Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Karen, I saw Pog last night,’ she said.

  ‘Pog? That posh bloke from the Oxford house? What’s he doing these days?’

  Amy didn’t want to be diverted. ‘He told me about that night at the ball.’

  Karen didn’t react. Not even a flinch. Amy sat forward, determined to get it all out.

  ‘He said he saw you and David . . .’ She trailed off. Say it, say it. ‘He said he saw you two making out.’

  Karen blinked at her, then burst out laughing. ‘That’s what this is about? You’ve just lost your job and yet you’re worried your precious David might have shagged some other girl twenty years ago? Christ, Amy. Haven’t you got anything better to worry about? Is there really that much money in the bank?’

  Anger rose in Amy. It was funny how with old friends you slipped so easily into ancient roles so long left behind. She had forgotten how Karen used to put her down, belittle her. But not now, not any more.

  ‘I’m not asking you if you shagged my husband twenty years ago. I’m asking if he’s Josie’s father.’

  Karen’s jaw dropped. ‘Josie’s father?’ She shook her head slowly, then gave a bitter laugh. ‘I don’t know what Pog thinks he saw, but if he thinks he saw that, he got it wrong. David and I . . . We were pissed, we fancied each other, yeah. We even snogged for a bit, but . . .’ She closed her eyes, as if she was reluctant to say it. ‘We didn’t do it, Amy. In fact, David stopped because of you.’

  ‘Me?’

  Her mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘The old story: he was kissing me, but thinking of you. It was you he wanted all along.’

  Amy sat there, stunned, not knowing what to say, relief flooding every cell. David wasn’t Josie’s dad: he’d turned Karen down for her, he’d wanted her even then. And then another emotion replaced the relief and she wanted to bang her stupid head on the table. She’d been such an idiot. Maybe she simply didn’t deserve David.

  ‘So if David isn’t her father, why would Josie want to hurt me?’

  ‘Why not?’ Karen swept an arm around the run-down pub. ‘Look at this bloody place, Amy. Does it look any better to you now than it did when you left? No, it’s still a shithole, it will always be a shithole.’

  ‘But what’s that got to do with me?’

  Karen pointed a calloused finger at her. ‘You got out. You’ve lived a charmed bloody life, haven’t you?’

  ‘But Josie got out too; she went to uni.’

  Karen laughed. ‘Did she hell.’

  ‘But you said . . .’

  ‘Typical Amy. Always looking at the big picture, never checking the details. Josie left school at sixteen – was asked to leave, truth be told. She worked at the leisure centre for a bit, until they closed that down. Then bar work where she could get it, but mostly she brooded. About you.’

  ‘Me? What did I ever do to her?’

  Karen sat forward, her eyes blazing. ‘What did you ever do?’ she spat. ‘What did you do, Amy? Did you ever come to see us, ever send her a birthday card, even take the time to friend either of us on bloody Facebook? Did you? The times she used to ask me when Auntie Amy was going to come and see us, and I got tired of making excuses. I told her the truth. That you’d outgrown the little people like me and her.’

  Amy pressed back into her chair, genuinely stunned.

  ‘I . . . I know I should have done more, I know that, Karen, but it never seemed to be the right time.’

  Karen pursed her lips and waved a hand, as if she was bored with the subject. Or perhaps just bored with Amy’s excuses. Amy could relate to that: she was bored herself.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Ames,’ she said. ‘None of it matters.’

  She reached for her glass and drained it in one gulp. She looked tired, all the fire gone from her eyes.

  ‘I know I should never have put all those ideas in Josie’s head,’ she sighed. ‘Truth is, I was jealous of you. You had this perfect life in London with a nice flat and fancy friends, going out to parties and clubs, while I was stuck here knee-deep in shitty nappies. And it grew. As the years went on, the whole thing grew. It started as jealousy, but I suppose after a while it was like everything was your fault.’

  ‘And you passed that on to Josie.’

  Karen nodded, her expression bleak. ‘It’s been tough, Amy. Never having tuppence at the end of the week no matter what I gave up, and kids? Christ, kids just keep needing stuff. Shoes and books and a bleedin’ scooter at Christmas.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘And then there’s you, pictures of you in the newsagent every month, flying to LA or meeting some film star, a new dress in every photo.’

