31 October 2008, 9:50 PM
Sophia showed up at 9:30 PM. I was in the garden, planning my suicide when she arrived. Apparently, she was rather occupied at the opera for the first few hours of this party, which is why she couldn’t shield me from the madness that has occurred so far. Evidently, her mum got tickets from this fellow who is trying to woo her. Good luck mate, she’s been married twice before, so I reckon you’ll woo her right into to marriage and right out- but not before she takes half of your millions in the divorce settlement. Sophia’s mum insisted that she go and simply just arrive fashionably late for my parents’ party. Sophia had no choice and went, as she is a daughter first and my best mate second. Sophia was clever enough to just wear a ball gown and a mask.
“Hello, love,” she said to me as she sat in the chair adjacent to mine. “Hey, Soph. Where the hell have you been?” “A god awful opera, some Shakespeare play set in modern times,” she replied. “Sounds lovely.” “It was the worst. I tried falling asleep, you know dream a bit about some gorgeous bloke whisking me away to Italy or Las Vegas….but my mum’s stupid boyfriend kept laughing at every other line. It was dreadful.” “I’m sorry, Soph.” “It’s all right. When I wasn’t sleeping, I kept myself occupied trying to figure out how long with would take before his fake hair would slide completely off his head.” “Well you are a resourceful girl.” “That I am. So what have you been up to?” she asked. “Oh you know, the usual, avoiding Sir Lemon, then avoiding Henry, then avoiding Sir Lemon, then avoiding Henry and Sir Lemon.” “Well love, I’d gladly take my mum’s chuckling boyfriend over that. Why do you call Sir Lemon, Sir Lemon anyway? It’s not like you have any respect for him, or at least enough to use his royal title.” “I don’t know. Probably because if I don’t at least pretend to have some respect for him he’ll give my father trouble. Even if he did practically buy his bloody title, he still has a lot of influence in our lovely town of Belgravia: the town of the wealthy, the wealthier, and the just plain wicked. ” “Quite true,” replied Sophia. She then pauses for a moment and raises her eyebrows suspiciously, “Hang on. Doesn’t everyone in this city buy his/her title?” “You know, Soph. I think you’re right. I’ll talk to my dad tonight, maybe he can purchase me a title for my twentieth. I can be Dame Penelope Woodall.” Dame Penelope Woodall, I thought. Hmm…I wonder if as a Dame I could get David Tennant to marry me.
31 October 2008, 1: 00am
Something terrible has happened. I was making the rounds again, this time with Sophia’s arm linked around mine, when I noticed something. Sir Lemon wasn’t making eyes at me over his glass of whisky. That was quite strange. He had been doing that about every fifteen minutes since he had arrived. “What’s the matter?” Sophia asked me, when she saw the confused look on my face. “It’s probably nothing, but have you seen Sir Lemon around?” Sophia chuckled, “Why are you worried about that old sod?” “I’m not. It’s just…odd. He’s been leering at me all night, and now, all of sudden, he’s gone. His wife’s still here, but he’s seem to have disappeared. Not that I’m complaining. I would rather not have that dirty, old fellow staring at me. It’s just something feels…off.” “Penny, you’re always worried about the strangest things. It’s probably nothing. He probably just stepped out for a smoke or something.”
She was half right. He did step out for a smoke, but it wasn’t nothing because suddenly, Sophia and I heard a scream.