Fry (2 page)

All eyes are down, focused on the last ten minutes of the class. Early morning spin is not the place for making friends. My fellow cyclists and I barely exchange a nod as we sit down, stand up and pedal frantically - faster, faster, faster, pausing only to gulp down water and dab at our foreheads with already sodden towels. We are in competition - with each other, but most of all with ourselves.

Afterwards, I emerge from the shower, revived and alert. My body is no temple but I pride myself on being toned, if not trim. I allow myself a contented smile as I fasten the buttons on my charcoal grey suit. It was a deal breaker, I told them when I was offered my job. I’d wear my own clothes, or they could get someone else. I wouldn’t be seen dead in the hideous uniform the rest of the staff have to wear; the clown red trousers, lime green shirts and hideous orange baseball caps that clash with my auburn hair. No job is worth that.

I smile to myself as I walk out to my car and toss my gym bag in the boot, but my good mood starts to evaporate as I see the queue of traffic heading out of town.

Monday morning gridlock; just what I need.

Even stuck behind all the traffic, I can see my place of work. Robertson’s Superstore is a bright yellow blot on the horizon. It spans ten football fields, topped by a giant ‘R’. You can see if for miles around, in fact, I have a disconcerting view of it from my bedroom window.

Eventually, I pull into a space near the front of the store and sit there for a moment, window rolled down as I smoke a cigarette. I like the way the tobacco mingles with the salty seaweed scent of the air.

"Isabel?" My manager, Sonya, peers in at me.

“Morning.” I give her a weary smile.  

“Did you have a nice weekend?”

“I worked most of it,” I remind her. Now that Robertson’s is open 24-7, there are never enough staff to cover all the shifts.

“Yeah, me too,” she says with a sigh. “Are you coming in? I want to get started.”

“I’ll be right with you.”

But not till I finish this cigarette.

Robertson’s is like a walled city, fortified with rows and rows of economy baked bean cans. We sell everything from groceries to washing machines and mobility buggies. Workers stream through the doors behind me, punching their time cards in unison and shuffling forward, like inmates in a chain gang. Fortunately for me, I am not one of the gang, though my job is only marginally better. As a junior manager, my days can be spent doing anything from dealing with customer complaints to operating the checkout. And since they sacked the cleaners last month, I could even find myself slopping out the toilets, if no one else is available. I haven't had to do this yet, but I plan to be
very
sick that day.

“Wide load!” someone bellows as I fall into step with Sonya.

We whirl round, but it’s just Stu, our senior manager, making one of his rude jokes about the size of Sonya’s bottom. He’s so un-PC it’s not even funny. Though for a man who sprays himself Day-Glo orange, he’s on very shaky territory.

“Oh, there’s a girl here for an interview,” he says as an afterthought. “She’s waiting in your office.”

With that, he heads back to the warehouse, where I suspect he spends most of his time sharing sexist jokes and playing cards with the lads.

Sonya rolls her eyes. “This place would be so much better without him.”

I can’t help but agree. Stu is a bit of a pillock.

We step into the office. Alicia is sitting in the corner, looking like a bedraggled orphan. Her hair is all wet from the rain, and she has draped her coat over the radiator to dry. I can’t help noticing that one of her shoes has a hole in it.

I force a smile onto my lips. “Hi, glad you came! Sonya, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

“Good to meet you, Alicia. Isabel, why don’t you tell her a bit about Robertson’s?”

I lick my lips. “Well, as you probably know, this supermarket is the largest one in the area – or it was,” I correct myself. “Until J.Filbert’s opened last year.”

“That’s the place with the squirrel logo?”

“Yes.”

“We primarily need shelf stackers at the moment,” Sonya moves on, “but you’ll probably find that you get to work in other areas of the supermarket too. Do you have any retail experience?”

“No, but I like shopping!”

“Me too!” I smile.

“And I’m very keen to learn,” she adds quickly. “I’m a hard worker.”

“That’s good.” Sonya glances at her watch. “Sorry, ladies, but I’ve just realised the time. I need to get to a meeting at Head Office. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I suppose the next question, Alicia, is when can you start?”

