Fry

by Lorna Dounaeva

  “Did you see who just came out of the toilets?” I ask a group of girls standing outside.

  “Was it someone famous?”

  “No, I just…”

  “Was it Madonna? I heard she’s here tonight.”

  “No, it wasn’t Madonna.”

  “Lily Allen?”

  “No, I…oh, forget it!”

  I stalk off and join the queue at the bar. While I’m waiting, I look through my bag to see if anything’s missing. To my relief, my wallet, cards, keys and phone are all still in there.

  So what on earth was she after?

  If only I could know for certain if it’s Alicia doing these things.

  I take out my phone.

  “Hi, Rhett. It’s Isabel.”

  “Oh, hi Isabel.”

  “Is Alicia there?”

  “She’s in her room.”

  “Could you get her for me?”

  “I think she’s sleeping. She said she was going to have an early night.”

  “Please? I really need to speak to her.”

  “Well…OK.”

  “What can I get you?” asks the man behind the bar.

  “One beer and one red wine please,” I say, holding the phone to my ear.

  “We don’t do wine, just beer and cider,” he says, pointing to the sign.

  “Just the beer then.”

  “Isabel?” says a voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Alicia?”

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Rhett said it was important.”

  “Oh, er…” For a moment I’m completely flummoxed.

  “Hello?”

  “Um, I couldn’t find Deacon, but it’s OK, I’ve found him now. Sorry to get you up for nothing.”

  “That’s OK, Isabel. What are friends for?”

  I stuff my phone back in my bag and pay for Deacon’s drink. This doesn’t make any sense. How can I have seen Alicia if she isn’t even here? And who just tried to take my bag? And more to the point, why did they give it back?

  I make it through the rest of the concert without any further incidents, though I can’t really enjoy it. While Deacon watches the band, I watch the crowd, unable to relax until the very last note has sounded.

  “Right, let’s go and get some fish and chips,” Deacon says as we squeeze out of the Arena.

  “OK but no mushy peas,” I say, pulling a face. I’ve always had a slight horror of the lurid green things.

  Deacon laughs. “Don’t worry, they’re not compulsory.”

  We cross the road to the chip shop opposite.

  “Oh no, it’s closed!”

  “Damn, I’m starving.”

  I glance at my watch. “Nothing else will be open at this time of night.”

  “Never mind, we’ll go back to my house,” Deacon invites me. “I’ll make some toasties. No mushy peas, I promise.”

  For a moment, I hesitate. But it’s been ages since I had Deacon all to myself, and Alicia is in bed already.

  Isn’t it worth the risk?

  We find the Beach House in darkness.

  Deacon switches on the light in the spotlessly clean kitchen and goes to the fridge.

  “What do you want? Cheese and ham?”

  “Sounds great.”

  I fill the kettle, then rummage around for a couple of mugs while Deacon assembles the sandwiches. Soon, the room is filled with the sound and smell of sizzling cheese.

  “So what’s going on with you lately?” he asks me as we sit down at the table to eat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, first this business with the police, and then setting yourself on fire the other night. You always seem to be in the wars lately.”

  “I have been having a bit of a funny time,” I admit. I really want to tell him what’s been happening, but I’m afraid he’ll think I’m losing my mind.

  “I had a good time tonight,” he says, when I don’t elaborate.

  “Me too,” I grin, and for a moment, I’m able to forget all the weird, freaky stuff.

  He takes my wrist and turns it towards him to look at my watch.

  “You won’t get a taxi at this hour. You’d better stay the night.”

  “OK.”

  He looks at me for a little longer than is strictly necessary. I swallow.

  “So, you and Alicia,” I say nervously. “Is it… serious between you?”

  “Does it matter to you if it is?”

  I meet his gaze.

  “Hmm, that smells delicious,” says a voice from the doorway.

  Alicia.

  I almost drop my cup.

  “I’m sorry, did we wake you?” Deacon asks, calmly.

  “I couldn’t sleep anyway,” she says, slinking up to him and giving him a kiss.

  I can’t help noticing her expensive Chinese silk pyjamas. I wonder if he bought those for her? Her small, pert breasts are clearly visible through the fabric.

  “Can I have a bite of your sandwich?” she asks me.

  “Here, finish it,” I say, instantly losing my appetite. “I think I’m about ready for bed.”

  “Would you like to borrow some pyjamas?”

  “No, that’s OK.”

  We both know full well that they wouldn’t fit me anyway.

  *

  It’s cold in the guest room at the end of the hall. I should have picked one at the other end of the house, but I wanted to be as far away from Alicia as possible. I close the window and sink down under the covers but still, I find it very hard to sleep. How can I, knowing Alicia could be lurking just outside the door? That the room could fill with soot and smoke at any moment?

  I snooze fitfully, waking at every sound. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see daylight streaming in. I grab my things and sneak downstairs, intending to slip out before everyone wakes.

  I am not expecting to find Rhett in the kitchen, mixing batter for pancakes.

  “Morning,” he says pleasantly.

  “You’re up early.”

  “Yeah, I’ve still got some shopping to do. Wanna come?”

  “Not today.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m starting to worry about you. Don’t tell me you’re on a budget?”

  “Nothing like that,” I laugh. “I just have stuff to do.”

  “Well, at least stay for breakfast. We’ve got fresh blueberries.”

  I pause. On the one hand, it would probably be safer to leave. But on the other, Rhett’s pancakes are amazing and I’ve woken up with one hell of an appetite.

  “Oh, OK,” I agree. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, I’ve got it all under control. But you could go and wake Alicia. She needs to be up for work.”

  “How about I fry the pancakes while you wake Alicia?”

  Rhett pulls a face. “No offence, but you might burn them.”

  I rack my brains for a good excuse, but it doesn’t come to me.

  Instead, I find myself marching up the wooden stairway to the enemy’s lair.

  The door is slightly ajar.

  Impulsively, I push it open, without knocking. I don’t know exactly what I expect to see – maybe I’ll catch Alicia doing voodoo, or concealing a small nuclear arsenal under her bed. Instead, I find her dressing for work, pulling a hideous lime-green Robertson’s shirt over her head. She’s fast, but I still see it; the word ‘FRY’ branded into the small of her back.

  I stumble backwards and knock my elbow against the wall.

  “Ow!”

  Alicia whirls round. Her eyes flash dangerously.

  I don’t know what this means, but I think I’ve just found her weak spot, her Achilles heel. And boy, does she know it.

  Chapter Twelve

  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 - Four Hours to Midnight

  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 dange
rously 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.