Her Best Friend's Secret: A gripping, emotional novel about love, life and the power of friendship

by Mansell, Anna

  A notification came up on her Mac, a message from Lolly Teague. Christ, they’d had the occasional ‘hey, how are you’ chat on Facebook in past years, but Jess had always kept it to a minimum, not sure she could cope with a full-on reconnection. It was funny really. She’d only thought about Lolly and Amanda these last few days when Jay reappeared. They’d encouraged her to go out with him in the first place. She’d always been the one to ignore male attention, aggressively so in some cases, though they never understood why. But he’d been so gentle, and they’d been so encouraging. Which had made her angry with them later on because if it hadn’t been for them, she would never have allowed herself to fall for him.

  Maybe she hadn’t been fair. It wasn’t their fault she pushed people away. It wasn’t even hers, she’d recently begun to accept.

  Hey! How are you? Guess who I saw yesterday? I just had to message you!

  She just had to message. That was Lolly of old, always the one with all the gossip in the group. Another reason Jess had pulled back, they’d always told each other everything…

  Jess paused, her heart racing. Matt, her brother, kept telling her to stop hiding, to embrace life’s offerings. What would he do in this situation? He’d guess, for sure. She typed back.

  Aidan Turner?

  Matt hated Aidan Turner but as he was back filming Poldark, it would have been his first go to. Besides, most locals – whilst never watching the TV show because there are only so many episodes of his torso you can watch and ignore the bad Cornish accents and limp storyline – had a Poldark story. If it wasn’t that they’d bumped into him in Tesco, it was that they’d climbed into his dirty bed sheets after he vacated his room and therefore all but had sex with him in some kind of tenuous six (sex?) degrees of separation thing.

  Nope. Not Aidan Turner. Better!

  Better? Jess waited, looking for the bubbles to suggest Lolly was typing another clue. None came. Jess thought.

  Dawn French? Sue Perkins? Kate Winslet? George Clooney? Liza Tarbuck? Paul Weller? That one from Bananarama that was married to Andrew Ridgeley? Andrew Ridgeley?

  Before clicking send, Jess checked she hadn’t missed off any other famous people who either lived or were often seen down in Cornwall… confused as to why she’d be messaging her about it anyway. She resisted adding David Cameron. Nobody who knew her would brag about seeing David Cameron.

  Emily Nance!

  Emily Nance? Jess’s heart stopped. Emily Nance? Wasn’t she some kind of sitcom superstar now?

  She’s back in Cornwall. Oh my god, she looked amazing. X

  Jess swallowed. Conflicted.

  She was in a hurry. We didn’t really get a chance to talk but I gave her my number, in case she wants to meet up. And now I keep thinking about it, I mean, it’d be cool, wouldn’t it? The old crew back together? I’d love to know what you’re all up to. What we’ve all done in life. There must be LOADS to catch up on!

  That couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t work. Jess hadn’t seen Emily since she moved away. She’d barely seen her since the night of Emily’s 16th birthday party just before the family unexpectedly left town. She cleared her throat, the way she always did when memories of that night threatened to surface. Yes, she missed Emily when she left. As much as she missed the rest of the girls since, but there was good reason for keeping them in her past. She hovered over the keyboard, wondering how to phrase it. She could say she was too busy, she was working, she was going away. Yet, knowing she was probably on her phone, awaiting Jess’s response, reminded her how much she loved Lolly… and Amanda and Emily, for that matter. She really loved them, always had. Even though time had passed. Their friendship was deep, it was significant. It was the kind of friendship she’d never found again, even now, as a fully-fledged grown-up. Maybe enough time had passed. Maybe it would be okay.

  What do you say? Say yes! Even if Emily doesn’t call, I’d love to see you, and Amanda. Pleeeeaaaase say yes!!! I really miss you all. Pleeeeeaaaaasssseeeee!

  Jess typed excuses, deleted them. She stared out of her bedroom window. She typed more excuses and deleted them. She imagined Lolly waiting her response like a giddy puppy and she was overwhelmed by a nostalgic love for her. She imagined what her brother Matt would say if she told him she’d rejected the invite and she suddenly realised how tired she was of hiding.

