Break Out The Bubbly

by Rick Adams

‘We’ve met before?’

  ‘Thanks for remembering.’

  ‘No,’ I stumbled, ‘I mean, we haven’t, I’m sure, I don’t recall…’

  ‘You were quite drunk.’

  I cast my mind back to the drinks reception at the start of term.

  ‘I only do that when I get nervous.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t think too many people noticed. Matthew,’ he said offering his hand, ‘Matthew Osgood. What is it?’

  But my emotions had already skyrocketed and plummeted both at the same time, continuing in an instant to veer as wildly as Carol’s moods had done over the last couple of days.

  I looked at this Matthew.

  I thought of shop Matthew.

  I fancied him, I really did, he was absolutely gorgeous of course, and I’d loved the trouble he’d gone to with the meal, I mean I was just about developing an attachment, a real care and consideration for him, you know, the point at which your soul somehow, and in the indivisibility of the air around you, leaves your own frame and starts to meld with someone else’s, so that when you’re with them everything else in the world passes you by, and when you’re apart your spirit induces your mind to think about them, their smile, their manners, habits, quirks, idiosyncrasies, their very character and nature…

  Only here was course Matthew.

  And I felt that lightness in my frame, those butterflies in the stomach, that genuine excitement and anticipation that I no longer (how had that disappeared in so short a time?) felt for shop Matthew.

  He was more gorgeous as shop Matthew.

  And I bet he didn’t have such a dragon for a mother!

  Could you imagine having that woman for a mother-in-law?

  It would impinge on our relationship no end.

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked this Matthew.

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled, ‘I’m fine. It’s just, well, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘It’s,’ I began, wondering what the bloody hell I was thinking of, ‘it might seem strange, but, could you tell me, about your…’

  ‘Emily,’ he beamed at me.

  ‘Mother.’

  ‘Emily,’ he smiled warmly.

  Oh, thank goodness.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘What?’

  I turned round, just catching sight of the far more beautiful than I was woman walking with a friend towards us, behind me, over my shoulder, so that when I strained in shock, anger, amazement, jealousy and relief I somehow managed to slip off my chair, upend the table and send both the drinks and the two of us sprawling.

  I ended up on top of him.

  We burst out laughing.

  His evident girlfriend was not impressed.

  ‘Get up, Matthew,’ said Emily.

  We carried on laughing.

  ‘Matthew!’

  ‘Oh alright,’ he said clambering to his feet and helping me up too.

  ‘Don’t help her,’ said Emily’s companion.

  ‘Hey, Ginger,’ he remonstrated, ‘it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ she snapped, ‘and, what are you gawping at, sugar?’

  ‘Ginger,’ I mouthed.

  ‘No, sugar. What are you, deaf?’

  ‘No. Your name. It’s Ginger?’

  ‘Yeah. So?’

  ‘You’re called Ginger?’

  She fronted up to me. ‘You disrespecting me, girl?’

  ‘No,’ I said wondering who’d turn up next, a manic Tabatha, a depressed Sarah, an irate Carol, a bookish Marilyn, a creepy Adrian, a benevolent Cynthia, or Matthew’s own dysfunctional mother. ‘Not at all.’

  She backed down, just.

  ‘Come on Osgood,’ said Emily, ‘let’s go.’

  ‘But I haven’t finished.’

  ‘Come on, sugar,’ said Ginger.

  ‘Why do you keep saying that?’ I asked.

  She was right back in my face. ‘I’d shut your mouth if I was you, sugar.’

  God, she was even more unpleasant than, my, Ginger.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said thinking what an idiot she was, ‘I was just curious.’

  ‘Well you know what they say about that?’

  ‘No. What do they say?’

  ‘They say,’ she began, ‘they say,’ she glanced at Matthew, then at Emily, ‘what do they say, sugar?’

  ‘That it kills the cat,’ offered Matthew helpfully.

  ‘She didn’t ask you,’ snarled Emily at him.

  My God, these people were dreadful.

  Even Matthew.

  I mean, he was just as weak as my Matthew.

  My Matthew, I suddenly thought drifting away.

  Matthew and me.

  Matthew and I.

  Matthew and I thank you for your invitation.

  Matthew and I welcome you to our home.

  Matthew and I invite you to our wedding celebrations…

  That lingered, and so much so I hardly noticed these impostors starting to take their leave.

  With a back turned from weak Matthew.

  And an up yours gesture from Emily.

  And a ‘Fuck you very much, sugar’ from, well, Ginger.

  And that was it.

  I was on my own again.

  I’d ditched the course.

  I was sad about that.

  But then I was happy.

  It was crap anyway.

  I hated arguing.

  And pissing people off.

  And those seemed to be the chief requirements to succeed in the industry.

  Come to think of it, those were the chief qualities of all the most obnoxious people I’d ever met in my life.

  The sort of people who didn’t know how to relate to others.

  Who hadn’t been able to fit in, right from their school days.

  Bullied, turned bullies for the rest of their adult lives.

