Fry (29 page)

I’m no stranger to police interviews by now, so I’m not particularly alarmed when we are taken into separate interview rooms at the police station. The long walk down the mountain has given us plenty of time to concoct our story. We’ve decided we're going to tell the truth – just not the whole truth. We’ve agreed not to mention the part about keeping Alicia hostage.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that I’d be nervous, after all, I just got out of jail and I’ve suddenly got a dead body on my hands. A dead body
and
a burning cottage. But now that we’re here, I feel a strange confidence that I’d never have thought I’d possess in such a situation. I’m almost casual as I sit in my plastic chair, sipping my watery cup of coffee. Calm enough to ask for more sugar. Calm enough to request a sandwich.

“There are a couple of inconsistencies we’d like to clear up,” the DCI says, after he’s finished listening to my account.

“Yes?”

Like the fact that we kept Alicia hostage for two days before she died?

I resist the urge to clench my fists. It’s imperative that I remain calm, show no outward sign of nerves. Prison has made it easier for me to lie, easier to live with untruth. Being surrounded by thieves and liars all day certainly taught me a thing or two in that department. Even if the DCI suspects what we did, he’ll never be able to prove it. Deacon and I are safe, home free. Just as long as he stays as strong as me.

Oh god, what if he’s confessed?

The DCI purses his lips. He looks perplexed, as if he’s trying to work out a complex mathematical equation.

Come on, out with it!

“Isabel, we’re having trouble locating Alicia’s body.”

My heart skips a beat.

“What? Alicia…the body is right in front of Tumbledown Cottage! You couldn’t miss it. Unless it was cremated by the fire?”

The DCI scratches his chin. “No, the fire had virtually fizzled out by the time we got there – in fact, most of the cottage is still standing. But there was no sign of a body. We’ve got police scouring the mountain, but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of it.”

I grip the table, trying to stop the world from spinning off its axis.

“I have to ask you again, are you absolutely sure she was dead?”

“Absolutely! I mean, Deacon’s a doctor. He ought to know!”

“So where is the body?”

I think fast.

“Jody must have gone back for it!”

It’s the only explanation I can think of.

“Why she would do that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know! To hide the evidence? Or maybe she just needed a bit longer to say goodbye? It all happened so quickly, maybe she wasn't in her right mind?”

“Hmm....” He doesn't seem altogether satisfied.

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” he says as his phone starts to pulse.

I nod and he steps out of the room, leaving me to stare into space. Even in death, Alicia is taunting me.

What the hell is going on? Are they lying about the body to make me confess?

The DCI returns, looking extremely sombre. I'm no longer feeling casual. I need to know what's happening, and I need to know now.

“What? What is it?”

“They found blood, lots of it, daubed on the walls of the cottage.”

“What?”

“It spelt out a word, FRY, all in capitals. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Yes, yes it does, but I don’t understand how it got there!”

I think my brain might be splintering in two.

It has to be Jody. But why would she write on the walls in her dead sister’s blood? I don’t know how, or why, she’s done all this but I have to believe she was overcome with guilt and grief. Because if I consider of any of the alternatives, I may never sleep again.

“Isabel!”

Sonya embraces me with a big bear hug. I feel like I’ve aged ten years since I’ve been away. My face is more lined, and an alarming number of grey hairs have crept onto my head. But Sonya looks younger, somehow. Happier, more at ease with the world.

“You’ve changed your hair,” I say, admiring her glamorous new do. Her hair looks really thick and glossy. I pat my own tangled locks a little self-consciously. My beauty regime went out of the window while I was inside and it’s going to take a while to repair the damage.

“I’ve always wanted to go blonde. Do you like it?” she asks.

“It really suits you. What made you take the plunge?”

“Oh, you know – new job, new look.”

“You're like a whole new woman!”

Sonya smiles, looking pleased. “Come on, let me show you around.”

I recognise quite a few faces as we walk around the new store. Jon the security man is at his post by the entrance, but instead of just watching the door as he did at Robertson’s, he is smiling and joking with the customers, welcoming them in. He even asks one of the checkout boys to come and help a frail old lady carry her shopping to her car. We didn’t offer service like that at Robertson’s.

The girl at the fish counter smiles as I walk past, as does the lad on the deli. If this had happened at Robertson’s, I would have been frantically casting an eye over my outfit, looking to see if I’d left a few buttons undone. I shake my head in amazement as I watch them interact with the customers, politely offering advice on which cut of meat would be best for a dinner party and which fish would taste nice poached.

Filbert’s is like the Robertson’s we always wanted. The staff are well-trained, friendly and upbeat. Their uniforms are smart and tasteful, no garish green or awful orange. Everyone looks well-groomed and more importantly, hygienic. And best of all, there’s no Stu.