  Amy squirmed, suddenly seeing it from Karen’s point of view – and understanding.

  ‘Karen, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. But life’s like that, isn’t it? Fucks you up.’

  ‘Didn’t Lee help you?’

  Karen barked with laughter. ‘That deadweight? Ha! You know he came to Oxford the night of the ball? Scared the crap out of me, threatened me – not that that was anything new. Beat me black and blue when he was drinking, which was most of the time. And this is how screwed up I was: he’d practically strangled me, but he’d come all the way to Oxford, so I took it as a sign that he cared, God help me. We got back together just long enough for him to get me up the spout.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  Amy had come here to confront Karen, to get the truth about her own drama, but now she found herself fascinated, desperate to fill in the blanks on an old story she could barely remember.

  ‘Remember Lee was a mechanic? Well, his brother got him a job on the North Sea oil rigs and he moved up to Aberdeen. So up I went to Scotland with the happy news.’ Karen looked at her. ‘You know what? He couldn’t have been less interested. Thought I should get an abortion, but wasn’t prepared to do anything to help.’

  She held up her hands. ‘So that was that. Along came Josie, and from then on, it was me and her. She was everything to me, Ames; she was all I had. And I’m not proud of how I turned her against you, but you know what? It felt good having something in common, something to share.’

  ‘I invited her into my home, Karen, and she tried to ruin my life.’

  Karen paused as if to take it in.

  ‘Josie was always wilful. She could always twist people around her little finger. Bat her eyes at the ladies in the supermarket and get a lolly, that sort of thing, sweet-talk her teacher when she hadn’t done her homework. But when she got older, it went toxic. Bullying, I suppose, mean-girl stuff.’

  Amy started shaking her head.

  ‘She really began to focus on you,’ said Karen in a softer voice. ‘Buying all your magazines, looking you up on the internet. It was like an obsession. If I resented you for having everything I never did, Josie came to see you as the devil incarnate.’ She gave Amy a bleak smile. ‘She persuaded me to get in touch. I didn’t like it at first, but then I thought, why not? What I said to you in London was true. I wanted to give her a start, because, well, Josie’s capable when she puts her mind to it. But I was worried, too. I wasn’t sure how far she was prepared to go to get what she wanted. That was why I freaked out when you walked in just now. I thought something terrible had happened.’

  ‘Depends how you look at it. My husband almost moved out and I’ve lost my job. It hasn’t been great for me, Karen.’

  Karen’s blank expression said it all. She didn’t think it was all that terrible. Why would she?

  ‘So that’s why you came?’ she said. ‘You think Josie might have been involved? In you being fired, I mean.’

  ‘Do you?’

  Karen shrugged, then nodded. ‘Could have been.’

  ‘Could have been, or was?’ said Amy. ‘I need your help here, Karen.’

  ‘You need my help? Oh that’s rich. For twenty fucking years you gave me nothing – nothi
ng, Amy. And now you come asking me for help.’

  ‘Just tell me if Josie got me fired, please.’

  Karen stood up and grabbed her bag. ‘You were always the clever one, Amy. I’m sure you’ll work it out.’

  She walked towards the door, then turned.

  ‘You can have this one for free: maybe you should start by asking Josie herself.’

  Chapter 34

  It was almost eleven o’clock by the time she got home, and drizzling with rain. As the taxi dropped her at the house, she took a moment to take in its prettiness; golden windows winked back at her like amber eyes behind the thin sheen of rain so it looked like a snow globe.

  She thought of her daughter, tucked up safely in her cosy bedroom, and tried to push Josie Price out of her mind. She understood her now, but just needed to accept that it was all over.

  She slid her key into the lock, but David was already standing at the door as it swung open.

  ‘I was worried sick about you,’ he said as the warm air seemed to suck her in.

  ‘Did you not get my texts?’ she asked, wiping her shoes on the mat.

  ‘Yes, but Max and Pog both called me to say what had happened. When you texted to say you’d be late, I started to think all sorts.’

