People are turning to stare at me.
“Where? Where’s the fire?”
“Er… false alarm! Sorry!”
I lean heavily on the bar, feeling both sick and embarrassed. I wish I could just press the ‘undo’ button, and stop them all from staring at me.
A big burly doorman looms over me.
“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, Miss.”
“She’s fine,” Deacon says, appearing at my side. “I’ll take her outside for a bit of fresh air.”
The doorman nods. “All right, but any more hysterics and she’s out.”
Deacon takes me by the arm and pulls me towards the exit. Alicia makes a move to follow us, but to my relief, Rhett chooses that moment to drag her onto the dance floor.
“What happened?” Deacon asks, as we sit on the stone steps outside.
“Didn’t you see her?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Alicia! She was breathing fire!”
“We were drinking flaming sambucas, Isabel. Believe me, nobody was breathing fire. It was just a bit of fun.”
“But her mouth! It was on fire! I saw her. She was breathing flames!”
I didn’t imagine it, I know I didn’t.
“Perhaps hers was still alight as she drank it,” he says frowning.
I scratch my head. “Is that… possible?”
“Of course. How else would you explain it?”
“Well, I thought… I thought…”
But what exactly, can I tell him? That for that moment, she didn’t look quite human. That it was like staring into the unblinking eyes of a demon. That she’d become something I’ve never even believed in, and never wanted to acknowledge could be real.
Oh, what’s the use? How can I possibly expect him to understand?
The door opens, and I jump slightly as Alicia herself strides out, Rhett unable to hold her off any longer.
“Is she OK?” she asks Deacon, as if I’m an invalid. Her voice drips with sympathy.
Deacon nods, seems to sense that I don’t want a fuss. “She’s fine now. Aren’t you, Isabel?”
Alicia peers at me sweetly. “Oh, but you’re so pale! Would you like me to call you a taxi?”
“No!” I sit up abruptly. “No, I’m fine. My eyes were just playing tricks on me, that’s all.” I force a smile onto my face.
“So you want to go back inside?”
“Yes,” I say, though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. “I’m not going to bloody well miss the New Year.”
Not because of her.
As I follow them back into the restaurant, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. It’s the owner, Mustafa.
“Isabel, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Did you enjoy the cocktail?”
“Er… yes, thanks.”
“Maybe you’d like another? On the house of course.”
I shudder. “That’s alright… I’m on the wine now, thanks.”
“Wine it is then,” he says, signalling to the barman to pour me a glass.
“Well, thanks. That’s very kind of you. Cheers!”
What does he want?
I take a tentative sip and turn to walk away.
“I hear you were worried about fire safety?”
“Just a misunderstanding,” I say, embarrassed.
Mustafa rubs his bushy moustache. “Maybe, but you can’t be too careful with fires.”
“There have been a lot of them round here lately,” I agree.
“Still, I think most of the businesses have done OK out of the insurance money.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “As long as the police can’t prove it was arson.”
How cynical!
“In fact, I could do with a bit of that insurance money myself!” he laughs. “I bet we all could.”
I smile politely, thinking he’s finished, but he goes on,
“As long as the family was away, say, on holiday, for example. Then there would be no chance of anyone getting hurt. We’re off to Turkey at the end of next month, as it happens.”
I gape.
What is he saying?
He lets out an unconvincing laugh.
“Ha! Ha! Something to think about, anyway!”
I stare after him as he disappears into the kitchen.
What on earth just happened? Did he proposition me… to burn down the restaurant?
I shake the craziness out of my head.
What a night!
I return to my table and my friends, but the night has lost its magic.
As the clock strikes twelve, I feel strangely removed from everything. My friends kiss and hug, but I feel hollow inside. Someone hands me a glass of champagne and I down it before anyone even has a chance to clink my glass.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” Deacon asks, as he sees me into a taxi. “You’d be welcome to stay at ours again.”
“No, I’m fine,” I insist, pulling my pashmina tightly around my shoulders. Alicia materialises next to him and wraps her serpent like arms around his neck, staking her claim. I climb into the taxi and a lump forms in my throat as it pulls away. I don’t want to think about what goes on between them, but I really can’t help it. I imagine them laughing and tumbling into bed together and I feel queasy at the thought.
“I’ll drop you on the corner, love, if that’s all right?” the driver says, as he turns into my street. I nod. One of my neighbours is having a party and the street is chock-a-block with cars. I pay my fare and start to cross the street when another car catches my eye, a dirty white escort. I can just make out the registration plate in the moonlight: F-R-Y. FRY. I stop abruptly and try to get a look at the driver, but the car begins to pull away.
“No, wait!” I yell. I run after it, chase it all the way down the street until it picks up speed and roars away. And still, I run after it, but my stiletto-clad feet are no match for a car and finally, I have to admit defeat.
SMASH!
What was that?
For the first time, it occurs to me that this is not such a great neighbourhood to walk through in the middle of the night. I clutch my bag and walk faster, my heels click-clacking noisily on the pavement. I hear footsteps behind me and walk faster. The footsteps quicken too. I glance round in fear, but it’s just a young boy mimicking me. His friends laugh.
“What’s the rush, darling? Left something in the oven?”
I smile nervously, feeling a little foolish, but I keep moving. My heart pumps loudly in my chest until I’m back in my house, with the door safely locked behind me.
Upstairs, I find Fluffy stretched out contentedly at the foot of the bed. I climb in and close my eyes, listening to the soft, rhythmic hum of his snores. But every time I start to drift off, Alicia’s demonic face flashes before me.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she cackles, her whole mouth aflame. “Don’t you understand the significance of FRY?”
I rise at the first light of dawn and head for the only place I know that’s open at such an ungodly hour – the gym. I have so much pent up energy that a workout might be just what I need.
I do a token warm up, then jump on the treadmill and set it for a run. The machine squeaks in protest as I adjust the pace, faster and faster. Faster than I’ve ever run before. Sweat streams off my body, and still it’s not enough. I can’t get that terrible image out of my mind.
My face is as red as a beetroot as I make my way to the showers. I shed my clothes and step under the jet, enjoying the soothing sensation as the cool water washes over me. I close my eyes and massage shampoo deep into my scalp. Oh, that’s so relaxing.
“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”
Is that… the fire alarm?
I jolt to life, leaping out of the cubicle and skidding on the tiled floor. I lunge for my towel, pausing only to wrap it round me and rush towards the door. As my hand closes around the handle, I glance back at the other women in the room.
“Why isn’t anybody leaving?” I ask nervously.