by Sue Watson
‘Yes, I know,’ Kirsty said sympathetically. I think she was warming to this more vulnerable Amber; she’d only ever seen the shiny, confident one until now. ‘I understand how you feel. It’s strange at first, this little life depending on you.’ She was looking down at Mia in her arms. ‘I remember the tiredness… like nothing I’d ever known. Add a sprinkling of messed-up hormones, and it’s hell. Amber, you’ll look back on this time and wonder how you got through it, and at the same time wish you could go through it all again. Trust me, when they get older and they’re complaining because you can’t afford to buy them £500 trainers and your singing embarrasses them, you’ll wish you were back here.’
I nodded, feeling like an imposter – we were back in that secret club where mothers talked about stuff I would never really be able to share. I now knew how it felt to be woken in the middle of the night to tend to a crying baby – but didn’t want to embarrass Amber by saying this. It might have seemed like she doesn’t care and leaves me to do everything. There is an element of this, but I want to look after Mia, so I don’t really mind.
I brought the tray of tea to the table, cut slices of cake and Kirsty asked Amber if she’d be staying with us now the baby was born. This felt a bit awkward for me; it was something none of us had actually discussed and I had mixed feelings. So I kept schtum and waited for Amber’s response.
‘Oh, we’ll have to leave at some point,’ she said. ‘Lucy’s been great, but we can’t expect her to put her life on hold forever, can we Mia?’
I looked at Mia, asleep in Kirsty’s arms, and felt a pang, like an elastic band being flicked at my heart. I’d cared for Mia since she was born. I love her, and helped her to grow. I’d rocked her in my arms in the middle of the night to soothe her to sleep, bathed her, read her bedtime stories that she may not have understood, but she loved the closeness, as did I. Being with Mia brightened my day, and I would sometimes drive too fast to get home, excited to see her when I finished work. And when I walked through the door her little face would light up along with my heart, and Amber would disappear to her room and I’d hold her, breathing in that heavenly baby scent. I’d feed her, the spoon a plane coming in to land in her mouth. I’d bathe her in bubbles and make her giggle when I put them on the end of her nose, or mine. And then the big, soft towel, warmed on the radiator, wrapped around her. Safe, warm and loved. Later, sleepy from warm milk, in her soft pink pyjamas, she’d fall into a snuffly baby sleep as I held her. I’d talk quietly, telling her how amazing she was and that she could be anything she wanted to be. I loved this little girl, and she loved me. And now Amber was going to take her away. I couldn’t let her.
‘You don’t have to go anywhere,’ I said. ‘We love having you both here. Matt and I would miss you both so much. Anyway, you’re only going back to yours when it’s safe.’ I stopped cutting cake and looked at her for emphasis.
‘Oh yes, of course… You have to put yours and Mia’s personal safety first,’ Kirsty said, stroking the baby’s head. ‘Talking of which – how is everything with your stalker?’ she asked. My heart sank. I hoped Kirsty wasn’t about to turn this tea-and-cake session into something more combative. Referring to ‘your’ stalker was, to me, slightly passive-aggressive, implying he was someone Amber kept at home and brought to parties. Like she had made it all up. I know she never believed Amber, but it wasn’t the time to start probing. Amber didn’t answer, so Kirsty carried on. ‘Have you heard from him?’ she asked, like he might be a long-lost friend.
‘Heard from him? I’ve had a couple of heavy-breathing calls. I think sometimes I’m being followed… if that’s what you mean.’
I asked if anyone wanted more tea. Now wasn’t the time to be dissecting the whole stalker thing, but neither responded, both locked in combat.
‘Oh, that must be awful… and what have the police said?’
‘The police do fuck all.’
I could feel the tension. I knew both my friends, and neither of them were afraid to confront an issue.
‘I’m not being funny, Amber,’ Kirsty said, pausing for effect. ‘But it’s not like anyone’s ever seen this person. So how are the police actually expected to do anything?’
‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Amber asked. Her face was like thunder, but Kirsty wasn’t backing down. They were sitting opposite each other at either end of the table, and I was in the middle, just watching like I was at a bloody tennis match. I knew the subtext – I think we all did – and I’m not flattering myself when I say it wasn’t a fight over a stalker, it was a fight over me. Kirsty was still smarting about mine and Amber’s friendship; she was jealous and wanted to belittle Amber. I love Kirsty, but I couldn’t get over how much she still disliked my friend, to the point that she’d cast doubt on the very existence of a stalker, and I had to step in.
‘Look, there’s no doubt that someone has been stalking Amber,’ I said calmly, taking the baby from Kirsty so she could eat her cake – perhaps the lemon drizzle would soothe her? ‘The thing we have to ask ourselves, as do the police,’ I added, ‘is who and why.’
‘Exactly!’ Kirsty said, putting down her fork and going in for another staring competition with Amber.
