stairs at home earlier, to eat.

  Jinx, in the silk Simultane shift dress, worn over skinny black jeans teamed with her favourite shoes ever—glittery gold Top Shop platforms with a chunky golden heel—and a short black and white houndstooth French Connection swing jacket over the top, looked pretty damn hot-to-trot as well.

  The two of them stood on the street and looked each other over approvingly before doing a noisy high five and squealing with excitement, much to Lydia’s disapproval. Jinx caught sight of Lydia’s I’m-too-cool-for-school disdainful look and flicked a quick two fingers up behind her back. This caused Liberty to snort with laughter and Lydia to spin round again and fix them with a blacker look than one would have thought such a small, silly-looking girl capable of producing on a dark night like this.

  And if that look was bad, thought Jinx and Liberty at the same time but unbeknownst to each other, the look she fixed upon the objects of an impromptu wolf whistle from George a few seconds later was something else entirely. This one was positively malevolent, evil enough to send a real-life shiver down both their spines and make them immediately crane their necks in that direction too.

  “Fucking hell, Jinx,” hissed Liberty, nudging her friend really quite hard in the ribs in her joy at being the first to realize what had caused the commotion, “I can’t believe it—look at that!”

  Sashaying down the opposite pavement, looking as if their names were in fact Sheba, Salome, and Scherazade instead of the rather drab Chekhovian originals, were Stagmount’s very own identical Russian triplets. George’s was by no means the only jaw that came to rest nearly on the floor as they approached. Everyone, including the drivers and passengers of three cars stuck behind a red traffic light, a motley bunch of students drinking cans of cider and wearing ostentatiously holey attire, a glamorous old lady in a mink coat with big hair and a slash of scarlet lipstick who was walking her black pug, a cyclist, and, of course, Jinx, Liberty, and Lydia ranged alongside George on the other, were all equally in thrall to the spectacle of the sisters marching along.

  The girls had linked their arms and were striding along in unison, flashes of bright white teeth occasionally glinting in the dark against their glossed lips and lightly tanned faces. Their hair flew out behind them and they looked as if they were playing the three heroines in a Hollywood blockbuster. At first Jinx and Liberty were too stunned by the whole scene, the passersby and everything, to realize that the triplets were crossing the road at high speed specifically to talk to them.

  “Liberty! Jinx!” said Olga loudly, although neither of the addressees knew which one she was. She beamed at them in the friendliest way and took each of their left hands warmly in both of hers. “How funny to see you here. We are going out for dinner—would you like to come with us?”

  “That’s so kind of you girls,” Liberty replied. She loved the fact that the traffic light had gone green, but the three cars had remained in their stationary position and none of the other onlookers showed much sign of moving anywhere fast either. “But we’re already kind of late for a party in this building.”

  “Maybe,” said Jinx, raising her eyebrows meaningfully at George, trying to get his attention, “you guys should come and join us after you’ve had dinner?”

  George completely ignored the absolute daggers Lydia’s eyes were now shooting into Jinx and Liberty’s shapely backs.

  He just managed to get a grip on himself and asserted immediately that the triplets were of course more than welcome to attend the party, that they must do so. “In fact,” he added in an incredibly cheesy tone of voice, “I will be personally very disappointed if you do not.”

  Lydia pretended she hadn’t noticed Jinx and Liberty’s fake gagging. The triplets said their goodbyes and sauntered off down the road—nearly causing a ten-car pileup. Lydia also ignored George’s conciliatory tone as he offered to take her arm. She turned on her heel and started marching determinedly in the direction of Jamie’s front door without a backwards glance.

  Jinx and Liberty stood by the door of the bedroom where they were supposed to leave their coats, unable to get in due to the current occupants having very loud sex in there. They banged impatiently on the door while giggling to each other about how furious Lydia had been when the triplets came on the scene. Jinx began to do a very mean impression of Lydia stomping off when she turned round and came face to face with her. Liberty snorted with sudden laughter. She just couldn’t help herself. The whole Lydia thing was becoming way too much like hard work. She and Jinx were here to have fun after all, and the expression on Jinx’s face was a perfect comic mix of horrified guilt at finding the subject of her little one-man show suddenly standing in front of her like this, and quick rage at being caught in the act by the same.

  �
�I bet you think this is really funny, don’t you Jinx?” Lydia’s lip trembled, but she folded her arms and raised her chin so that she seemed built entirely of a series of angry, angular points. “Well, you don’t understand it now but you will. You wait until you see someone you like slobbering after someone else. Or THREE someone elses, you see how you like it. I bet you go mad!”

  “I wouldn’t actually,” said Jinx firmly, eyeing Lydia with more disapproval than ever. Didn’t the fucking girl have any self-control, for God’s sake! “And, for the record, Lyds, you’re only TWENTY-TWO. I can’t fucking stand being patronized by people who are, like, four and a half years older than me and seem to think they’ve had all these life experiences and whatever and are therefore licensed to preach wisdom to those younger than them. The whole thing’s so freaking stupid.”

  Jinx made a disgusted face, grabbed Liberty’s arm and dragged her off to the double doors leading to the decked roof terrace, complete with hot tub, huge Indian-style cushions strewn around the floor, and a white canopy sheltering revelers from too much wind or rain.

  “This is more like it,” Jinx said, looking round once more before deciding her best bet for finding Jamie was if they moved around. “Fuck her. D.B.M. That means: don’t bore me. No, not YOU, Lib. Lydia of course!” Jinx rolled her eyes quickly so Liberty wouldn’t spot her. “Let’s go and get some urgent drinks—I’m dying of thirst over here.”

  They threw their coats behind a mammoth navy sofa and wended their way through the very well-dressed throng to the makeshift bar that two black uniformed cocktail waiters had set up in the corner of the outside deck and were now fully staffing. George still hadn’t reappeared from wherever he’d scarpered off to as soon as they’d come in, but what with the amazing canapés knocking around and a set of wicked beats coming from the silver decks in front of the glass wall of the living room just inside, this party most definitely had the makings of an outstanding night.