Authors: H Ryder
“What do we do now?” Asks Liza cutting into a fruitcake she found in the pantry, “call the authorities? Are there any police around here?” She looks questioningly at Stan expecting him to take charge, as she places chunky slices of dark brandy soaked fruit-cake onto plates for everyone, and we all tuck in hungrily. She unties and reties her ponytail yet again with a dramatic flourish, flicking her golden hair through the sunlit air for the best effect. Thoroughly enjoying herself, she hugs Kurt shutting her eyes tight, he picks her up like she’s a doll and swings her around laughing, and they head upstairs for a little lie-down. Indeed.
TC: “Yep, I was right, totally smitten” like me.
PF: “Maybe we could triple date?” Go back to bed.
TC: “Miss you” I lie.
PF: “Liar, but I appreciate the thought” busted.
“That was fun,” says Nigel, munching a second slice of Dundee cake, he has picked off the glazed cherries that decorate the top, me too. Pointless food glacé cherries.
“So? I ask, “
What now?”
“More cake?” From Daniel
I agree, cakes doused in brandy, stored a tin, who’d have thought they could be so delicious, but it is Harvey Nichols cake, in-date, why am I not surprised? “We question them.” Stan pulls over a wooden carver and sits down making himself very comfortable, he hasn’t had any cake, he’s too wired. Our prisoners have a defiant hatred in their eyes, maybe they like fruit cake too, well, and they’re not getting any. But they are also scared, it hadn’t occurred to any of them their evil plan once hatched might go wrong. To think on your feet and be adaptable, that’s the mark of a true ‘plan master’, and this sad little group, they are only masters of mayhem.
That's a great name for a band. So is Fiery Rip, where did I hear that from? Stan hasn’t even uttered his first question yet, but they begin to talk nonetheless, “we won’t tell you nothing,” hisses the big man in frustration, “
Untie us!” And masters of language they are not.
No, just can’t hold it in, “anything” I say loudly, standing with my beautifully hand painted china plate with a gold rim, not suitable for dishwashers, in my hand, having swallowed a bite of cake, one must never speak with one’s mouthful. “We won’t tell you anything” I flatten my hair, with my free hand in frustration, “I can’t bear terrible grammar,” as if explanation was due, “I get it from my Dad.” Liza winks at me, she’s so proud. And she remembers fondly my Dad correcting us when we were younger.
“OK” says Stan looking at me in mild amusement and understanding, perhaps his Dad did the same to him? “OK, let’s leave them to stew a while.” And he goes back to clean his pistol, like a ritual.
I take that as a queue, “hungry anyone?” I ask, thankful for a task to get me out of this room, and the dirty sweaty smell coming from the big man. I take a bottle of Gucci guilty from my bag and spray it unsparingly round the room, that’s better. Nigel cleans his glasses, and Liza reties her hair. Yep, all's right in the world once more.
I head into the large kitchen, it's light and clean and the cupboards and fridge are stocked with in-date groceries and home grown produce, this is someone’s home. Too hungry to care about how or who, I just invent a meal in my head with a quick glance at the available ingredients, as I do at home, and make a start on dinner. I hear footsteps behind me, “someone's been here recently.” I comment to Daniel and Kurt sitting at the rustic old-country-cottage style wooden kitchen table behind me. “There's plenty of fresh food,” I add opening cupboards as if to demonstrate, “and it's not the kind of fare I’d expect people like that to buy, it's pricey and imported.”
I nod my head toward the living room, “they'd stock cheap, quick stuff for their diabolical trip surely?” I pause to make a point. “This is refined,” hoping they’ll catch up with me, “a gastronomes choice.” I crouch and open the fridge, “and there's Cloudy Bay in here.” I turn paused to face them, “Cloudy Bay Daniel, wrapped in a Harvey Nichols tissue paper.” I’m trying to deal them the cards of my discovery, step by step, in the hope that they can play the hand themselves once inspired to do so.
“Cloudy Bay?” From Kurt, gazing at Daniel, still nothing. My head, it works at connections it’s hard to explain. I stand, with an already opened bottle of Château Neuf Du Pape in my hand.
