Fry (12 page)

Rhett looks up as I rush back into the kitchen.

“Something came up. I’ve got to go.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Sorry, another time.”

“Well, what about Alicia? Did you wake her?”

“She’s awake.”

I glance nervously behind me. I hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Gotta go – tell Deacon thanks for last night.”

“Isabel?”

“I really have to go.”

I do not stop to explain any further, just grab my bag and shoot out the door.

I stride quickly, cutting across the car park and take the road that leads into town. There is no one behind me, and yet I still feel like I’m being followed. I quicken my pace, walk for some minutes, but still can’t quite seem to shake that feeling.

Eventually, I flop down on a bench and pull out my phone. I see a missed call from Holly and ring her back, eager to hear if she has an update.

“Well, I checked Alicia’s references for you,” she tells me.

I sit up straight. “They’re no good, are they?”

“They’re fine, Isabel. Her national insurance number is real, date of birth too. I even got a friend on the force to check her police record. It’s clean. Either she’s innocent of what we suspect her of, or she’s devious enough to have never been caught.”

Dammit!

“Well, thanks for trying, Holly.”

“No problem. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“Actually…” I chew my lip. “There
is
one more thing. If you have time, that is?”

“Yes?”

“Could you look into Camp Windylake for me? I have a feeling that’s where this whole thing started.”

The phone rings again the minute I hang up. This time, it’s Kate.

“Just wanted to check what time you wanted to meet tonight?” she asks.

“Tonight?” I repeat, blankly.

“You do know what day it is?” She sounds a bit exasperated.

“Yes, of course.” I quickly consult the calendar on my phone.

“It’s New Year’s Eve!”

“So what time do you want to meet?”

“Eight. Let’s meet at eight,” I say decisively.

“Great. See you at Mustafa’s.

Why didn’t I know that? I wonder, staring at my phone. I’m so out of things lately, it’s not funny. I’ll be forgetting what year it is next!

Mustafa’s is packed when we arrive that evening, and the celebrations are already in full swing.

“It’s a good thing I booked,” says Kate, looking around. “There are even more people here than last year.”

This is the fifth New Year my friends and I have celebrated here. This owes less to the quality of their food and entertainment and more to the price of the drinks and their laid-back approach to closing time.

As if to prove how much time (and money) we spend here, Mustafa himself comes over to our table with a tray of complimentary cocktails.

“Drink! Enjoy!” he implores us, in his strong Turkish accent.

We all smile politely and thank him for his generosity, but in truth, the drinks are the colour of toilet cleaner and don’t taste much better. We all wait until his back is turned before feeding them to the pot plant in the corner.

“Hey, where’s Alicia?” I ask, washing away the terrible taste with a sip of wine.

“Running late,” says Deacon.

Hallelujah!

It’s so lovely to kick back, just the four of us. It’s just like old times, Rhett giving a running commentary on what everyone’s wearing and scoring people out of ten for their prowess on the dance floor. 

“What’s she wearing?” he asks, nodding towards a girl dressed in a sheet.

“I think she’s supposed to be the ghost of Christmas past.”

“Well, someone should tell her Christmas has passed!”

He chuckles at his own joke. He always does that – he’d be useless at stand-up. Kate thinks it’s endearing.

Deacon looks on in dismay as baskets of fish and chips are placed in front of us.

“Who ordered these? They’re tiny.”

“They’re supposed to be miniatures,” I tell him. “They’re cute.”

I laugh as he tries to pick up one of the dainty delicacies with his big, clumsy fingers.

“What?”

“You look so funny!”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just the starter. There’s lamb for the main.”

“Thank god for that!”

Kate looks up from her phone and regards the food with suspicion.

“Has dinner shrunk or have I grown?”

I sit back in my seat and rest my head against the comfortable old cushions.

This is so nice, so normal. I wish it could stay like this forever.

But all too soon the serenity is shattered. The double doors swing open and Alicia makes her entrance. She is dressed head to toe in white, with silver tinsel woven into her hair. Not many people could pull off that look but she, who has the devil inside her, looks just like an angel.

The temperature in the room rises as people turn to look, men with adoration, women with envy. Alicia is a force of nature, impossible to ignore, no matter how demure she pretends to be.

