The Liberation of Alice Love(29)
Author: Abby McDonald

Despite her determination to fill in all the missing blanks in her purple leather calendar, Alice wavered for a moment as they stood on the doorstep, wondering what kind of nefarious business the bright exterior could conceal. She was assuming that Ella hadn’t been mixed up in anything terrible—more terrible than fraud, theft, and deception, of course—but that was only based on the persona she thought she’d known. Who knew what underground crime she was a part of? Gangs, or drugs, or…

Flora reached out and rang the buzzer. “What?” she protested, noting Alice’s expression. “I thought you wanted to know.”

The door clicked.

Inside, the hallway was cool and airy, with pale cream walls and a bleached wooden floor. Framed photos of Italian villas and market scenes were arranged in clusters on the wall, and a side table was elegantly set with fresh-cut lilies. Alice let out a small breath of relief. Drug dealers probably didn’t go for fresh-cut lilies.

“Hello?” Flora went ahead, farther down the hallway. “Is anyone here?”

Alice hurried after her, coming to a stop by the calm gray kitchen. Set across the whole back of the house, it put even Flora’s to shame, with three different stoves and pale granite work counters stretching far down the room.

“Can I help you?” A woman emerged from the pantry, dishcloth in hands. Middle-aged, with cropped brown hair and a warm, makeup free face, she looked at them expectantly—but not, noticed Alice, as if it were out of the ordinary for strangers to be wandering through her house.

“We want to sign up, for your…services,” Flora announced, turning to give Alice a non-too-subtle wink.

Alice quickly stepped forward. She had planned another dull explanation of rogue charges and debit fraud, but now she found herself trying to look innocently interested. Perhaps a less obvious tactic would yield more information: “I, uh, heard about this place from a friend, and thought I would come by and see it for myself.” She tried to sound as vague—yet knowledgeable—as possible.

The woman relaxed. “Of course! Which class were you wanting?” she walked forward, reaching for a haphazard folder on the near counter, stuffed with stained pages and loose sheets of paper. “I have a pastry series just finishing and meat preparation next week…”

“Cooking classes?” Alice couldn’t stop herself exclaiming. Ella had gone through the effort of defrauding her for sauté skills?

The woman stopped. “I don’t understand.” She looked back and forth between them. “I thought you—”

“This is such a cute kitchen!” Flora interrupted quickly. She smiled at the woman disarmingly. “I love the rustic influences,” she cooed. “Is that a Falcon range?”

“Yes.” She paused, distracted. Flora quickly peppered her with questions about design themes and the darling little side bowls while Alice tried to think. So Ella had been taking classes here. But somehow, that knowledge wasn’t enough. When Flora had finished her spiel about earth tone accents, Alice adopted a regretful expression.

“I’m trying to remember what class my friend took with you. She was raving about it so much. I’d love to try it out myself.”

Beside her, Flora’s eyes widened. “Good one!” she mouthed, giving Alice a thumbs-up. So much for subterfuge.

Luckily, the exchange went unnoticed. “I can check,” the woman offered, flicking back in her organizer. “What’s her name?”

“Alice,” Alice said quietly. “Alice Love.”

“You’re friends with Alice?” Immediately, the woman brightened. “Oh, that’s great! How is she? Feeling better, I hope.” She looked concerned. “It’s such a shame about that stomach bug, she had to miss our final session. Everyone sends her their best,” she added, beaming.

Alice blinked at the outpouring of enthusiasm. “Ah, thanks. I’ll…pass that along.”

“So, she was signed up to Tartes and Tartins”—the woman consulted her book—“which ran for four weeks. I don’t have another starting for another few months, but our Italian country-cooking class begins next week. What did you say your name was?”

Alice paused. “Ella,” she said suddenly, beginning to back away. The name felt foreign on her lips. “Ella Nicholls. But I’ll just take your details for now, and then call later?”

“Of course!” The woman smiled. “Here, take some leaflets. And give my love to Alice!”

***

As they climbed the stairs to Cassie’s flat later that afternoon, Alice was still puzzling over her discovery. “I don’t understand why she would choose that, out of everything she could buy.”

Flora shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to eat cakes.”

“So why not charge a hundred pounds at a patisserie?” Alice argued. “Classes are different.” They weren’t something you just picked out from a shelf: they took planning and commitment and a process. She tried to picture Ella, joking with the other students over a counter of sugar and spices, showing up every week with a new anecdote. Did she tell those people the same stories she’d told Alice? Was she the same character for them or someone completely different?

There was a thought. Alice felt a slight chill at the idea of Ella playacting another role, this time as Alice. But before she could let it settle, she opened the front door.

“Oh!” Flora squealed.

In front of them, Cassie and Vitolio were twisted in a decidedly athletic embrace on the living room floor—naked, sweaty, and enthusiastically thrusting at each other. Alice tilted her head, mesmerized. Could that really go there…?

“Mghmm!” Flora made another noise, and Alice automatically reached to cover her eyes.

“Sorry!” she called, backing away and taking Flora with her. Cassie flashed her an absent smile and then turned back to Vitolio.

“Oh yeah!” she cried, voice rising. “That’s it! Aughhhh!”

The moans echoed after them down the staircase.

“So…” Alice cleared her throat as they emerged into daylight again. Flora was still wide eyed with her thousand-yard stare.

“Was that, was that a…pomegranate?” she whispered, looking over at Alice.

“Yes,” Alice answered faintly.

“Oh!”

Chapter Eleven

During the next week, Alice did her best to work around Cassie and Vitolio’s passionate encounters. She was a guest, she reminded herself frequently, and a little inconvenience was the price she paid for no rent. But because of the open-plan living space, poor soundproofing and Cassie’s apparent penchant for sex on nontraditional surfaces—floors, walls, the granite-topped breakfast bar—avoiding the amorous couple became a substantial challenge. She tried instigating a dormlike hair-scrunchy-on-the-door-handle policy, a text early-warning system, and even a creeping quick-glance-before-entering-any-room strategy, but when Alice arrived home from work one evening to find Cassie spread eagle and blindfolded on the couch, with Vitolio wielding a large green dildo above her, it was clear that the situation had become untenable.