“This doesn’t feel right.” My 'Spidey' senses are tingling again. “It’s just too civilised.” I raise the bottle in my hand to help demonstrate my point. Please keep up my brain is silently begging.
Daniel and Kurt exchange looks, “our Dad was something of a connoisseur,” Kurt says quietly, as if the very words once spoken would have physicality, “he and Mum used to cook together.”
I tell them both, “
This feels very wrong to me.” And I begin dinner, happy with a task to still my popping head. “And where are they then?” Assuming I’m right of course, surely they'd be here somewhere?
From Kurt, “
is
this Dad's house?” Finally, the correct question.
“What's going on?” Daniel asks deeply frustrated. Daniel strides back into the front room stands before Steffi, “where are the people who live here Steffi?” His voice no more than a hissed whisper, “
Who was here when you got here?” She defies him and purses her lips and shakes her head, looks over at her Dad for reassurance and remains stoic. “Tell me what you know,” he appeals to her. She doesn’t bite, but I can tell she wants to. Stay away from him my look is telling her, she looks down at her lap. Good girl.
The older man nervously laughs, he’s in his late fifties I’d judge, lived somewhere without orthodontic expertise or maybe he's scared of the dentist? Strange to think a man who brandishes guns at strangers could be scared of anything, but I guess that’s why they carry weapons, they’re scared of everything! “We say nothing,” from the big man.
Deep breaths grammar police, I clench my teeth and ball my fists, then just as I’m about to melt-down my phone rings.
Wow! It really is a
smart
phone!
“Hello?” I answer, turning my back on the room for some privacy, “Tharie speaking.” All I can hear is a crackle and some broken words, a loud hiss then silence. I swipe the call ended. The screen had told me the call was out of area, well, it might be smart but that's hardly helpful is it?
Overweight, his khaki stained shirt strains at the buttons, and it has epaulettes at the shoulders, with darker khaki sections from missing decoration, suggesting this once was a military or police. His uniform once had rank pips and chevrons at the shoulder and breast, unpicked now the shadows show how the old garment has faded in the sun. I look at him and wonder whether he is the police, I hope not.
My phone vibrates an incoming message:
HC: “Single has gone gold” a sudden break from the now is very welcome.
TC: “Wow, that’s great news Bro, well done” he’s going to get laid.
HC: “I am so going to get laid” so predictable, my Brother, Mum would be so proud.
TC: “Celebration when I get back” how many bottles of Jack do I have?
Note to self, stock up on Jack Daniels, duty free.
HC: “Forgive me if I start without you…” bloody hell.
TC: “Don’t tell Mum” can you imagine?
HC: “Ha! Can you imagine?” Bye Bro.
I decide cooking for us all would help me stop questions bouncing about up there, and return to the kitchen, chopping and peeling, yes, that’ll help. The rest of the group do their version of waiting, Kurt snoozes on the sofa his feet up on a stool, hasn’t he just had a lie-down? He really is cool isn’t he? Stan checks and rechecks his equipment, weapon, reloads, cleans, always the same thing in the same order. Liza chats with Nigel about symbology yawning periodically, hasn’t she just had a nap too? And they make several trips into the other room where there's a well-stocked library and there they sit discussing under their breaths and in whispers. Fine.
Daniel is outside checking the camel Landrover, I watch him from the kitchen window, he crawls about inside, checking all the storage compartments, the boot, everywhere a clue to its origin might be found. He climbs onto the roof bars, I enjoy watching his body moving about, it’s a welcome seductive distraction. He is using the little ladder attached beside the back door as it was originally fitted from the factory in Birmingham, clever devils. Daniel carefully looks around the items strapped to the roof, finding nothing, the things up there must be exactly as they appear to be, not everything is a fraud. I could have told him,
that
at least is real.
