Fry

by Lorna Dounaeva

  “Uh oh, what’s going on?” Kate asks, watching the people at the next table being pulled from the comfort of their chairs. Tonight’s entertainers, a ‘traditional’ Greek dance troupe from Portsmouth, are hauling everybody to their feet. They make us link hands, so that they can lead us in snake like formation around the chairs and tables. The dance gets faster and faster, and the heady speed is a little sickening, especially as I’ve just drunk half my wine.

  Flushed and out of breath, we return to our table, where we replenish ourselves with more wine. I look on as the dance troupe smashes plates on the floor and dances around in the resulting shards. I really hope these are props, as the whole thing looks rather dangerous.

  “Oh, I got everyone key rings,” I remember, pulling them from my bag and setting them down in the centre of the table.

  “What are these?” Rhett asks, picking one up to examine it. “They’re kind of…ugly.”

  “They’re smoke detectors,” I say, careful to avoid Alicia’s eye. “I just thought, after the fire at the caravan park we should all be a bit more safety-conscious. It can’t hurt, can it?”

  My friends exchange bemused looks, much like the time Kate got us all suntan lotion for Christmas.

  “That’s really thoughtful of you,” Alicia says sweetly. “I’ll keep mine in my handbag at all times.”

  I am almost grateful to her as the others murmur in agreement, even though she is the reason I bought them in the first place.

  “You know, I heard a rumour that they’re reopening Millennium,” Rhett says, sipping his Turkish coffee.

  “Really?” Deacon looks at me in delight. “Maybe we can recreate our first meeting?”

  “I don’t think so!” I glare back.

  “Why, what happened?” Alicia wants to know.

  “Can you believe he threw me out of a nightclub?” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “I didn’t throw you,” Deacon objects. “I was very gentle.”

  *

  It was ten years ago and Kate and I were queuing to get into Millennium, the most popular - in fact, the only - nightclub in Queensbeach at the time. Kate had just turned eighteen, and although I was a few months younger, I rarely had a problem getting in as I was tall and sophisticated for my age, or so I liked to think. That night, however, there was a problem.

  “You can go in,” the bouncer told Kate. He was big and broad, with longish black hair and penetrating eyes. I made to follow her, when he put out his hand to stop me.

  “Can I see some I.D, please?”

  “What?” I was so taken aback by the question that I didn’t even have the forethought to come up with a good story.

  “But I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months,” I wailed, watching a group of my friends go inside.

  “Come back then, and I’ll let you in,” he said firmly.

  I was fuming, but there was nothing I could do. Angrily, I dragged Kate across the road to the Horse and Hare, which was much less fussy about its entrance policy. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as Millennium though.

  When we left a couple of hours later, I noticed that there was a different bouncer on the door at the club. Emboldened by the three or four WKD Blues I’d just downed, I decided to try again. This time, it was easy. The bouncer smiled at us, and with a polite “Evening ladies,” we strode triumphantly inside.

  For a while, I had a great time. We headed straight for the dance floor, where we swayed in time to Avril Lavigne or Pink or whoever it was that we were into then. But then I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Startled, I turned round and found myself looking up at that bloody annoying bouncer.

  “I thought I told you you weren’t coming in?” he said grimly.

  “Well, I seem to have found my way in anyway,” I replied boldly.

  “You have until the count of ten to leave the premises.”

  But I had a stubborn streak. I folded my arms. “You can’t make me.”

  That was probably the most stupid thing I’ve ever said. In one fluid motion, he swooped down and lifted me up over his shoulder. He carried me like that, fireman-style out of the club, with me banging my fists and kicking furiously as all my friends looked on and laughed. Once outside, he set me gently on my feet.

  “Did you have a coat?” he asked. “Give me the cloakroom ticket, and I’ll go and fetch it for you.”

  But I wouldn’t be placated. “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll fetch it myself in the morning.”

  *

  “You were so angry with me!” Deacon laughs now, taking a contented sip of his wine.

  “Can you blame me?” I demand. “You embarrassed me in front of all my friends!”

  “Well, you never did learn to do what you’re told, did you?” he teases.

  “Shh!” Kate hushes us. “They’re still doing their performance.”

  The Greek dancers have moved all the tables away from the centre of the room. A hush falls over the audience as some kind of fluid is poured in a big circle in the middle. A match is lit, and people gasp as a perfect ring of fire forms. Then the dancers begin clapping and singing, leaping in and out of the flames as if they were made of water.

  A sudden cacophony of shrill, discordant bleeps pierces the night.

  We all jump violently and it takes us a moment to realise where it’s coming from.

  “It’s the key rings!” Deacon yells above the noise. “Quick, switch them off!”

  We dive frantically into our bags and pockets, cheeks burning as our desperate fingers struggle to silence them. I feel the glares of the people around us, but the dancers continue with their performance as if nothing has happened.

