“Was it a good party?”
“It was OK.”
“Why did you leave then?”
“I just wasn’t in the mood. I felt like a walk.”
“Did you meet anyone on this walk?”
“There wasn’t anyone on the beach at that time – except Deacon, that is. He came to find me.”
“And what time was this?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track.”
“And when did you first hear of the fire?”
“A little while later. One of the other guests discovered it as he was leaving the party.”
They fall silent again, as if waiting to see if I have any more to add. I know they’re expecting me to say something, but I really don’t know what more I can tell them. Then, finally, Penney reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a sandwich bag.
“What’s that?”
He slides it across the table to me.
“Does this look familiar?”
I glance down at the metal object. It’s my lighter, there’s no denying it. Julio bought it for my birthday. My initials are embossed on it in fake diamond studs.
“Where did you get that?” I ask with trepidation.
“At the caravan park. It is yours then?”
I nod, because what’s the point in denying it? It’ll have my prints all over it.
I fold my arms, thoughtfully. “It’s odd though. I could have sworn I lost it before the fire. We needed a lighter to light the barbecue and I didn’t have it on me.”
“So how did it come to be at the caravan park?”
“I really don’t know, though I did go there with my friends when we heard about the fire. We wanted to see if there was anything we could do to help.”
“The owner tells me you were there again the following morning, scrabbling around in the dirt.”
“I wasn’t scrabbling…” I break off, wondering how I got myself into this mess.
“My friend was staying there. We went back to see if any of her stuff had survived the fire. You can ask her if you like. Her name’s Alicia McBride, she works here.”
“Yes, we’ve already spoken to Miss McBride.”
“You have?”
“Yes, she said she you left the party for a good thirty minutes.”
“She did?”
“Yes.”
Well, maybe I did, I don’t remember.
There is another long pause. The detectives seem to have run out of questions.
You don’t have anything on me, do you?
“I really don’t think I can help you any further,” I say, sounding a lot more brazen than I feel. “Can I go now?”
Penney nods grimly. “If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”
He passes me a card with his number on it.
“Can I have my lighter back?”
“I think we’ll hang onto in for now if you don’t mind.”
I decide not to push my luck.
I almost send Sonya flying as I walk out of the office. She must have been standing with her ear pressed right up against the door.
“Well?” she demands. “How did it go?”
“Well, they didn’t arrest me.”
“No?”
“No. Of course they didn’t. I mean why would I burn down the caravan park? What possible motivation could I have?”
I march through the store, ignoring the prying eyes that follow me. I need to speak to Alicia, but she’s on her break. Eventually, I go back to the office. The police have gone now and Stu is sitting at Sonya’s desk, talking and laughing with a couple of his buddies from the warehouse.
“What do you call an Essex girl without a fake tan?” he chuckles.
“I don’t know?” I say, walking into the room. “What do you call her?”
“Hey, Isabel! I hear you’ve been a bad girl,” he smirks. “Let me know if you need me to bail you out.” He makes an obscene gesture and the others laugh. I ought to report him to HR, but I couldn’t bear the paperwork.
It is a long, long day of ridiculous jokes and innuendos. Not to mention the fact that half the checkout staff are still poised to go on strike. Finally, at a quarter to five, I grab my stuff and charge out the door. It’s a little early, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough.
I drive straight round to the Beach House. Alicia is already in the kitchen, setting the table for dinner. She blanches when she sees me. She knows she’s done me wrong.
“What did you say to the police?” I ask, unable to hide my fury.
She ignores me and continues to set the table.
I grab the knives and forks from her hand and slam them down.
“What did you tell them?” I shout, my voice shaking.
“Who?”
“Who do you bloody think? The police! What did you tell them about me?”
“Just the truth,” she whimpers, her eyes impossibly wide.
“You told them I left the party, didn’t you? Why did you do that?”
“But why did you leave the party, Isabel?”
Suddenly, I explode.
“Are you’re trying to set me up?” I grab her by the shoulders, ready to give her a good hard shake.
“Isabel! Get off her!” Deacon steps in between us. He looks from one to the other. “What the hell is going on here?”
“She told the police I left the barbecue!” I fume. “Now they think I’m the one who started the fire.”
“Isabel, you’re blowing this all out of all proportion,” Deacon says, calmly.
“The police were here this morning and they talked to all of us. No one said anything that would have made them think you were the culprit.”
“Well, thanks for giving me a heads up,” I say bitterly. “Great friend you are!”
I stalk out to my car and sit there for a while, breathing heavily, too angry to drive. Now that I’ve yelled at Alicia, I ought to feel better, but I don’t. She hasn’t given me any of the answers I need, and now I’m feeling guilty all over again.
There is a soft knock on the window. It’s Deacon. I wind it down.
“You were out of line, talking to Alicia like that.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
But I can’t. He doesn’t see Alicia the way I do. None of them do.
I get to work early. Alicia is already on the shop floor.
I call out her name, but she pretends to be engrossed in what she’s doing. She looks… scared when she sees me. I furrow my brow. Is it really plausible that she has nothing to do with all the strange events going on in my life? I just don’t know anymore, it’s all too confusing.
“Look Alicia,” I say, walking over to her. “I’m sorry about last night, OK? I was just a bit upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
Alicia pats my arm. Her touch is surprisingly warm, considering how cold the shop gets.
“Don’t worry about the police,” she says. They’re just trying to scare you.”
Well, they’re doing a pretty good job.
I join Sonya at the checkouts, where she is still taking grief about the automated tills. If Stu doesn’t give us some solid answers soon, I think we should feed him to this lot, let them eat him alive like piranhas. A number of them have already told me they have unexpected dentist or doctor’s appointments this week. I strongly suspect that they’ve been applying to Filbert’s en masse.
“You’re doing it again, Sonya,” I say, pulling her hand down from her hair.
She has this horrible habit of pulling her hair out, strand by strand. It’s a stress thing. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She’ll have a bald spot the size of the Grand Canyon if she carries on like this.
“We’ve got to do something,” she says in exasperation. “At this rate, Filbert’s is going to take all our best people.”
“I know,” I agree. “If only we were allowed to run this place properly, without interference from that idiot.”