Watching him makes me hungry, food, that’s what I’ll do, finish making dinner. I can't believe I’ve put myself in charge of cooking, but here I go again. I find fresh vegetables in the fridge and decide to make a stew. Pumpkin, swede, parsnip, sweet potato, carrots and leeks, chopped onions, the kind of autumn soup we'd be eating at home since these are all in season. I add a large glass of red wine I find open already with a couple of glasses missing. I cut some herbs from the garden, sage and oregano I recognise from my own garden, I add them, making it up as I go. I find some potatoes and chop some into small cubes and it all goes into
a pot on the Aga. I boil the rest of the red potatoes for a creamy, buttery mash to serve with my stew. I find suet and flour in the cupboard and hand kneed some dumpling mixture into Satsuma sized balls and let them float on the surface of the sweet smelling concoction. In about an hour it'll be ready.
I sense we could all use a little slice of normality so I lay the table in the living room properly, tablecloth and place mats, I sit wine glasses on the coasters and salt and pepper grinders in the centre. I have picked three roses from the garden, I hope the owner doesn’t mind, and a cut crystal vase like one my Grandad used to have, displays them on the table. A bugger to dust too I’ll bet.
I can almost ignore the tied group on the floor, watching me, almost. I open a window a little, just for effect.
The silverware is identical to a set I remember from my own childhood, from a box my Mum and Dad had for their wedding present. I lay the cutlery out, swapping mine around because I eat left handed like Daniel does. There's bread here too, a day old at the most, so I bake it until the smell of warm bread fills the house. I break it into rough chunks and pile it in a basket on the table, with a tray of lightly salted butter. I find two bottles of Saint Julienne and one of Rioja in a wine rack, open two different ones and leave them to breathe on the table.
The back door opens and Daniel appears, wiping his hands on a tea towel, this one has cats on it. “Nothing wrong with that car Tharie, they haven’t sabotaged it, suspect they thought a spare vehicle might be useful?” He looks tenderly at me, like he’s just noticed his object of affection for the first time today. He moves toward me and wraps his strong arms around my waist pulling me toward him, into his body. I can feel his heart beating, it’s slow and calm. I lean into him and tip my face and kiss him gently on the lips. Yes, this feels good.
”...so, you and Liza, friends for years....etcetera...?” a huge grin blossoming on his face, with a hint of mischief.
Seriously? What part of me didn’t think this would come back to bite me?
“Yes, friends for years Daniel, did I tell you she has a horse?” Redirect attempted.
“Yes, I know about her horse...and, exercise classes?” Redirect unsuccessful. I’m starting to sense a pattern, he continues, “being around you,” he gently brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, “you're never what anyone expects,
are
you baby?” That's a good thing I always think.
OK, rip it off like a plaster, quick and painful, “OK, as we evolved into friends we spent lots of time practising together and,” I scratch an invented itch on my nose, “and…partying too.” I look at Daniel hoping he doesn’t pry further. Not sure why I’m embarrassed, but I am.
“Exercise? You hate organised activity, have you changed so much?” He asks with humour taking my hand.
“No, it was an attempt to avoid a worse type of localised gathering with subsidised liquor, and better than shutting myself in my room.” I qualify.
“And.....are you going to tell me?” He is totally enjoying himself at the moment. How is it he can read me so well? Liza giggles almost noiselessly into her fist in the doorway, clearly remembering her crush on our instructor. He was blonde, her type.
“Karate”, she tells him, “we did karate, obviously.” She sweeps the air swiftly with her fist, “Tharie gave it up after second Dan, but I was regional champion.” She boasts, retying her ponytail, clearly pleased with herself, Kurt enters and bands her tightly around the waist nuzzling into her neck. They look very satisfied, I no longer wonder what they've been up to, lucky swine.
Daniel looks at me, “so basically you kick arse?” He asks in appreciation, looking from my face to Liza's and back.
“Only if absolutely necessary.” Liza laughs.
Daniel winks at me, “turned out to be quite useful, you were right.” I enjoy a relaxed moment with my boyfriend, we could be on holiday with my friend and her man, it's quite a beautiful place, lamas and everything, what’s not to love about lamas, those babies are soooo cute? I glance out of the window, remember what we are doing here.
“It's a great car Daniel,” I tell him looking out at it, “wonder who it belongs to.”