by Fiona Leitch
I peeled and chopped carrots into thin matchsticks, then did the same with a large purple sweet potato I found lurking in the cupboard. I sliced an aubergine and cut a head of broccoli into florets, then chopped the stalk (which is surprisingly flavoursome, but which everyone chucks out) into thin strips, like the carrot. I set them aside for frying in tempura batter.
I mixed the miso paste with sesame oil, then added more of the grated ginger, some runny honey, and a good squeeze of lime juice. I tossed a handful of cherry tomatoes into the dressing, then roasted them in the oven, using the leftover dressing to marinade some more tofu. As I shut the fridge door I sent up a prayer of thanks to the gods of YouTube, who had taught me everything I know about Japanese cooking. Of course, they hadn’t taught me everything they knew about Japanese cooking, so I was hoping I’d learnt enough.
Zack and I worked well together in the small space, and after the emotional ups and downs of Nathan (don’t say it) leaving (dammit!) and my sudden interest in Tony’s chest, it was something of a respite to be in close proximity to a handsome young man whom I had absolutely no interest in (sexually or emotionally) and who I knew felt exactly the same about me. I kind of wished I hadn’t witnessed Tony’s tight trousers or his Mr Darcy-esque dog rescue; it was confusing me. He was my friend, for God’s sake. Nathan— But there was no point thinking about Nathan, was there? Liverpool was too far away, and I wasn’t into long-distance relationships; they always petered out eventually…
‘Hello, Zack.’ Aiko had the same distinctive Japanese-American accent as her sister, but it was far less strident and demanding; it felt more Japanese, somehow, while her sister seemed firmly American. Zack looked up and smiled at her through the flap in the side of the food truck. I’d left it open, as the truck tended to get stuffy when cooking, plus we needed to see when the guests were ready.
‘All right, Aiko?’ he said, and bless him, he stuttered a little bit; he had it bad. ‘Is it that time already? I was going to set some lights up out there and everything.’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m a little early. But I don’t think we can eat out here. It’s cold, and it’s just started to rain. Kimi doesn’t like the cold.’
‘Kimi can stay at home, then,’ he said gruffly, and she laughed.
‘But it’s her party.’
‘Not only hers.’
I had shuffled discreetly away from them, as far as I could, but the truck was too small. I didn’t want to listen to them but I could hardly help it. I cleared my throat.
‘Why don’t you eat in your trailer?’ I said. ‘We can carry all the food over. It’ll be more intimate…’
Zack blushed a little bit, making Aiko smile. Aww she likes him too! I thought, feeling all maternal for my sous-chef. My love life might be in tatters but it didn’t mean I didn’t want Zack to be happy.
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Go and set everything up, then come back and do the fish when you’re ready. All this stuff needs cooking kind of at the last minute, so I’ll just get it ready and wait for you.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Zack, looking at me gratefully. I smiled.
‘Of course. This might be my kitchen – for the moment – but it’s your party. Go on.’ I gave him a little shove.
‘All right, all right, I’m going! Jeez…’ He grinned and slipped the apron off over his head. ‘I’ve got everything in my trailer anyway, so I won’t be long.’
‘Don’t forget your cakes!’ I nodded towards the cake box. He looked surprised.
‘What cakes?’
‘You mean you didn’t order them?’ I lifted the lid and he peered in.
‘Oh, wow, they are sick…’ From the expression on his face I assumed that meant ‘amazing’, although I wouldn’t have chosen that word to describe something I was about to eat. ‘One of the others must’ve ordered them. Niiice.’
He turned away from the counter so Aiko couldn’t see him, and tugged at his T-shirt, smartening himself up.
‘You look lovely,’ I said, and he smiled ruefully.
‘Is it obvious?’
‘That you fancy the pants off Aiko? Er yeah, just a bit. Go get her, Tiger!’
He laughed. ‘Thanks, Mum. I won’t be long.’
