Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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magnet. “There’s two dinners here to take down. Order number four.”

“Number four, number four,” Fizz repeated under his breath, worried he’d forget. He picked up the

plates, both laden with full with roast dinner.

“Don’t forget to come back for the gravy,” Matt added.

Fizz looked at him in a panic, then processed what he’d said. Gravy. Come back for the gravy.

Okay. He tried to keep the plates level as he nodded. Matt turned away, muttering to himself. Fizz

knew that was his cue to leave. He exited the kitchen backwards, his hip slowly nudging the swing

door open.

The plates were heavy. Fizz paused along the hallway to balance the plates on the windowsill, to get

a better grip. His eyes were drawn to the window, watching the sheets of rain pelt down outside. It was

a grey, miserable day. Although he supposed he was lucky it was a quiet Sunday, otherwise he was

bound to make more mistakes.

Fizz took careful hold of the plates, and tried to ignore that icy tickle on the back of his neck. He

walked faster in an attempt to get away from it. When he arrived in the bar, Ryan asked him, “Do you

want to take them out? It’s just that couple sitting by the fireplace.”

Fizz wanted to keep moving, to get away from that tickle on his neck. He nodded and hurried past,

edging through the gap in the bar. The couple, a woman with curly red hair, and a man with blond

dreadlocks, looked up at him as he approached. Fizz tried to smile but he didn’t quite manage it. He

concentrated on placing their dinners on the table instead.

“Oh.” The girl frowned down at the food. “Don’t we get any gravy?”

Fizz knew what to say, but he couldn’t quite get the words out of his mouth. The couple looked up

at him, waiting, and he froze. His heart started thumping, the panic swirled in the pit of his belly.

Then, the icy touch was on his neck. The voice would be next, Fizz thought. He dreaded to hear that

voice, because it made him wonder if he was going mad.

“Hold your horses, Sheila,” Ryan said, appearing at the table. “Gravy’s coming.”

Fizz breathed out slowly. Ryan was here, everything would be okay. Ryan placed cutlery and

napkins on the table, placating the couple with one of his smiles. “Unfortunately the dumb waiter’s

broken,” he explained. “Hopefully it’ll be fixed soon, but in the meantime there’s a lot of stairs

between us and the kitchen.”

“Oh no!” Sheila exclaimed, completely focussed on Ryan. “That’s a pain for you guys.”

“Yeah, but it’s good exercise though.” Ryan smiled again. He glanced at Fizz, his eyes conveying

the message: it’s fine, you can get the gravy now. Fizz nodded his head in gratitude, then retreated

back the way he’d come.

In the privacy of the stairs, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. When he opened the door to

Matt’s kitchen, he saw two small gravy pots waiting for him on the side. Matt had his back to him,

furiously working, swearing at the oven. Not seeing any other orders to take, Fizz picked up the gravy

pots, and rushed off again.

Ryan was still talking to the couple at their table, as they waited for their gravy. Fizz put the pots by

their plates and backed away. They thanked him and continued talking to Ryan, who was laughing

with them over some joke or other. Fizz wondered how he made it look so easy; Ryan had this

undeniably warm presence, and people certainly responded to it.

Fizz hid in the back bar again, clutching at his drink as he sipped it. Just one step at a time, he told

himself. It hadn’t been a disaster so far.

Then the door opened, and three familiar boys came in, wet from the rain. Dee, Glen, and Ash. Fizz

almost dropped his drink in surprise. He stayed where he was, hoping no one noticed him in the

shadows. He could have nipped through the staff door and hidden on the stairs but, for some reason, he

didn’t want to leave.

The three boys approached the bar. Ryan returned and stood behind the beer pumps, opposite his

friends, to greet them. Pete, who was already behind the bar, asked, “Have you pooed a flag yet?”

“No, he hasn’t!” Glen laughed. “Not for want of trying, though.”

“Too right!” Dee said. He then began to tell Pete in great detail about his bowel movements that

morning.

“Dee, shut up.” Ash pulled a face. “Can’t we eat first?”

“And talk shit later?” Glen suggested.

