Her Closest Friend (ARC)

by Clare Boyd

  Charlie’s tone sounded accusatory, which I knew he did not mean. It was concern rather than blame or suspicion. If Adam had seen his face, he would have seen that his brow was raised in boyish hope as he waited for Adam to deliver reassuring news.

  Before I heard any words come from Charlie’s mouth, I watched his brow fall into a frown. I watched how he rubbed at his forehead, as though soothing the ache of disappointment.

  ‘Ah. I see. Right. Sorry for bothering you so late. Thanks for calling back… Yes… Let’s hook up… Yes… Of course… Bye.’

  His voice had been flat, almost unrecognisable.

  ‘He doesn’t know anything, does he?’ I asked, wishing that I might have misread his frown.

  Charlie stared straight at me.

  ‘He does, actually. She’s taken them to the cinema.’

  ‘What? But… it’s so late!’

  ‘She’s taken them to the Imax in Brighton. Mamma Mia 2.’

  Confusion stopped me from fully taking it in. ‘How does he know?’

  ‘Because he’s Dylan’s dad?’

  ‘But he’s moved out. He wouldn’t necessarily know.’

  ‘He wanted to take Dylan this weekend, straight from school this afternoon, but Sophie suggested Saturday morning instead. Because of the cinema trip and because of some drive they’re going on, or something. Apparently she’s taken them to Bill’s tonight, too.’

  Those eyes that had connected with me minutes before were now black and deep in his sockets. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the rim of his sweater, looking down, looking away from me.

  ‘I swear to god she didn’t tell me that, Charlie.’

  He replaced his glasses. ‘Strange that she would tell Adam, and email me, but not you.’

  ‘You have to believe me. She’s trying to mess with my head.’

  Standing up, he said, ‘But why?’

  I pulled at his arm, trying to stop him from leaving the study. ‘Charlie, you have to believe me, she and I have had a falling-out, she’s…’

  And then the doorbell rang.

  I let out a small cry and ran to the door.

  Standing there, with wide smiles and wild eyes, were Izzy and Diana. Sophie followed them up the terrace steps.

  ‘Oh my god, darlings, oh my god, come here,’ I said, rounding them into my arms, kissing their faces and squeezing the life out of them. Incense lingered in their hair. They smelt of her.

  ‘We’ve had so much fun, haven’t we, girls?’ Sophie chirruped.

  Slowly, I raised myself off my haunches and stared at Sophie. She looked so pale and pretty; too pretty to be guilty of stealing my children, some might think.

  Charlie and I listened as the girls chattered about the helter-skelter and eating hamburgers and watching 3-D.

  At the end, Charlie came in with his deepest parental voice, ‘What do you say to Sophie, girls?’

  They swivelled on their heels and grabbed Sophie around the middle. ‘Thank you so much, Sophie. It was really, so, so fun.’

  ‘Right. Off to bed, you little rascals,’ Charlie said.

  They giggled and ran past him, with their pink and white bags of sweets clamped to their chests.

  ‘Dylan’s asleep in the car. I’d better head off,’ Sophie said, turning to leave, swinging her wide-hemmed, Indian-print skirt.

  ‘Thanks so much, Sophie. What a treat for them,’ Charlie said, standing wide in the doorway, as though barricading me in.

  ‘It’s nothing, I’ve had just as much fun as…’

  I pushed past Charlie to stand in front of him, to confront Sophie.

  ‘Why didn’t you return my calls?’

  ‘What calls?’ she asked, twisting a strand of her white-blonde hair behind her ear, biting the bottom lip of her reddened mouth.

  ‘Are you serious? What calls?’ I cried.

  Charlie interjected calmly, ‘We didn’t know when you were coming back. We were a little worried, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, really? I’m so sorry,’ she said, rummaging in her bag. ‘I’ve had my phone on silent all evening… We’ve been so busy… Oh…’ She took her phone out of her bag with her long fingers and laughed. ‘Oh my god. I’m such an idiot. I had no idea you’d be checking in. I’m so sorry.’ She showed us the screen. Fifteen missed calls from Naomi Wilson. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again.

  Charlie shot a look at me, his eyes narrow with reproach. My skin prickled across my chest. I could not allow him to think this was my fault.