  I’m sure there was an assignment in there somewhere, but if there was then I didn’t care anymore because I was heading back to Drotsville.

  Back to Sheila’s.

  Back to my bedsit.

  And back to Matthew.

  I thought about him on the bus home.

  Two seats in front of me, a young couple were stuck together, giggling, playing, laughing at something on their mobile phones.

  ‘What’s so good about technology?’ Came floating back through my mind.

  What the hell was this?

  First Carol in the shop playing me back my speech.

  Then that disembodied voice in Adrian’s.

  And now this, my own question from an hour ago, returning to my process even as the lovebirds carried on bonding over the very thing I’d rubbished back in the seminar, the throwaway comment which had seen me off the course and in company with three stooges masquerading as me amongst their disgusting number.

  Sarah flashed through my mind.

  I saw her on the ledge.

  She fell.

  I was on the street, with her, with Matthew.

  I saw her taken away in the ambulance.

  Tabatha had visited her.

  I had to go to the hospital.

  Especially as the bus I was on passed right outside the building.

  That was it.

  I waited for the stop.

  It wasn’t long.

  And as I passed the couple who were attached to each other through technology, I sighed at my lack of knowledge on a subject I had presumed to have known all about in my arrogance and attendant blindness.

  But if I thought I was ignorant about that, the news Sarah had for me at the hospital was going to completely blow my ship out of the water when it came to presumption previous on the champagne thefts from Sheila’s.

  Because, in one sense of the word at least, Carol was innocent.

  Chapter 11

  REVELATIONS

  Well, when I say innocent, she was of course up to her neck in it!

  I mean, she clearly had stolen the bottles fro
m the shelf last night.

  The bracelet hadn’t lied.

  But according to Sarah, she wasn’t the mastermind.

  Once I’d helped her sit up in bed, and once she’d drunk, slowly, from a large glass of water, she began to talk freely of what she knew.

  ‘It’s Tabatha, Emily.’

  I looked at her saline drip.

  ‘It’s her,’ she pressed, ‘she’s behind the whole thing.’

  ‘But she was the first to come and see you last night.’

  ‘Yes, to shut me up. Not like that,’ she laughed, ‘she’s not a murderer.’

  ‘What then? Has she blackmailed you?’

  ‘Of course not. She’s Tabatha, not some crazy.’

  We both laughed.

  ‘She just told me to keep my nose clean, and not to meddle in things. She’s got to be involved to say that. Hasn’t she?’

  ‘I’ve been asking myself this question,’ I said, ‘and I keep asking it over and over, so hopefully this will be the last time I have to say it,’ and then I paused before belting out, ‘what the hell is going on, Sarah?’

  She made no answer.

  ‘I was in the attic today,’ I pushed.

  ‘You went up there?’

  ‘When I was trying to get to you yesterday, I got in the eaves, and there were boxes everywhere. I walked into one and heard glass move on the inside. Today, I was up there again, and, Tabatha and Ginger were laying the place out for tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve party.’

  ‘Ginger?’

  ‘And Adrian as well.’

  ‘Ginger?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then she must be in on it too. She must be. Emily, she’s helping Tabatha. She’s guilty also.’

  ‘Why though,’ I trumpeted, ‘what the heck for?’

  We both sat in silence.

  ‘Why’s the party over at Adrian’s?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Carol’s behest,’ I sighed, ‘and that’s not the only surprise.’ I took a deep breath. ‘She’s giving the shop to him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s handing it over. For free. She hates men, Sarah. Why on earth would she be bestowing her life’s work on…’ I stopped, wondering.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not, but, they’re new in town.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s not her.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs. Osgood. She’s the one helping Carol, she always has been.’

  ‘Then she’s in it too.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s aiding her. She’s guilty too.’

  ‘But so’s Matthew.’ I looked desperately at her. ‘She’s making him Manager. He can’t be…they can’t all be in it. For God’s sake Sarah, that would be ridiculous. And what the heck would be in it for them anyway? No, this is getting absurd.’

  ‘Have we missed anyone?’ she pressed nonetheless.

  ‘Marilyn,’ I said. ‘But it can’t be her.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because she’s, well, she’s always got her head in a book. She hasn’t got time, for such enterprise. No, Sarah, she’s not involved. I’m sure of it.’

  Those words sounded familiar

  Where had I heard them before?

  By the bench, of course.

  Tabatha had told me I was the sleuth to crack this case.

  That she was sure of it.

  But why had she put me on the scent, if it led straight to her?

  What kind of criminal gave themselves up before they’d even finished committing the crimes of which they were guilty?

  I sighed.

  I was beat.

  ‘Is that really it?’ asked Sarah.

  I nodded.

  ‘Unless you start considering the customers.’

  I sat forward.

  ‘Of course. The customers. Or customer. And she’s new in town. And she has no seeming connection to any of this.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s got to be her.’

  ‘Who, Emily?’

