Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

that make absolutely no sense.” He looked at the TV, barely glancing down as he shovelled in his

food. “But they have to be fun, you know? That’s why I like Austin Powers, with the random dancing

and songs. It’s almost like watching Bollywood.”

Fizz looked at him, trying to understand what he meant.

Ash caught the look and asked, “You ever seen a Bollywood movie?”

“Sorry,” Fizz shook his head. He didn’t want to add that his father had been more than a little bit

racist with regards to viewing choices. Anyone other than white on the TV was either shouted at, or

turned off. Another reason Fizz chose to stay in his room most of the time.

“Oh, boy!” Ash shot him a heart stopping smile. “You have got to watch some Bollywood. It’s the

answer to everything.”

“It is?”

“Of course.” Ash grinned down at his food, as he loaded up his fork. “If you watch a Bollywood

movie, you’ll understand.” He stuck the food in his mouth and chewed, looking thoughtful.

Swallowing, he said, “Of course, that does depend on the movie choice. Some of them are a bit –” Ash

arched his back, tilted his head up and put a hand to his forehead, striking an overly dramatic pose.

Fizz smiled in response. “Aren’t all films like that?”

Ash lost the pose and grinned. “Yeah, I guess. But nothing like a Bollywood tragedy. I’m not so

keen on them, I like the more modern ones. As far as I’m concerned, the more random, happy dancing

in a movie there is, all the better.”

“Dancing?” Fizz wasn’t sure he could picture what Ash was talking about.

“Yeah, well,” Ash began, staring down at his food. “I could lend you some DVDs, if you wanna see

‘em. Ryan and I were gonna have a movie night soon anyways. Or maybe...you and I could watch a

movie sometime?”

Fizz felt fire heat his face, and it had nothing to do with the curry. Placing his fork down gently, he

hid his hands under the table, wringing them together. “Ash, I – I don’t...I can’t –”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Ash said easily. “We’re friends, right?”

“Um, we are?”

“Sure we are.” Ash smiled at him. “We can watch a movie, right?”

Fizz was torn. He should in all honesty tell Ash that it really wasn’t worth his effort; Fizz could

never give anything back to him, no matter how much he wished he could. Even friendship would be a

struggle. He could remember those words his father had used, whilst on the phone to Fizz’s most

recent medical consultant, his conversation blaring out through the house: “He’s not all there. We’ve

done everything we can, but trying to talk to that boy...it’s like sweating over an old car that won’t

start. There’s no spark there.”

It was harsh, but pretty accurate, Fizz thought. That was his father all over really; blunt, and to the

point. So how was he supposed to deal with Ash and this situation? Fizz already felt guilty about it.

The way Ash looked at him so hopefully crumbled his resolve. Shit. Fizz took the coward’s way out,

and plastered on a smile. “Um, I guess we could watch a movie.”

Ash’s face lit up. “Great! I’ve got just the ones in mind. It’ll be ace, I promise. You’ll love

Bollywood.”

“Okay.”

They continued to eat. After laughing at a few more scenes in the movie that was still running, Ash

brought up a new topic. “I think Ryan will be pleased.”

“Huh?”

“You know, the reason he shoved us upstairs tonight, so he could stay downstairs.” Ash definitely

had a twinkle in his eye. “With your cousin.”

“Huh?” Fizz wasn’t sure he understood. “They’re low on staff.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Ash shook his head. “Poor Sammy. Ryan said they’re keeping him in hospital

overnight, just to check for concussion.”

Fizz nodded. That was right, and Ryan was doing a double shift to cover it.

“Then Rachel called in sick,” Ash went on. “But Ryan and Ginger are both workaholics, so really,

they’re probably enjoying this chance to work themselves to the bone so they can whinge about it

later. Quite alike, in lots of ways. I can see why Ryan likes him.”

“I...I don’t understand?”

Ash gave him a look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Oh, man!” Ash started laughing, covering his mouth with his hand. “Oh! I’m sorry to break this to

you. Especially as Ginger’s your cousin and all...”

“What?”

“Ryan kinda likes him.”

Fizz blinked, staring. “What? Are you sure?”

