Alana Oakley (15 page)

Emma clutched her favourite bag closer and rubbed the different textures of the patchwork fabric between anxious fingers. She knew she was prepared for this. Hadn't Katriona and Ling Ling made her practise her walk, over and over again? Wasn't she now proficient in the art of Batting Eyes and Giggling Genteelly into her hand? Plus she was sure she no longer spoke with a mouth full of food. All the same, she felt reassured that Katriona and Ling Ling were outside the restaurant window, ready to give her visual cues as to what to do.

The first thing Emma noticed was that she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. In the darkness (was there a blackout?) her ears picked up the delicate notes of a Japanese harp. A firm but gentle hand guided her to a cushion, where she was invited to sit cross-legged on the woven floor. A hint of jasmine scented the air. Saturday night, the waiter informed them, was called ‘Blackout' because, in order to enhance the taste of the meal, diners
ate in the dark!

Outside
Gastroniment
, Katriona and Ling Ling pressed their noses to the glass. They couldn't see Emma, but that didn't mean she couldn't see them. Perhaps it was one of those one-way-mirror thingies which guarded people's privacy. Katriona – with her vast experience of stalking – knew all about
those
.

“Let's just mime what she needs to do. She'll be able to pick it up as we go along,” Katriona suggested. And so Katriona and Ling Ling went through their entire repertoire – to the delight of passing tourists, who stopped to watch the performance art.

Inside the restaurant – oblivious to her friends' efforts – Emma felt the table surface for the location of her cutlery, serviette and glass, almost knocking over the latter as she did so. A nervous giggle escaped like a bubble.

“You look lovely,” Oliver said as soon as he sensed the waiter had gone.

It was pitch black. There was no way either of them could see each other, much less admire each other's looks. Emma appreciated Oliver's attempt to put her at ease with the gentle joke. She laughed, and then snorted. And then laughed because she'd snorted. And then laughed again. “I'm sorry,” she said when she'd finally calmed down enough to take a breath. “I always make that horrible sound when I'm nervous.”

Oliver's tone was serious as he felt across the table to hold her hand. “There's no need to be nervous.” Then, as if he knew touching Emma might make her feel even
more
nervous, he dropped her hand and took a sip from his glass. Emma heard Oliver take an exaggerated sniff, a noisy slurp and then gargle for an unnaturally long time. “Hmm, a very delicate bouquet with citrusy overtones,” he said with all the confidence of a professional sommelier. “I'd say …” he paused to gargle again before declaring, “… a 1983 or '84 vintage, most likely from a mountainous area.”

“Very astute, sir,” an invisible waiter said by the pair's table. “Mount
Franklin
to be exact, with a slice of lemon. May I top up your
water
?”

The tinkle of water being poured into their glasses covered the sound of Emma's stifled giggle.

“Have you been to
Gastroniment
before?” an unfazed Oliver asked.

Emma welcomed the shift of topic as she took a sip. “Oh yes. I used to work here. As a waitress. I helped the owner when he first opened the restaurant. His daughter, Sofia, and mine have been best friends for years.”

As if on cue, Sofia's dad, Luca, appeared by Emma's elbow. “Emma! I didn't know you were dining here. You should have warned me. I would have made… errr… special arrangements. Are you still vegetarian?”

“Luca!” Emma cried and then clumsily tried to kiss him on both cheeks but, in the dark, missed, and head-butted his nose instead. “I'm so sorry. Yes. I'm vegetarian, but don't worry. I'm sure everything will taste fantastic. It always does. This is Oliver, by the way,” she said, waving in what she hoped was the right direction. Oliver reached out a hand blindly to shake Luca's hand but ended up punching him in the groin.

“
Oof,
” Luca Luciano winced, doubling up. “Good to meet you, Oliver. It's always a pleasure to see you, Emma,” he wheezed, before returning to the kitchen. Now Emma was not the only one feeling nervous. Luca Luciano could also feel his stomach tighten with worry. The last time he'd felt like this was when an important food critic had dined in his restaurant to write a review. As much as he adored the Oakley family, whom he'd known for years, he was well aware what a disaster Emma Oakley could be. Even though Luca had relied on volunteers in the beginning, he'd let Emma go (gently, of course) simply because she was bad for business. There was no way any chef could sell ‘crowns of lamb' if the waitress (Emma) told diners stories about ‘Patches', the orphan lamb, hand-reared on a bottle. Luca shuddered, remembering distraught customers weeping at tables.