  As he put his arms around her, she felt conflicted. She couldn’t get the image of David and Karen in some remote corner of the ball out of her head, and yet she was glad to be back home, glad she could just move on.

  They went into the living room. David had lit the fire, and the newspapers and a tumbler of Scotch were on the ottoman.

  ‘I’ve been to Bristol,’ she said finally.

  ‘What for?’ he asked, in the tone of someone who already knew.

  ‘I went to see Karen.’

  ‘You’ve just lost your job, and instead of telling your husband, you go chasing off after your old friend. I can only imagine why.’

  ‘And what do you imagine, David?’ she said, challenging him. Perhaps he had just realised that he had been caught out. ‘Josie has been out to get me from the minute she turned up in this house,’ she added, trying to keep her voice low. ‘I knew it, and Karen basically confirmed it.’

  ‘So she’s a damaged young woman, but she’s not part of our lives any more.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  She took a deep breath. She wanted to let it go, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Why did you never tell me about you and Karen? That something happened between you? You were my friend, David. My best friend. You never told me then. Never mentioned it once in all the time we’ve been together.’

  ‘I didn’t lie to you, Amy. It just never came up.’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘It was pointless to tell you. It would have hurt you.’

  ‘Well guess how I feel right now. Really, really stupid, thinking my husband might have had sex with my oldest school friend.’

  ‘We didn’t have sex.’

  ‘That’s what Karen said,’ she admitted.

  ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘It’s just as well.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Christ, David, after everything that happened in Provence, imagine if she was your daughter.’

  The light in the room was dim, but there was enough of it for Amy to see her husband go pale.

  ‘Karen got pregnant straight after the ball. With that idiot Lee.’

  ‘I didn’t have sex with Karen, Amy, and I didn’t sleep with Josie. I guess that’s enough for us to try and put this whole thing behind us.’

  She felt her breath start to stutter, the emotion of the day rising into her throat.

  David came towards her and put his arms around her waist. This time she coiled her own around his back, resting her head on his shoulder like a pillow.

  ‘I want to talk to her,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘Let it go, Amy.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it’s important. She hates me because she thinks I abandoned her.’

  ‘Really? Or does she hate you because Karen has been jealous of you for twenty years?’

  ‘Either way, I’ve got to do the right thing,’ she said, taking his hand and leading him upstairs to bed, trying not to think about the conversation she would need to have with Josie tomorrow.

  Chapter 35

  ‘Chrissie, it’s Amy.’

  Her PA almost hyperventilated at the other end of the phone. ‘Amy, where the hell have you been? There have been all sorts of rumours floating about the place. Tracey keeps getting called to Douglas Proctor’s office, and Janine said you might not be coming in for a few days.’

  ‘It’s true, I’m having a bit of time off,’ said Amy, imagining the state of panic in the office.

  ‘This is about the Blenheim party, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ she replied.

  ‘Because I don’t believe the other stuff. I sent Douglas an email myself to say that I’d seen vials in your fridge but they were vitamins and everyone took them.’

  Amy felt a wave of affection for the younger woman.

  ‘Chrissie, I need you to do me a favour. I’ve been trying to get hold of Josie Price, but apparently she’s not in work today. I need you to try and find me her home address.’

  ‘Josie? What do you want to talk to her for?’

  So Chrissie had heard about the showdown outside Douglas’s office.

  ‘Please, just try,’ said Amy.

  ‘Okay,’ agreed her PA, not sounding terribly convinced. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  It took Chrissie all day to come through. Eventually she got the address from one of the post boys, who lived near Josie and had shared an Uber home with her on a couple of occasions.

  ‘Sorry, miss. Traffic’s shocking today,’ said the taxi driver taking Amy from Notting Hill to Islington. ‘The road ahead is closed as well. Honestly, it might be better if you hop out here.’

  Amy craned her neck to look at the line of stationary cars ahead. ‘Just pull over wherever you can.’