“Sure, sure.” Ash nodded. “Just watch Ryan the next time he’s around Ginger. Then compare it to

how mopey he is when Ginger isn’t around.”

“Oh.” Fizz thought about it. “I guess...I didn’t notice.”

“Well, I’ve known Ryan for a while now. There’s not much he can hide from me.”

“Um, has Dan – I mean, has Ginger said anything about it?”

Ash pulled a who-knows face and shrugged. “He doesn’t say much to anybody, never has done.

That’s why Ryan’s had a face like a wet weekend for the past...God knows how long. No one even

knows if Ginger...well, you know. If he swings that way.”

“He does,” Fizz blurted out.

Ash looked genuinely shocked, and sat up in his chair. “No way! For real?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Fizz flushed hard. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, no way. You don’t need to worry, I’m not a goss. Ryan’s my best friend.” Ash shook his head,

smiling. “Wow. I never thought. I mean, how do you know?”

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Cross my heart.” Ash smiled, drawing an X over his chest. Fizz had to tear his eyes away from

Ash, because he suddenly started imagining what was under that t-shirt. He cleared his throat.

“Um, well, Luke – my older brother – and Dan, they were pretty close, growing up. So, it’s just

what Luke mentioned to me. When Dan was in London, he...he had a boyfriend. I don’t know the

details, but it ended badly. That’s when he moved down here. Luke said Dan hasn’t been with anyone

since. Not that we know of.”

Ash was rapt. “Oh. My. God. No way! And Ryan doesn’t even know! Are you sure about this?”

Fizz took a deep breath and nodded. “We came to Brighton to visit him, before Luke moved in with

his fiancée. But, I guess I was young, and excited to be away from home. I didn’t get much chance to

speak to Dan, and I didn’t notice how upset he was. That’s when Luke told me about it on the drive

home. I felt so bad, but I don’t know how to bring it up now.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Ash said, calm and understanding. “Like you said, you were young. You didn’t

mean anything bad, and Ginger obviously likes you. He’s letting you stay here now, right?”

Fizz smiled wanly. Yes, but for how long? The thought of overstaying his welcome was enough to

make him want to run away before things turned sour.

Maybe picking up on the tension, Ash said, “I’m sure he appreciated your help tonight, you know.”

Fizz looked at him. He hadn’t thought of that before. How dense...

“Yeah,” he said. “I hope so. He’s...he’s a good guy.”

“Definitely,” Ash agreed. “Him and Pete let us practise for free.”

“Yeah.”

They were both smiling again. Fizz marvelled at how easy it felt, to smile at Ash and watch him

smile back. Scary, but easy. Don’t rush, he pleaded silently. Don’t rush.

“Relax.”

Fizz tensed. That voice. Before, it had calmed him, but now... Where the hell was it coming from?

He had this crazy urge to ask Ash if there was someone stood behind him, perhaps leaning down,

whispering in his ear. Fizz knew that was ridiculous, but now he’d pictured that image in his head, he

had trouble not thinking about it.

Chapter Eight

The dream was so vivid, it almost felt real. Ginger was there. Of course, pretty much all of his

dreams revolved around Ginger. The dream started with them talking then, just like that, they were

kissing. Ryan felt the warm press of lips against his, the hard planes of Ginger’s body. He wrapped his

arms around Ginger’s neck, and clung on tight. His feet weren’t touching the ground, he simply

floated. “Daniel.” He spoke without words, somehow knowing he’d be heard. “Daniel, I love you. I

love you so much, please –”

It wasn’t real. Even as he held onto Ginger, relishing touching him, he knew it wasn’t real. As much

as Ryan wanted this, it was never going to happen. A sob wracked his throat, and he felt an

overwhelming urge to cry.

Ryan opened his eyes, and the dream was over. He stared up at the wall. Posters of Jake Gyllenhaal

and Johnny Depp stared impassively back at him. Waking so suddenly brought mixed feelings. While

Ryan had been happily living in his own fantasies for some time now, he couldn’t deny they were

starting to do more bad than good if he woke up feeling this depressed. His face was wet. Scrubbing at

his eyes, he kidded himself that he hadn’t been crying.

