The Things We Do to Our Friends(71)

I would go to work and take on more shifts at the bar. I’d be nicer to Finn, because I needed the job if I was going to save enough to leave; I’d listen to his stories properly and respond appropriately. I would pound my body into submission with exercise that would also help me relax and clear my head. I would run, because having a hobby might help. I’d stand under a cold shower in the morning to wake me up and get rid of the grit in my eyes. Most importantly, I’d establish who had seen that video.

If I could just get some sleep, the whole plan would be easier.

January. Traditionally, a new beginning, but in the back of my mind, I heard my granny: I don’t know why you’d expect it to be different. She always said that, and she was right. I pictured my escape, but I knew that even if I left they could still ruin me.

I went back to work, wrung out like a dishcloth squeezed dry. Finn enveloped me in a huge hug on my first shift, and he smelled like laundry detergent and chip fat. I was so relieved I almost burst into tears because his smell was familiar, and I wished he’d launch into some long repetitive story, because that would be most soothing for me.

I nearly told him everything that had happened that night, just to tell someone, then I had to pull back. He didn’t know who I was at all.

Sleep was still elusive. I lay there and watched the minutes pass. If I fell asleep even for a second, vivid nightmares woke me. There were invisible hands running up and down my body.

Other people’s dreams are very boring, aren’t they? But we cannot help spluttering out our jumbled narratives, and I dreamed of an array of cutlery from the drawer stabbing into my back; the metal became melted and the pieces curled like bent spoons from a magician’s trick cradling my lungs, wrapped around my heart. Forks twisted into hooks to hang me up from the inside.





60


It started with a noise. The sound of a break-in.

The bar was closed and we were in full cleaning mode. I’d been hearing strange sounds for the past few hours, and when I heard something too loud to ignore below us, Finn didn’t believe me.

“Go check it out, then,” he said, indulging me.

I went downstairs. The fire exit was open, just slightly, the door gaping in the wind. I peered out. There was no one. As I came back inside, I moved to close the door, but the wind slammed it shut, almost trapping my hand, and it locked behind me with a loud click.

“See? Nothing to it,” Finn said when I told him.

“I guess.”

He smirked. “No one’s been in here. They would have gone for the cash register. If you’re worried, I can check the cameras.”

That was a small joke. There were cameras, but they were fake.

“No, it’s fine,” I said.

He persisted with a chuckle. “Unless you think there really are ghosties and ghouls here. You know the body snatchers Burke and Hare lured their customers in these bars?”

“Really?”

“Yup. Found them here and all along the Grassmarket, managed to get the poor buggers back to theirs, and then…” He ran his thumb across his throat in a slow cutting motion. “Then they were sold on for dissection at the medical school.”

Of course, I knew the story. Tabitha had told me, less to scare me and more because she’d wanted to impress upon me that it was a brilliant example of supply and demand.

I shuddered at the idea. Malevolent spirits moving through the bar, knocking glasses and slamming doors.

Finn took a long sip of water. “That’s why I had to ban all those ghost tours from sniffing around in here, standing in their anoraks then ordering a pint of tap water.”

He toasted me with his own pint of tap water that had been sitting on the side for hours, then told me a long and tedious story about the traffic in the Shetlands (or the lack of). The change of subject was irritating. Although I tried to pay attention to his tale, I kept zoning out, then having to force myself to concentrate with the reminder that part of my new plan was to be kinder to Finn.

Get shifts.

Earn enough money to at least think about the details of an escape.

Despite my resolutions, I was struggling with Finn in particular. I so wanted to be distracted by him, to lose myself in his stories, and he was behaving sympathetically in that he hadn’t mentioned my sudden disappearance over Christmas—one of our busiest times. I didn’t know what Ava had said to him, but it seemed unspoken that something bad had happened.

The idea of being nice was easier than the reality of it. He was a sharp stone in the shoe and lack of sleep was only making that worse.

He stopped speaking. He held an ice bucket in one hand and a scoop in the other, but he wasn’t moving.

“Are you drunk?” I asked him, almost joking. Not like Finn to get ill or feel faint.

“I’m not sure.” He sat down on a bar stool, his face very white, and his expression was pained. “It’s bizarre, I-I’m not sure I can swallow?”

He looked terrible.

“I should take you to the hospital. It might be anaphylactic shock or something—are you allergic to anything?”

“I don’t want to,” he said, reaching out to me to steady himself. His hands were shaky.

I ran through what to do in my head. There were a few options, but I knew the person who would help—someone who always had a contact for everything. I hadn’t spoken to him since before Christmas.