  It had been a long time since she had been to this pocket of north London, but somehow it still felt like home. Years ago, she had rented a tiny basement flat in a grand whitewashed Georgian terrace with a postcode that meant she could tell people she lived in Barnsbury, although in truth it was actually closer to the sticky pavements of Caledonian Road – and, come to that, Holloway women’s prison.

  She walked past the chichi restaurants and chic interior shops on Upper Street, past the bars full of young people relaxing after a busy day at work. Turning off, she headed into the quieter residential area, away from the lights and the laughter. Normally she would have been nervous walking alone on such deserted streets, but tonight it felt right, like this was her territory. God, she thought, a wistful smile on her lips, I must have been twenty-four, twenty-five when I lived here. Where has that girl gone?

  Where were any of them? All those hopeful, energetic people who’d jumped on a train into Euston or Paddington or London Bridge, the bright-eyed ones who’d grown up different, who didn’t fit into the small towns in Dorset or Gloucestershire, who felt hemmed in by Nottingham or Leeds. Because this was where they all came, wasn’t it? Even the privileged ones like David and Jules. They were all modern-day Dick Whittingtons come to see if the streets really were paved with gold.

  Even Josie.

  She crossed the wide thoroughfare of Liverpool Road, always strangely empty compared to its glitzy neighbour, thinking about Karen trapped in her home town, struggling to keep her head above water, no support network, alone. Well, she had Josie, at least. Someone to tuck in at night, someone to tell stories to. Stories about evil Aunt Amy, the black-hearted fairy-tale queen in the golden palace. It sounded crazy, because it was,
and yet it made perfect sense too.

  But had Josie really been behind her fall? Sure, Karen had given her daughter the motivation, but that wasn’t a smoking gun, was it?

  Amy turned the corner, stopping outside a small, scruffy block of flats. For a moment, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Blue lights bouncing off the white walls, an ambulance and a police car blocking the road, a small crowd gathered, their faces grim. Increasing her pace, she walked up to a woman in a cardigan at the back.

  ‘What’s happened? Has there been an accident?’

  ‘Some young girl in one of those flats,’ said the woman. ‘Taken an overdose, looks like.’

  ‘Overdose?’ Amy felt a shiver of panic but tried to convince herself that plenty of young women lived in that block of flats. ‘Is she . . .’

  ‘Dead? Nah,’ said the woman. ‘Flatmate came home and found her, apparently. Called 999. They brought her out on a stretcher and loaded her in the ambulance a few minutes ago. Such a shame; pretty thing too.’

  Amy crossed to the opposite pavement, but her way was blocked by a young policeman, who gave a weary sigh and gestured back the other way. ‘Nothing to see, madam, please keep moving.’

  ‘But I need to get past. I’m going to number twelve.’

  The policeman looked at her properly for the first time. ‘Number twelve? Who were you coming to see?’

  ‘Josie Price,’ said Amy, her heart starting to speed up. ‘Why? Is there something wrong?’

  The policeman shook his head and waved a gloved hand. ‘I think you’d better talk to my colleague.’

  An older WPC walked over, her face set. ‘You know the lady at number twelve? May I ask your relationship?’

  Amy paused for a beat and looked across at the ambulance.

  ‘I’m her old friend Amy.’

  In the bright fluorescent light of the hospital room, Josie looked so young. Seventeen, eighteen at most. Lying there so peacefully, eyes closed, no make-up, she was a dead ringer for the girl Amy had so often shared a bed with, sleeping off the night before, wrapped up in their shared adventures. Where had it all gone so wrong? She and Karen had been as close as two girls could be, sharing everything. Yet had it all been so perfect? Nostalgia always took the edges off things, didn’t it? You remembered the belly laughs, but never the screaming rows. The funny thing was, Amy had always thought of Karen as the leader of their little clique; she’d been the bossy one, the one with all the ideas. And many of the dreams Amy had had as a girl had been Karen’s too. Karen hadn’t loved Westmead either; she had yearned to leave, to ‘climb the barbed wire’, as she’d put it, to go to Europe or Thailand or Australia – anywhere but where they were. And yet Amy was the one who had gone. Was that what had made her friend so bitter, so angry that she’d poisoned her daughter’s mind from the crib?