No point going back to sleep. Light shone around his curtains, which meant it wasn’t night any

more, and that meant he could finally go to the bathroom without worrying about any strange noises,

or footsteps or...

Anything else.

Ryan felt uneasy about those noises, especially at night. He could’ve sworn he kept hearing

someone laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh either, it was more of a mocking laugh. Like someone was

laughing at him. The sounds filtered up the stairs, along the halls, but never seemed to come from one

direction at any one time. It was just everywhere. And always when he was on his own.

To combat lone trips to the bathroom at night, Ryan had stopped drinking fluids before going to

bed. During the night, he held onto his full bladder as long as possible. At this rate, he’d need to buy a

bed pan.

Ryan stretched in his bed, about to get up. Then he frowned, and looked down. What was that wet

patch? He pulled back the duvet. In stunned horror, he stared down at himself and the sticky mess all

over his pants and sheets. He hadn’t had a dream like this in years. Not since he was a teenager. Now

he’d have to wash his sheets and have a shower. And hope nobody found out about it.

“Great,” he muttered. “Just great.”

Dragging himself out of bed, Ryan tried to think about other things as he bundled his laundry into a

pile. He’d put new sheets on his bed later; he couldn’t be bothered right now. He stripped off and

grabbed his towel. Holding it loosely around his body, he poked his head out into the hall.

Quiet. But that was normal, as it was still early. Well, early for the pub. Obviously no one else was

up yet, which hopefully meant there would be lots of hot water.

Tip-toeing over the carpet and down the hall, Ryan slipped into the bathroom, closing and locking

the door. He turned on the shower head and pulled the curtain across the bath, waiting for the water to

heat up. Sometimes it took forever and a day.

In the meantime, he hung up his towel and relieved his aching bladder. Ryan tried not to stare into

the grimy filth of the toilet bowl as he peed. Someone was going to have to clean that soon. Someone,

as in, him. He sighed, closed the lid, and flushed. The cistern made a clanking sound, then the most

horrendous noise. Ryan frowned at it, wondering what was wrong. The pipes seemed to rattle, and

Ryan jumped in fright when a deep, long note reverberated through the pipe work. That was bound to

wake everyone up. Ryan thought it rather sounded like a ship coming in to dock. He prayed this didn’t

mean the toilet was about to break down.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it right now.

Sticking his hand under the shower spray of water, Ryan was quietly amazed to find it was hot. He

stepped into the bath and stood under the shower head. He used a blob of his two-in-one shampoo and

conditioner to wash his hair, which made multi-coloured streams of dye run down his body. The

colours pooled in the soap suds at the base of the stall, dyeing the bubbles rainbow shades. Ryan didn’t

care much about his hair. He needed to re-dye it soon anyway. He grabbed shower gel next, and

washed away all the sticky remains from his skin.

Idly, his gaze fell on the items balanced precariously along the rim of the bath. As it was all blokes,

there were a lot of Lynx products, as well as Pete’s L’Oreal for men. Sammy tended to favour the

more extravagant, girly-looking products. He had a collection of interesting looking bath oils and

some glittery, handmade soaps from Lush. The slightly grubby ring around the bath tub also had

remnants of Sammy’s glitter bath-bombs, which everyone knew Matt hated with a passion. Matt was

not a glitter fan.

There were also hair clips, combs, latex gloves and discarded, empty hair dye pots, as well as brand

new pots. Some of them were Ryan’s; he’d started to buy the same brand Ginger used, La Riche. The

little pots of dye were only temporary, but the colours were bright and vibrant. They smelled good too.

Whenever Ryan saw one of those pots, he thought of Ginger’s hair. Ginger had all the best shades

of red, streaks of each one in his hair, so the overall colour was deep and varied. Ryan knew Ginger’s

favourite colours off by heart, as he’d memorised the names printed on their lids. Pillar-box red,

poppy red, fire, rubine, dark tulip, vermilion red.

Sometimes Ryan borrowed a little of Ginger’s pillar-box red to use on his own hair. He liked to

have the streaked rainbow effect in his mowie, and secretly loved having one of Ginger’s colours in

his hair. Ryan caught himself staring at the dye pots, feeling sorry for himself. God, he had to get out

more. He should go on the pull, put himself out there.

