The icy liquid fizzed and tingled against my lips. It smelt of fruit and mint, a hint of ginger and something altogether fiercer that invaded my nostrils and made my eyes water.
I jerked the cup away from my face, sloshing its contents onto my hand.
‘Got a bit of bite to it, doesn’t it?’ Manny rescued the drink and clumsily mopped at my hand with a white cloth from the serving tray. His oddly assembled face split wide in a grin. ‘It’s my secret ingredient.’
‘Knowing you, it’s probably chilli,’ said Caleb dryly.
Mum laughed, then stopped at the look on Manny’s face.
Vee rolled her eyes. ‘There goes our hope for good neighbourly relations...’
‘Are you serious?’ Mum grabbed the cup from him and sniffed at it. ‘Did you put chilli in my son’s punch?’
The combination of disbelief and accusation in my mother’s voice had Manny scrambling to justify himself.
‘Just the teeniest touch. It’s such a great foil to the sweetness of the fruit, the freshness of the mint.’ An anxious note entered his voice at the look on Mum’s face. ‘The ginger does give it a bit of added zing, I’ll grant you that. So maybe I was a bit heavy-handed with the chilli ... Here, let me taste it–’
‘No–’ Mum yanked the cup out of his reach. ‘If anyone is going to taste what you have given to my child, it’s going to be me.’
Before I could stop her, she’d taken a big mouthful of Manny’s weird cocktail.
His look of desperation would have been laughable but for the tension in the air. The entire room held its breath, waiting for her verdict.
Mum lowered the cup, lips pursed. ‘Manny–’ I knew that tone; it was the one she used on me when I was about to cop a mouthful. She leaned forward, unsheathing a pointed red nail-tip. ‘I have one thing to say to you–’
He cringed, forehead wrinkled, like a grizzled old Saint Bernard cowering before a teacup poodle. Caleb put his glass down, as though about to step between them. Even Vee looked alarmed, smoothing her skirt with short, jerky movements.
Mum poked him hard in the dead centre of his chest. I winced; she could go off, my mum. This could turn ugly.
‘That punch is ridiculous.’
Manny blinked. ‘As in–’
‘As in...’ She punched him hard on the arm with her miniature fist. ‘Absolutely delicious! Manny, you’re a genius.’
The relief in his great booming laugh broke the spell. Everyone started talking at once. Mum, wanting the recipe. Caleb offering to get everyone a glass. Vee slow-clapping, an indulgent smile lighting up her pale face.
So much for the poisoned chalice. I picked up the cup and took another sniff. Actually, apart from the chilli fumes, it didn’t smell too bad.
I risked a quick sip. Not bad at all. Like a spicy ginger beer with lashings of fruit and a real sting in the tail. I rescued a tiny red chunk from the edge of my cup with a fingertip and tested it on my tongue.
‘He grows his own, you know,’ confided Vee, nursing her wine goblet close to her chest. ‘In window boxes, outside the kitchen window. He brought them over from the last house. His enthusiasm for his chilli-children is quite endearing, no?’
I didn’t know what to say. I no longer knew quite what to make of the evening. This place and these people were outside my limited experience, unlike anything or anyone I had ever come across before.
My cheeks started to burn, but this time from the inside. I must have got some chilli caught in my braces. I grabbed a water jug off a side table and a fresh glass, and tried to surreptitiously flush it out.
Vee turned her attention back to the others. ‘We should be used to his little experiments by now, shouldn’t we, Caleb? Remember the Bitter-Chocolate-Chilli Paste?’
He nodded and rubbed at his chest. ‘Nutella on steroids. How could I forget? Gave me heartburn for a week, I remember that.’
‘It was a three-thousand-year-old recipe,’ protested Manny. ‘We were rediscovering the culinary secrets of the Mayans and Aztecs–’
‘Aren’t those civilizations extinct?’ asked Mum, a teasing note in her voice. She glowed in the candlelight, clearly enjoying herself.
‘Yes, but that’s got nothing to do with their chocolate–’
‘You don’t know that,’ interrupted Vee. ‘The collapse of the Mayan civilisation is shrouded in mystery. They might really have endured to the present day, if they’d thought to sugar their bitter chocolate recipes.’