Alicia beams. “I can start right now!”

“Wonderful,” Sonya says. “I just need you to fill in some forms and we’ll put you to work.” She reaches up onto a shelf and pulls down a new starter booklet.

“Don’t we need to check her references first?” I ask in a low voice, as Alicia fishes about in her handbag for a pen.

“That’s OK – we’ll do it later. Anyway - any friend of yours is OK by me.”

I’m about to explain to Sonya that Alicia isn’t exactly a friend when her phone rings.

What does it really matter anyway? I reason, as she takes the call. I nearly ran the poor girl over. I owe her. So what if I don’t really know her? It’s just a lousy shelf stacking job. What harm can it do?

“Isabel?” Sonya sets down the phone and looks at me apologetically.

“I hate to ask you this but someone’s dropped a huge vat of Ribena in the soft drinks aisle and they’re making a pig’s ear of cleaning it up. Can I count on you to sort it out? I really have to get going.”

“Of course,” I smile. “No problem.”

I leave Alicia to fill in her forms, and walk to the back of the shop, where I unlock the door to the cleaning cupboard. It stinks of bleach in there. I can see the mop standing against the wall but it’s just out of reach so I step inside. As my hand closes around it, the door swings shut with a resounding bang. It sounds very final.

With the door shut, the room is plunged into darkness. I fumble for the handle. It’s stuck. I grip it more tightly, but the damn thing won’t budge.

“Very funny. Let me out!”

I bang furiously on the door, but there is no response – not a giggle, not a titter.

“Is there anybody there?”

Maybe there isn’t anyone out there after all? Maybe the wind slammed the door and forced it shut.
I hear the whir of the forklifts in the warehouse next door and someone shouting instructions as a new delivery arrives. No one can hear me. No one knows I’m here.

The walls edge closer together. I don’t like confined spaces. I never have. No windows. No light. No air. I look up at the ceiling. No way out. I feel a prickly heat crawl up my back.

“Let me out!” I thunder at the door.

The stink of bleach tingles in my nostrils. My eyes start to smart. I tug at the door handle with all my might. I kick the door in frustration. It won’t budge.

OK, don’t panic.

I pound on the door again, shout even louder than before.

“Help! Somebody help me! Get me out!”

I punch the door until my knuckles are raw. I punch so loudly, I almost don’t hear the reassuring voice on the other side.

“Calm down, love! I’ll get you out.”

My panic subsides. I know that voice. It’s Jon the security man! There are a couple of short clicks, and the cupboard fills with light. The door’s open! I practically throw my arms around his neck, then, seeing the crowd gathered behind him, I try to regain my composure. 

“Thanks.” My voice is little more than a whisper.

“Need a cigarette?” he asks.

“I’ll just get someone else to mop up the Ribena,” I say, shakily. “There’s no way I’m going back in that cupboard.”

“You sure they won’t mind me coming?” Alicia looks anxious as I lead her into Rhett and Deacon’s place.

“Course not,” I assure her. “It’s a party.”

Rhett is in the kitchen, arranging a tray of tequilas with a concentrated look on his face.

“Hi, I brought the potato salad.”

“Great.”

“Where’s Deacon?”

“Out in the garden.”

“I’ll go and see if he needs a hand.”

I turn to go, when Rhett calls after me: “Hey, Isabel?”

“What?”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, right!”

I look guiltily at Alicia, who is hovering behind me.

“This is Alicia.”

He gives her an easy smile. “Hi.”

Alicia mumbles something incomprehensible and blushes. Rhett raises his eyebrows at me. Wow, she is really shy around men! I dread to think how she’s going to fare with Deacon.

“Come on, the garden’s this way.”

I adjust my sunglasses as we step outside again. The weather people were not wrong. They cannot agree on why, but the temperature is distinctly tropical. Charred autumn leaves litter the lawn, and horse chestnuts lie roasting in the sun. It’s quite peculiar. I think this is the first time I’ve ever worn a sundress and sandals in November, though I brought my winter coat just in case. 