How long had it been since he’d had sex anyway? Six months? Seven? The worst part was, he was

starting to get used to it. The dream came back to him, along with the feel of holding Ginger, and

being held in his arms.

Ryan wanted that contact so badly. His body responded to thought, and very quickly he found

himself with a hard on. He stared down at himself. Great. Now what? Although...he was alone.

Under the spray of warm water, Ryan closed his eyes and wrapped his hand around his cock. He let

the memory of the dream invade him; Ginger holding and kissing him. His imagination took hold as

he began to stroke himself purposefully. A sigh escaped his mouth, then turned into a squeal as the

water abruptly lost its heat. Ice cold water now lashed over him, and Ryan fumbled to turn it off. He

staggered out of the bath and stood, dripping wet, on the mat.

That strange honk sounded through the pipes again, along with more thumps and clanks. Just as

quickly as it started, after a few more seconds, the noises stopped. Ryan heaved in a sigh. He grabbed

his towel and started to dry himself off, taking care not to touch his cock, which was still hard, and

bobbing at him eagerly.

“Just forget it,” he told himself. He didn’t have time to feel horny anyway. He had to go and put his

washing on, before someone else beat him to the machine. Then he had to get ready, and tell someone

about that weird noise –

Footsteps echoed along the hall. Ryan froze. Oh God, he thought. Not again. He didn’t dare move.

But it was day time, surely the...the whatever it was only came out at night? He listened, his ears on

stalks as the footsteps came closer. They stopped just outside the door. Ryan’s breath caught in his

throat. There was a gentle rap on the wood.

“Who’s that?” a voice asked.

Ginger. Ryan gasped in relief. It’s only Ginger.

“It’s me, Ryan,” he called back. “I’m just –” His words died on his lips, as he saw the bolt on the

door begin to move. No, he thought. What the hell? Bolts don’t move of their own accord. And yet,

there it was, deftly sliding itself back in the lock.

Ryan was stunned, then flew into a panic as the door swung open. Ginger was on the other side,

looking sleepy and confused. Ryan scrabbled to pull his towel around himself, trying to cover up.

Ginger’s eyes roved over him, growing that little bit wider as he took in Ryan’s state of undress. “Oh,”

he said, blinking several times. “Sorry, Ry. Why...why’d you open the door?”

Ryan was distracted, as Ginger wasn’t exactly dressed either. He was bare chested, tattoos on

display, and only had on his pyjama bottoms, those thin, cotton ones that sat low on his hips. Ryan

tried not to drool openly at the sight of all that exposed skin. Ginger’s tattoo of feathered wings

peeked out from his pyjama bottoms, the design sweeping over jutting hip bones. A dusting of fine,

blonde hair marked a faint line from his belly button to lower abdomen. Ryan’s cock swelled at the

sight. He lowered his eyes and wrapped the towel more securely around himself. “Sorry,” he

mumbled. “I didn’t...I mean, the door just opened. I think it’s bust, or something.”

Ginger shrugged. “Most things are, in this place. Are you done? I need the loo.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” He held onto his towel, willing it not to fall down, and made to step out of the

bathroom. Ginger tried to make room for him in the hall to walk past, but they both went the same

way. They ended up doing a little dance trying to get around each other. Ryan’s eyes were fixed on

Ginger’s chest, on smooth, pale skin, and the pair of silver rings hung through his nipples. The

sensation of feeling completely naked whilst being this close to Ginger messed with his mind. It took

all of Ryan’s will power not to throw the towel off and launch himself forward.

Did Ginger know how desperate he was? Did the man notice him at all?

All Ginger did was smile nervously, and mumble, “Sorry.” He stepped around Ryan, hurrying into

the bathroom. Ryan had the door closed on him. He stood there in the hall, trying not to imagine

Ginger pulling down those pyjama bottoms...

Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Moron,” he whispered to himself, and

started to trudge away. Halfway back to his room, Ryan heard the toilet flush, and that loud honk

shudder along the pipes hidden in the walls.

Christ, it’s even louder out here.