Left alone, I turned the radio down and the truck’s heater up; I was standing inside what was basically a big, poorly insulated tin can, and it was starting to get chilly, especially without the warmth of another body nearby. I cleared the serving counter and pulled it up, closing off the truck from the outside world. I turned on some more lights; it was dark outside now, and even during the day, with the counter flap shut, the one small window at the end of the room didn’t let in much natural light.
Outside, the rain was starting to get heavier. It beat against the roof of the truck. I turned the heater up full and put the kettle on to boil as I cleared away all the prep stuff and got everything ready to cook. I looked at my watch; I’d told Zack to take however long he needed because I liked him and I wanted to give him some time alone with Aiko, but I was beginning to regret my generosity. I was beginning to think longingly of my nice warm house, and my nice warm dog, and my slippers… Oh God, I was becoming middle-aged. It wasn’t even late; it was only 7 p.m.
There was a rumble of thunder and the lights flickered…
Luckily, I am a hardened ex-copper and I am perpetually wearing my big-girl pants, so I wasn’t freaked out. The weather was bad. Of course it was; it was autumn, almost winter. And of course the lights were flickering; I was in a caravan, hooked up to a generator that had already packed up once today. There wasn’t some ridiculous curse, locking women in caravans, exploding lightbulbs or tripping power breakers—
The door of the food truck rattled and a small, involuntary shriek escaped from me. I casually picked up Zack’s filleting knife that was lying on the chopping board closest to me, and flexed my arm. Bring it on, I thought.
‘Whew, it’s getting wild out there!’ Zack stepped cheerfully inside the truck, giving himself a little shake like a soggy dog. He saw me holding the knife and gave me a curious look.
‘Just admiring your set of knives,’ I said, turning the blade over in my hand and looking at it appreciatively. ‘Very nice. Professional.’ I put it down again, feeling a bit daft. ‘Let’s get cooking, shall we?’
I mixed together plain flour, potato starch, and ice water to make the tempura batter then popped it into the fridge. I took the black-pepper-and-sake-marinated karaage chicken and tofu chunks, dusted them with more of the potato starch to make them nice and crispy, and turned on Gino’s deep-fat fryer to heat.
Zack, meanwhile, had started on the pufferfish. I watched him cut around the mouth of the fish and pull off the skin; there were no scales, and it really was unlike every other fish I’d ever seen. There was a layer of jelly underneath which he carefully washed off with a paper towel before removing the eyes. He dumped skin, eyes, and paper towel in a plastic bag, then took the sharp filleting knife I’d, ahem, admired earlier and very, very carefully gutted the fish. He slowly, gently removed the ovaries and the liver – these were the organs that contained most of the toxin, and if they were punctured it would contaminate the whole fish. His face was a picture of pure concentration; his hand was steady – far steadier than mine would have been under the circumstances.
He finished gutting the fish and let his breath out slowly, then placed the fish waste in the plastic bag, discarding the gloves with it. I picked up a tea towel and reached over to mop his brow.
‘Well done, doctor,’ I said, and he laughed.
‘Yeah, reckon I could do open-heart surgery now,’ he said. ‘One down…’
The fryer had reached the right temperature, so I turned my attention to the karaage chicken and tofu. The tofu went in first, and it only took a couple of minutes to turn it into something hot, crispy, and hopefully tasty. I left it to drain on kitchen paper and started on the chicken, cooking it in batches. It smelt wonderful; I tried a small piece, and it
tasted great too.
I piled the food into bowls, watching as Zack arranged the fugu on a serving dish. I flash-fried the miso-dressed tofu with some spring onions in a wok, and tossed it through the drained soba noodles, along with the roasted cherry tomatoes. Finally, I sprinkled the chopped vegetables with seasoned flour and dipped them in the tempura batter, then fried them up until they were hot, crisp, and golden. Everything went in the lidded serving trays Gino used on the hot buffet; they were very handy as although the rain had eased somewhat it hadn’t stopped.
The door of the food truck rattled again as Aiko stuck her head round it.
‘Kimi says she’s getting hungry,’ she said. I admired her restraint; I’d have been rolling my eyes or telling Kimi to cook her own blasted food if she was that hungry. But I didn’t say anything. Zack just smiled at his beloved (aww!).
