Fry

by Lorna Dounaeva

  He hands me his business card.

  “Thanks, I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that. We have an excellent fast-track programme, and just think - you wouldn’t have to work for that idiot, Stu, any more!”

  He flashes a cheeky grin, then he’s gone, his attention diverted as a local TV news crew walks through the door.

  *

  I race back to Robertson’s to tell Stu and Sonya all I’ve discovered - well not quite all - I don’t mention Bernie Greengrass’ job offer. Sonya looks riled enough.

  “It’s just a stunt,” I reassure her. “They can’t keep that up for long, unless they’re looking to bankrupt themselves.”

  “But what else have they got up their sleeves?” she wonders, grasping at her hair with her hands. “Don’t you remember, when Filbert’s first opened, a lot of people said Queensbeach was only big enough for one supermarket. What if they were right?”

  “I can’t believe we missed this,” I say, shaking my head. “They must have advertised on the radio and in the papers.”

  “Not in the papers I read,” Stu says.

  “No, well they probably didn’t advertise in the Beano,” Sonya mutters, flicking through the newspaper stand. “Here it is, front cover of the Queensbeach Echo. No wonder this place is deserted.”

  The store is so quiet that Sonya lets me leave early, despite my late start. It makes a pleasant change to get out while it’s still light. I head for the High Street, intending to make a start on my Christmas shopping, but a shimmering green dress immediately catches my eye. It’s in the window of a little boutique I’ve never been in before. Curiously, I push open the door and walk inside.

  The predatory eyes of the shop assistant watch as I finger the cool, silky fabric.

  “That’s a lovely dress,” she says approvingly. “Would you like to try it on?”

  I glance at the price tag. I know I shouldn’t, but I find myself nodding and following her to the fitting room, where it takes less than a minute to shimmy out of my black tailored suit and into the dress.

  I admire myself in the communal mirror. The material hugs my figure in all the right places, neither too tight nor too loose.

  “Oh, my!” The shop assistant gasps. “It looks like it was made for you!”

  I know that they’ll say anything to make a sale, but I can’t help feeling she’s right on this occasion. The colour complements my complexion perfectly, as does the shape.

  “Would you like to take it?” she asks.

  My conscience tugs at the hem of the dress. It is both expensive and elaborate, so there won’t be many occasions when I could wear it. But Kate and Deacon get complimentary tickets to a posh ball run by the hospital every year. It would be perfect for that.

  “What shoes do you have?” I ask.

  As it turns out, not only do they have great shoes, but also stoles and handbags. I leave the shop with parcels tucked under each arm, my face flushed with guilty pleasure.

  “Hi Isabel, can you get me a beer?” Deacon asks, when I arrive at the Beach House for dinner.

  “Nice to see you too,” I mutter, opening the fridge. “Anyone else?”

  “Yes, please,” Kate says.

  As I shut the fridge, I notice a familiar cream coloured invitation card pinned to the door.

  “You’re going to the Christmas ball then?” I say, casually placing the beers down on the table.

  “Yeah,” says Kate, twisting hers open. “I’m taking Rhett as my plus one.”

  I look expectantly at Deacon.

  “How about you?”

  “Actually,” he says, “I thought I’d ask Alicia this year. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Hi everyone!” Alicia calls, as she skips through the door. “Oh, hi Isabel!”

  She slides into the empty seat next to Deacon and it takes every ounce of my strength not to kick it out from under her. My stomach churns as he casually rests his arm on the back of her chair. The jealous wolf inside me has reared its ugly head.

  “You’re really OK about Deacon taking Alicia to the ball?” Kate asks when I give her a lift home.

  “Course, it’s no big deal,” I lie. “I’ve got another party that night anyway.”

  “Great - you should come round to my house so we can get ready together.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, come on! We can open a bottle of wine and put on some music to get us in the party mood. Besides, I might need fashion advice.”

  She’s got me there. One year, she tried to wear legwarmers under her cocktail dress, claiming her legs were cold. I definitely need to quality check her outfit before she sets foot outside the door.

  “Well, OK.” I reluctantly agree. “I’ll get ready at yours.”

  Robertson’s - Three Weeks before Christmas

  “If I hear Jive Bunny one more time, I’m going to ram a Christmas tree down someone’s throat!” Jon the security man tries to shield his ears, but it’s impossible to block out the sound.

  That’s one of the many joys of working at Robertson’s at this time of year, they bombard us with diabolical Christmas music all day long. I’ve tried talking to Sonya about it, but apparently it’s a head office directive. We have to play Christmas music to get the customers in the spending mood. And so we do - all day long. I’ve heard the American government used the same technique on prisoners in Guantanamo Bay. I bet it was effective.

  The Christmas shopping season has begun in earnest, but not as ferociously here as at Filbert’s, where the kiddies are queuing round the corner to see Santa.

  Sonya rushes up to me, her face flushed.

  “Isabel! I need a favour.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve just caught the elves conducting themselves in..er…”

  “Un-elfly behaviour?” I supply.

  She nods. “I’ve had to send them both back to the agency, so I was wondering if you could take over, just till they send someone else? Santa can’t cope on his own.”