Laughter caught his ear, and Ryan instinctively looked to where he thought it was coming from.

Except he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. That low, dirty chuckle seemed to travel around the walls, along

with that strange honk.

Ryan didn’t hang around. He ran to his room, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

“ – and of course, the intercom was broken,” Matt went on. “And my phone was missing. Still is

missing, actually.”

“Hm,” Ryan replied. He sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. Matt glanced at him, then

turned his attention back to the frying pan as he laid a slice of egg soaked bread inside.

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have used the stupid thing,” Matt explained. “That ancient, crappy dumb

waiter was an accident waiting to happen.”

“Mm.”

“Ryan?”

“Hm?”

Matt glared at him. “Are you even listening?”

Ryan looked up, a faraway expression on his face. “Huh?” he said.

Matt resisted the urge to throw his spatula across the room. With a frown, he turned back to the pan,

and jabbed at the bread instead. “I was saying about the dumb waiter, how dangerous it was.” He

swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “Because it...it’s my fault.”

Ryan sighed, although quietly. “Matt, don’t be daft. It was an accident. Sammy said so. No one’s

blaming you.”

“Yeah, well,” Matt mumbled, flipping the slice of bread in the pan. It sizzled in reply. Matt knew

what they all wondered. They wondered if he’d done it on purpose, if he’d tried to hurt Sammy. He

had to admit, the thought was a little tempting. Sammy didn’t half tread on his nerves, but the reality

of Sammy being hurt was nothing at all like a passing whim. Matt surprised himself by feeling guilty.

And it was his fault, no matter what anyone else said. If he’d just walked down the damn stairs in the

first place to ask about that order, Sammy wouldn’t have been put in hospital overnight.

Matt glanced at the clock again. Half past ten. He should be prepping his kitchen by now, but

Ginger had gone to collect Sammy in the car, and Matt hovered around, not sure what to do with

himself. When he’d seen Ryan fumble through the kitchen, he’d offered to make him breakfast. Ryan

definitely wasn’t with it today. Maybe he hadn’t slept well, Matt thought. He dished up the slice of

eggy bread onto a plate, and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Ryan said.

Matt turned back to the counter, and dipped another slice of bread into the egg mix. He had to keep

moving, keep doing something. Otherwise he’d go mad. That dazed look on Sammy’s face after the

accident haunted him, burned into his mind. He’d dreamed about those placid, green and blue eyes,

and the bright trickle of blood running down Sammy’s forehead.

Matt was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming upstairs, and a familiar

voice. That was Ginger, which meant he’d brought Sammy back. Matt tried to stay calm, but his elbow

managed to knock the packet of bread to the floor, and a couple of slices flew out on the sticky

linoleum. Matt stooped to pick them up.

Could have been worse, he thought. At least bread didn’t break. Not like... Shaking the thought

away, he binned the escapees, and swung the bagged loaf back onto the counter top.

Ginger appeared in the doorway, his hand on Sammy’s back. “Look who it is,” Ginger announced.

“Our wounded soldier.”

“Hey, Sammy,” Ryan said. “It’s been far too quiet without you.”

Sammy smiled at him nervously, then his eyes darted over to Matt.

Matt shuffled on the spot, feeling all kinds of terrible. “Do you want some breakfast?” he offered.

“You should eat something,” Ginger agreed. He nudged Sammy into the kitchen. “Go sit. Matt, if

you’re cooking, I’ll go get Fizz. He should eat too.”

Matt nodded, only too pleased to be of use. Ginger disappeared, his footsteps echoing down the

hall. Sammy wandered into the kitchen, eyes drawn to the spitting pan.

“Eggy bread?” Matt asked, not quite brave enough to look Sammy in the eye.

“Sure,” Sammy replied quietly. “Thanks.”

Matt busied himself with cooking. He drew out the bigger pan from a cupboard. If he was going to

be cooking for four, he’d need the room.

Ryan pulled out a chair for Sammy, who plopped down into it. “All better now?” he asked. Sammy

made a noise, almost like a hum. Matt glanced over his shoulder, curious. Sammy was staring at the

TV, which was currently tuned into an day-time repeat of Murder, She Wrote. It wasn’t like Sammy to

be so quiet. Normally he loved being the centre of attention. The Sammy he knew talked at a million

miles an hour, usually with bubbly laughs and sweeping hand gestures thrown in.

