Fry by Lorna Dounaeva Page A

frantically through the clothes. There is no one there.
    I spin round, my eyes fixed on the bed. The duvet seems strangely lumpy. I whip back the covers. But it’s just my old teddy bear, Gerald.
    This is ridiculous. What am I doing? 
    There is nowhere to hide under the bed or behind it. I must simply have left the light on. The wind rattles against the window and I notice my watering can lying on the floor. It must have fallen down off the shelf. That must have been the sound I heard. I stoop down to pick it up. And yet…as I stand there, berating myself for my own stupidity, I distinctly hear someone - or something - breathing.
    My eyes dart from left to right.
    There! There it is! That bulge behind the curtains. I can’t believe I didn’t spot it before.
    My heart is in my mouth as I step forward and wrench them open.
    An ear-splitting scream fills the room.
    “ALICIA!”
    “Isabel! You scared the life out of me!” She steps out of the shadows, looking the very picture of wide-eyed innocence.
    “What are you doing in my house?” I demand, my shoulders trembling with fury.
    “Kate asked me to feed Fluffy,” she says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She got stuck working an extra shift at the hospital.”
    “So what are you doing up here?”
    “She said your plants might need watering.”
    She indicates the drooping plants on the window sill.
    “So why were you hiding?”
    “Me?” Alicia’s eyes grow wide. “Why were you creeping around like that? I thought you were a burglar!”
    “Me too.”
    She catches sight of my knife.
    “Oh my god! What were you going to do, stab me?”
    “I…I…”
    But then she laughs her irritating Minnie Mouse laugh and I can see she’s not serious.
    I smile weakly and accept surrender. She’s got me. Again.
    My brain aches.
    We traipse downstairs and I watch as she pulls on her boots. I hadn’t even noticed them, lined up by the front door.
    “Well, Merry Christmas,” she smiles.
    “You too,” I echo lamely. It’s really dark outside and I should probably offer her a lift but I just want her out of my house. Besides, there’s no way I’m getting in a car with her again. She lingers on the doorstep, as if expecting me to offer, but I just say good night and shut the door. I watch from the window as she skips off down the path. I wait until I’m sure she has gone, then I bolt the door behind her. Exhausted, I collapse into my favourite armchair. My poor, jangled nerves.
    The phone shrills, making me jump. I ignore it. Let the answering machine pick it up. 
    “Isabel, it’s Holly. Just checking you got back all right?”
    I make a grab for it. “Hi Holly, I just got in.”
    “Everything OK? You sound a bit shaky.”
    “Alicia was in my house!” I blurt out. “Kate gave her the key.”
    “You’d better change your locks then. Tonight if possible.”
    “Tonight?” 
    “Yeah, you shouldn’t take any chances.”
    I touch my throat. Oh god, she’s right. Alicia has a key to my house.
    Why, oh why didn’t I ask for it back?
    I think back to the expression on Alicia’s face when I caught her in my bedroom. It wasn’t fear, was it? It was pleasure. Just like the day she jumped out in front of my car. She’s getting a kick out of scaring me, the sick little freak.
    And just in case you ever think of ringing a locksmith at eight PM on Christmas Day, don’t bother. Forty-five minutes later, the saucer I’ve been using as an ashtray is completely full and I’m no closer to getting the locks changed. What to do, what to do?  I drift around the house, checking that every window is shut tight, then drag the coffee table over to the front door and wedge it up against the handle.
    Ding-Dong!
    At last!
    I peer through the peephole. But it isn’t the locksmith.
    “Deacon?”
    “Who were you expecting? The Dalai Lama?”
    “Yes, he always pops round for tea about this time. Just wait there a minute and I’ll let you in.”
    I