  ‘Sophie, you know you didn’t tell me about your plans for the girls this evening, so let’s just stop pretending you did, okay,’ I said.

  Her white lashes flickered and she batted them towards Charlie and back to me. ‘Naomi, we had a whole conversation about it at the pool, last week, while the kids were swimming.’

  ‘No, we did not,’ I insisted.

  ‘I asked you to talk to Charlie about it.’

  I let out a sharp laugh and turned to Charlie. ‘She’s lying!’

  Sophie added, ‘It was quite hectic in the pool, maybe you just didn’t hear or something.’

  ‘It was not hectic enough for me to forget a whole conversation, seriously, I really think you—’

  Charlie cut in. ‘Look, the girls are back, it doesn’t matter who told whom, what, when. It’s very late and I’m sure you want to get Dylan home, Sophie.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘Yes. Bye, guys. Bye, Naomi. Maybe get a good lie-in tomorrow morning. You look tired. The girls were great, by the way. Such a credit to you both.’

  I was speechless.

  ‘Thanks, Sophie,’ Charlie said, moving to close the door. ‘That’s really kind. See you soon.’

  ‘I’ll give you a bell, Naomi!’ she said over her shoulder, casually.

  I could have run at her, pushed her, insisted she tell the truth, but I was clued-up enough to know that I would be the one to come out worst. Her barefaced, shameless lie was too expert to compete with.

  With the door closed, I heard Charlie’s voice telling me he was going to get the girls into bed, but I did not respond. I stood, fixed to the spot, dumbfounded, listening to Sophie’s car pull out of the drive. The noise of the spitting gravel was like a ‘fuck you’. I imagined her laughing as she drove off, knowing she had won.

  I was sitting on the bottom stair when Charlie came down again. He stopped a few steps behind me.

  ‘The girls are in bed,’ he sighed. ‘I’m going up myself now.’

  I twisted round to look at him. ‘All’s well that ends well,’ I said, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

  He shook his head at me, as though he were amazed at my stupidity. ‘Do you have any idea what you have just put me through?’

  I leapt up. ‘I…’ I began, but tears stopped me from saying anything coherent. ‘I didn’t want to put you through anything. It’s Sophie… she’s gone… She’s up to something, I swear it.’

  He sighed again, heavily, hooking one large hand across the back of his neck, letting his arm hang from there. ‘What is she up to, exactly?’

  ‘I can’t put my finger on it, I can’t say exactly. I mean, I’m not the only one, Charlie. I told you that Adam was worried too, didn’t I? He actually said he thought she was unstable. He used that exact word.’

  ‘When I spoke to Adam earlier he implied things were back on track between them. They’re taking the old Giulia out tomorrow, as a family. He said she was on great form.’

  My thoughts froze. ‘She’s doing what?’

  ‘Taking the Giulia out for a drive.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It couldn’t possibly be true. The worry of tonight shrivelled to the back of my mind, dwarfed by the greater imminent danger.

  ‘They can’t!’ I cried.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  I had a mouthful of why nots, twenty years of them, ready to blurt out, but I didn’t have time, I had to get in contact with Sophie. ‘It’s an old car, that’s all. I was worr
ied it wasn’t safe,’ I blustered. ‘Sorry.’

  Charlie looked up at the ceiling and spoke, as though reading from an invisible script in the cornicing. ‘I told you last time that I wouldn’t go through all this again. I’m telling you, Naomi, I can’t do it. All the histrionics, all the paranoia, all the lies… Especially not now.’ His voice faltered and he dropped his arm, as though giving up.

  ‘What do you mean, not now?’ I asked, absent-mindedly.

  Charlie’s heavy, slow footstep trudged up the stairs. ‘I’m going to bed. We can talk about it in the morning.’

  ‘Sure,’ I murmured, shaking my head, watching him go, preoccupied with thoughts about the Giulia. Sophie had clearly outlined the risks of taking it out for a drive. Her warnings flashed through my mind now.

  Back in 1999, the number plate could have been seen – in its entirety or partially – by a witness and logged into the police system when the original investigation was carried out. If remnants of paint had been found on Jason Parker’s body, or if there had been tyre marks left on the road, the investigating officers might have pinpointed the make of car, if not the model or year. They might have carried out a search for owners of Alfas in the local area, possibly spread their search nationwide. The fact that they had not yet located the car did not mean that they had not identified it at the time. Feasibly, if Sophie took the car out on the roads, the registration could be picked up by a modern ANPR system and she could be hauled in for questioning. It would mean the end for us. I had to stop her.