Now, he barely seemed awake. Matt tried not to panic. All sorts of worried thoughts ran through his

head. What if Sammy had amnesia? Or permanent brain damage, or something equally as bad? Ryan

must have been concerned too, as he touched Sammy’s arm and asked, “You feeling okay?”

Sammy looked at him, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just a little tired. Some crazy bloke on the ward

kept babbling on all night, so I didn’t sleep much.”

“Oh, I see,” Ryan said. “Tell you what, while Matt’s cooking, we’ll brew fresh coffee.”

“Okay,” Sammy replied, eyes drifting back to the TV.

Ryan sniffed the air. “Er, Matt? Is something burning?”

Matt turned back to his pan. “Oh, crap,” he grumbled, pulling out a blackened slice of bread. He

tossed it in the bin, then glanced at Sammy again.

Silence. The old Sammy would never have missed a chance to rib Matt for making a mistake.

However, all Sammy did now was look at him calmly. That must have been quite a bump on the head,

Matt thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what to make of this.

Ginger returned, with Fizz in tow. “‘Ere we go.” He guided a sleeping-looking Fizz into a chair, and

sat him down. Fizz hid a yawn behind his hand. He was dressed, but his eyes were barely open, and his

hair was all rumpled.

“Coffee?” Ryan offered, jumping to attention.

“I’ll make it.” Ginger told him. “You finish your...square omelette, or whatever that is.”

“Eggy bread.” Ryan beamed.

Matt noticed that whenever Ginger spoke to Ryan, it caused Ryan to light up like a love-struck fool.

“Oh, right.” Ginger stared down at Ryan’s plate. “Is that what eggy bread is then?”

Ryan looked surprised. “You’ve never had it?”

“Guess not.” Ginger walked over to the counter, picked up the coffee pot, then filled it with water at

the sink.

Matt noticed Ryan’s lingering look at Ginger’s back. He rolled his eyes to himself, and went back

to cracking more eggs. “So,” he said. “Everyone’s having eggy bread, right?”

“Go on, then,” Ginger replied. “Fizz will, too.”

“Where’s Pete?”

“Think he popped out to check on Rachel,” Ryan said.

“Just us, then.” Ginger put the coffee back on its stand and flipped the switch. “We’ve got an hour

till open, but I doubt it’ll get busy until mid-afternoon. The sky looks like it’s about to chuck it down

any moment.”

Matt nodded. He’d still need to prep his kitchen anyway. Sunday was their busiest day for food.

“Oh, and,” Ginger added, turning on the counter to look at them all. “Try to leave the dumb waiter

alone, yeah?”

“I’m not going near that thing,” Sammy said.

Matt nodded in agreement, guilt washing over him.

“Good,” Ginger said. He glanced at Sammy. “Actually, Sammy, I don’t think you should work

today. Pete said much the same thing. Just chill out up here, okay?”

Sammy frowned back at him. “But I’m fine.”

“Great, and you’ll be even more fine with another day’s rest. You won’t lose any pay, Pete will sort

you out.”

“But –”

“No but’s.”

Sammy shrugged. “Okay.”

Ryan swivelled in his chair to face Ginger. “Hey, seeing as the dumb waiter’s kaput, how will we

get the food orders up and down stairs?”

Ginger’s gaze fell on Fizz, who was trying his hardest to stay awake. “Actually, if Fizz doesn’t

mind, maybe he could run the orders out to people?”

“Huh?” Fizz was suddenly wide awake. “Me?”

“Yeah, just like with the glass collecting,” Ginger said. “If there’s an order, take the ticket up to

Matt, then bring the food downstairs to the table.”

“Um, er...” Fizz shot a panicked look at Matt, then back to his cousin.

Matt ignored that look, and concentrated on whisking his egg mix. What was the kid afraid of

exactly? Did he think he’d meet with an untimely accident like Sammy? God. Matt whisked harder in

frustration.