Ryan cut in quickly. “What are you lot drinking?” He started to fix their drinks without even

waiting for a reply. The conversation quickly moved onto beer, then food. Ryan picked up the notepad

and wrote down their orders.

Fizz held his breath. He didn’t think anyone had seen him yet, but when Ryan tore off the order and

turned to look at him, he noticed the others watching. Ryan stayed where he was, and held out the

paper between his fingers. “Fizz, can you run this up to Matt?”

Fizz wondered if he was being paranoid, but it was almost as if Ryan wanted him to come forward

to collect the ticket. All the other times, Ryan had come into the back bar to hand tickets to him.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, Fizz set down his drink, and took tentative steps into the light. He

focussed on the ticket in Ryan’s hand, and gently took it from him.

“Thanks.” Ryan smiled, then carried on ringing the orders through the till. Fizz tried to keep his

eyes lowered. He knew he was in full view of everyone now, and that knowledge brought on the

beginnings of a flush. He turned away, hoping he could escape before anyone noticed. Dee and Glen

were busy nattering to Pete.

Then a familiar voice said, “Hey, Fizz.”

Fizz’s eyes darted up. He caught Ash smiling at him, like he was really pleased to see him. Fizz felt

his cheeks burn hot, and he wanted nothing more than to run away. He was surprised when he felt his

own lips pull into a smile. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, more like an automatic reaction. There

was just something about the way Ash looked at him.

Fizz turned away quickly. He caught Ryan glancing at him, and was even more embarrassed when

Ryan gave him a subtle, knowing smile. This was too much, Fizz decided.

He hurried up the stairs. After handing the order to Matt, Fizz hovered in the kitchen, too nervous to

go back downstairs. Matt raised an eyebrow, then glanced again at the order for three roast dinners.

The order was: one chicken, no peas; one pork, no cabbage, and one nut roast, extra potatoes, with the

addendum, “Customer’s request, make them decent sized potatoes, please!”

“Let me guess,” Matt said. “Dee, Glen, and Ash?”

Fizz nodded, too nervous to speak.

“Hmf,” Matt huffed, then cast his eye at Fizz with a meaningful glare.

Fizz was confused. Was Matt annoyed with him? What had he done? Matt went back to his work,

and Fizz decided maybe he’d better wait out in the hall.

When the dinners were ready, Matt came downstairs with him to carry the third dinner, and the

gravy pots. As the plates were set on the boys’ table, they all broke into laughter over the comedy

shaped Yorkshire pudding Matt had given Dee.

“It looks like a chuff!” Dee guffawed.

“Yeah, thought you’d like it,” Matt said. “Easily amused.”

While they were distracted, Fizz managed to slip away.

Half an hour later, he was behind the bar, piling up dirty plates. Like the used glasses that were

collected, the used plates were stacked, then placed on the back bar. It was a handy place to dump

things when collecting dirties, walking from one end of the pub to the other. Ryan and Pete went

around collecting glasses and plates, stacking them at the back bar for Fizz to deal with.

That was fine by Fizz. Even though it was cramped, he liked being in the back bar. There were big

boxes of wires stashed behind the bar – used for the live music nights – and a box of promotional St.

Patrick’s Day items from Guinness. The rest of the bar was empty, not having been used for a while.

The beer pumps here didn’t work. Everyone knew drinks were served from the front bar only, so Fizz

was safe at this end.

The rain had gotten worse throughout the day. Through the windows, Fizz could see black clouds in

the sky, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. All the lights inside the pub had been switched on,

yet it still managed to look gloomy. A mixture of dim and green-tinted bulbs did not make for good

lighting.

Fizz loaded the dirty glasses into the glass washer, and put clean ones up on the shelves. He took

plates back up to the kitchen, four at a time. On his second trip down, he shuffled into the bar quietly.

His hands reached around the last stack of plates, counting how many were left. Seven. Could he carry

seven? Maybe two trips would be best. He didn’t want to drop any halfway up the stairs.

Fizz was concentrating so hard on his task, that he didn’t notice a figure appear on the other side of

the bar. “I’ll help you take those up,” Ash offered. Fizz jumped in surprise, then felt silly for doing so.

