Death Cap

I must have blacked out until the starter turned up, because I thought I blinked and then it was there, a pool of red liquid squatting in a white dish like some domestic quagmire. I squinted down into it, distrustful. There was parsley on top, that much was clear, but whatever was lurking beneath the surface was a mystery. I took a hold of the spoon and sunk it to the bottom. It touched china. Then I swirled it about, strafing the parsley, eyes fixed on Vivian in search of some physical manifestation of evil. There was nothing. His acting capabilities were second to none.

  Now he was watching me. My knuckles were white on the spoon.

  ‘You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.’

  I paused in drowning the parsley. Either the Death Cap wasn’t in this course or it was an extremely confident double bluff. I looked at the soup. It was smooth. I didn’t think it was in Vivian’s nature to hid something so sneakily, with no hint of shame or guilt, but then until this afternoon I wouldn’t have thought it was in his nature to plan the ironic murder of his best friend so callously far in advance. Every avenue was fraught with danger. But the soup did smell nice and I was very hungry. I decided to call his bluff and sank a spoon of the stuff.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, eyes still fixed on his.

  ‘I do wish you’d stop glowering at me like that. It’s quite unnerving.’

  I sat back in triumph.

  ‘Ha!’ I said. I was putting the wind up him. I bet he hadn’t expected that.

  ‘Really now.’

  ‘Ha!’ I replied.

  He tutted and looked back at his own soup. It might have been a trick of the light but I thought his looked a deeper shade of red than mine, and I wondered if the presence of poison in my own had given it a pallor. My throat constricted. I drank some more of the soup to hasten the process and avoid a prolonged demise.

  ‘Do you want to try some of mine?’ I said. ‘It looks a different shade to yours.’

  He agreed with me about the shade but declined my offer without a pause for thought. The likelihood of his guilt increased tenfold. I was determined to press the matter and held a spoonful in front of his mouth.

  ‘No,’ he said, pushing it away.

  I tried again.

  ‘Stop it.’

  I was determined.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing? It’s the same as mine.’

  ‘Mine’s got a pallor.’

  He sighed and seized the spoon.

  ‘There,’ he said, downing it. ‘Tomato-y. Exactly the same as mine. Satisfied?’

  I was. I drank the rest of my soup in silence, conserving my energy for when the real battle commenced at the main. Now there were two ways he might go about this. He may be subtle; have the mushroom blendered and added to the sauce or mixed into the veg. Or he may be bold and blatant: slap it onto the plate next to the meat and tell me it was a portobello. Coated in gravy and half-hidden beneath chips it would be almost impossible to tell…

  Vivian made some trivial conversation about the new book he was writing, on the development of the New York Mafia through each successive generation of Don.

  ‘It’s in turmoil since John Gotti copped it. It just isn’t the same these days.’

  I nodded and smiled and prepared. The amateur psychologist. I tried telling him I was an amateur mycologist but it didn’t go down at all how I’d hoped. Rather than the colour draining from his face as he realised he had failed to disguise his cold-blooded crime, he merely chuckled and began telling me about the assassination of Paul Castellano outside Sparks Steak House and how he was wearing Pierre Cardin monologue silk socks at the time. He claimed to own a pair himself.

  When the soup bowls had been cleared and the time had come to decide on the mains, things were really hotting up. Vivian reintroduced the topic of his cure.

  ‘Now you know why I brought you here,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’re getting you over your fear. In light of this, I shall allow you only to order something that comes with a mushroom.’

  ‘You shall allow?’

  ‘I’m paying.’

  I swore inwardly. It must have even been a part of his ploy to drag me out of my house before I had chance to collect any money to insure myself against this kind of situation. No matter. I would just have to keep a weather eye out.

  ‘How about this?’ he said, pointing something terrible out. ‘Sirloin steak and chips. Comes with a side of portobellini mushrooms and garlic.’

  It sounded diabolical.

  ‘Yes. That sounds nice.’

  He smiled and congratulated me and ordered. I felt so unhappy. It wasn’t even Italian.

  I was forced to listen to yet another anecdote about Carlo Gambino’s massive nose before the killer crunch came. Vivian rose from his seat and excused himself. Immediately I was on my feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I said.

  ‘Just to the toilet. I’ll only be a minute.’

  Just to the toilet? Ha. Only be a minute? Ha! Only a minute to creep into the kitchen and switch the portobellini for the Death Cap. Only a minute my arse. I knew I would have to go with him.

  ‘I’m coming. I need the toilet too.’

  ‘No, no. You should wait here in case the dinners come.’

  ‘They’re not going to come straight after we’ve ordered.’

  ‘It’s actually quite quick here. They might think we’ve left.’

  ‘I need the loo.’

  ‘I’ll be two minutes max, just go after me.’

  ‘No.’

  He was frowning again. I worried about upsetting him for the second time in a day but I had to have some pretext for sticking so close if I was to preserve my life.

  ‘Why are you so insistent?’

  ‘I need a wee,’ I said. Surely it was a valid enough argument?

  ‘I’d rather go alone. You know I can’t go when people can hear me.’

  It was true. Vivian has terribly shy kidneys.

  ‘I won’t listen.’

  ‘But you’ll be able to hear.’

  I was struggling. The air seemed to be becoming thick with apprehension and only I was choking on it. My mind raced. I could tell him I’d contracted agoraphobia and didn’t want to be left alone. Or that I was having a crisis of sexuality and wanted to see his penis. Overall I thought the latter sounded less likely, and he would probably be more willing to believe the former just based on the general circumstances of our being here today. I made a decision.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ I said in a somewhat intense whisper. ‘I don’t want to be left on my own with the penis.’

  I cursed. The two lies had become entangled in my mind and now sounded either ridiculous or dangerous. From the look on his face I guessed it was both.

  ‘I really can’t think what could be so bad about your penis that you couldn’t bear to be left alone with it for two minutes. You’ve been on your own all day.’

  My mind was still racing but it was beginning to feel like a three-legged race.

  ‘It’s hurting?’

  With an egg and a spoon.

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘No. It was just a little sore.’

  In a sack.

  ‘It’s alright,’ I said. I sat back down and resigned myself to death. ‘I just thought I should check it out.’

  ‘Maybe you’d rather check it out when I wasn’t there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, drowning. ‘But I wanted your opinion.’

  He looked uncomfortable but agreed to escort me to the bathroom if it would make me feel better. I couldn’t think of a way out of it so I thanked him politely and followed him into the toilets.