  Having found my phone in the kitchen, I typed a text:

  Sophie – call me urgently. Naomi

  The cork – a proper cork – popped out of the neck of the smart bottle of Malbec and the aroma filled my head with reassurance, with its promise of calm, with its companionship.

  I sat down at the kitchen table to wait for Sophie’s call.

  I would have felt lonely without this glass of Malbec, which I had been sent as a complimentary gift by Selfridges. The PR department were clearly hoping for a favourable review on the blog in return. I had been saving it for the right moment. The right moment would have been late summer, with friends around a firepit; sausages in buns, tartan blankets, stars above our heads, the wine poured into tin mugs. The photograph on my blog would have depicted glowing, tanned faces in a circle of contentment.

  I had not imagined the downlighters above my head, spotlighting me, sending a flare of cold light across the surface of the wine as I took it to my lips. My needy, quivering lips, tinged with salty tears. I had not imagined I would have turned to it like a friend. My only friend.

  The phone lay black next to me. It was clear Sophie was ignoring me, as she had done all evening. I decided to be more direct:

  Sophie – you can’t take it for a drive. It’s dangerous. The risk isn’t worth it. Please, reconsider. Call me. Let’s talk about it. Naomi

  As I waited, I drank, thirstily, just as one shouldn’t with such good wine. The Selfridges PR woman would expect me to describe its velvet-smooth texture and its inky colour and its full-bodied, juicy flavours of plum and black cherry and blackberry. She would hope for an attractive accompanying photograph.

  Three more texts and two phone calls later, there was still no reply. I drank more, knowing I would not review and post this wine. I did not care that I would fall out of favour with Selfridges PR. I did not care about its texture or its colour, I cared only about how it made me feel, how its silkiness let me slip and slide away from my fear about Sophie’s drive tomorrow, how it allowed me to dive into its deep-purple pool of denial. Maybe the police had not managed to gather the physical evidence at the accident scene. Maybe the dent left in the roof had been too minor for chips of paint to lodge into Jason Parker’s hair or clothes. Maybe the rain had wiped out the tyre marks. Maybe the drive would be fun. Maybe. Definitely maybe.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘The guy promised it would work now!’ Sophie cried, infuriated as she rattled at the lock from inside the garage. Dylan and Adam waited behind her.

  She was determined to go ahead with the drive, but her mind was crowded by Naomi’s texts and calls advising her against it. It wasn’t helpful to have Naomi’s agitation inside her head today.

  ‘Try it with the key, from the outside,’ Adam suggested calmly.

  Sophie grunted and then kicked the lock. ‘It’s totally broken.’

  ‘Give me the key,’ Adam said, exiting the garage from the side door.

  A second later, she and Dylan heard the key turn and then she saw a chink of daylight turn into a gaping shaft of sunshine which flooded the gloomy garage, as though the car had burst into song.

  ‘You did it! Hooray!’ Sophie cheered, hugging Adam.

  ‘I know, I’m your hero,’ Adam winked, flirting with her.

  Dylan chattered excitedly to Adam as the three of them climbed into the wind-pressed vinyl seats of the Giulia. The little blue car held power, strange power. It was able to pull people together, but it wasn’t always a force for good. Overriding her unease, Sophie pushed it into gear and out of its space. The engine purred like new.

  As she sped along the lanes, Dylan wound down his window and yelped with glee. Sophie flinched. The drive was a nerve-jangling thrill for Sophie. She understood why Naomi had reminded her of the risks, but Sophie had wanted the car’s coming-out to mark a new chapter, to be symbolic of leaving the past behind. Her trip to Brighton yesterday with the Wilson girls had cut dead Naomi’s shilly-shallying about confessions and Sophie wanted to celebrate, to throw Naomi’s caution to the wind for once in her life. She was sick of living in fear. She was sick of Naomi, perhaps.

  Naomi had spent years enjoying the fruits of Sophie’s cover-up, for which everything in Sophie’s life had been put on the line. Sophie had tidied away their shared mess, leaving her friend to live out the happiness that she herself had felt too unworthy to experience.

