‘You don’t know it was the cake. It could’ve been dodgy cheese at lunchtime. Maybe I’ve developed a sudden allergy to dairy products. Maybe it’s another gremlin-related incident.’
We both know Tabby wasn’t in today, and no matter the niggling doubts she’s put in my mind, it’s not like he’s going to have eaten something that he knew had been tampered with, is it? ‘You didn’t see the state of the partially raw cake I just pulled apart downstairs.’
I didn’t think it was possible for his face to go any paler, but at the mention of the cake that caused this, his skin takes on a decidedly green tone and he glances back at the toilet bowl longingly.
The sickness has made his eyes water and his eyeliner has run, leaving big splotches of black around his eyes and I wish I could hug him, but I doubt he’s feeling like being crowded, so I keep my distance. ‘What do you need?’
‘There’s a spare toothbrush in my bag, you couldn’t grab it for me, could you?’
There’s something about a man who cares so much about his oral health that he carries a spare toothbrush. There’s a cabinet of staff lockers in one corner, but Lilith lost the keys to them years ago, so now they’re just storage cupboards, and all of us leave our stuff in the staffroom, and Bram’s camo-print bag is on a chair near the desk. I rifle through the array of pockets and zippered compartments, pulling out packs of cards and other tricks of his trade, and oddly, a spray bottle of squirrel repellent. It’s so bizarre that it stops me in my tracks.
The bathroom is around a corner from the main staffroom so he can’t see me as I pull it out, wondering what other mysteries of the universe he’s got in here. Does he really have so much trouble with squirrels that he needs to bring squirrel repellent to work with him? This is bizarre, even for Bram.
‘It’s in a white toiletries bag…’ It doesn’t sound like he suspects I’m snooping through his things, but it makes me realise that he soon will if I don’t get a move on. I rummage through the endless compartments until I find the toiletries bag and take it to him.
‘Thanks, beautiful.’ He goes to take the bag and then his hand freezes in midair when he realises what he’s said, and his complexion is so ashen that it’s actually a relief to see the redness of a blush smudging his pale cheeks.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘I’m not… My mind’s not… not thinking clearly, I didn’t mean to say that.’ He salutes me with the toiletries bag and disappears back into the bathroom, but then he pokes his head back out again. ‘I think it, but I didn’t mean to say it.’
My cheeks redden too because I’m so surprised by the simple compliment. I didn’t know Bram saw me like that. I dress as Alice during the day, in my white pinafore and blue dress. My blonde hair is always down and held back by a black bow headband, and when I see him in the evenings… Well, after a long day at work, I’m certainly not dressing up, so I typically go to his house in jogging bottoms and oversized T-shirts, so it doesn’t matter if I get them coated in flour or spattered by whatever batter we’re mixing. But ‘beautiful’, in a moment when he doesn’t have his walls up… It feels special. Significant.
I glance at the closed bathroom door, and before I realise what I’m doing, I’ve gone back over to his bag and pulled out that bottle of squirrel repellent again. There’s a picture of a squirrel on the front with sizzle lines around it, and when I turn it over and read the back, it explains that squirrels don’t like the spiciness of this spray. The ingredients list only two things – cayenne pepper and water.
Cayenne pepper. We never found whatever was put into those Jaffa Cake brownies last week. No hidden bottles of hot sauce or jars of chilli powder lurking around the place, but this… I swallow hard because this makes my insides burn more painfully than a forkful of that brownie did. Surely this is it. This is the smoking gun. And it’s in Bram’s bag.
Why else would he have a spray of burning hot spice with him at work? And it’s not like he’s been out and bought it today to repel squirrels at home, because it’s half-empty, and I have a horrible feeling about where the other half went.
I pace around, listening to the sound of the tap running as Bram cleans his teeth. I keep the spray in my hands, twisting it between them, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Maybe it’s a prop or a trick? There’s a lot of stuff in his bag and he can produce seemingly anything from the multiple pockets on his trousers. Magicians carry a lot of stuff. Maybe it’s just part of that?
Yeah, it sounds a bit unlikely in my head too.