Ash smiled at him.

“I – I’m okay,” Fizz said weakly.

“It’s no problem.” Ash darted a look round. Pete had disappeared into the cellar to change a barrel,

and Ryan was busy talking to a customer, with his back to them. No one was looking. Ash reached up

to hold onto the wooden overhang, then eased himself up. He swung first one leg, then the other over

the bar, landing fluidly on the ground Fizz’s side. Fizz realised he must have done that before. Either

that, or he was naturally graceful. If Fizz ever tried something like, that he’d fall flat on his face.

He blinked up at Ash. Now what? What was he supposed to do? The back bar – quiet and gloomy as

it was – was his little sanctuary. Having Ash here, right next to him, threw him off balance.

Ash grinned at him, then grabbed half the stack of plates. “Okay?”

Fizz felt like a fool. The icy tingle stroked his neck, and he tried to suppress the shudder that

followed. Keeping his eyes lowered, he nodded. Fizz picked up the remaining plates, and followed Ash

upstairs.

Ash hummed as they walked. Fizz was grateful for that, as it meant he didn’t have to think of

something to say. The look Matt gave them when they entered the kitchen was genuine surprise,

followed by another of those meaningful glares. Fizz got the impression that Matt didn’t approve of

him being friends with Ash.

What had he done? His mind raced away with the possibilities, as he walked back along the hall

with Ash at his side. Before they reached the stairs, Ash stopped.

“Have you seen the function room yet?”

“Huh?”

“The function room,” Ash said with smile. “It’s well cool. I helped paint it. Come look.”

Fizz watched him stride off. Where’s he going? Ash ignored the door that led to upstairs, and went

to a second door. Fizz hadn’t noticed it before. It was heavy, with a security lock like all the other

doors had. Ash punched in a code, then twisted the lock, heaving open the door. It creaked ominously.

Inside was dark. There were heavy, thick curtains on large windows. Ash slapped his hand on the wall,

flicking a switch several times.

“No one’s fixed the lights, I take it. They blew last time we were up here. Help me open the

curtains.”

“Are we allowed in here?” Fizz asked tentatively.

“Ryan won’t mind.” Ash grabbed the curtain nearest to him. “The view’s great, but not as good as

the top of the building. In Pete’s room, you can see the whole of the pier, and even out to sea.”

Ash pulled hard, drawing the curtain back. Light flooded the room, and Fizz followed him inside.

It was a large, high ceilinged room, with a tiny bar on the far right. That left the rest of the space

open. There were five big, old windows here, just like the ones upstairs in the staff flats. But instead of

faded magnolia, these walls looked fantastic.

They’d been painted dark blue with smatterings of glittery blobs at various intervals. Fizz thought

maybe they were stars. On the lower half of the wall was a frieze of black and red flames, rising up

from the floor. The floor itself was bare floorboards, covered in the centre with a large, mankylooking

rug. There were some tattered streamers dotted about, the remnants of a party, perhaps.

On the far side of the room was a built-in bench section that ran under the windows. Ash jumped

onto it, and tried to pull the curtain back. “Can you give me a hand?”

Fizz carefully stepped onto the ledge. He tugged at the section of curtain that wouldn’t come free,

and together they managed to get it open. Fizz found himself gazing out on a perfect view of the Old

Steine, and Victoria Gardens. The plaster cast statues of the pub’s own king and queen were just

visible on either side of the window.

“Oh, wow.” Fizz leaned into the glass for a better look. He loved the figurines, the way they stood

guard over the building.

“Cool, huh?” Ash said, standing next to him. “It’s a shame you weren’t here in August. We watched

the Pride parade from up here. Best seats in the house.”

Fizz breathed in sharply. The flutterings of panic rose in his stomach, but it wasn’t the usual,

trembling sort of panic he was used to. No, this was much lighter; a feeling tinged with anticipation.

This special blend of panic only seemed to appear when he was with Ash. Fizz barely noticed the icy

tingle on his neck, but he heard the voice.

“Ask him.”