“Another organic vegetable risotto, please!” Emma had demanded cheerily of kitchen staff, who'd glared at her in disgust.

No. Emma Oakley caused bedlam and destruction wherever she went; it was all Luca Luciano could do not to sink to the floor, defeated. He forced himself to calm down and think rationally. Emma Oakley was simply here for a meal, and he was going to prepare the most delectable, mouth-watering, meat-free dish that France and Asia had to offer. A sense of calm returned. Until he heard the scream.

The ‘nibblies' placed on the table as a snack had ruptured Emma's troublesome tooth. At once the tooth went from ‘bad' to ‘worse'. Emma felt a warm wetness fill her mouth. Oliver brought out a dentist's torch – what kind of person has one of those? Oliver, obviously (!) – for a ‘quick look'.

“Arghhh! Blood! So much blood!” the diner sitting opposite them screamed when the light found Emma's face. Blood was gushing from her mouth.

The table next to them joined in. Lit by the torch, Emma's head appeared to float eerily as it dripped red gore. The dungeons of London didn't have anything nearly so grisly. There were more screams and then the rushing of feet and scraped chairs. People tripped over cushions and over each other, prompting more screams. Staff were pinned to the walls as customers charged past. A
ninja
waiter cowered in the corner.

“Looks like you'll need an operation,” Oliver said, snapping the torch off with a decisive click, oblivious to the stampede thundering past him.

“An operation?” Emma whispered before fainting.

…

Luca Luciano looked around his restaurant. The lights were on; two strange women were outside his restaurant enacting a pantomime; a siren, wailing in the distance, faded as an ambulance drove away.
Gastroniment
was empty, bloodied, and in a shambles.

Luca Luciano tore at what little hair he had left on his head and screamed.

…

When Emma came to, briefly before the operation, she saw Dr Gray. The image swam as she dragged herself upright. “Oliver?” she mumbled.

“Yes?” Now it was the dentist from the clinic with the fighting fish – now dead,
sorry, terribly sorry
– who came to her bedside.

Emma gave a gasp of panic.

“You're going to be just fine. We're going to take out your wisdom teeth, and then they won't trouble you anymore.”

“Teeth?” Emma shook her head to gain more clarity. “I only have
one
sore tooth.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say,” the dentist said, laughing jovially. “We may as well take them all out, since they'll only cause the same problem later. Better to do it in one go, don't you think?”

A thought seemed to dawn on her. “Who is
we
?”

“Dr Gray and I. You won't feel a thing. We'll use general anaesthetic. You'll be completely unconscious when I unhinge your jaw so it can lie on your chest. That will give him,” he gestured with a thumb at Dr Gray, “lots of room to get in there.”

Emma turned huge eyes to Oliver. She was pretty sure that just because you had the word ‘doctor' as a title, you weren't allowed to remove people's teeth willy nilly. “Are you mad? Have you even done this before?” she cried.

Before Oliver could answer, the dentist held up a comforting hand. “Yes, it
is
his first time, but rest assured, I'll be assisting and …” he trailed off. Emma had fainted again. He was disappointed. He didn't even get to show her the most exciting bit, which was the large instrument they were using for the extraction!

CHAPTER 25

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

The park's skyline, unlike other parks, was dominated by three, tall, red-brick chimneys. From the top of the slides, children felt they could almost touch the chimneys, or at least measure themselves against them, like a height chart in the sky. Their laughter and cries spun in the air like cotton candy – muffled and sweet. Emma wandered around the playground, lost in a world where a much younger Alana had dug holes in the sandpit and hung upside down from the ropes of the web. Back to a time when Hugo had chased the two of them – screaming and giggling – in a Monster version of ‘It'.

“Arrgh. Arrgh. Monster come to get you! Monster come to eat you!”

