Fry (11 page)

What’s this?

I’m looking at a picture of Kate, aged eighteen, surrounded by children from the camp. And there, sitting on her knee is a young girl of about ten years old. A young girl with wild black curls and big doe eyes.

I suck in my breath.

Is it really possible? Alicia is a good few years younger than us. She would have been around that age when the photo was taken. I study the photo carefully. There’s no mistaking it.

It’s her! It’s Alicia.

And I’m betting she’s come back into our lives for a reason.

I am on her trail.

Alicia has never mentioned Camp Windylake. She doesn’t want us to know she was ever at that camp. She doesn’t want us to know we’ve met before.

Excitedly, I pick up the phone.

“Kate, can you meet me at the Beach House in twenty minutes?” I ask. “I have something to tell you all.”

“What? Why can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“Just meet me at the Beach House,” I insist. “I’ll explain all.”

I set the phone down, and lean back with satisfaction. It’s time to expose Alicia for what she really is.

I hum to myself on the short drive over there. For some reason, I am not the least bit scared of confronting Alicia. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.

“This is all very mysterious!” Rhett says, as he lets me in.

“Don’t tell me. Gucci’s having a sale,” Deacon guesses, without looking up from his paper.

“No, it’s something much more important than that,” I say, pulling off my boots.

“Well, come on, out with it.”

“No. We have to wait until Kate gets here. We all have to be here.”

A nervous buzz of energy pulses through me as Kate arrives. I wait until everyone has sat down.  Then, feeling a bit Miss Marple, I slap the incriminating photo down on the kitchen table.

Explain that, Alicia.

For the teeniest fraction of a second, a hint of colour rises in her cheeks, but it’s gone in an instant, and she’s all dimples and smiles again.

No one says anything. I don’t think the rest of them have got it yet.

“Look closely.” I urge.

They all look.

“Wow, doesn’t that little girl look like me?” Alicia bursts out. “Where did you say this was again? Camp Windmill Lake?”

“Camp Windylake,” I correct her, though I’m sure she knows damn well.

“Wow, wouldn’t it be an amazing coincidence if this really is Alicia?” Kate whistles.

“A bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

But they don’t seem to be getting it.

“They do say that everyone you meet is just seven connections away,” Rhett says.

“I once read about these twins who were separated at birth but found each other years later. And get this – they lived less than a mile apart.”

“Well, I got talking to this girl in the pub the one time, and it turned out we lived next door to each other when we were 5.” Kate jumps in.

“This is different!” I interject.

But it’s no use. Nobody is listening to me anymore. They’re all trying to outdo each other with ridiculous tales of coincidence. I glance in Alicia’s direction and she flashes me a triumphant smile. With a sinking feeling, I realise I should have kept this to myself. It was a mistake to reveal my hand so soon. A big, colossal, gigantic mistake.

I try on practically every item in my wardrobe on Saturday night, before finally deciding on skinny jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and Ugg boots. I refuse to let this latest business with Alicia ruin my night out with Deacon. I have decided I’m going to go to the concert, and what’s more, I’m going to damn well enjoy it.

Also, it’s occurred to me that my friends might be right. I mean, Alicia was just a kid at Camp Windylake. I suppose it’s plausible that she really doesn’t remember me, or even the camp. After all, I don’t remember her. I don’t know, this whole thing is so confusing. I would give anything to have it all go away. No better still, to have her go away. Crawl back to wherever it was she came from.

I outline my eyes in grey and smudge a little shadow into the sockets. Now, what shall I do with my hair? I try plaits, but they make me look too babyish, so I take them out again. Maybe a French braid? This is silly. Why am I spending so much time on this? It’s not like I’m going on a date! I run my brush through my hair till it gleams and set it down on the nightstand. There. Done.

All this messing around means Deacon’s been waiting a while when I finally arrive at our meeting place.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

But he’s relaxed and smiling, as if he half expected me to be late.

He’s shaved, I notice, and he smells of soap. His breath is warm on my face as he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. And when he pulls away, I have to fight the urge to pull him back again.

“You look great,” he tells me. I wait for the punchline, but instead he glances at his phone to check the time. “We’d better get going.”

The atmosphere in the Arena is electric. The warm-up band is just finishing and people chatter excitedly as they wait for Depeche Mode.

“Where are we sitting?”

“Let me see…”

As he stops to examine our tickets, I feel a pair of eyes on me. I glimpse a face in the periphery of my vision. Pale, with curly black hair. I turn my head to look, but she’s already melted away, into the crowd.

“I hope this is OK,” he says, leading me to a row near the back.  “I couldn’t get anything closer to the front.”

“This is great,” I assure him, scanning the stands. I can’t see her, but I know she’s here somewhere, watching. I just wish I knew her plan.

The lights go down and everyone cheers as the first notes sound. My spine tingles with excitement as they start to play one of my favourite songs.

I won’t let Alicia ruin this for me.

Then someone in front of me flicks on their lighter and waves it about in time to the music. One by one, lighters light up around the arena. They look fantastic in the darkness. Smiling, I reach for my own lighter and give it a flick.

The flame bursts into the air, three times higher than normal, narrowly missing my fringe, and the back of the girl in front of me.

“Whoa!” I snap it shut quickly and stuff it back into my bag. Alicia must have tampered with it. 

I glance at Deacon, but he’s so caught up in the music that he hasn’t even noticed.

I need something to steady my nerves.

“Do you want a drink?” I whisper in his ear.

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer, thanks.”

I head for the loos first, amazed to find there’s no queue. I walk into a cubicle and set my bag down on the ground, then I hover gingerly over the seat. I try to pee, but I can’t go. I squeeze my eyes shut. Sometimes that helps.

What was that?

My eyes snap open. For just a second, it felt like there was someone in the cubicle with me. I glance around.

Nope, no one here.

Hold on.

There! There it is!

A hand.

Reaching under the wall that separates this cubicle from the next. Small, pale fingers close themselves around the straps of my favourite green Prada handbag and begin to tug it from view.

“Hey!”

I grab hold of the handle and try to pull it back. For a moment, we both tug, and then my beloved bag disappears from sight.

“No!”

I yank up my jeans and struggle with the zip.

To my surprise, the bag slides back into view. I grab it back. The hand slips away.

I am up and out of the cubicle as quickly as possible but the thief has already made a run for it, leaving the door to slam in my face. I run out and look up and down the corridor.

“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.