“Are – are you gay?” The words tumbled out of Fizz’s mouth before he realised what he was

saying. Ash didn’t seem offended. He shrugged, gazing out of the window. “Maybe half. I guess some

people would call that bi, but I don’t like labels. You just like who you like, right?”

Fizz swallowed. “Do – do your parents...?”

“I think my dad’s guessed by now. It’s not really an issue with him. He went against an arranged

marriage to be with my mum, and they went through all sorts of shit for that. He knows he’s not in a

position to judge me, so I guess I’m lucky that way.”

“Oh.” Fizz glanced at Ash’s face; the burnished skin, the blacker than black hair. “Where’s your

mum from?”

Ash’s smile faded. “Mum was English. Paler than you, even. She died a few years ago.”

Fizz winced, hating himself for ever asking the question. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ash looked at him and smiled.

This time, Fizz didn’t look away. He searched those dark eyes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” Ash told him. “I’m in my second year of Uni. How about you?”

“Huh?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh.” Fizz tried to ignore the heat creeping up his face. “Twenty. I – I never went to...I mean, I

never finished school.”

A look of concern passed over Ash’s face. “Oh, right.”

Fizz looked away, more embarrassed than he ever remembered feeling in his life. He hated

admitting to not finishing school. Why had he even said anything? He didn’t want anyone – least of all

someone like Ash – to know how utterly useless he was.

Ash shrugged. “School is over rated anyway. Don’t know about yours, but the school I went to was

proper rubbish. The other kids mucked about so much, I swear our teachers gave up. I didn’t learn

anything decent until I went to college.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, totally. So many of us failed the exams. Guess we weren’t paying much attention, to be fair.

When we got to college, loads of us had to retake stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, the basics. Maths, English, Science.” Ash absently traced the rim of flaking window pane with

his finger. “I know he’s older than us, but did you know Ryan failed most of his exams too? And he

didn’t go to college either, he just jumped straight into work. Look at him now, working his way up

the ladder here. Although –” He grinned. “ –between you and me, I think Ryan would do any job

going, so long as he was close to you know who.”

“Oh, right. Does Ryan – I mean, are you sure he likes Dan that way?”

Ash just kept smiling at him. Fizz had to look away. He was suddenly very aware of a warm flush

stealing over his whole body, and the fact that he was alone with Ash.

“Look out there.” Ash pointed at the window, distracting him. Fizz looked, then froze in panic as

Ash moved his body to stand next to him. Ash pressed his finger to the window, pointing at something

in the distance, as he dipped his face near to Fizz’s. “See out there?” he said. “That contraption on the

skyline, the one that looks like a giant jack hammer?”

Fizz tried to stay calm. He looked to where Ash was pointing. He’d forgotten to breathe, and had to

quickly suck in a breath. “Um, where?”

Ash moved his head slightly lower, to see from Fizz’s height. He adjusted his finger on the window.

“That tall one there. Over the top of the pier domes. See it?”

Fizz followed with his eyes, focussing past the decorated points of the Palace Pier. Sure enough,

there was something that looked like a giant jack hammer, or a crane, behind the domes.

“I don’t know if you’ve been on it yet,” Ash said. “But that ride kinda flings people up and down,

like a giant slingshot. The whole pier jerks a bit when it does that.”

“I – I haven’t been on the pier.”

Ash moved back slightly to blink at him. “What, never?”

Fizz shook his head. Those dark eyes trapped him again. Even though the panic danced in his belly,

he found he couldn’t look away.

“The pier’s amazing.” Ash said. “Well, I mean, it’s kinda lame with all the kiddie rides and the

arcade full of morons...but apart from that, it’s got great views, and the best hot donuts ever in the

history of all mankind!”

Fizz wondered how to tell Ash that he’d never be able to set foot near the pier, let alone walk on it.

All those people. The thought terrified him. But the way Ash looked at him now made him feel awful

for even thinking like a defeatist. In his mind’s eye, Fizz saw himself walking along the pier with Ash.

Maybe, he thought. Maybe –

“Fizz, there you are.” A familiar voice broke into his thoughts. Fizz whipped around, almost

stumbling against the window. Ash grabbed his arm to steady him. Ginger was at the door, eyeing

them both. “What are you doing?”

