He raises an eyebrow and perches himself on the sofa.
“I came to give you your Christmas present.”
“You already gave me a Christmas present,” I remind him, pulling a face. He left me a book called ‘Managing your finances’ when he came for dinner.
“Your real Christmas present, silly. I wanted to see your face when you opened it.”
“Oh!”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Why don’t you open it?”
I slit it open.
“Depeche Mode tickets? Oh my god, this is amazing! You’re the best!” I hug him violently. “I have wanted to see them forever.”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it when I heard that they’re finally coming to the Arena. The tickets are for Saturday night. I know it’s a bit short notice but I really wanted to surprise you.”
Wow!
I start mentally thumbing through my wardrobe, deciding what I should wear.
But wait… A big grey cloud drifts into my thoughts.
“There are only two tickets. What about Alicia?”
“Oh, she won’t mind. I mean, it’s Depeche Mode. They’re a bit before her time, aren’t they?”
I smile, but inside, my stomach is churning.
This is Alicia we’re talking about. I can’t accept Deacon’s invitation.
“You do want to go?” he asks, studying my face carefully. “You’ve gone awfully quiet.”
“Of course I do!” I hug him again. “Best gift ever!”
I’ll just have to come up with an excuse in the morning.
But I can’t face telling Deacon the next day or the next. Finally, on Thursday night I force myself to drive over to the Beach House after work.
“Isabel!” Rhett greets me. “Wait till you see what I got in the sales!”
He pulls me into the kitchen, where Deacon is sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and eating a roast beef sandwich.
Rhett bounds up to his room and returns, wielding a Frankie Morello shoe box.
“Wow,” I say eyeing his expensive new trainers. “They’re pink!”
“I know!”
“How much?”
“40% off!”
“Nice.”
He places the shoes back in their box, tenderly wrapping them back up in their tissue paper. He keeps all his shoes like that, never even wears half of them. Still, whatever makes him happy.
“So what did you get in the sales?” he asks me.
“The sales?” I repeat. “Oh, I haven’t been.”
Deacon looks up from his newspaper.
“You haven’t been to the sales?” he repeats in disbelief. “Why not?”
“I just didn’t feel like it this year.”
He leans over and puts his hand to my forehead. “You don’t seem to have a temperature.”
I smile weakly. The truth is, shopping hasn’t been terribly high on my agenda lately.
“But Isabel,” Rhett gasps, “shopping is your life. I thought we were kindred spirits!”
“It’s really not such a big deal,” I say lightly. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“Hmm…” Rhett is still looking at me like I’m from another planet.
“So about Saturday night,” says Deacon. “Do you want me to pick you up, or shall we meet at the Arena?”
“Deacon, about that…”
“What?”
“Look, I’m really sorry but I don’t think I’m going to be able to go.”
“Why not?” he folds his arms. “I thought you were looking forward to it.”
“I was, but I just found out I have to work that night,” I lie feebly.
“On a Saturday night?” Deacon frowns. “Look Isabel, if this is about Alicia…”
“It’s not about Alicia.”
“Cos I already talked to her and she’s fine with it.”
I bet.
Alicia!
I sense her watching from the banisters. Her eyes are lasers, scorching the back of my head.
“I really have to work that night,” I say more emphatically. “I’m sorry you went to so much trouble.”
Alicia chooses this moment to make her entrance.
“Hi Isabel, what’s up?”
“Isabel has to work on Saturday night,” Rhett fills her in.
“Oh no, isn’t the concert on Saturday?”
I nod.
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Her large eyes are wide with pity. “And you were so looking forward to it.”
“Well, it can’t be helped.”
“Hey, how about I talk to Sonya?” she says, snapping her fingers. “Maybe I can cover some of your work?”
“No really, it’s fine.”
“It’s worth a try though, isn’t it?” Deacon says. “If you do still want to go?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, then.”
“There’s rubbish on your lawn,” Mr Krinkle points out as I arrive home. This is the probably the highlight of his day, poor man.
Gingerly, I stuff the discarded chip papers into the bin, and hurry down the path towards the house. I’m not in the mood for small talk.
“There’s another bit on your doorstep,” he calls after me.
I glance down and find a sliver of brown film. I bend down to pick it up. It appears to be a strip of negatives. I didn’t think anybody used those anymore.
Inside, I hold it up to the light. It’s hard to make out, but they appear to be the negatives of Kate’s Camp Windylake pictures. They must have fallen out of the box Julio brought round. I pull out the box from under my bed, where I’d shoved it. I didn’t even attempt to give it to Kate when she came for Christmas dinner. I didn’t want to spoil the mood by bringing up my brother. It is still taped up, but there are a couple of hand holes for carrying it. The film could have slipped out of one of those. I open the box and riffle through it for the corresponding photographs but I can’t find them. Which is a shame because I never took any photos at Camp Windylake. I kind of wish I had.
Alicia bounces up to me as I walk into work the next day.
“It’s all set,” she announces, her eyes sparkling.
“What is?”
“Saturday night, of course. I just had a word with Sonya. She wasn’t even aware you were meant to be working on Saturday. Must have been a mix up with the schedule. Anyway, she said she’d be happy to swap you to another shift.”
“Thanks.” I am more confused than ever. Does she actually want me to go the concert? Or is she playing games with me, pawing at me like a cat with a ball of yarn? It’s impossible to tell.
I am so busy puzzling over this, I almost forget to pick up the photographs. I dropped off the negatives at the 24-hour pharmacy on the way to work. I flip through the prints as I walk out of the shop, first quickly, then more slowly. Kate’s going to laugh her head off when she sees these.
What was I wearing? How could I have ever have thought ponchos were a good look?
I drive home, where a confused Fluffy circles around me as I go from room to room, checking for intruders. Although the locks have now been changed, I still can’t rest until I’m absolutely certain Alicia isn’t in the house.
Once I’m satisfied I’m alone, I make myself a cup of tea and take out the photos again. I just can’t seem to put them down. There’s something that bugs me about them, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
What’s this?
I’m looking at a picture of Kate, aged eighteen, surrounded by children from the camp. And there, sitting on her knee is a young girl of about ten years old. A young girl with wild black curls and big doe eyes.
I suck in my breath.
Is it really possible? Alicia is a good few years younger than us. She would have been around that age when the photo was taken. I study the photo carefully. There’s no mistaking it.
It’s her! It’s Alicia.