  That sounds great. Let me know when. x

  Emily

  Walking down the hill to the village shop, Emily released a deep breath into the gentle spring air. The sun was out just enough to take the edge off the temperature when you got out of the shade. She paused for a moment, lifting her face skyward like a sunflower, bathing in a gentle warmth that bled into her bones. It was good to be back. She’d popped in to Jenny’s to say thank you for getting things sorted. She’d wandered down the lane enjoying the sound of the gulls and the smell of the sea air. Pregnant or not, it was good to be back. She was almost living one of those clichéd Cornish lives that she read about in books, except that usually they weren’t up the duff with an ex-boyfriend’s baby… or running away from an industry that had taken her youth and her life and her confidence and her—

  ‘Morning, it’s a bleddy goodun!’

  Emily opened her eyes to the sound of Bill, one of the village’s oldest residents. He’d lived here since he was a boy, in the same house he was born in. He was usually to be found making withy pots down by the harbour and selling daffodils by the bunch. His car would play classical music as he weaved the willow into shape, selling his pots to holidaymakers since the fishermen tended to stick to the modern versions these days.

  ‘I sawee was back. You need anything? Bill Jnr is out on the boat now, if you want some fish when he’s back. Fresh mackerel?’

  ‘Oooh, Bill. I love mackerel. Yes, that would be amazing.’

  ‘Righton.’

  ‘How are you anyway?’

  ‘Me? Oh, yeah, good. Same. Yeah. Junior’s still fishing. Betty’s alright too.’

  ‘Still making cakes for the village store?’

  ‘Yeah, still down Cakebreads. Pop in and say hello if you get chance. She’d love to see you.’

  ‘I’m on my way now, will be great to see her too.’

  ‘Onwards.’

  ‘See you later, Bill.’

  ‘See you later.’

  Bill shuffled on and Emily smiled widely, her heart full of home. This is where she was supposed to be. All those years she’d been touring or holed up on Broadway. The six months she made that horrendous straight to DVD film and the US sitcom that fizzled out after its second series. Even the stuff that went well, the blockbuster films or the theatre runs playing characters she adored or was inspired by. Good, bad or indifferent, she kept telling herself she was happy. She’d kid herself that the parties and the money and the free clothes were all worth it. That the tax-deductible hair appointments and the facial treatments that kept the years away were all to her benefit and something she couldn’t possibly get if she’d stayed in Cornwall. And she was right, there wasn’t much call for Botox down Gorran Haven, though she was aware of a few places up in Truro that she could go if needs be. Somehow though, she wasn’t sure she needed to any more. She needed to feel the wind on her face. She needed to walk along the cliff tops. She needed to lie on the fine shingle of Vault Beach. She needed to potter in the garden and get the barbecue going to cook Bill Jnr’s mackerel. She needed not to be mourning the loss of her old life because there was nothing to mourn. It had been lonely when she lived it, surrounded by people and noise. Now that she was here, alone in her home, no one to talk to or perform for, she didn’t feel lonely any more.

  The shop bell dinged as she walked in. ‘Morning!’ she called, seeking out Betty’s cheery face. A young girl behind the counter looked up from pricing with a wide smile. ‘Oh, hi, is Betty in?’

  ‘She’s had to pop out. She’ll be back in later,’ said the girl.

  ‘Ahhh, right. Shame.’ Disappointed, but reassured that she could co
me back any time, Emily pottered around the shop. She picked things up off the shelves, dropping them into her basket. At the back of the store, a selection of Betty’s cakes, freshly baked, lured Emily to take a closer look. She crouched down to smell the cakes, uncertain which to choose.

  The shop door dinged again. ‘Hi. Morning. Can you help me?’

  Emily’s heart stopped. She recognised that voice. That accent. She scuttled away from the cakes and out of view.

  ‘I’m looking for someone, I think she might be here.’

  Emily held her breath.

  ‘Okay…’ said the girl.

  ‘Yeah, Emily. Emily Nance? She’s got a place here. I think she might have just got back to the UK after being away for a while. Do you know her?’