  The audience takes up their tune, clapping and whistling along, as the dancers whirl and twist inside the spectacular circle of fire. I feel Alicia’s presence next to me as we both gaze intently into the flames. I sense that we are mirror images – her delight is my horror, my anxiety, her pleasure.

  “Please,” I whisper to her, but I’m not quite sure what I’m asking or if she even hears me. She doesn’t reply, but then, as quickly as they were ignited, the flames are quenched, and the dancers step safely out of the circle to take their bow. The spell broken, I rush outside for some fresh air.

  Kate follows me.

  “Are you alright?” she asks.

  “Yes, fine,” I feel around in my pocket for my lighter. God knows what I’ve done with it. I borrow Kate’s.

  “Don’t feel bad about the alarms going off,” she says, as I light my cigarette. “I thought it was funny.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You sure you’re OK?” she says, looking at me more closely. “You look tense.”

  “Just had a long day,” I say, sinking down onto the window ledge.

  How can I possibly explain to her about my concerns about Alicia? It all sounds so irrational.

  “Look, I wanted to have a word with you anyway,” she says, sitting down beside me.

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “It’s about Julio.”

  “Oh?”

  “Alicia saw you with him, Isabel. Why didn’t you tell me you were back in touch?”

  I suck in my breath. “How would Alicia know? She’s never even met Julio!”

  “She happened to see you outside your house on Sunday night, talking to a guy in an orange Alfa Romeo. Who else would it be?”

  “What was she doing there? Is she spying on me?”

  Kate rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Isabel! She went round to see you, but when she saw that you had company, she didn’t want to interrupt. She thought Julio was some guy you were seeing.”

  “Hmm…” I bite my lip. Kate’s explanation sounds plausible, but still, I don’t like the idea of Alicia hanging around outside my house, watching me. I find it disconcerting.

  “So it was Julio?” she prompts me.

  “Yes, it was. Look, Kate it wasn’t planned or anything, he just dropped in on me.”

  She takes my arm. “It�
��s OK, Isabel. He’s your brother. You have a right to see him, just don’t keep things from me, OK? That’s not the kind of friendship we have.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

  “So no more secrets?”

  “No more secrets.”

  *

  I have the dream again that night. The one where I nearly run Alicia over. I’ve had it several times since it happened. I play it over and over in my mind, just can’t seem to get it out of my head. In this dream, it happens just as I remember, except for one thing – the expression on Alicia’s face. It isn’t fear that she looks at me with, as she slides to the ground.

  It’s pleasure.

  I sit up, fully awake now. Was it just a dream, or is that how it really happened? What if the accident wasn’t an accident at all? What if Alicia was hiding in the bushes, waiting to jump out?

  What if she was crouched down in the darkness, waiting for me? She would have had to hide somewhere - behind the dustbins, maybe or else the iridescent glow of my headlights would surely have caught her? Was she down there, waiting until the very last moment to leap out, knowing that that I wouldn’t be able to stop? Knowing that she would scare the living daylights out of me?

  It was a very dangerous game if she was.

  Robertson’s Superstore - Monday Morning

  “Morning,” says Jon, the security man, as he holds open the door for me. The doors are supposed to open automatically, but they’ve been malfunctioning a bit recently.

  “Morning. Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “Not bad. Took the kids to Chessington.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  Jon shrugs. “The little one chucked up in the minivan.”

  “Staff meeting in ten minutes,” Sonya says, as I walk into the office. “Can you help me set up the projector?”

  “No problem.”

  I pull it out of the desk drawer and follow her into the staff room, where we are greeted by rows of gooey glazed doughnuts.

  My mouth waters. “Ooh, where did these come from?”

  “Alicia brought them in. Apparently they were giving out free samples in the precinct. She persuaded the bloke to give her a dozen boxes.”

  I bet she did.

  Sonya reaches over and takes one. “Hmm, delicious. But I really must start my diet tomorrow.”

  The staff reps surge in and devour the doughnuts like a plague of hungry locusts. The unexpected treat puts everyone in a good mood and we progress through the meeting with much less bickering than usual.

  “Item 9,” Sonya reads out, “I need more volunteers to cover Tuesday’s night shift.”

  This announcement is greeted with a wall of silence. You could hear a pin drop, the room goes so quiet.

  “Well, if anyone is interested, please let me know after the meeting.”

  The door creaks as Stu walks in.

  He probably smelled the doughnuts.

  “Anything you want to add, Stu?” Sonya asks politely.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.”

  Sonya and I look at each other in surprise. Neither of us can remember the last time he actually contributed to a staff meeting. He comes to stand at the front.

  “Great news!” he says with enthusiasm. “I’ve just been on the phone with head office and it looks like we will be replacing all our checkouts with self-service points. Isn’t that great, everyone? No more boring checkout duty!”

  I groan inwardly. How could he make such an important announcement without even discussing it with Sonya and me first? I bet he hasn’t even spoken to any of the union reps. The usually quiet room erupts. Everyone starts speaking at once, all the checkout staff wanting to know what will happen to their jobs.

