“Where’s Kate?” Deacon asks.
“She’s meeting Julio,” I say. “Apparently he called her, completely out of the blue.”
Rhett looks concerned. “What does he want?”
I stare up at the ceiling, pretend to be fascinated by the odd collection of hanging lamps. “No idea. Nothing to do with me.”
“He is your brother.”
“Half-brother. Anyway, I haven’t seen him in months, have I?”
The waitress brings the wine and I inhale mine in big, nervous gulps, without much regard for the bar-snacks. Deacon raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. I don’t mention the incident with Alicia. I’d rather just forget it ever happened.
“So what are we doing this weekend?” Rhett asks.
It’s pelting it down outside, but all anyone can talk about is how this coming weekend is tipped to be one of the hottest of the year. In November. If the predictions turn out to be true, then global warming is even more messed up than I thought.
“We could have a barbecue,” Deacon suggests.
“What if the weather people have got it wrong?”
“It’ll be alright. We’ve got outdoor heaters and we can put up the gazebo if it’s not too windy.”
“I can make a potato salad,” I offer, as this is about the limit of my culinary skills.
“OK, but make sure the potatoes are cooked this time,” Deacon says wryly.
I blush. “That was a simple mistake. Could happen to anyone.”
“I’ll make cocktails!” Rhett cuts in, clapping his hands together. Deacon rolls his eyes at me, but I’m with Rhett. I love cocktails.
“Yeah, and maybe you could invite some of your sexy doctor friends?” I suggest, batting my eyelashes at Deacon. He pulls an expression I can’t quite read. I’m not sure if that’s a yes or a no.
“Cool, a belly dancer,” a man at the next table chirps.
Not cool. Shandy may look exotic, but I happen to know she’s from Lewisham. Loud, jingly music starts to play, but she continues to sit at the bar, applying lipstick with a bored expression. Reluctantly, she climbs up onto a table and starts dancing. I have to admit she looks good, with her tanned skin and toned tummy. But within five minutes, she is bored. She leaps down and starts walking around, flanked on each side by two bartenders who act like her personal bodyguards. She’s looking for a victim.
“Don’t look up,” Rhett hisses. But it’s too late.
Shandy seizes me by the hand and propels me to my feet. Her henchmen surround me, tying a scarf around my waist and shouting words of encouragement. I am helpless but to join in or I’ll look like a party pooper. My friends whoop and cheer as I begin circling my hips to imitate hers. She does things with her tummy muscles that no mortal should be able to do, but I twist and grind as best as I can to keep up.
I’m actually starting to enjoy myself when Deacon yells: “Up on the table!”
To my horror, the henchmen seem to like this suggestion and they hoist me up. Looking down at all those people, my inhibitions return with a thud. Plus, there is the very real danger that I might fall off. I gyrate awkwardly, wondering how much longer this bloody song’s going to go on for. It doesn’t seem to have a middle or an end and all this circling my hips is making me giddy. How does Shandy do it? Actually, where is Shandy? I haven’t seen her since they lifted me up here.
I scan the room. I don’t believe it – she’s back at the bar, having a drink, while I dance on like an idiot. The cheek of it! She’s the paid entertainer; I’m the customer, the entertainee! I give my hips one last wiggle and by some miracle of fate, the music comes to an end. I slink back to my table, to a smattering of applause.
“I’m going to kill you,” I growl at Deacon, reaching for my wine. He leans forward and sticks a tenner into my waistband.
“Hey!” I retrieve it and tuck it into my purse. “Don’t think you’re getting that back.”
“Worth every penny,” he smiles sweetly.
I grab my bag. “Come on Rhett, I need a cigarette.”
It’s half past eleven by the time we spill out onto the street. I’ve just missed the last bus, and there’s not a cab in sight.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell Rhett and Deacon, as I turn to go.
“Wait, I’ll walk you,” Deacon says, even though they live on the other side of town.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I’d argue some more, but Deacon’s old-fashioned like that. So I say good night to Rhett and we trundle up the road, me slightly unsteady in my heels.
Deacon taps his foot with exaggerated impatience as I fumble for my keys outside my house.
“I don’t know how you find anything in there,” he says, in awe of my oversized handbag.
Triumphantly, I locate the keys but my cigarettes fall to the floor. He stoops down and retrieves them for me.
“You’d be better off without these.”
That’s Deacon for you, always ready with a lecture.
“Hmm…” I turn the key in the lock. As I open the door, a black and white fur ball shoots out.
“There you are, Fluffy.”
I scoop him up in my arms and he purrs contentedly.
“Right, well I’d better be off before Mr Krinkle’s curtains start twitching.” Deacon says.
I giggle. Mr Krinkle is my extraordinarily nosey neighbour.
“OK, well thanks for seeing me home.”
“Any time.”
“Night.”
I walk into the gloomy house. I forgot to leave the light on in the front room, so I have to fumble around in the darkness, with Fluffy running circles around me. I find the switch, and see that there’s a red light on the answer phone, which means I have a message. I press play.
“Izzy, it’s Mum. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve left you a message on your email.”
I smile to myself. Mum’s only recently got online and she’s still getting the hang of it.
“I bought a lovely new tea cosy from Shopfitter95 on eBay – do you know her? Seems like a very nice woman…” I let her chatter on as I walk into the kitchen and open the window so that I can have one last fag before bed. I’m not really supposed to smoke in the house, but I was planning to give up when I moved in. I pour out a late night snack for Fluffy. I’m not supposed to have a pet either, but try telling him that.
Later, I snuggle down in bed with the latest issue of Marie Claire, but I can’t help sensing that someone, or something, is watching me. Glancing up, I notice a filmy cobweb above my bed, with a big spider parachuting its way down towards me.
“Gah!”
I grab an empty glass and trap it before it reaches my pillow. I try to return to my Marie Claire, but it’s impossible. I keep stealing glances at the nightstand, watching with morbid fascination as the spider taps at the sides of the glass with its delicate, spindly legs.
Now what?
I don’t want to squash it, but I don’t dare let it go. I know I should let it out the window but I can’t face it right now. I put down my magazine and switch off the light. I’ll deal with it in the morning.
Chapter Two
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.