“Just checking out the view,” Ash said casually. “Fizz hadn’t seen it yet.”

“Hm.” Ginger frowned in response. “Fizz, I’m going to the kitchen to get a roast. Go wait upstairs,

and I’ll bring one up for you, too.”

Fizz’s heart sank. “Okay,” he said quietly. Ash’s fingers released his arm, allowing him to step

down on his own. Fizz kept his face lowered as he hurried past Ginger, then lingered at the door. He

hoped Ash wasn’t in too much trouble.

“Come on, Ash,” Ginger said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Get back downstairs. I’m sure the

others are missing you.”

“Oh, always,” Ash quipped, getting down from the window. He didn’t hang around, clearly wary of

getting on Ginger’s nerves. He hurried away, flicking one last, conspiratory look at Fizz before he left.

Chapter Ten

They were supposed to be having a rehearsal, but all they’d done for the last hour was bicker. Ryan

wasn’t sure he could take much more of this. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately. When he eventually

did manage to get to sleep, his dreams left him in knots of tension. In his last one, he’d actually told

Ginger how he felt. The answer he’d received was a bland and uncaring, “What do you expect me to do

about it?” Ryan woke in a panic, resolving once again to never, ever breathe a word of his crush to

anyone. Least of all Ginger.

It would fade in time, he kept telling himself. It wasn’t worth losing their friendship over.

Was it?

Ryan was dragged away from his endless agonizing as the bickering stepped up a notch. Dee and

Ash were having a disagreement over the cover songs in their set. The set which currently consisted of

only three original songs, and not all that brilliant either, in Ryan’s opinion. He’d already suggested

they keep practising, but Dee really wanted to play Sunday Slam.

Ash had agreed with Ryan, and said it was too soon to play live. Glen obviously didn’t care either

way, and never bothered stating his views. Even now, he wasn’t paying attention to the argument, and

fiddled with his drumsticks.

“If we mix two songs together, no one will know it’s a cover,” Dee said, yet again.

Ash rolled his eyes. “Or we could hurry up writing our own songs, so we don’t come off looking

and sounding like a bunch of idiots.”

Glen yawned. Ryan pulled the guitar strap over his head and placed his guitar back in its stand.

“Shall we call it a day? I’ve got a headache.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ash said.

Everyone agreed, and downed tools. Glen stood up from his drum kit and stretched. Dee was still

wittering away about cover songs, insisting that no one would notice if they merged two songs

together.

Ryan’s shoes crunched on something. He glanced down, remembering the mess of sand from Dee’s

not-that-great egg boxes idea. Dee’s plan for sound proofing hadn’t worked, surprise, surprise. The

egg boxes were still stapled to the wall, the sand having simply poured out of them. At the time, Ryan

had laughed heartily, especially as Dee had been proved wrong. Now, he was annoyed because he

knew who’d get stuck cleaning all that sand away.

“I still want to cover Let’s Go To Hell,” Ash announced.

“No,” Dee said flatly.

Ash gave him a level look. “What do you mean, no? Who died and made you king of the band?”

Ryan bit his lip. Those two were obviously determined to have a spat today. The question was, did

he let them get on with it, or step in? It seemed bad tempers had been brewing since they’d entered the

pigeon loft over three hours ago.

“We’re not covering Backyard Babies,” Dee said.

Ash stared at him incredulously. “Why the hell not?”

“Only girls listen to Backyard Babies,” Dee retorted.

“In case you weren’t aware, Dee, girls make up half the audience at Sunday Slam,” Ash said.

“Sometimes more.”

“Yeah, thank God.” Glen smirked, obviously pleased with that statistic. “Who wants to play to a

room full of fellas?”

Dee chuckled, and looked pointedly at Ash.

Ash’s eyes narrowed. “You got something to say to me, Douglas?”

Dee frowned at the mention of his real name. “No. Ashwari tikka masala.”

“Come on, guys,” Ryan urged. He placed a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “Let’s go have a drink, yeah?”