‘Your timing is perfect,’ he said (like the rest of you, I thought). ‘We just finished. You can help me carry everything over.’ He suddenly slapped his forehead. ‘What are we going to drink? I hadn’t even thought about it. I didn’t think I should get any beer, not with Jeremy coming.’
Aiko smiled. ‘That’s very considerate of you. But Mike’s bringing some sake anyway.’ Her tone of voice made it clear what she thought about Mike and his sake. Zack and I exchanged looks and laughed.
‘Oh dear. What’s wrong with it?’ I asked.
‘It’s nigori sake,’ she said, distastefully. Which didn’t make it any clearer for me.
Zack nodded. ‘Right… That’s the cloudy white sake, isn’t it? The unfiltered stuff?’
‘Well, it is still filtered, but not in the same way, and the taste is less … subtle. It’s very American,’ she explained.
‘Big and brash?’ I suggested, and she smiled.
‘Exactly. It is Japanese, but it’s far more popular in the States than at home. The flavours are very strong, which the Americans seem to like, but in Japan we prefer something that doesn’t overwhelm the food. I wouldn’t even think of serving it at a dinner party, but Mike was so pleased with himself for finding some that it would be rude not to drink it.’
‘Well, our cooking might not be completely authentic, but hopefully you’ll want to eat it because it tastes good and not just to be polite,’ I said. She sniffed at the bowl of karaage chicken and smiled.
‘It smells delicious. And it looks like the real thing, too!’ she said.
I offered to help carry everything to the trailer, but Zack was adamant that the two of them could manage, so out they went in a good-natured bustle of stainless-steel dishes and romantic hopes (on one side, at least). I shut the door after them and sat on one of the folding chairs, suddenly feeling very old and very, very alone.
A fresh burst of rain spattered against the window at the end of the truck, and there was a flash of lightning. The lights flickered again. I decided I wouldn’t hang around waiting for the generator to conk out; I’d clean down and get everything shipshape for tomorrow. Zack could wash up what was left on his own; I wasn’t going to sit here and wait for his party to finish.
I tied the handles of the plastic rubbish bag full of fish waste together and put it by the door, then did the same with the bag of vegetable peelings and other junk; they could go in the big plastic wheelie bin in the courtyard when I left. I carefully washed down the chopping board and knives that Zack had used, first with hot, soapy water and then with bleach; I didn’t want to take any chances with possible contamination from the pufferfish guts.
I had just filled the sink with more hot soapy water and plunged my hands in when the lights went out. Oh, wonderful, I thought. There are few less convenient places to find yourself during a blackout than with your hands in a sink full of soapy water (although I can think of a couple, both of which involve having your pants down), particularly when that sink is situated in a cramped caravan full of sharp utensils, parked in the grounds of a remote country manor house. During a thunderstorm. On a cursed film set.
Stop it, stop it, stop it! I told myself. Stop thinking about stupid curses. There was an ominous rumble of thunder – but then let’s face it, all rumbles of thunder are ominous – as I fumbled along the counter for a tea towel. There was a crash as I knocked something on the floor. So that wasn’t the tea towel.
‘Bugger,’ I muttered, and it felt weird, talking to myself in the silent food truck. Silent, apart from the meteorological Armageddon that suddenly seemed to be taking place outside.
The door rattled. I froze. Was it just the wind that had picked up and was clearly thinking about howling around the trailers? Was Zack coming back for more noodles? Was it the Phantom Shoot Saboteur, coming to … what? Hide all the tea towels? I laughed (almost) to myself; if he (or she) turned up now, I’d have to ask them what on earth they were trying to achieve, because so far they’d just been bloody irritating…
The door opened with a bang and I shrieked.
‘Jodie?’
The lights came on and there stood Nathan on the steps, soaking wet, peering anxiously inside. I almost collapsed with relief.