‘Or to add chilli to ice-cream,’ suggested Caleb. ‘Like Manny does.’
I couldn’t help myself. ‘Seriously?’
He nodded. ‘Ask him to make you some of his homemade Chilli-Chocolate Ice-cream – simultaneous brain-freeze and meltdown, an awesome combination.’
‘It’s the juxtaposition of the flavours.’ Manny was grinning like a happy Labrador, eager to share what was clearly a passion. ‘The unbeatable combination of fire and ice. Combined with the faint bitterness of a good chocolate–’
He kissed his fingertips at my enthralled mother, then pinched together the thumb and index finger of his huge paw and tilted, as if pouring from a tiny imaginary jug. ‘I serve it with just a drizzle of mango and lime coulis–’
Mum clapped her hands. ‘Chilli chocolate ice-cream in sweet and sour sauce. You should be on MasterChef, Manny. I can’t wait to try it.’
For a moment, he looked poised to rush off and make her some, then he deflated with an audible sigh. ‘Not tonight, I’m afraid, dear lady. Simple fare only after today’s arduous move. Speaking of which – is it time, do you think, Caleb?’
‘It is.’ He stepped forward, fanning out his fabulous cloak, a magician about to introduce the next act. ‘If you please, Ladies and Gentlemen ... It is time to feed the beast.’
The round mahogany table was set for six with a crystal chandelier candelabra and old-fashioned silver cutlery. The serving spoons had bone handles, like the butter knifes used by some of the Nanna-substitutes Mum had rustled up over the years.
Manny plonked down his goblet, claiming the place nearest the kitchen, then disappeared to organise the food. Vee pulled out the next two chairs, seating herself in the one next to Manny and motioning me in next to her. Mum drew up a chair on my left, then excused herself to visit the toilet that Vee had pointed to at the end of the hall.
‘Are we expecting someone else?’ I asked, eyeing the sixth place setting.
‘Our friend Anders changed his mind about eating with us,’ said Caleb, gliding onto the seat next to Mum’s empty chair. ‘He has his own loft elsewhere and tends to come and go at odd intervals. Perhaps he wishes to work tonight.’
Vee frowned. ‘He doesn’t normally work at night. He needs daylight for his paintings. What on earth could he possibly be working on at this hour?’
‘Not our business, Vee.’ At her sharp look, he shrugged and forced a smile. ‘Perhaps he’s painting moonlight.’
‘He’s definitely moonlighting at something,’ said Manny, coming back in with a steaming bowl of pasta in one hand and tray of rough-cut bread in the other. ‘Never known him to be so secretive. And that’s saying something; the man’s a closed book at the best of times.’
‘Are you talking about that man who helped you move in?’ He’d freaked me out this morning; he’d been so silent and intense. Somehow I couldn’t see him painting moonlight. Or anything else for that matter. Pretty scary artist if you asked me.
My stomach chose that very moment to growl, loud enough for everyone to hear it.
‘Pardon me,’ said Manny. ‘I’m being derelict in my duty.’ He winked at me and moved the food closer. ‘Better feed the beast before the neighbours complain about the noise.’
I piled pasta onto my plate and passed it on to Vee. ‘I would never have picked that bloke from the truck as an artist,’ I said.
Those strong arms, the sureness of his movements, belonged to someone used to working with his hands, like a builder or a mechanic.
‘Anders is an artist/illustrator, a particularly fine one, I think.’ Vee delicately twirled her fork in to the pasta. ‘That is how we all met. He did the cover art for Caleb’s fantasy series and for my gothic romances. Actually, he found this house for us. He is lonely, I think–’
‘Did you say that you’re writers?’ Mum had trotted back in, her smile freshly lipsticked into position. She slotted into the seat beside me. ‘That’s so exciting, isn’t it, Henry?’
She didn’t wait for an answer and started shovelling food onto her plate. ‘Henry has the most amazing imagination, you wouldn’t believe the stories he comes up with–’
Vee’s eyebrows shot up at Mum’s enthusiastic attack on the pasta bowl. Her size was deceptive; she could eat her own body weight when someone else was cooking.