Ash didn’t take his eyes off Dee. “No. Not before Douglas explains why we can’t cover my

favourite band, seeing as we’re already covering two songs from his choice of boring old punk bands.”

“Boring?” Dee flung his bass down into its stand, where it rocked back against the wall. “You just

don’t get it, mate. Punk goes straight over your head!”

“Excuse you,” Ash snapped. “But I think you’ll find that your version of punk is old and outdated.”

“Fuck you!” Dee sprang forward, fists waving.

“Guys!” Ryan leapt in between them before they could connect, pushing them apart. “Glen, do

something!”

Glen pulled Dee away, while Ryan stayed in the middle and held onto Ash. Luckily, it was only a

half-hearted scuffle, and easy enough to break up. Quite lame, really, Ryan thought to himself. He

stood in the centre, holding his hands out to both parties to instil some calm. “Guys, we’re friends.

This is really stupid to argue over. Let’s just calm down, okay?”

Dee seemed bewildered, and blinked several times. “Sorry, mate. I – I don’t know what got into

me.”

“Me neither,” Ash muttered. “I’ve got such a headache.”

It’s the room, Ryan thought. The room was too stuffy. Even though it was a windy, cool day

outside, there was just something about this damn room.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Ryan suggested. “We can annoy Pete for a while.”

The others mumbled in agreement. Dee and Ash awkwardly apologised to each other, then everyone

slowly filed out. Ryan made sure he kept himself between Dee and Ash, just in case. They’d only ever

come to blows once before, and that was when they’d both been very, very drunk.

Ash hung back, stopping at Fizz’s door.

Ryan noticed, and he herded Dee and Glen out of the hall, trying to give Ash some space. Halfway

down the stairs, he was surprised when Ash caught up to them. “Didn’t think you were coming,” Ryan

said quietly. Dee and Glen were further down the stairs, chatting away normally.

Indeed, it felt like the air became lighter the further they got from the pigeon loft.

“Um, I was just checking with Fizz,” Ash replied.

“Yeah, and?”

“And...we were gonna watch a movie, maybe tomorrow night.”

“I see.” Ryan tried not to smile. “You can watch it on my TV if you want. Unless you want to brave

the living room where Matt will pop in and drone on about recipes, or his Kung Fu class.”

Ash chuckled. “Your room would be cool, thanks. Actually, I was going to ask you to check the

rota.”

“Rota?”

“Yeah...um, is Ginger working tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, he is.” Ryan smiled slyly. “But if you can bear to wait until Wednesday, he’s working the

evening shift with me and Sammy, as it’s student night. So you’re less likely to be...disturbed by

anyone.”

“Hah, okay.” Ash shook his head with a smile. “Wednesday it is. Um...I don’t have Fizz’s number

to tell him though?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him later. I’m sure he won’t mind what day it is. And hanging out will be

good. Ginger’s been breathing down his neck far too much. It’ll be good for the kid to have some

space.”

Ash shot him a knowing look. “Yeah, yeah. You know, you’d make a good match-maker, Ry.

Maybe you should put some of this devious plotting to your own good use sometime?”

Ryan was brought up short. “Wh-What do you mean?”

Ash rolled his eyes. “One day, Ry,” was all he said.

Ryan frowned.

One day.

Yeah, he kinda doubted that.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Ginger asked.

Fizz tried to look innocent, but he was worried that the word guilty flashed in neon above his head.

“N-nothing,” he mumbled. He pretended to finish his dinner, pushing the food around his plate.

Ginger had finished his own dinner, and was eyeing him suspiciously. “Do you want to do some

glass collecting tonight?”

Fizz tried – and failed – to stay calm. “I – I can’t, I – I...”

“But you’ve been doing so well,” Ginger said.

He thinks I’m worried about going downstairs on a busy night, Fizz realised. “No, I mean, it’s not

that. But I – I’ll do it if you want me to.”

Ginger gave him a look, saying with his eyes: that’s not the point. Fizz focussed on his dinner,

poking it with his fork. Ginger sighed. “Okay, if you want to come down later, we’ll be there. I just

don’t want you moping about up here on your own all the time.”