  “Surely there’s someone else who could do it?”

  Sonya tugs at the hair at the back of her head. “Isabel, I’m asking you. I don’t want any more screw ups, I just want to know that it’s under control.”

  “Well, OK.” I reluctantly agree, “But I don’t really have to wear a costume do I?”

  “It’s in the office.”

  It is a long, long afternoon. Stu comes over to leer at me in my ridiculously short belted tunic and curly toed shoes.

  “There’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” he croons, in a terrible faux Irish accent.

  “That’s leprechauns, you ignorant bastard,” I hiss. “Oh, sorry!” My hand flies to my mouth as I remember too late that I’m surrounded by small children. Their mothers look at each other and shake their heads in consternation.

  The promised replacement elves never materialise, so I have to prop up Santa all afternoon. Finally, at five o’clock, I stalk off to the toilets to change, feeling hot, sweaty and irritable. The cheap, tacky green tights leave an inky stain as I peel them from my legs, and my feet hurt from being squished into those stupid shoes. I wriggle thankfully into my normal clothes, bundling the hated costume into a ball and contemplate flushing it down the loo.

  Sonya couldn’t be more apologetic, but her apologies don’t make up for my humiliation. Bernie Greengrass’ business card feels like a brick in my handbag as I stomp out of the store. Just one phone call and I could be out of here and onto something better. The idea of telling Stu where to go appeals more and more by the minute, but I don’t feel good about deserting Sonya. I’m not sure how she’d cope without me. I picture her tearing what remains of her hair out. But one way or the other, I’ve got to make up my mind and soon. Bernie doesn’t strike me as a patient man, and I have a feeling his offer comes with an expiry date.

  The Night of The Christmas Ball

  My gorgeous green dress watches with melancholy, as I pack my bag
to go to Kate’s on Saturday night. But no one is going to be wearing fancy dresses where I’m going. Jeans and a jumper are my best bet, jazzed up with a pair of kitten heels. I wasn’t lying when I said I had a party to go to. Stu’s having a Christmas get-together at his house for all the staff. I hadn’t in a million years intended to go but now I feel like I have to, to prove to my friends that I’m fine about Deacon taking Alicia to the ball.

  Kate answers the door in a navy blue trouser suit.

  “How do I look?” she asks.

  “Like you’re going to a job interview. Why don’t you wear the purple dress you got for your birthday?”

  “But none of my shoes match.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got some options in my bag.”

  If I’m missing the ball, then I’m damn well not letting her go dressed like an estate agent. I follow her upstairs to her room, then take a sharp intake of breath.

  Alicia is standing in front of the dresser, styling her hair.

  “Hello, Isabel!” she calls, gleefully.

  I glare at Kate.

  “You didn’t say she was going to be here,” I hiss.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Well, then.”

  While Kate slips into her purple dress, I tip the shoes out onto the bed and arrange them in neat pairs.

  “I think the red ones,” she says, uncertainly.

  “No, the pink.” Alicia chips in.

  Kate looks at me. I want to disagree, but Alicia is right.

  “Definitely the pink.”

  “Aren’t you getting dressed up?” Kate asks me as she applies her make up. Alicia leans over and wipes off the clown-like blusher, just like I normally would. In fact, she’s doing everything I normally do, pouring the wine, turning up the radio and singing along - badly. I feel like I’ve been superseded.

  “No, it’s not that kind of party,” I say, pulling my hair into a simple ponytail. I can’t be bothered to do anything else with it. I’m just not in the mood.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Can you get that?” she pleads, “I’m not quite ready.”

  “Course.”

  I trudge down the stairs and open the door. It’s Rhett and Deacon, all dressed up in tuxedos. They remind me a little of Batman and Robin, before their transformation.

  “You look nice,” Deacon greets me.

  “You too. You should wear a tux more often.”

  He smiles, but his attention has been diverted. Alicia is descending the stairs, dressed in a ruffled pink cocktail dress. Her long black curls are piled high on top of her head, a few ringlets cascading over her smooth white shoulders.

  He smiles appreciatively and walks towards her.

  “You look breathtaking!” I hear him whisper, as he kisses her on the cheek.

  I lean back against the wall. I feel sick.

  The taxi journey into town is long and uncomfortable. Deacon and Alicia sit close together, laughing at some private joke that makes sense only to them. Rhett and Kate don’t seem to notice. They’re too busy perusing the evening’s programme and discussing who’s going to be there. Last year, the newly divorced Mayor turned up with a contestant from a popular reality TV show on his arm. This year, rumour has it, he’ll be bringing a page three girl.

  The taxi drops off my friends first. I watch as they all shuffle up the steps of Queensbeach Civic Hall. The door is opened by a doorman, and I get a tantalising glimpse of the ballroom, with its five piece orchestra and elegant tables laid for lobster and champagne.

  Then the taxi runs me half a mile up the road, coming to a halt outside Stu’s seedy bachelor pad. I am tempted to ask the driver to take me home again, but Stu’s spotted me from the window. He comes running out of the house.

  “Isabel! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a party!”