This time, he makes me jump when he emerges from the bathroom. He holds the toiletries bag out to me because he doesn’t look like he can walk that far himself without keeling over, and I shuffle over awkwardly to take it, keeping the squirrel spray concealed behind my back. I feel guilty that he trusts me when I’ve just snooped through his things, and I slide it back into his bag alongside the toiletries bag. He’s obviously forgotten it’s there. He doesn’t realise what I’ve just seen.
I go to say something, to confront him over it because the evidence is right there, but he looks so ill that I can’t do it. What I want to do is take him in my arms and hold him. It’s my fault he feels this bad. I cannot bring myself to metaphorically kick him when he’s already down.
He’s splashed his sweaty face with water but it’s done nothing to remove the smudged eyeliner, and he’s leaning against the wall by the doorframe, looking like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Everything about him looks leeched of its usual colour. ‘That’s it. I’m never cooking anything again.’
‘Of course you are.’
‘I’ve given you food poisoning, Bram! And probably a few other people too!’
‘Well, that’s not so good, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Very few people would associate cake with food poisoning.’
‘Parts of that cake were raw! Trust me, it will be an easy association to make. Didn’t you realise it wasn’t cooked properly?’
‘No, I thought it was fudgy and delicious.’
The caramel threw me off. The skewer coming out with gooey stuff on it made me think it was just that and not still-raw cake batter. ‘I’m beginning to think this place is doomed. Something seems to go wrong at every turn. If it’s not salt in the muffins or chilli in the brownies then it’s salmonella from undercooked eggs in the cake.’
‘Actually, it’s raw flour that’s the number one culprit in food poisoning from baked goods. The processing that the plants go through to convert them from grain doesn’t kill any germs they might have picked up while growing in the fields. If flour hasn’t been cooked, it can have all sorts of nasties in it.’
‘I will never look at a bag of flour in the same way again. Murderous stuff.’
He laughs and then groans because laughing must’ve been painful, and I chew my lip in worrying for him. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Nothing. Honestly, I’m fine. Just go home. I’m not leaving the vicinity of a bathroom yet, so I’m going to stay… right… here.’ He limps to the wall opposite the bathroom door and slides down it into a sitting position. His green jacket and stack of hats are dumped in the staffroom, so he’s just wearing his usual black combat trousers and a T-shirt that looks like the innards of a kaleidoscope. He leans his head back against the cool painted surface, and I reach down and press my palm to his forehead. ‘You’re burning up.’
‘I’m freezing,’ he says as a shiver goes through him.
‘So you’ve got a temperature. That’s not good, Bram.’
‘I’m fine. Honestly. Just go home. Or go back to mine and make something; you can take my keys; it doesn’t matter if I’m not there.’
‘You think I’m going to leave you alone in this state?’
‘I wish you would,’ he mutters without opening his eyes.
‘I’ve given you food poisoning, Bram!’ I repeat incredulously because he seems to have forgotten. ‘I don’t want to come in tomorrow morning and find your internal organs on the bathroom floor.’
He laughs. ‘I’ll be fine. My stomach’s… rebelled and got… everything… out.’ He’s obviously choosing his words carefully and trying not to venture into TMI territory. ‘I’m going to sit with this lovely wall for a while and wait for the room to stop spinning and my insides to stop twisting themselves in knots. I just want to be left alone.’
‘Well, we don’t always get what we want.’ I step over his legs and sit down next to him. I wriggle my back against the wall and try to get comfortable.
He rolls his head along the wall until he’s blinking heavy-lidded eyes at me. ‘Cleo, don’t. I’m a mess. It’s bad enough thinking about what you might’ve heard coming from that bathroom. I might need it again in a minute. Just leave me alone, honestly.’
His skin is still so pale that I can almost see through him, and another shiver wracks his body, and I reach over to feel his forehead again. There’s no thermometer in the shop, but he’s burning hot. ‘I need to cool you down.’
Even though he’s boiling to the touch, his teeth are chattering, and I get up again and get my phone to google what to do for a high temperature. I get a glass of water in case he wants to sip it, soak a tea towel in cold water, and grab his lime green jacket and sit back down beside him. ‘Do you want to lie down?’