“Who needs a drink?” she asks. “I’m going to the bar.”

“I’ll get them,” Deacon tells her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You take a seat.”

“Thanks, that’s so kind of you.”

She slides into the empty seat beside me, sits very close, her bony elbow sticking into my ribs. Nervously, I glance around. Rhett and Kate are heading onto the dance floor. Panic rises inside of me.

“I’ll go and give Deacon a hand.”

“No.” She reaches for my arm. “Sit and talk to me.”

I try to send Kate an urgent message with my eyes, but she just smiles and turns her back on me.

Come back! Don’t leave me alone with her!

Hesitantly, I meet Alicia’s gaze. Her eyes are deep pools of tranquillity, but I fear the psychosis that lurks beneath.

“Look, about what you saw earlier,” she says. “I would appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself.”

She smiles pleasantly but grips my hand so tight, it hurts.

“Of course.” 

“Good.” She treats me to one of her saintly smiles. “And you know you can count on me to keep your little secret.”

“What secret?”

“Oh, you know,” she says with a wink.

“I did not start those fires! You know I didn’t!”

“Of course not,” she says hastily, as if trying to placate me. “Though you do seem to be under a lot of pressure these days?”

“I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? You have such dark circles under your eyes. I’m really quite worried about you.”

“I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Why am I even trying to explain myself to her?

“Oh dear! Not sleeping well?  Maybe you should see a therapist? I’m sure Deacon could recommend someone.”

“What’s that?” Deacon asks, as he sets the drinks down on the table.

“Nothing!”

I reach for my drink and consider pouring it all over her, but that would only add fuel to the fire. Besides, I’ve never been one to waste wine. Alicia glances at me out of the corner of her eye, as if to see if I’m ready to break yet. Well, I’m not about to give her the satisfaction. Bored by my silence, she turns her attention to Deacon, rubbing his neck and shoulders and making him smile. 

“Get your hands off him!”
I want to yell. But he seems to like it.

I’ve had enough. I throw back the rest of my drink and head to the bar. Unfortunately, there is a quite a queue.

“Do you want to put that on your tab?” The barman asks, once I finally get served.

“Yes, please.”

“Where are you sitting?”

I point to my table, where my friends are sitting around, talking and laughing. As if sensing my presence, Alicia turns to face me, her eyes glinting dangerously as she tilts back her head and laughs. As she does, a small blue flame bursts from her mouth. I rub my eyes, unable to believe what I’m seeing. She is literally breathing fire.

“Fire!” I scream, pointing at her. “Fire! Fire!”

But as I look back at Alicia, I realise she isn’t breathing fire anymore. She’s just sitting there, sipping her drink and looking as perplexed as the rest of them. I don’t know exactly what happens next. I just feel a little strange. I grab the bar to steady myself and knock into the girl standing next to me.

“Hey!”

People are turning to stare at me.

“Where? Where’s the fire?”

“Er…false alarm! Sorry!”

I lean heavily on the bar, feeling both sick and embarrassed. I wish I could just press the ‘undo’ button, and stop them all from staring at me.

A big burly doorman looms over me.

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, Miss.”

“She’s fine,” Deacon says, appearing at my side. “I’ll take her outside for a bit of fresh air.”

The doorman nods. “All right, but any more hysterics and she’s out.”

Deacon takes me by the arm and pulls me towards the exit. Alicia makes a move to follow us, but to my relief, Rhett chooses that moment to drag her onto the dance floor.

“What happened?” Deacon asks, as we sit on the stone steps outside.

“Didn’t you see her?”  I ask.

“Who?”

“Alicia! She was breathing fire!”

“We were drinking flaming sambucas, Isabel. Believe me, nobody was breathing fire. It was just a bit of fun.”

“But her mouth! It was on fire! I saw her. She was breathing flames!”

I didn’t imagine it, I know I didn’t.

“Perhaps hers was still alight as she drank it,” he says frowning.

I scratch my head. “Is that…possible?”

“Of course. How else would you explain it?”

“Well, I thought…I thought…”

But what exactly, can I tell him? That for that moment, she didn’t look quite human. That it was like staring into the unblinking eyes of a demon. That she’d become something I’ve never even believed in, and never wanted to acknowledge could be real.