“What happened to Stu when Robertson’s went under?” I ask, as we peep into the warehouse. I feel a little peculiar setting foot inside, even though both exits are open wide. I can’t help remembering that fateful moment when the alarms went off and Deacon and I thought we were going to die.

But this warehouse is quite different from the old one. There’s no card-playing here. All the staff are hard at work, and the chap in charge is walking up and down with his clipboard, checking details and calling out instructions. There are no girly calendars in this office. Quite the contrary, pinned to the noticeboard above the desk are framed certificates for teamwork and good management. It bears no resemblance whatsoever to Stu’s old office.

“Didn’t you hear?” Sonya says, her eyes sparkling with obvious delight. “It was Stu's fault Robertson’s didn’t get their insurance money. It was recorded as an accidental fire in the end, so they should have been able to make a claim, but that was all irrelevant as far as the insurance company was concerned. Stu let the policy expire. Only by 24 hours, as it happened, but too late for Robertson’s to get their hands on any of the money.”

“Wow! What incredibly bad luck!”

“Yeah, what a wazzock! If he weren’t so lazy, he would have checked that the insurance renewal had gone through on time, instead of just leaving it for a temp to deal with. But you know Stu, he’d rather lark about with his mates than do an honest day's work.”

“So what’s he doing these days?” I ask curiously. “I take it he’s not working here?”

“Hell, no!” Sonya laughs at the thought. “He’s working at the greasy burger bar in the precinct. You know, the one with all the lettering peeling off and the tramp sleeping in the doorway.”

“You’re kidding! Wow, that’s quite a come down.”

“Yeah, well, his reputation is in tatters. He won’t get another management job in a hurry, not when everybody knows that he’s the plonker who brought down Robertson’s. The local paper ran a headline piece on it. I’ve kept a copy for you in the office.”

I smile. “Have you framed it?”

But I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for Stu. I mean, I never really liked him that much, but to think that one little…OK, one huge mistake cost him everything. Well, I suppose I know how that feels.

“It’s all turned out for the best, really,” says Sonya, brushing the lint from her powder blue suit, a new addition to her wardrobe. “After all, this town really is only big enough for the one supermarket.”

“As long as you get to run it!”

“Absolutely! I mean, Bernie’s still the boss for now, but he’s taking early retirement in a few months, so I’m in a strong position to take over.”

“That’s great, Sonya!”

As we take the escalator upstairs, I feel a bit like one of the kids in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. My eyes bulge as I see how large the clothing department is, all the different fabrics and designs. You wouldn’t think we were still in a supermarket. This place looks like a department store.

“So, I was wondering - are there any vacancies at the moment?”

I try to keep my tone casual, but I’m hanging on her reply. Despite my innocence, I’ve heard it could be hard for me to get a job now that I’ve been in prison, especially here. Queensbeach is a small town and everyone is still talking about the trial. Not to mention Alicia’s untimely demise.

Sonya leans over to straighten up a display of T-shirts. “I’m afraid there are no junior management positions at the moment.”

“Oh.”

I suppose I should have expected as much.

“But how would you feel about working here in the clothing department? We are currently recruiting a trainee buyer.”

Me, a fashion buyer?

“You mean I’d get to buy clothes for a living?”

Sonya laughs, “Well, there is a bit more to it than that, but I know you’d be great. Here, let me get you a job description. You can have a look through it at home.”

I’m pretty sure I don’t need to see the job description but I take a copy anyway so as not to look unprofessional. I need a job as a matter of urgency, and this one sounds ideal.

Ding-Dong!

“I’m coming,” I yell, from the landing.

A black and white fur ball bounds past me and down the stairs, his little cowbell jingling loudly.

“Hi Kate.”

“Hi Isabel. Hi Fluffy!” She scoops up my cat and strokes his head with affection.

Fluffy purrs, contentedly.

“Mind you don’t get cat fur all over your cocktail dress,” I warn her, but I lean over and pet him too. It’s just so good to have him back.

* * *

It was Deacon who finally figured out what had become of Fluffy. I was still feeling a bit freaked out when we got back from Scotland, so he offered to stay the night at my house. But once the taxi dropped us off, he took my hand and led me up the path to Mr Krinkle’s instead.

“Deacon?”

Mr Krinkle answered the door.

“Hello.” It was as though he’d been expecting us. “Just a moment.”

He disappeared inside.

I looked at Deacon. “What’s going on?”

My neighbour returned, carrying a cardboard box.

“He likes to sleep in here.” 

I peered inside.

Two large, green eyes met mine.

“Fluffy! Oh my god! Fluffy!”

I scooped my cat up in my arms and held him like a baby.

“I thought you were gone forever!”

I took in his warmth, his smell, the soporific sound of his purr.

Mr Krinkle looked down at the ground.

