Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties by Lynda Renham

Alistair, walking slowly behind.
          ‘Maybe we shouldn’t go in without a weapon,’ whispers Fiona.
          ‘Why do we need a weapon?’ I whisper back.
          ‘In case they are still in there.’
          ‘I hardly think they would have locked themselves in.’
    Then again, Julian did say they were a bit crazy. I’m feeling just a touch crazy myself. What am I doing? In a matter of days my life has gone mad. It isn’t my fault that Julian’s stupid restaurant has failed is it? I never even wanted the damn place. I was just supporting him. I didn’t ask him to borrow money from loan sharks, and I didn’t see the need for the sodding van, and now because of all that I have bugger all. I can’t even pay the rent because of him and now I am in far too deep. I’ve already taken half the money and paid off a lot of the debts. I now have just enough to pay the rent and my tuition fees but if I don’t see this thing through, Hamilton will demand the money back. God, this is awful. I don’t know what is worse, the three Jacks or the Hamilton Lancaster agreement.
     
    The flat looks fine and everything is as it should be. I can’t even see the little present that Sid mentioned.
          ‘See, everything is fine,’ says Fiona, relief evident in her voice. ‘Shall we order pizza? We’ll stay with you for a while and then you need to rest, you’ve got your big day tomorrow.’
    I look around the flat nervously, feeling my shoulders tense. I listen to Alistair stuttering our order down the phone and feel sorry for the poor bugger at the other end.
          ‘I’ll clear the kitchen table,’ Fiona offers as I begin to relax. ‘Shall I throw this old paper away?’
    I freeze. Fiona is holding up what looks like a crumpled bunch of old newspaper s.
          ‘Oh my God,’ I cry. ‘It’s Julian’s ear.’
          ‘Holy fuck,’ she screams, dropping it to the floor.
    We stare at the newspaper in silence.
          ‘How do you know this is it?’ she says, looking horrified.
          ‘Yes and how d-d-do you know it’s his ear?’ asks Alistair.
          ‘Well it isn’t going to be an expensive bottle of French perfume is it? And it wasn’t here earlier which can only mean …’
          ‘Who’s going to open it?’ Fiona asks so quietly that I barely hear her.
          ‘Well I can’t, not with these bloody scissors for hands.’
          ‘I c-c-c-can’t, I’m not good with b-b-b-b- …’ says Alistair.
          ‘Body parts?’ I say helpfully.
          ‘Blood,’ he finishes.
    Oh God, I hadn’t thought about the blood. Well I had , in that I had thought of Julian lying in a pool of it, but not the blood that would come with the dismembered ear/tongue/penis.
          ‘God, this is worse than a Stephen King novel,’ groans Fiona. ‘Maybe we can pay someone to unwrap it.’
          ‘Oh great idea. Where do you suggest we find someone? I suppose we could look in the yellow pages for ‘Specialists in unwrapping severed body parts?’ I say cynically.
          ‘Okay, just a thought.’
          ‘I’ll get a towel,’ I say, rushing to the bathroom.
          ‘Why?’ asks Fiona.
          ‘For the blood of course.’
          ‘I’m phoning the p-p-p- …’
          ‘Christ Alistair, how can you think about pizza now,’ snaps Fiona.
          ‘Police,’ he blurts out. ‘We need to call them.’
          ‘No,’ I yell. ‘God knows what they’ll cut off next. We have to see what’s in the parcel. There might be a note.’
    I hand Fiona scissors and give her a reassuring nod. We stare mesmerised as she carefully cuts through the newspaper. Alistair can barely watch and stands clutching the pizza menu to his chest. Two layers later and we have still found nothing. I feel myself begin to relax. Maybe it isn’t anything after all. Maybe it was sent just to scare us, and God knows