  Emily wondered when Jackson had organised for his intern to fly in. She wondered if he’d given her the heads up on any of those voicemails she’d not listened to. Hi, just to let you know that I can’t be bothered to fight for you, but my minimum wage P.A. will be there in a shot. For a moment she panicked that somehow Jackson had found out she was still pregnant and this was his attempt to get her back, feeble as it was. But he didn’t want children, did he? Else why would he have made the appointment?

  ‘Emily who?’

  ‘Nance. She’s an actress. Nothing major, you probably won’t have heard of her actually.’

  Emily wanted to point out that she’d been in more things than the intern who was jobbing until he got his big break, but staying out of view was vital until she knew what she was going to do with her life and this baby. She crouched behind a rack of toilet rolls and tampons, hoping that Mason, or whatever this one was called, wouldn’t look round the shop and catch her reflection in the security mirror above.

  ‘Uhm, no. I don’t know her, but I’ve only just moved here. Has she lived here long?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Well, she’s not been here for years, by all accounts. I understand she bought somewhere a while back. Apparently she’s Cornish. This is her home or something, I’m not altogether sure. I’m just here for my boss.’

  Here for his boss. Unbelievable. Emily’s knees began to ache from crouching but she daren’t move to resist the burn.

  ‘Right.’

  A delicate smell of shea butter seemed to come from the posh toilet rolls on the very bottom shelf and Emily turned her nose away, nausea rising. What’s that about? She always liked shea butter.

  ‘So… you don’t know her.’

  ‘I’m sorry. No. I don’t.’

  ‘Okay then.’ Mason let out a deep sigh that covered up the squeak of Emily’s shoe as her knee forced her to adjust, despite having tried to resist moving. ‘Well…’ he drawled.

  ‘The lady who owns the shop will be in later,’ offered the girl. ‘She might know her. If you wanted to pop back?’

  ‘Oh. Okay. What time?’

  ‘Erm… maybe two thirty? Three.’

  ‘Two thirty or three?’ Interns were always particular about time. It was their job to be. Jackson would have liked that about this one.

  ‘Well, somewhere around then. You know. When she’s ready.’

  ‘Right.’ Emily knew that her own attitude to time – being inspired by the Cornish sense of dreckly: she’d get to it, just as soon as – used to drive Jackson insane. If Mason, or Jackson for that matter, thought he could pin Betty down to a time, they were kidding themselves.

  ‘Shall I take your name? Let Betty know you might pop in.’

  Mason sighed again. ‘Don’t worry, she erm… she won’t know me, thanks. I’ll just… I’ll come back.’ He turned to leave, looking at his phone, then paused by the door. ‘Can you tell me where I might get a signal? This thing’s stopped working, I’m not sure if it’s the phone or what? I can’t seem to find a UK carrier that my service will allow.’

  ‘Oh yeah, no. You won’t get a signal down here. Gorran maybe, if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Gorran? Aren’t I in Gorran?’

  ‘No, this is Gorran Haven. Gorran is the next village up. That sometimes has a signal, failing that I think by the time you get up towards Heligan it’s pretty good, so maybe just head back there.’

  ‘Heligan.’

  ‘Yeah…’

  ‘Right.’

  Emily bit down on her lip, desperate to stand up, desperate for Mason to leave. As the shop doorbell dinged and the door clicked shut again, she let out a massive sigh and pushed herself up with a groan. ‘Shit, my knees,’ she said, propping herself up against the Always Extra with wings, straining to peer out of the front door. She could just about see the back of Mason’s head before he climbed into a large, black 4x4 and drove off up the hill. Jackson had really pulled out the stops for this one, wonder if he flew in first class too.

  ‘Jesus, thank god for that,’ she said as the sound of the car’s engine disappeared, replaced by the cawing of a gull. The girl looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘Sorry, sorry. Shit though, I didn’t think I’d be able to get back up again. My knees are buggered.’ The girl continued to stare blankly. ‘Okay, erm… I heard you just say to that chap that Betty’s back in later, but do you know where she is? I could really do with a quick chat.’