“It’ll be fine,” Ginger said. “And it’ll really help us out.”

“Will you be working too?” Fizz asked quietly.

“I’ll be around. I’m gonna have a bash at fixing the other toilet up here, before the one in the

bathroom conks out, too.”

“Oh,” Fizz said.

“It’ll be all right,” Ryan pitched in. “I’ll be downstairs with you.”

“Oh-kay.”

“And as it’s Sunday, I think my friends might pop in,” Ryan added.

Sammy perked up. “Is Ash coming?”

Ryan blinked at him, a somewhat guilty look on his face that he swiftly tried to cover up. “Er...not

sure. Maybe just Dee and Glen...”

“Well, if they’re coming, Ash is bound to,” Sammy said brightly. “They’re practically joined at the

hip.”

“Aren’t you setting up for Sunday Slam later?” Ginger asked.

“Um, yeah.” Ryan didn’t sound terribly sure.

Sammy smiled, his first one since arriving back home. “Well, that means Ash is definitely coming

then.”

Ryan took a swig of tea, muttering something into his cup. Matt picked up on the tension in the

room, and the curious look Fizz sneaked at Sammy. He could hazard a guess at what that was about.

Last night, after getting home from Kung Fu, Matt had stumbled in on Fizz, and Ryan’s friend, Ash,

having what looked like a cosy dinner for two. He hadn’t said anything, but they’d both looked guilty

enough. When Sammy found out about whatever was going on, he wouldn’t be happy.

Chapter Nine

Fizz sipped his drink. Ryan had given it to him; a pint of blackcurrant soda, with a straw. Fizz had

tried to pay for it but Ryan told him mixers on tap were free to staff. Fizz had put his fifty pence into

the charity box instead. He sat on a rickety bar stool, hiding away in the back bar. Ryan had brought

the stool for him too, when he guessed that Fizz didn’t want to hang out in the brighter front bar with

them. Fizz liked it back here. It was dark and quiet; no one would notice him. He was next to the dumb

waiter, its hatch was closed, with a hastily scribbled “out of order” note stuck over the top.

That hatch gave Fizz a bad feeling, so he didn’t look at it. He stared at the floor, vaguely watching

Ryan’s and Pete’s legs in his peripheral. Odd snatches of their conversation with the customers

filtered through to him, but he listened to the music playing instead. The jukebox was on, allowing

customers to pick and choose their music. Fizz knew that Ginger had loaded the jukebox, and its

choices reflected that. It was mostly classic rock, with some old metal and punk thrown in.

Fizz tuned back in when he noticed Ryan approach.

“Time to visit the bear in his cave.” Ryan held out an order ticket.

Fizz nodded. He took the ticket, left his drink by the kettle on the side counter, and exited through

the staff door. It wasn’t far to the kitchen. Past the street door – the same one he’d arrived at not three

weeks earlier – and up the steps to the mini landing, where the pile of staff coats, bags and general lost

property from the bar accumulated. Then up a full flight of stairs, and onto the first floor.

The air was noticeably stuffier up here, but it was still preferable to staying in his room, Fizz

thought. It felt even stuffier in there. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been sleeping well. He was tired,

and just couldn’t seem to fall into a sleep pattern.

Fizz could hear the angry clash of heavy, doom-filled music as he walked to the kitchen. It was so

loud, Matt didn’t even hear him come in. Fizz tried to get Matt’s attention by holding the ticket out.

He didn’t want to interrupt; there were pots boiling, ovens door slamming, and vegetables being

chopped, all at once it seemed. Matt was a whirlwind. He worked quickly, and seemed to have

everything under control. Fizz was pleased about that, as he worried that Ginger was going to suggest

he helped Matt in the kitchen next. The smell of all that cooking meat was a little too much for him to

stomach.

Matt spun round, and finally noticed him. Fizz limply held out the ticket. He dared a glance up,

then looked away. Matt was a little intimidating. Whilst not unpleasant to look at, it seemed his dark

brows were permanently drawn together in a frown. Fizz didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile. Not

that he was one to judge, he thought.

“Oh, thanks.” Matt stalked over and took the note. He pinned it onto the metal overhead with a