Fizz nodded his head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I do hope so, Jamie.”

Fizz tried not to flinch at the sound of his name. He knew Ginger only used it when he wanted to

drive home whatever point he was making.

Ginger stood, and dumped his plate on the worktop. “I’ve gotta go downstairs. Ryan and Sammy are

already there. You sure you’ll be okay?”

Fizz wasn’t sure, but he told Ginger, yes, he would. Reluctantly, Ginger left him alone. Fizz

breathed a sigh of relief. He abandoned his half eaten dinner, tidying it away, and wandered upstairs.

Only a few minutes later, he wandered back down to the kitchen, restless. He looked up at the Misfits

skull-face clock. Six forty-five.

Ash said he’d be over at seven. Fizz felt dread settle in his stomach. Just because someone said they

were coming, didn’t mean they were. He probably wouldn’t show up, would he? Fizz panicked in near

silence, ignoring the icy touch on his neck and the soft words in his head.

He meandered up the stairs, then gave himself and Rachel a fright when they both rounded a corner

at the same time. After recovering from the surprise, Rachel said she and Pete were just settling into

the living room to watch a DVD. She invited him to join them, but Pete’s pointed look over Rachel’s

shoulder definitely uninvited him.

Fizz noticed they had a bunch of horror DVDs neatly stacked on the coffee table. Oh, God, not

horror. He quickly made his excuses and left. On his return trip down the stairs, Fizz heard voices.

Leaning over the bannister, his heart almost stopped when he saw Ash with Ryan.

“Hey.” Ash smiled up at him

“Hey, Fizz.” Ryan smirked rather than smiled. They both carried bulging plastic bags. Ryan led the

way, walking past the kitchen, and along to his own bedroom.

“What’s in those?” Fizz asked, trailing behind them.

“DVDs,” Ash said. “And, er...pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“Yeah, I left just after dinner.” He flashed Fizz a smile. “You can’t leave an Indian home without

food being thrust at you left, right, and centre. My sisters made way too much. It’s just mithai and

kulfi.”

“Huh?”

“Sweets and ice cream,” Ryan translated. “Save some for me, yeah?”

“We’ll try,” Ash said. “No promises.”

The boys set down their bags in Ryan’s room. Fizz hovered, not sure what to do. He was grateful for

Ryan’s presence for the moment, so he could melt into the background without any focus on himself.

He took the opportunity to look around. Ryan’s room wasn’t exceptionally tidy, but it wasn’t messy

either. It smelled clean, at least.

The room was reasonably large, however there wasn’t anywhere to sit except for Ryan’s bed, or the

floor. There was a decent sized TV on a shelving unit against the wall, with DVDs haphazardly piled

in front. Apart from a clothing rail, some knick knacks on shelves, and a couple of guitars, that was

about it. Fizz glanced up at the numerous posters of Johnny Depp on the walls. He liked it in here. It

felt...calm.

“Wow, there’s tonnes!” Ryan exclaimed, as he nosed in the food bags. “Shall I take some

downstairs for me and the others?”

Ash laughed. “Go on, then.”

“I’ll go get a plate.” Ryan scrabbled up and left the room.

Fizz watched Ash as he sat on the floor, amongst his bags, and peered through them. “I’ve brought a

bunch of DVDs –” he began.

“Ash?” a voice broke in. “What are you doing up here?”

They both turned to see Ginger in the doorway, much to Fizz’s horror. He felt himself flush at the

implications of being caught alone with another boy.

“Um...we were gonna watch a movie,” Ash said.

“Hn.” Ginger frowned at them both. “Pete and Rachel are watching movies, too. Why don’t you go

sit with them?”

“H-Horror,” Fizz blurted out.

“Pardon?” Ginger looked at him.

“They’re watching horror,” Fizz explained. “I can’t – I can’t watch that stuff.” His eyes skimmed

Ginger’s t-shirt, showing a cartoon depiction of a grinning, bleeding skull.

“Oh.” Ginger frowned harder. “So, what were you planning to watch then?”

“Bollywood.” Ash held up a brightly coloured, foreign DVD case.