Deacon has stripped down to his vest. His longish dark hair glistens with sweat and he hauls cast iron garden furniture around as if it weighed no more than paper. He is so engrossed in what he’s doing, he doesn’t notice us watching him. 

“Hey, Deacon! I’m here!” I wave my arms to get his attention.

“Oh, hi.” He sets down the chair he was carrying.

“This is Alicia. She brought beer.”

“Ah, my kind of woman!”

“Want one?” Alicia asks, shyly.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

She breaks a can from the pack and tosses it in his direction. He catches it with ease and peels back the tab to take a long slug.

“You have a lovely house,” she ventures, looking at him from under her long dark lashes.

Deacon beams. “I can give you a tour if you like, once I’ve got the barbecue going.”

“That would be lovely.”

He puts down his beer and begins setting up the barbecue, laying down charcoal and pouring on lighter fluid.

“Damn, I’m out of matches. Isabel, can I borrow your lighter?”

I poke around in my pocket. “Sorry - I must have left it at home.”

He looks at Alicia. “You got one?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“Never mind, I’ll go and ask Rhett.”

He walks back to the house, while Alicia looks at me inquisitively.

“Maybe we can help?” she suggests shyly.

“How?”

She walks over to the rock garden and digs around in the dirt.

I wrinkle up my nose. “What are you doing?”

She picks something up.

“What’s that?”

“Flints.”

I watch, half amused, half fascinated as she stands over the barbecue, rubbing them furiously together.

“Alicia, I don’t think that’s going to work,”

She is so determined, that for a moment, I almost believe that the barbecue has started to smoulder, that there are wisps of hot, grey smoke rising from the coals. I can almost sense it in my nostrils, though it can only be a trick of the light.

“You found a lighter then,” says Deacon, when he comes back out.

“What?”

I glance back at the barbecue. It’s undeniable now. There are actual flames. I go over and hold my hands over them, unable to believe that they are being warmed by something Alicia created so quickly, so craftily.

“Nice work.”

“Alicia did it all herself!” 

He looks at her approvingly, but I don’t think he gets my meaning. 

“Nice,” he repeats. “Isabel, can you start setting out the food? Rhett’s still fannying about with the cocktails.”

People start to arrive. They are strangers, mostly; Rhett’s mates from the rugby club, their work colleagues and neighbours. No sign of Kate yet.

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask Deacon, a little bored.

“Yeah – can you watch the barbecue for a few minutes?”

“OK – where are you off to?”

“I promised your friend a tour of the house, remember?”

Something gets caught in my throat.

“On second thoughts, maybe someone else should mind the barbecue – I’d hate to burn the burgers! Here,” I pick up the tongs and hand them to the nearest man. “You can watch the barbecue for a bit, can’t you?”

I don’t even wait for his reply.

Deacon strides through the house, pointing out a window seat here and an antique dining table there. Alicia admires the baby grand piano in the sitting room and the grandfather clock in the hall. I know this house almost as well as I know my own, but I trail after them regardless, joining in with the oohs and aahs in the appropriate places. We explore various rooms on the first and second floors, and then head up the stairs to the third floor, Deacon’s room, which smells of his own distinctive scent.

It’s quite clean for a man’s room, apart from the unmade bed. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about this as he pushes open the French windows, through which there is a balcony that overlooks the water.

“I can’t believe you live here!” gasps Alicia. Her face is flushed with excitement as she watches the waves crash against the rocks below. He has picked just the right moment for this view, just as the sun is melting into the horizon.

“You’re so lucky,” she breathes.

Deacon smiles. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

She glances over at me. “Just imagine Isabel, to wake up every morning and see this incredible view.”

“I know,” I agree. “It’s must be heavenly.”

When we come back downstairs, I find Kate sitting by herself in the gazebo, sheltering from the heat. She holds a glass of wine in one hand and her wedding ring in the other.

“So what happened with Julio?” I ask softly.

“He wanted me to sign the divorce papers. He said he wanted to get married again – as soon as possible.”

“Oh Kate!”