Oh, what’s the use? How can I possibly expect him to understand?

The door opens, and I jump slightly as Alicia herself strides out, Rhett unable to hold her off any longer.

“Is she OK?” she asks Deacon, as if I’m an invalid. Her voice drips with sympathy.

Deacon nods, seems to sense that I don’t want a fuss. “She’s fine now. Aren’t you, Isabel?”

Alicia peers at me sweetly. “Oh, but you’re so pale! Would you like me to call you a taxi?”

“No!” I sit up abruptly. “No, I’m fine. My eyes were just playing tricks on me, that’s all.” I force a smile onto my face.

“So you want to go back inside?” 

“Yes,” I say, though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. “I’m not going to bloody well miss the New Year.”

Not because of her.

As I follow them back into the restaurant, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. It’s the owner, Mustafa.

“Isabel, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Did you enjoy the cocktail?”

“Er…yes, thanks.”

“Maybe you’d like another? On the house of course.”

I shudder. “That’s alright…I’m on the wine now, thanks.”

“Wine it is then,” he says, signalling to the barman to pour me a glass.

“Well, thanks. That’s very kind of you. Cheers!”

What does he want?

I take a tentative sip and turn to walk away.

“I hear you were worried about fire safety?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” I say, embarrassed.

Mustafa rubs his bushy moustache. “Maybe, but you can’t be too careful with fires.”

“There have been a lot of them round here lately,” I agree.

“Still, I think most of the businesses have done OK out of the insurance money.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “As long as the police can’t prove it was arson.”

How cynical!

“In fact, I could do with a bit of that insurance money myself!” he laughs. “I bet we all could.”

I smile politely, thinking he’s finished, but he goes on,

“As long as the family was away, say, on holiday, for example. Then there would be no chance of anyone getting hurt. We’re off to Turkey at the end of next month, as it happens.”

I gape.

What is he saying?

He lets out an unconvincing laugh.

“Ha! Ha! Something to think about, anyway!”

I stare after him as he disappears into the kitchen.

What on earth just happened? Did he proposition me…to burn down the restaurant?

I shake the craziness out of my head.

What a night!

I return to my table and my friends, but the night has lost its magic.

As the clock strikes twelve, I feel strangely removed from everything. My friends kiss and hug, but I feel hollow inside. Someone hands me a glass of champagne and I down it before anyone even has a chance to clink my glass.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Deacon asks, as he sees me into a taxi. “You’d be welcome to stay at ours again.”

“No, I’m fine,” I insist, pulling my pashmina tightly around my shoulders. Alicia materialises next to him and wraps her serpent like arms around his neck, staking her claim. I climb into the taxi and a lump forms in my throat as it pulls away. I don’t want to think about what goes on between them, but I really can’t help it. I imagine them laughing and tumbling into bed together and I feel queasy at the thought.

“I’ll drop you on the corner, love, if that’s all right?” the driver says, as he turns into my street. I nod. One of my neighbours is having a party and the street is chock-a-block with cars. I pay my fare and start to cross the street when another car catches my eye, a dirty white escort. I can just make out the registration plate in the moonlight: F-R-Y. FRY. I stop abruptly and try to get a look at the driver, but the car begins to pull away.

“No, wait!” I yell. I run after it, chase it all the way down the street until it picks up speed and roars away. And still, I run after it, but my stiletto-clad feet are no match for a car and finally, I have to admit defeat.

SMASH!

What was that?

For the first time, it occurs to me that this is not such a great neighbourhood to walk through in the middle of the night. I clutch my bag and walk faster, my heels click-clacking noisily on the pavement. I hear footsteps behind me and walk faster. The footsteps quicken too. I glance round in fear, but it’s just a young boy mimicking me. His friends laugh.

“What’s the rush, darling? Left something in the oven?”

I smile nervously, feeling a little foolish, but I keep moving. My heart pumps loudly in my chest until I’m back in my house, with the door safely locked behind me.

Upstairs, I find Fluffy stretched out contentedly at the foot of the bed. I climb in and close my eyes, listening to the soft, rhythmic hum of his snores. But every time I start to drift off, Alicia’s demonic face flashes before me.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she cackles, her whole mouth aflame. “Don’t you understand the significance of FRY?”