  ‘She’s at home. Sorry.’

  ‘Right. Right. Okay…’ Emily looked around. She’d have to get what she needed then head home via Betty’s. She could dodge out of the shop and up the alleyway out of view. There was no way she could risk Jackson finding her here. It wasn’t an option. Not yet, at least.

  Amanda

  Amanda rolled off Trev. Back again, two days in a row. He’d only arrived fifteen minutes ago but now lay practically comatose on her bed, a ridiculous smile on his face. If yesterday’s form had anything to go by, this was merely a pit stop, not the end of proceedings. Amanda was quite happy to relax into the warmth of the bed sheets until she was required again. She traced a fingernail from his chest down to his navel, enjoying his slight flinch as she circled it before placing her hand on his belly.

  Usually, at this point, she’d lie there wondering when the client was going to leave. Sometimes she’d have some shopping to pick up for George next door, other days she’d be on a tight turnaround from one client to the next and liked to shower and change the sheets first. Maybe even grab a cuppa. Her online Asda order was likely to timeout in the next ten minutes but for this particular client, she didn’t really mind.

  Eventually, he opened his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his hands before turning to grin at her and, for a moment, she was back at school aged fourteen, maybe fifteen. He was on the school fields, showing off. Handstands. Back flips. Anything to impress the girls. He’d been held back a year, having failed most of his GCSEs. He was older than the rest of his year and though only the school year above, several actual years older than Amanda. It meant that he was the first guy in school to have a car. An Escort. Burgundy, if memory served her. He’d wait in the car park for his on/off girlfriend, usually leant against the car with the same grin he’d just given Amanda now. Or sat in it, listening to Bon Jovi on full volume. Probably showing off. None of the girls minded him showing off. He was fit, they knew it. He probably knew it. One of the teachers had mentioned something so she probably knew it too. That wouldn’t happen nowadays.

  He let out a contented sigh.

  ‘So, Mr Trevelly. What brings you here? Especially two days in a row,’ asked Amanda, shifting to lie on her side, resting her head on her hand. ‘Are you satisfying a long-held fantasy to have sex with me? One you’ve nurtured since we were at school. Could you just not stop thinking about me and finally had to track me down so you could see if I was as good as your fantasy?’

  ‘Erm…’ He looked at her, half cocky smirk, half terror in his eyes.

  ‘I’m teasing. I don’t think for a moment that you’ve given me a second thought since school. But, seriously, what brings a guy like you to see a woman like me?’ She reached for his hand. ‘I’m guessing you’re married or do you just like the wedding ring look?’


  ‘I’m married.’

  Amanda didn’t normally ask questions like this. Some married men came to see her because they were dicks who couldn’t control themselves and though Amanda hated that part of her job, she’d reason it was better they saw her than have drunken, unprotected sex down town, or worse, an affair. Then there were others, for whom it was the only way they ever had sex. She’d long stopped judging on the basis she could never really know which were which. On this occasion, however, curiosity was getting the better of her. ‘So how come you’re here?’

  ‘Ahhh, I dunno. It’s complicated.’

  ‘It always is.’

  ‘Probably. And I’m not sure I should be talking to you about it even if it weren’t.’

  ‘You’d be surprised what people talk about when they see me. Some of them, that’s all they want to do. I’m not about to share your secrets, I can assure you of that!’

  ‘People don’t know what you do?’

  ‘Some do. Some don’t. It doesn’t generally come up in conversation.’

  ‘What do they think?’

  Amanda smiled, wryly. ‘Some don’t care, some are shocked but fine, some stop talking to me altogether.’

  ‘Does it bother you?’

  ‘Sometimes, I don’t like the judgement, the pitying looks, like I must be doing this because I’m either a nymphomaniac or feeding a drug habit or being pimped out.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘No! I mean, I like sex, I love it, but I can live without it. If I had to. And I categorically don’t do drugs.’

  ‘Have you got a pimp?’

  ‘What! Share my takings with some bloke who does nothing, not bloody likely!’

  ‘So why do you do it?’