16. Brody
Brody
The Castle Brasserie is a restaurant in the old part of the city and apparently one of the most popular places in the area to take someone on a date.
“This place is weird,” Ari whispers in my ear as we walk past the huge windows to get to the door.
Light spills onto the pavement, casting a warm glow onto the puddles by our feet.
Inside I can see the rows of small tables, each one occupied by a couple, a single stuttering candle between them.
“It’s full of people who don’t seem to like each other very much. ”
“It’s popular for first dates and with people who have been together a long time having a ‘date-night’.” But even as I say it I realise that it’s an odd combination of fledgling and established relationships with nothing in the middle.
“Hmm. The ‘date-night’ thing is bullshit,” Ari says. “Like you’ve been together forever but you feel like you need to dress up and go for a steak to pretend you still like each other.”
“You don’t think these couples still like each other?” I ask, my question genuine as I spot an elderly pair in the final window who look very much in love.
Ari says something under her breath. It sounds like “dating is a waste of time” but I’m not a hundred percent sure. At the entrance to the restaurant, I open the door and motion for her to go ahead of me. She stops and stares at me, one eyebrow rising millimetre by millimetre as we stand there.
“Ummm…” I say, rubbing my hand through my hair. “Are you going inside?”
The eyebrow rises another few millimetres and I can’t help but appreciate the way the expression sculpts her cheekbones deeper, the shadow of the night falling so perfectly.
She looks like a Grecian goddess carved from marble with exquisite care.
Beautiful. Fierce. Like she would rip your throat out and you’d welcome it with your whole heart.
She coughs gently. She’s waiting for something. Ohhh, of course. “Sorry,” I whisper as I squeeze past her and enter the warmth of the restaurant.
I get the attention of the host. His name badge says Gregory. “Could you invite my friend in please?”
His eyes widen as he looks behind me and sees Ari in the doorway. “Is she?” he hisses under his breath.
I nod.
He swallows audibly. “Right then. Well. Umm…” He’s visibly flustered.
I can only assume that a place like this doesn’t get many vampire patrons.
He almost falls over his own feet as he moves towards the door and clears his throat three times, each louder than the last. “Welcome to the Castle Brasserie.” His voice cracks a little.
“You need to invite me in,” Ari tells him. I can tell she’s getting a bit pissy with the situation, but mainly because she doesn’t love being the centre of attention and everyone inside the restaurant is starting to stare.
“Of course. Sorry.” The last word comes out with a squeak. “Err. Welcome to the Castle Brasserie. I hope you have a pleasant visit.” He motions for her to enter.
“You still haven’t actually invited me inside.” She uses the same slightly pinched voice I’ve heard her berate her own self with. The irritation is obviously bubbling to the surface now.
Gregory looks at me with abject panic. “What do I say?” he mouths at me.
“Please come inside,” I tell him. This really isn’t rocket science.
He nods and blushes and then turns back to Ari. “Inside. Come please.”
Ari rolls her eyes and sweeps inside. “We’ll take the table in the corner,” she says and starts to walk towards it without waiting for Gregory.
He smooths down his hair and follows her at a speed more akin to a trot than a walk.
I swallow down the laughter that threatens to erupt.
I don’t normally find people in distress amusing – ha, who am I kidding, I’m a prankster at heart, as long as no-one is actually getting hurt – but this is comedy gold.
I wish Matt was here. Actually, maybe I’ll bring him here tomorrow night just to really fuck with Gregory.
Or is that too much? I always try to stay on the right side of the line, before pranks become cruel, but it isn’t always easy to gauge the difference.
Once we’re seated, Gregory hands over the menus.
“We have some specials today.” He takes a deep breath as he prepares to list that day’s additional items. The specials are what this place is famous for: or so I’ve heard, I’ve never actually bought a date here myself.
Not that this is a date. I have to keep reminding myself that.
This is dinner with my boss. Just to show her what modern dating looks like. It’s work. Nothing more.
Ari puts her hand on his arm and he blanches at her touch. “Let’s start with the drinks menu,” she tells him. “I’m extremely thirsty.”
“Oh. Err… We don’t stock any of your kin—”
She stops him mid-word with a squeeze of his forearm. “Do not finish that sentence. Just bring me a large glass of merlot. Please.” She smiles at him, mouth open just enough to show him a hint of her canines.
“And the same for me please,” I add.
He scurries off and Ari bristles in her seat. Then suddenly her whole demeanour changes and she grins. “Oh. My. God. Did you see his face?” She laughs softly. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is to fuck with them.”
“Them?”