  One twist of that steering wheel, one twist of fate did not have to lead to a lifetime of self-reproach. It did not have to. Who was writing the rules? Sophie could. From now on, Sophie would grab what was rightfully hers and claw back what she had given away to Naomi, what she had yearned for and felt undeserving of. It was time to kill off her child self; the child who had believed she wasn’t worthy of anything good. It was time to take back the life she had been denied.

  If the police had the car’s registration plate on its system, today might be the day they were caught for Jason Parker’s death. But if it wasn’t, she would be freed, liberated from twenty years of angst. It was a risk worth taking.

  But her eyes were hawkish, roaming the countryside for CCTV cameras, fearing the authorities’ watchful eyes. As she powered through the lanes, she imagined throwing a black cloak over each camera she saw.

  Then, stopping her heart, the worst happened. A police car appeared in her rear-view mirror. She bristled; her mouth dried. Her hands clawed at the slippery wheel. She became hypervigilant, keen to stay under 30mph, anxious about making a rookie driving mistake. She feared that Naomi’s trepidation had been well grounded. How arrogant she had been. As she recalled her warnings, and those of her grandfather before her, and tried not to panic, Dylan suddenly leant forward and throttled her with a neck hug.

  ‘Stop that!’ she had screamed, losing her temper with him, quickly checking her rear-view mirror.

  She couldn’t believe her luck. The police car had turned left. Off and away from them. Disinterested.

  Trembling all over, Sophie pulled up into a village parking space. The flood of adrenaline had almost killed her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Can you drive us home?’ she said, blowing out short, sharp breaths.

  Disorientated by the whole experience, she tugged out the key, but failed to cut the engine or pull up the handbrake. The car rolled back as she got out.

  Adam pulled up the brake and scooted over to sit at the wheel. ‘The car’s running without the key?’
r />   ‘Oh, here,’ she said, handing it to him through the window, still unsteady on her legs.

  ‘Sorry, Mumma,’ Dylan said, squishing his nose into the glass.

  She managed a small laugh, but knew the ordeal wasn’t over. They had to make it home safely before she could relax.

  ‘Jump in then,’ Adam said.

  She had taken a few deep breaths before she felt she could return to the car.

  ‘A worn ignition barrel, I guess,’ Adam had said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were able to take the key out when the engine was still running.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘A Scooby-Doo phantom car,’ Adam chuckled.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about? Can we just go home?’

  But he was right. It was a phantom car, filled with ghosts: Jason Parker’s spirit took shape through the windscreen, and the ghost of Naomi and Sophie’s youth, their innocence, jangled its chains across the locks of the doors.

  Dylan broke into the Scooby-Doo theme song, remembering every word of the lyrics.

  ‘A modern car wouldn’t do that,’ Adam mumbled sulkily, yanking the gearstick back and forth.

  ‘Careful,’ she insisted, through a clenched jaw.

  After a bit, they recovered their moods, but the drive had been ruined for Sophie.

  As Adam manoeuvred the Giulia back into the garage, Sophie was cross with Naomi. Her scaremongering texts had jinxed her, made her nervous when she hadn’t needed to be. Like a bad omen, the drive had shaken Sophie, bone-deep.

  It was a hot May day. The change in the weather seemed to mark more changes in Sophie’s life, more disturbances at the cottage, where removals men were unloading Mr and Mrs Etherington’s few possessions.

  Sophie watched from the long, narrow window of her shack, peering beyond her cacti, to see the strangers cross her grandfather’s threshold. Their tenancy reflected Sophie’s new choices, her free will, unhindered by the ready-written fate she had once believed in. A few weeks ago, Sophie had gone so far as to burn the newspaper cuttings of Jason Parker and expose the torn mattress, ready for its new occupants’ sheets. But since her excursion in the Giulia, Sophie had become wary of exposure and change and choice. Her dreams of affording a better life, of living independently of Adam, free of the secret she had harboured, seemed naive today. She wanted to put all her dreams back in a box and shut the lid, tidying away the colourful strips of hope that had fluttered in the breeze and offered up such a bright future. And she wanted to push Naomi back inside, too. Increasingly, the friendship served as a reminder of all that was bad.