Emma sat on a swing and kicked off gently, allowing the pull and tug of gravity to lift her into the air and back to earth. She tipped her head back when she had enough momentum, and let her hair almost scrape the ground, watching the blue sky, white clouds and brick towers sway into view and away again. Red. White. Blue. And then collapse in reverse. Blue. White. Red. Like the colours of the French flag. Why was it that everything reminded her of Hugo?

When she felt her momentum slow down, she used her feet to kick off again and took in deep breaths, expelling them loudly.

“Mummy,” she heard a child's voice say loudly, “I wanna, I wanna ride onna swing.”

“Shhh,” was the reply, “Let the lady have a turn first.”

Emma put her feet down and slowed to a stop – saddened that the ride had not helped her shake off the feeling that dating was not much fun. If anything, it had confirmed it. Going out with Oliver was just like the ride on a swing, with so many ups and downs that it made her feel queasy.

She had been appalled by her first ‘dating experience' and shuddered at the memory of Jet's sweet young face. He was young enough to be her
child,
yet under the anonymity of online dating she'd treated him like a man. Emma surprised herself by even thinking of dating again. But as horrible as the experience had been, for a little while the online exchange revealed a flaw she hadn't even known existed. Like a slight crack in a china cup. There was a space in her heart now that couldn't be filled by her clever, beautiful and talented daughter or her mad yet lovable friends, Katriona and Ling Ling, or even the work, which still thrilled and excited her every time she put pen (figuratively) to paper. It was a space not quite where Hugo had been (for nobody could ever replace Hugo), but somewhere very, very close.

But dating Dr Gray was proving very confusing. It had been disappointing enough that he'd taken her on the date in his Volvo rather than the Harley. And she wasn't really impressed by his biceps – even if they did contain virtual mice. But it was the comments on not only
her
teeth, but
other
people's teeth, that really drove her to distraction. What was his obsession with
dentistry
?

“It's just a hobby,” Oliver had assured her; and no, of course he hadn't operated on her. That, apparently, had been a hallucination. “Although, you know what? Whoever did the extraction did an incredible job, even if I do say so myself,” Oliver said after inspecting her mouth.

Emma had been unable to resist venting her frustration to Alana and her three friends, who were over for a sleepover and anxious not to miss a word. “Do you know, sometimes I feel like I'm going out with two different men. One minute he's all charming, and interesting, and funny. The next all he talks about is teeth, teeth, teeth!” Emma stormed. Steam billowed around her like an angry cloud. She was wearing a towel wrapped around her head, a thick bathrobe embroidered with Nietzsche's advice to ‘Live dangerously', and fluffy bunny slippers. The eyes on the slippers hung by a thread, leaving Mr and Mrs Bunny looking demented.

“I can't even brush without feeling guilty. ‘The gaps between your teeth –'” she said in a voice clearly imitating Dr Gray's, “‘are home to millions of bacteria, especially when particles of food become lodged there and begin to decay. Bad breath, tooth decay, gingivitis are all avoidable. All you have to do is floss.' Does any of that sound romantic to you?” she had asked the girls. “I mean, what kind of a person takes up dentistry as a hobby?!” All four gulped. They were relieved when Emma had flounced off without waiting for a reply.

Things were definitely weird.

“Maybe he's mentally unstable.”

“Or on drugs. Drugs can do that to people, you know. It makes them go crazy.”

“Or maybe,” Sofia suggested hours later, as they huddled under a blanket on Alana's bed, with nothing but a torch shining eerily on their faces, “maybe
he's
the tall, dark, mysterious stranger my cousin, Erin, was talking about,” she said dramatically, pushing the latest graphic novel she was reading into view.

The four girls stared at the title:
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
by Robert Louis Stevenson.

“Yeah,” Khalilah breathed, arms smothered in goosebumps, “The tall, dark, mysterious
psychic
stranger.”

“You mean, ‘tall, dark, mysterious
psychotic
stranger',” Maddie said darkly.

Alana felt a familiar tingle in the back of her mind. Something wasn't right. In addition to the mystery of Flynn, it looked like she would have to investigate the weird personality of Dr Gray.