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll work something out,” Stu says blithely. “There’s no need for anyone to worry.”

  Sonya dismisses the group, with a promise to update everyone as soon as possible.

  “Isn’t this great?” says Stu, as everyone files out of the room. I grip my hands tightly together. If I let them do what they wanted, they’d probably strangle him.

  As a result of Stu’s thoughtless announcement, I spend much of the morning fielding questions from irate checkout staff who refuse to believe that I don’t know any more about the new tills than they do.

  “There are going to be redundancies, aren’t there?” demands a nervous father of five.

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” I try to reassure him. But I can’t help but wonder what other work we could possibly find for some of the zombies who sit at the checkouts all day. I mean, obviously we’ll need a few people to help the customers with the new self-service tills, but I doubt any of them will be up to that job. Their minds have become so automated, I really wonder if they are capable of being retrained.

  “She must know something,” says a rough looking woman, pointing at me with her jagged fingernail. “Come on, girly, out with it. How many are of us are going to be out of a job?”

  Before I can think of anything to say, Sonya’s voice fills the room:

  “This is a colleague announcement. Can Isabel come to the Supervisor’s office? That’s Isabel to the Supervisor’s office.”

  “Sorry,” I say apologetically. “I have to run. We’ll have to talk about this later.”

  I walk thankfully through the store. Sonya is waiting for me outside the office.

  “We have got to get these people some answers,” I tell her, “before we have a riot on our hands. Hey, what’s wrong?”

  I had assumed that she called me away to get me out of an awkward situation, but her expression is grim.

  “The police are here, Isabel. They want to speak to you about the fire at the caravan park. I think you might be a suspect…”

  Chapter Five

  The door slams ominously behind me.

  Two plain clothes detectives sit side by side behind the desk; a tall, skinny man in a lilac shirt and a small, round woman with a wispy ponytail.

  “Isabel Anderson?” says the man, beckoning me to sit down.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Penney, and this is Detective Constable Smith. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the fire at the caravan park last Saturday. You are aware that there was a fire?”

  “Yes!” My voice comes out too loud and too fast. “Yes,” I repeat, attempting to lower my voice. I seem to have lost control of my volume switch.

  “We have reason to suspect that the fire was started deliberately,” Penney continues. “Did you see anything suspicious?”

  “No.”

  “But you were in the area at the time?”

  “Yes. I was at a barbecue at Deacon Frost’s house.”

  There is a pause as Penney glances down at his notebook.

  “You were seen leaving the party just before the fire started. Can you tell us where you went?”

  “I went for a walk,” I falter, “on the beach. I can’t have been gone for more than ten minutes.”

  There is a searching look in his eyes.

  “Maybe twenty?” I guess. “I don’t really remember.”

  The two police officers look at each other, eyebrows raised. Their telepathic communication unnerves me.

  “Was it a good party?”

  “It was OK.”

  “Why did you leave then?”

  “I just wasn’t in the mood. I felt like a walk.”

  “Did you meet anyone on this walk?”

  “There wasn’t anyone on the beach at that time – except Deacon, that is. He came to find me.”

  “And what time was this?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track.”

  “And when did you first hear of the fire?”

  “A little while later. One of the other guests discovered it as he was leaving the party.”

  They fall silent again, as if waiting to see if I have any more to add. I know they’re expecting me to say something, but I really d
on’t know what more I can tell them. Then, finally, Penney reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a sandwich bag.

  “What’s that?”

  He slides it across the table to me.

  “Does this look familiar?”

  I glance down at the metal object. It’s my lighter, there’s no denying it. Julio bought it for my birthday. My initials are embossed on it in fake diamond studs.

  “Where did you get that?” I ask with trepidation.

  “At the caravan park. It is yours then?”

  I nod, because what’s the point in denying it? It’ll have my prints all over it.

  I fold my arms, thoughtfully. “It’s odd though. I could have sworn I lost it before the fire. We needed a lighter to light the barbecue and I didn’t have it on me.”

  “So how did it come to be at the caravan park?”

  “I really don’t know, though I did go there with my friends when we heard about the fire. We wanted to see if there was anything we could do to help.”

  “The owner tells me you were there again the following morning, scrabbling around in the dirt.”

  “I wasn’t scrabbling…” I break off, wondering how I got myself into this mess.

  “My friend was staying there. We went back to see if any of her stuff had survived the fire. You can ask her if you like. Her name’s Alicia McBride, she works here.”

  “Yes, we’ve already spoken to Miss McBride.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, she said she you left the party for a good thirty minutes.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes.”

  Well, maybe I did, I don’t remember.

  There is another long pause. The detectives seem to have run out of questions.

  You don’t have anything on me, do you?

  “I really don’t think I can help you any further,” I say, sounding a lot more brazen than I feel. “Can I go now?”

  Penney nods grimly. “If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”