“Humans.” She must catch the disappointment that clouds my features. “I mean, those types of humans. The ones who think we’re a whole other species. You’re different.” She reaches out and touches my hand. “You don’t act like I want to eat you.”
But the way she runs her tongue across her lips makes me blush.
She might be a little closer to the truth than I’m prepared to admit.
And the romantic surroundings and soft lighting and the way her long hair is falling across her shoulders are not helping.
I clear my throat and hope Gregory brings the wine quickly.
I need the alcohol. And I need the large glass to hide behind so she won’t see how red my cheeks are going.
A waitress brings the wine over and tells us the huge list of specials.
We order a charcuterie sharing board to start and then both order steak – fillet, medium rare – with peppercorn sauce and chips.
Greats minds think alike and all that. Orders complete, we wait for the waitress to leave but she’s obviously been informed about Ari as she can’t stop staring at her, like she’s an exotic creature in a zoo.
“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a vampire before,” Ari tells her, not unkindly.
“Oh no. It’s not that.” The waitress smiles. “My girlfriend’s a vamp. It’s just that you’re Ari Haywood…” She trails off but still seems unable to drag her stare away. “Is it true? That you were friends with Kitty Marion back in the day?” The question comes out almost breathless.
Ari smiles, a warm and genuine smile as if she’s remembering a time she was particularly fond of. “Oh yes. Good times. Well, not good, not really, but it was certainly interesting.”
“Some might say explosive,” the waitress adds.
“They might,” Ari replies with a wink. “I mean, not that I needed to threaten to blow things up to strike a little fear into people.” She flashes the tips of her fangs.
“Umm. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, desperate to know what they mean.
“Dear Kitty was a suffragette with a rather militant streak. Great fun. And we did win in the end.”
“You were a vampire suffragette?” I ask. But of course she would have been.
“If you’re going to live forever, I think you need to fight for the best possible world,” Ari says.
From a few metres away, Gregory motions at the waitress as if to tell her to get a move on. Ari glares at him and he scurries back behind the desk by the front door.
“I’d better get back to work,” the waitress says. “It was an honour to meet you, Miss Haywood.”
The starter is surprisingly good with toasted sourdough, ham, and pickled vegetables.
Ari tells me the French name for everything but all I can think of is how sexy the words sound on her lips.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have another glass of wine, this whole experience is going to my head a little.
As we eat Ari tells me a few stories about her antics with the suffragettes and I’m surprised to learn just how radical they really were.
“I thought it was mainly placard waving and marches,” I tell her after she’s regaled me with how Kitty and another woman – also called Clara but no relation to her friend and definitely not a vampire – burned down the grandstand of Hurst Park Racecourse.
Ari laughs. “I guess all you’ve seen is a few black and white pictures and it all looks so different, like it was made up, somehow. But it did happen, and in glorious technicolour. It was brilliant and vibrant and… well, real.”
Just as the plates from our starter have been cleared, the front door of the restaurant opens and in walks a familiar face. Sharon from my old office. The one I used to join for Baking Thursday and Secret Santa and the occasional post-work drink in the local pub. She’s a fellow Danely hater.
She looks terrified. Far more than Gregory the concierge. He consults the list in front of him and shakes his head. Then he leads her to the bar.
Our mains arrive and it looks delicious, the chips crisp and the steak the perfect amount of pink in the centre. I’m starting to see why this place is so popular for dates. I keep half an eye on Sharon as we tuck in. She’s obviously waiting for someone. I tell Ari.
“Do think she was meant to be on a date?” Ari asks.
I nod. “Probably.”
“Jeez. Just another reason I don’t want to do any of this. If he’s still not turned up when we’ve finished this course please rescue her.”
Once our plates are cleared I excuse myself from Ari and go to find Sharon.
“Hey. You OK?” I ask her.
She bursts into tears.
“Oh. Umm. Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I stutter. I’m a great listener but normally I know why someone is crying before they are crumpled in front of me wiping snot from their nose with the sleeve of the jumper they’ve obviously bought specially for the occasion.
“He didn’t turn up,” she says eventually.
“Bastard.” I say it so emphatically she stops crying for a moment and a tiny smile breaks through.
She calls him another name. I won’t repeat it. But the shock of hearing that word from the mouth of someone I think of like an auntie makes me laugh. She claps her hand over her mouth.
“You should join us,” I tell her and motion to Ari who is currently engrossed in the dessert menu. “We’re about to eat our bodyweights in sugar.”
“You’re on a date.”
“It’s not a date.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe it. “You’re telling me that you’re in the Castle Brasserie with a beautiful woman and it isn’t a date.”
“She’s my new boss.”
“You sly dog.”