Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties
it did. Fiona carefully pulls back the next layer and stops.
          ‘I can feel a box,’ she says in a trembling voice.
          ‘Is it big enough for a penis or just small enough for a tongue or …’
          ‘Oh, C-C-C-Christ,’ groans Alistair stepping back.
          ‘Shall I put on an apron?’ says Fiona. ‘You know, for the blood.’
          ‘It isn’t going to exactly spurt out at you is it?’
    She takes a breath and with shaking hands removes the final layer, and we all stare at the small white box. I swallow and Fiona licks her lips. Alistair clenches his knuckles. The only sound is the bass from someone’s stereo thumping in the flat above.
          ‘I’ll take the lid off but I can’t look,’ offers Fiona.
    I nod and look to Alistair who turns away. I lift my head, take a deep breath and glance at the goldfish bowl and am about to look back when I realise the goldfish is not in it. Before I can open my mouth Fiona has removed the lid and lying helpless on a box of cotton wool is my goldfish.
          ‘They killed Billy,’ I scream. ‘They murdered my bleeding goldfish.’
    Fiona’s eyes snap open and she stares at the fish. Alistair lets out a sigh and says,
          ‘Well at least they didn’t leave its head in your b-b-bed.’
          ‘What the hell does that mean?’ I say stupidly.
          ‘In The Godfather …’
          ‘Oh sod The Godfather , this is bloody Battersea not Sicily.’
    I look at little Billy the goldfish and sigh.
          ‘Why kill a goldfish? I mean, it’s upsetting but I’m not exactly going to go into mourning am I?’
    Alistair claps his hands.
          ‘Of c-c-c-course,’ he says excitedly. ‘It, m-m-m-means that J-Ju-Ju …’
          ‘Julian yes,’ I interrupt.
          ‘He’s getting excited,’ says Fiona, stating the obvious yet again.
    God, at times like these do I need a friend who stammers?
          ‘Yes, it means what?’
          ‘Sleeps with the fishes.’
    Well that was worth waiting for I don’t think. What does that mean?
          ‘Oh God, like in The Godfather ,’ whimpers Fiona.
    I bloody hate that film.
          ‘It means Julian is sleeping with goldfish, is that what you’re saying and where would that be exactly, at the local funfair or should I pop to the nearest pet shop?’
          ‘It means he sleeps with the fishes at the bottom of the Thames,’ says Alistair confidently. ‘I love The Godfather .’
          ‘I didn’t know there were goldfish in the Thames,’ I say stupidly.
          ‘Mind you,’ he adds ignoring me. ‘The fish is usually wrapped up in an article of clothing of the person who has been hit or w-w-w-w- … ’
          ‘Wiped out,’ offers Fiona.
          ‘Washed up,’ I mutter.
          ‘Whacked,’ finishes Alistair.
          ‘Christ,’ I mumble.
          ‘Shall I order the pizza now?’ he asks. ‘Fi, do you want anchovies?’
    God, I think I’m going to be sick. My mobile rings and I grab it, stupidly thinking it might be Julian which is unlikely of course unless he has an underwater phone.
          ‘Ello ‘arriet, did you get our little gift. Thoughtful don’t yer think? Babyface wrapped it nicely. We wanted to congratulate yer.’
    I fall onto the couch and mouth Jack to Fiona.
          ‘Congratulate me?’ I say. ‘Most people send cards and flowers not bleeding dead goldfish.’
    Congratulate me on what? Christ, I haven’t gone and won the bleeding lottery have I?
          ‘I saw The Times announcement of your little engagement to that nice rich snobby bastard, ‘amilton Lancaster. You’ve got taste, I’ll give yer that.’
    What bleeding announcement? Oh no, what if Celia Blakely sees it, or my boss at the laundrette? Or shit, even worse my mum. Calm down Harriet, what the hell would Celia Blakely be doing with a paper like that unless it has

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