The Dead House

“No.” Carly’s face, which exudes a gentle timidity, shutters closed, and her eyes grow unexpectedly hard.

The camera drops, and through the blurry screen we hear Naida say, softly, “Please? I really need this for my Royal Holloway portfolio. If I don’t have it, I won’t get in, and if I don’t get in, I’ll have to take a job as a hack or something—for a tabloid newspaper. A tabloid, Carly! Are you going to do that to me? Really?”

The camera lifts, refocuses.

Carly frowns, visibly uncomfortable. “That is completely forbidden emotional blackmail, I hope you know.” She eyes the camera with a sort of wariness, as though expecting it to be aggressive. After a moment, however, she nods, mutters, “Fine!” and then goes back to reading, subtly shrugging her hair over her shoulder to hide her face.

“Yes! Secrets shall be had, sugar… Nothing to be done about that.”

“Yeah, yeah, paparazzi,” comes a male voice from offscreen.

The camera turns to capture a lanky boy with dark skin, a little over six feet tall, with a slim frame and black hair, entering the dorm with a McDonald’s paper bag dangling from his fist. He grins at Naida behind the camera.

“Turning into a scandal scavenger now?” he asks.

Naida laughs. “Subject number two: Scott Fromley, the Boyfriend, but don’t ask me why. He’s a clown, a slob, and a jerk most of the time.”

Scott grins, looking over the top of the camera, which then jiggles as Naida leans in to kiss him. Briefly we catch a glimpse of the contact, Scott’s arm wound tightly around Naida’s waist, as he presses her close.

“Do you have to do that right in front of me?” Carly asks from somewhere off camera.

“You wait,” Naida says, and the camera pans back onto Carly. “You’ll have a beau one of these days, and your wild side will be set loose—no longer caged and celibate! Then we’ll see who’s making grotesque public displays of affection.”

The camera turns back on Naida, close in so that we can see only her darting, penetrating eyes as she whispers, “And I think I know who that might be…”

The camera cuts away to a shot of a blond boy, around five eleven, stalking into the room. His neatly styled hair belies his casual saunter.

“Mr. Brett [surname omitted], class president, voted cutest in the year and most likely to succeed, probably owing to the fact that he is, in all honesty, pretty damn gorgeous—”

Scott, off camera, protests. “Oi!”

“—and also because his dad’s [redacted]. Yessireee, you heard that right, lasses. We’re rubbing shoulders with the elite.”

“You’re one to talk,” Scott mutters, off camera. “Isn’t your grandmother some priestess or something?”

“Aye,” Naida agrees, “she’s a priestess, but that’s nothing next to this pretty boy.”

Brett bows. “Thank you. Thank you very much. Just let my father know that I’m ‘rubbing shoulders’ with the likes of you, and then let’s see how ‘elite’ I remain.”

Naida, turning the camera on herself, says, “That’s true. He’d disown you, for sure. Especially if he knew you joined my Mala group last year.”

She sticks out her tongue, revealing a diamanté bar piercing, which she wiggles for the camera.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Scott says. “Hey, are we doing that again this year?”

“You know, you’re more conventional than you think,” Brett says to Naida, “even if you were born on Fair Island, the most Mala-centric and remotest place on the planet.”

“Was it conventional when I taught you how to put together a dòchas charm?” she scoffs. “And you used it to wish for a good cricket game. God almighty.”

“Oh, yeah, the hope charm. That was cool.” Scott pulls Naida in for a lengthy kiss, during which the camera lowers. Brett remains in frame. He glances at Carly several times, but she fails to notice.

“Hey, man,” he says, addressing Scott. “We on for Saturday?”

Scott, who plonks down onto the sofa beside Carly with little notice of her, nods. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care what we do, just so long as we’re out of here for the day. I’m sick of this place already.”

A shadow passes over the camera, and Naida’s hand shakes; the camera almost falls.

“Whoa—”

She lifts the camera again; Carly comes into focus. “What?”

“Thought I saw… I—nothing.” She laughs. “I should have got a better camera.” There is a pause and then Naida adds, “Scott, Brett, can you leave us alone for a minute?”

“I’m sort of busy,” Scott says, the sound muffled as though his mouth is full. A pause. “All right, fine. I’ve got to finish Triebourn’s essay anyway. Later, though, yeah? Your room?”

“Piss off! Go away, now, now, now!”

“Cheers, babe. Feeling the love.”

He and Brett leave.