  ‘It must be.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cynthia. The old lady. From Foggett’s Tor. I met her yesterday, she invited me to her house, she’s been here, today, in the shop.’ I glared at Sarah. ‘When it was closed.’

  I got up quickly.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘It’s her,’ I said desperately, ‘it’s her. It has to be.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sarah,’ I said firmly, ‘it’s her. She’s the odd one out. She’s the square peg in the round hole. What on earth is she even doing in Drotsville? She doesn’t belong here. That’s why she’s up on the Tor, with all the other rich folk who haven’t done a day’s work in their life. It’s her, Sarah, it’s her. And I’m going to get her, in her mansion, banged to rights.

  And so I left the room.

  Sarah tried to stop me.

  But I was gone.

  Because it was Cynthia.

  I mean, she’d been a bit too casual in her acquaintance, hadn’t she?

  For sure, she’d had me fooled from the start.

  From when she feigned compassion for my being called on the tannoy.

  And she’d been too abrupt, in her confrontation with Matthew’s mother outside by the bench.

  Too brittle.

  And when I’d gone to see her, and had tea, all that talk about people being in crisis, what a load of hokum!

  We’d never had it so good.

  Ever.

  And she thought we were on the precipice.

  The old witch!

  Stuck in the past.

  She’d probably been wedged there since…

  I swallowed hard.

  Had the story been a lie?

  Some fabrication, to throw me off my guard?

  And the painting.

  Produced by her own imagination?

  There hadn’t been a robbery.

  She’d never had a husband.

  She was living a lie, and talking it to the hilt with everyone around her.

  I reached her front door and rapped loudly upon it.

  There was no answer.

  So I knocked again.

  Again, no reply.

  Where was she? I thought to myself.

  why on earth was she out and about at this time of night, if not to paint the town red with my old Assistant Manager, they, the champagne, the flutes and a carnival ride back and forth across the bridge between Sheila’s and Adrian’s?

  I put my ear to the door.

  Footfall approached.

  I stood back ready to challenge her, to get to the bottom of this insane series of events which had simply spiraled out of all control since yesterday morning when I’d first served her.

  The door opened.

  I made to speak.

  I gasped horribly.

  It was Matthew.

  He was shirtless.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, not really ashamed, or surprised, or looking like he felt remotely embarrassed by the fact that the girl he’d kissed last night was now sharing him with an old cougar, ‘Emily, hi.’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ I seethed at him, ‘how could you?’

  ‘What…oh no, you don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes I do,’ I sniveled, ‘I understand alright, Master Osgood. And I am not that kind of girl.’

  ‘Emily, listen.’

  ‘You’re vile. The pair of you. I mean, she’s old enough to be your, your grandmother! It’s disgusting. I’m, disgusted.’

  ‘Stop talking,’ he smiled, ‘let me explain.’

  ‘The only thing you need to explain is why you dumped me, for her.’

  He laughed out loud.

  And so I did what all hurt women feel like doing in such situation.

  I slapped him round the face.

  The moment I did it though, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake.

  H
e held his hand to his cheek.

  He looked at me, shocked, terrified.

  His gaze was somehow a long way off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said moving towards him.

  But he backed away.

  Cowered even.

  And then he turned and ran back into the house towards the kitchen.

  ‘Matthew,’ I called after him, ‘Matthew.’

  I stepped inside and followed quickly.

  ‘Matthew,’ I called again.

  ‘Let him go,’ said Cynthia from the stairs.

  I looked up.

  She wore a night gown.

  I glared at her, then ran towards the kitchen.

  He wasn’t there.

  Cynthia was though, right behind me.

  ‘Let him go,’ she said again.

  ‘No!’ I yelled at her.

  She looked at me, stunned. ‘Emily.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said holding my finger up to her, ‘don’t you even…Matthew!’

  ‘You’re going to drive him further away,’ she pleaded.

  ‘But you’ve taken him away,’ I shouted, ‘from me.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘You’re with him. You and he, you’ve just clambered out of bed.’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘we have.’

  ‘You admit it!?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘It’s disgraceful.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes, Cynthia, it’s, it’s shameful.’

  She laughed.

  I almost slapped her too.

  Matthew appeared.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off his chest.

  But then I looked back at Cynthia.

  The thought, of them cavorting beneath the coverlets repulsed me so much I felt like throwing up there and then, on the kitchen floor.

  But they just stood there proudly.

  How could they be so brazen about it?

  ‘How can you be so brazen?’ I demanded, ‘don’t you own guilt?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ smiled Cynthia.

  ‘How dare you turn it on me,’ I uttered flabbergasted, ‘when it’s the pair of you who’ve been roiling in each other’s pleasure.’

  ‘Emily,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said once more, ‘just, I thought you were my friends.’

  ‘We are,’ they both said at once.

  ‘Then how could you betray me like this?’

  ‘We haven’t,’ they said in unison, both grinning from ear to ear now.

  ‘Why are you mocking me?’ I demanded, ‘even now, with half your clothes on each?’

  ‘Emily,’ said Cynthia, ‘what time of night is it?’