“It was an honest mistake – at first. I thought he was a stray. His tag must have come off. Then I saw all the posters. I know I should have given him back, but I get so lonely all on my own…”

Poor Mr Krinkle.

I knew I should be angry, but I wasn’t really. If it weren’t for him, I might still be rotting in jail. And besides, if he hadn’t taken Fluffy, it’s quite possible Alicia would have. In a way, his actions might have saved him.

“You can visit him whenever you like,” I said impulsively. “I’m sure he’ll be quite happy to wander between our two houses, pretending he hasn’t been fed.”

Then I looked at Deacon. “I don’t know what to say….”

Deacon smiled.

“You can thank me later.”

* * *

“Do you realise it’s snowing outside?” Kate says now, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Is it?”

I run to the window and look outside. Sure enough, small delicate snowflakes have started to fall, coating the drive with a thin, white blanket. She takes off her coat, her bump clearly visible under the midnight blue dress I helped her buy.

“So come on then. Are you going to do my make-up or what?”

“Of course!” I smile. “Let me just open the bubbly. Non-alcoholic for you, of course!”

Fluffy settles himself on her lap as I apply her mascara and lipstick.

“You don’t even need foundation or blusher, you lucky thing,” I say, marvelling at how radiant her skin looks. I finish with a touch of lip gloss and hand her a mirror so she can admire the results.

“Thanks, Isabel. Looks great. But hadn’t you better hurry up and get yourself ready? Rhett and Deacon will be here any moment.”

“That's OK, I'm almost ready.”

I skip upstairs to my bedroom. My cocktail dress is hanging on the wardrobe door where I left it. It’s the most exquisite shade of green I’ve ever seen, the bodice decorated with delicate black lace. I shiver with delight as I slip into it. The dress was a little on the expensive side, but that’s OK. My new job pays a lot better than the old one. And it’s amazing what a visit to the beauty salon can do. For tonight, at least, my skin has lost that tired, frazzled look. My cheeks are almost as rosy as Kate’s and my hair looks glossy and styled.

I shall go to the ball!

I smile happily at my reflection.

Knock! Knock!

“Can I come in?”

I open the door for Deacon.

“Want me to zip you up?”

“Yes, please.” I pull my hair up out of the way.

“You look stunning,” he tells me, as he closes the zip.

I straighten his bowtie. “And you look like a penguin.”

Deacon smiles. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. I happen to love penguins.”

He reaches into his pocket. “I’m really glad you’re wearing green, because I wanted to give you these.”

He pulls out a little jewellery box and places it in my hands.

“What's this?”

“Go on, open it.”

I do. A tiny pair of emeralds twinkle in the light.

“They’re beautiful!” I gasp, holding them up to my ears.

“And so are you.”

He leans forward to kiss me and I almost drop the earrings on the floor as I get lost in his embrace.

* * *

I feel a little lump in my throat as I follow my friends up the steps of the Queensbeach Civic Hall. A glass of champagne is pressed into my hand as soon as I step through the door, and an army of waiters walk around offering dainty canapés.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy off Eastenders?” Rhett whispers, as we glance over at the Mayor’s table.

I look but I don’t really care. This time last year, I would have been thrilled to meet a soap star, but right now all I care about is spending time with my best friends. It's so wonderful to have the four of us back together again, even if we won’t remain four for much longer.

“You want to dance?” Deacon asks, as the orchestra starts to play.

“You know what? I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that before,” I marvel.

“There’s a reason for that!” Rhett winks.

Turns out Rhett's right. Deacon has no sense of rhythm. He steps on my toes, trips over his feet and whirls me into a table. Lord of the dance, he is certainly not.

“Told you,” whispers Rhett, as we sit down again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

“Oh, come on!”

But I refuse to admit it’s the truth. Deacon is probably the worst dancer I’ve ever known, but he's my boyfriend and I find it kind of endearing.

* * *

The next morning I pour myself a strong cup of coffee. It was a late night and I’m glad I had the forethought to book the day off work. Home seems like home again, now I’ve got Fluffy back. He rubs up against me as I open my desk drawer and pull out the big pile of mail that’s been waiting for me since I got out of jail.

Most of it’s junk mail, plus tons of bills, which I don’t need to worry about because Deacon took care of all that. Then I notice a handwritten envelope, right at the bottom of the pile. I glance at the date on the stamp. It must have been sitting here for several weeks. I don’t recognise the writing, so I’m a little curious as I open it and read the childish scrawl:

If you are reading this, you have probably already killed me.

I screw it up tight – and toss it in the bin, but it’s too late, I’ve already seen it. Her voice is in my head:

I want you to know that I forgive you.

I have prayed for you as you must pray for me.

Do not mourn me, for I am in a better place now.

I am with you and I will watch over you always.

Your friend forever,

Alicia