Mum pointed a red-tipped nail at Manny. ‘You said Henry would fit right in, round here, didn’t you Manny? Are you a writer too?’
He bowed from the waist. ‘Guilty as charged, dear Lydia. Perhaps I should formally introduce you to our little coven ... On your left, the talented Caleb Moore, writer of dark speculative fiction. Vampires, the undead, witches and their grimoire. And on Henry’s right, our gothic romance queen, Violet Winter–’
Mum’s squeal nearly burst my left eardrum. ‘Omygod, you’rethe reclusive Violet Winter! I loved Bones of My Heart. And I’ve just bought The Castle of Montero Moor... I can’t believe I live next door to a famous author!’
Vee’s black lips stretched in a grin. ‘Ah, a fan. Excellent news. I must tell my Australian publisher; she will be thrilled that I have found another one. The other is exhausted from carrying the full burden of my fandom on her own. But first–’ She held up her hand for silence. ‘We must complete our introductions. On my right, Lydia, is the soon-to-be-published–’
‘That might be laying it on a bit thick.’ Manny shifted in his seat. ‘I’m actually still in the world-building phase of the writing cycle–’
Vee carried on as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘–and soon-to-be- famousauthor of a door-stopper of a fantasy set in Chilli-Chocolate-Land–’
‘You are an evil witch,’ Manny said, pointing his knife at her heart. ‘My manuscript is set in a parallel universe in which South America’s Mayan civilisation actually survived to the present day and–’
‘That’s what I just said.’ Vee peered into her goblet. ‘Oh, I’m running on empty. Caleb, could you do the honours, please?’
‘Of course.’ He stood. ‘The least I can do, Vee, seeing that you were good enough to fill the coffin.’
My mother’s eyes widened. ‘I beg your pardon, but did you say–?’
‘Coffin?’ He walked over to the heavy curtains hanging across a two-metre span at one end of the dining room. ‘As in sarcophagus ... tomb ... or casket?’ He grasped the edge of the curtain and pulled it with him as he continued walking. ‘The final repository for our flesh when the spirit has fled. The cradle for our bones when eternal night falls...’
Behind the curtain, he unveiled an alcove created by the bay window that jutted out from the front of the house. A long window seat ran under the casements, and resting on top was the burnished timbers of the coffin that I’d helped them unload that morning.
‘Every home should have one.’ He unclipped the silver clasps holding the lid shut and raised the lid. ‘How do you like your poison, Lydia? Red? White? I’m afraid the only bubbly I can offer you now is Manny’s chilli fizz.’
Mum and I scrambled over for a closer look. The inside of the coffin was filled with polystyrene containers holding crushed ice and drinks. A bowl of Manny’s chilli punch nestled in ice at the wider part, with a few bottles of red neatly stacked in racks at the other end.
A laugh bubbled up out of Mum; a sound I hadn’t heard for too long. ‘You have a coffin esky? That’s priceless.’
‘We prefer to think of it as a cellar,’ Caleb corrected her solemnly. ‘Now, if you will choose your poison, I think it is time for a toast.’
Mum and I each had another chilli fizz and waited while the others charged their glasses with red wine poured from a crystal decanter.
‘To new neighbours,’ said Caleb.
‘New friends,’ corrected Manny.
‘New fans,’ insisted Vee, tilting her glass at Mum. ‘Let us thank the high heavens that I have finally found another one.’
Mum smiled at me. ‘And to family,’ she said, clinking her glass against mine.
The others turned expectantly, their glasses raised, waiting for my contribution.
I stared round the arc of faces in front of the coffin. Mum, radiant at being out and having fun for a change. Caleb, his soft brown eyes no longer hidden behind the mirrored lenses that he wore during daylight hours. Manny, his broken and reassembled face, no longer threatening. Vee, amused and amusing behind the black lipstick and eyeliner.
I raised my glass. ‘To the unexpected,’ I said.
Because tonight had turned out a whole lot better than the foot-long meatball sub that I originally had planned.