But a tiny part of me is actually glad, because maybe now Kate can move on with her life and stop wishing for a reconciliation that’s never going to happen. I don’t really know what to say to her. I have no wise words. I’ve never been married. Never been divorced. I haven’t even been in a relationship for ages. What advice can I possibly give? The best thing I can think of is distraction. For the time being, at least.

“You’re never going to believe this!”

“What?”

Hurriedly, I tell her how Alicia got the barbecue going.

“She did it just by rubbing two stones together,” I exclaim. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kate shrugs. “Maybe she was in the Girl Guides.”

“
I
was in the Girl Guides and I never learnt anything like that!”

But Kate seems more interested in the contents of her wine glass than in what I’m telling her.

“Talking of Alicia, I suppose I’d better see if she’s OK. She doesn’t know anyone here and she’s kind of shy. Do you want to come and meet her?”

“No – you go and find her. I’ll catch you up in a bit.”

I find Alicia sitting by the barbecue with Deacon. Her shyness seems to have completely evaporated and she is quite animated as she hands him a bottle of suntan cream. I blanch slightly as he pours some into his hand and rubs it into her pale shoulders.

I can’t see Rhett, or anyone else I recognise, so I go and stand on the edge of a throng of people. I stand there for a while, nodding and smiling as the others talk, but the only person who takes any notice of me is Deacon’s boss, whose jokes are so highbrow that I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

I edge away, picking up a platter of party snacks to offer around. I usually find food to be a good ice-breaker.

“Thanks,” says a guy with floppy brown hair, “I love olives.”

“Me too.”

He’s not my type, but I smile back anyway, grateful to be acknowledged.

“So how do you know Rhett and Deacon?” I ask.

Before he can answer, a small, busty woman flounces over and wedges herself in between us. I give a resigned shrug and move along. Sometimes I forget the rules. As a single woman, I can’t monopolise any man for longer than five seconds, lest his wife or girlfriend thinks I’m trying to steal him.

I venture further down the garden. There’s some great music playing and I wouldn’t mind a dance, but I can’t find anyone to dance with. Who are all these people? Why did Rhett and Deacon have to invite them all?

Disheartened, I let myself out of the back gate and wander down to the beach, which is covered in sandwich wrappers and drink cans from the sudden influx of visitors. I glare, as the last of them climb back into their coach, singing and laughing as they drive off.

There is a refreshing breeze in the air now. I slip off my heels and pick my way along the cool, soft sand. I’m ruining my Armani tights, but I no longer care. This beach has a lost, desolate beauty that I’ve always found mesmerising. The noise of the party fades away as I listen to the rhythmic sound of the waves, lapping in and out.

“Isabel? What are you doing out here?”

I turn to find Deacon watching me with a bemused expression on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know, just thinking.”

“About what?”

I shrug. He slips an arm around me. “Come back to the party, it’s getting cold out here.”

I’m not sure what’s changed – maybe it’s the drop in temperature, but when we return to the party, it has a completely different vibe. Everyone seems to have mellowed, and there are a lot more people dancing. I wonder briefly if Rhett’s slipped something into their cocktails.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that Kate on the dance floor?” Deacon exclaims.

I look out and see her next to Alicia, laughing and dancing like she hasn’t a care in the world.

“She’s a little treasure, your friend,” Rhett says, handing me a drink. “I don’t know what she said to Kate, but it seems to have done the trick.”

I shake my head in bewilderment, wondering what Alicia will do next.

When they emerge, giggling from the dance floor, they look more like old friends than two people who met not more than half an hour ago.

“You two look like you were having a good time,” I comment.

“The best,” Kate agrees, with a grin. “Alicia is
so
funny!”

She is?

“So what were you giggling at?”

She glances at Alicia. “Oh you know, just stuff.”

What stuff?
I want to ask, but I don’t get the chance. There is a loud bang that makes us all jump. Someone is hammering on the door. Deacon rushes over to investigate. It’s one of the guests who’s just left the party.

“Quick, call the fire brigade!”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“The caravan park is on fire!”