  The smell of cheap aftershave almost knocks me off my feet as he steps forward to hug me, pressing his sweaty body against me for slightly longer than is strictly necessary. He is wearing tight leather trousers with a revolting electric-blue shirt, unbuttoned practically to the waist to display his hairy tangerine chest to full effect.

  Against my better judgement, I follow him inside. There are a few curly sandwiches laid out but I’m not particularly hungry. I feel as though a ship has dropped anchor in my stomach. I accept a glass of eggnog despite the fact I’ve always hated the stuff, and swig it back in one determined gulp.

  Sonya is in the kitchen, wearing a snowman jumper, paired with a voluminous skirt, which does nothing for her figure. I make a note to myself to take her shopping for some decent clothes in the January sales.

  “Stu’s a real pig, isn’t he?” she says, by way of greeting.

  “I never doubted it.”

  I rifle though the cupboards.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Drink.”

  “Try the fridge.”

  I open it, but there is nothing but row upon row of jellies.

  I find a spoon and taste one.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Vodka.”

  We fight our way back into the living room, armed with jelly shots. The only people I recognise are the blokes from the warehouse. They sit in a dark damp corner, surrounded by beer cans, making the same lude jokes they do at work.

  Sonya is telling me how Stu screwed up her computer, but I’m not really listening. My treacherous mind drifts back to the ball and I picture Deacon dancing with Alicia, her delicate arms wrapped around his neck. Why can’t he see through her? He’s a doctor for goodness’ sake – he’s supposed to be clever.

  When I can’t take it any longer, I pull out my mobile and dial Kate’s number.

  The phone goes straight through to voicemail.

  Oh well, it’s probably for the best. I don’t want her to think I’m checking up on them.

  “Wanna dance?” Stu looms over me, trying to look sexy.

  “Um, no thanks.”

  “Oh come on, it’s Phil Collins.”

  With the most impeccable timing, my phone starts to ring.

  “Sorry, I have to get this.”

  I turn my back on him. “Kate? Call you? Er, no – I must have been butt dialling.”

  I’m a terrible liar – I don’t know why I even try.

  “So are you having a good time?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

  “Yeah - you won’t believe this but Lenny Lopez is sitting at our table!”

  “What? Didn’t he used to be on Neighbours?”

  “Yup – apparently his sister works at the hospital. Anyway, I got him to autograph my napkin for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  But really, what good is a signed napkin? This is just so unfair. If it weren’t for Alicia, I would be meeting Lenny for myself.

  “So how’s your party?”

  “Great,” I lie. “You wouldn’t believe the cocktails.” I glance down at the tray of quivering jelly shots and shudder. “So, er..What about Deacon and Alicia? Are they having fun?”

  “Oh, they’ve been on the dance floor for ages! You know how Alicia loves to dance.”

  I didn’t, but I suppose I don’t really know much about her at all.

  “So how’s it going between them?” I hate myself for asking.

  “Great. I mean, they seem to be getting on well. You don’t mind do you?”

  “Mind? Why would I mind?”

  “Well, you know, you and Deacon have always been close.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly! I was just curious, that’s all.”

  “OK.”

  “Really. Now I’m going to get back to my party. You have a great night!”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  I turn the phone off and slip it into my bag.

  I feel like Cinderella, stuck at home while my ugly sisters go off to the ball. Except my fairy godmother has failed to show up, and I’m stuck at a stupid party with a bunch of pumpkins.

&n
bsp; “I’ve had enough of this for one night,” I say, turning to Sonya. “You want to get out of here and go to Mustafa’s?”

  “Sounds good – just one thing before we leave.”

  “What?”

  “Follow me.”

  She leads me upstairs to the bathroom.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “This!”

  She flings open the cabinet to reveal box upon box of tanning spray.

  “Look at it all!”

  We both giggle.

  “Shall we hide them?” Sonya suggests, with a wicked grin.

  “Sonya!”

  I laugh even harder as she starts pulling the boxes out of the cupboard.

  “There are so many! Where can we possibly hide them?”

  “We’ll put them in the airing cupboard, under all the towels. He’ll never think of looking there.”

  She walks down the hall, her arms full.

  “Grab the hair dye, Isabel. We’ll hide that too. Tomorrow, he’s going all natural!”

  I watch as she crams all the boxes into the cupboard. It’s really silly, but somehow, it’s just what I need.

  “Come on, let’s get back downstairs before anyone sees us.”

  “One last thing.”

  She pauses in front of the master bedroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just taking a peek.”

  She pushes open the door and switches on the light.

  “Silk sheets,” I whistle. “Fancy!”

  Sonya smiles. “I think Stu could do with an early morning wake up, don’t you?”

  She walks over to the alarm clock, sitting on the bedside table and starts fiddling with the settings.

  “What shall we change the station to? Do you think he likes German industrial music?”

  I smile, but I feel a bit bad as we walk back downstairs. After all, Stu did invite us into his home.

  Still, I suppose he had it coming.

  “I’ll grab our coats,” Sonya says, heading back to the kitchen.

  “Thanks for the party Stu,” I say, so as not to be totally rude.

  “What? You’re leaving already?” He looks a little bewildered. “But you’ve only just arrived!”

  “Yeah well we’ve got another party to get to. Busy night.”