‘Oh sweet holy mother of— Come in, you berk!’ I said, reaching out to haul him in out of the rain by his coat lapels. He tripped over the doorstep and put out a hand to stop himself falling over, and ended up clutching at me, his arm half around my waist. He pulled himself upright but didn’t let go, and stared into my eyes. I felt my knees turn to jelly, not from being within swooning distance of him, I told myself, but as a delayed reaction to the shock. Yeah, I didn’t believe it either.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said, looking slightly alarmed himself. I forced my knees to behave and straightened myself up.
‘I wasn’t scared!’ I said. Methinks the lady doth protest too much, whispered the little voice in my head.
‘Yeah, right.’ Nathan grinned. ‘It’s a good job you weren’t, because I was terrified.’
I laughed, noticing that neither of us was in a hurry to move apart. Even though he was bundled up in a thick coat, I could smell his aftershave, or deodorant, or whatever it was; he always smelt so nice and clean…
‘So what brings you out on a night like this?’ I asked him, gazing up at him in what I hoped was a coquettish fashion, rather than looking like I’d lost one of my contact lenses. He took a deep breath.
‘Jodie,’ he began. He seemed nervous. My tummy-eel decided to do a quick lap of my lower intestine. Did he (Nathan, not my tummy-eel, which was just as likely to be female as it was male) … did he have some news about his new job? Did I want to hear it? Would it be bad? Should I stop asking stupid hypothetical questions and babbling about imaginary aquatic creatures living in my abdomen and just listen to him? Did I—?
We were both completely thrown by the loud, hysterical scream that echoed across the courtyard, and the cries for help that followed.
Chapter Fourteen
We dashed outside and looked around. On the other side of the courtyard, the door of Zack’s trailer had been flung open. Zack stood in the doorway for a second, looking around wildly, then ran down the steps towards us. We met him in the middle of the yard, Nathan pulling his coat up over his head and attempting to shelter me with it too. I noticed and thought it was sweet, even amidst the panic.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Nathan. Zack shook his head.
‘Aww man, it’s bad, it’s so bad—’
‘Calm down!’ I ordered. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘He’s dead!’ cried Kimi dramatically. She stood in the doorway of the trailer, cradling her dog in her arms.
‘What? Who? The dog?’ Nathan and I exchanged looks – it would be typical of a bunch of actors to overreact – but then the dog wriggled and barked, and we realised she wasn’t talking about her fur baby. Nathan shook his head impatiently and made for the trailer. He bounded up the steps but I was right behind him.
Inside, Faith sat on the other side of the trailer, eyes wide in horror at the scene before her
. There had been seven for dinner, and they’d all crammed into the small space around the table, four on the built-in seating and the rest on fold-up chairs. It can’t have been that comfortable, but it should have been intimate and fun. Except the fun had stopped and the chairs had been tipped over, as Sam and Mike knelt down next to the body on the floor.
Aiko stood by the sink, drinking a glass of water with trembling hands and looking down at Jeremy, who was sprawled out on the floor. A puddle of vomit lay next to him.
‘Oh my God…’ I said, horrified. Nathan carefully stepped around the body, then looked up at Zack, who had followed us back in.
‘Has anyone called an ambulance?’ he asked. Zack didn’t speak, still too shocked to do anything except stare at his late co-star.
‘Zack,’ I said. ‘Zack! Pull yourself together!’
‘He’s dead,’ said Sam. ‘I can’t find a pulse.’
‘We still need an ambulance,’ said Nathan firmly. He handed me his phone. ‘Call it in for me. Ring Matt Turner.’
I found the number of DS Turner and spoke to him, explaining the situation as Nathan gently but firmly ushered the other guests out of the trailer, making sure they didn’t touch anything. Kimi’s was next door, so he herded them in there and shut the door on them, then joined me back in Zack’s trailer.
‘Holy crap,’ I said, as I finished the call. Nathan nodded.
‘What the hell has gone on here?’ he said, squatting down next to Jeremy. I joined him, gingerly; I’ve seen quite a few bodies in my time but it’s never pleasant, and there was something about the tortured expression on Jeremy’s face and in his contorted, claw-like hands. Something that had begun to ring a very loud bell.