I sighed. I’d probably made it worse. Kirsty was using my comment as some kind of accusation and apart from sheer jealousy over our friendship, I couldn’t understand why she was so hell-bent on making out this was all in Amber’s mind. I was particularly irritated because I’d specifically asked Kirsty not to mention anything about the stalker, as the previous day there’d been a ‘delivery’ and I was feeling very uneasy. There hadn’t been any texts for a while, and while Amber was pregnant she received nothing after the bootees, but within hours of Mia’s birth, a huge bouquet of pink roses had arrived at the hospital. Amber had no idea who they were from, and what made it a little creepy was that virtually no one knew she’d had a girl at that point except me, Matt and Kirsty. Though Amber had also texted Ben’s secretary and asked her to tell him, which I thought was a little stupid as he hadn’t shown any interest or acknowledged any part of the pregnancy. ‘She will have told everyone,’ I said, ‘including his wife.’ But Amber insisted he wasn’t with Geraldine any more and besides, his secretary was very discreet. Matt and I looked at each other over the cot and raised our eyebrows. I just hoped she hadn’t brought trouble on herself again, because this time it involved a tiny, helpless little baby. Then the day before Kirsty came over to see Mia and I found a parcel by the door, just like the bird and the bootees, but this time it was on our doorstep. ‘Have you told anyone you’re staying here?’ I asked Amber, a little concerned as we’d made the decision not to tell anyone but very close friends that she was staying at our house. ‘If you’ve told someone in your wider circle of friends, the stalker may be in that circle and find out where you are,’ I stressed.
‘No, I haven’t told anyone,’ she said, watching as I put the gift on the kitchen table. It sat there for a few minutes, neither of us really wanting to open it, echoes of the dead bird coming back to haunt us both.
‘Oh God, I thought this was over,’ she said. She was sitting at the table, her head in her hands. It looked like it was up to me to open the package. Again.
‘If it’s something horrible I don’t care what you say, we’re getting the police straight over here,’ I said, reaching tentatively for the parcel. ‘This isn’t just about your safety, it’s Mia’s too, and if he knows you’re staying here we’re all in danger.’
‘Just open it Lucy. Let’s get it over with.’ She was almost in tears.
I slowly opened it up, and like the box containing the dead bird it was pretty, and when I opened the lid, more tissue paper blossomed out, just like last time. But unlike last time I didn’t plunge my hands in. I carefully removed all the tissue paper layer by layer to reveal a perfume bottle. It was a Jo Malone perfume: black glass with a silver label and silver lid. ‘It might be poison… a bomb?’ I said, looking at Amber, who half smiled.
‘But if it is then it’s wrapped similarly to the bird,’ I said, ‘and I really think we should call the—’
‘Oh Lucy, it’s fine, look,’ she said, now all brave and cool as she took off the lid and sprayed it on her neck, the pulse points on her wrists.
‘Don’t put any of that near me or Mia,’ I said. ‘You might be happy to use something that just turned up on the doorstep, but I’m not.’
‘It’s gorgeous.’ She smiled. ‘It could be from a friend or a fan – my fans often send me nice things.’
‘So why was it on my doorstep and why isn’t there a gift card?’ I asked. Not surprisingly she couldn’t answer that.
‘I just know this isn’t anything to worry about,’ she said, probably relieved it wasn’t a dead animal. ‘The things he sent were different, creepy, not like this, my favourite perfume, which smells like heaven and is named after me – Dark Amber.’ And then she laughed.
A couple of days after she’d been round to see Mia, I called Kirsty to thank her for coming and told her about the perfume gift. I wanted to point out that mentioning ‘your stalker’ to Amber when I’d asked her not to was a little insensitive, especially as we’d received something on the doorstep only the day before.
‘Oh, so Dark Amber likes Dark Amber does she?’ she joked, still unable or unwilling to take anything seriously. I know she judges Amber, and the tea-and-cake afternoon had been very awkward, but I wished she’d see that this wasn’t a figment of Amber’s imagination. I suggested to Kirsty that we have a coffee together after work, and she agreed. I had to try and build some bridges. I’m aware that sometimes I try too hard to make people like me, to please them, but it’s my way of making up for how I behaved when I was younger. I hurt people, didn’t care about anyone but myself – and I have to live with that.
Despite my genuine attempt to build bridges with Kirsty, she just doesn’t get it. Amber’s my friend. Disrespect her, you disrespect me – I’d be the same if someone said something nasty about Kirsty. But the minute we walk into Starbucks, she starts. ‘I suppose you come in here with Amber?’ she says as we’re ordering our drinks.
‘Sometimes, yes. Why?’
‘You just ordered something called “a cold brew latte with caramel cold foam”. It’s got Amber’s name all over it.’
I resent the fact that she’s implying that even my coffee choice is influenced by Amber. Yes, as it happens, Amber does happen to drink that, but she doesn’t have caramel foam, she has vanilla. I don’t bother to waste my time explaining this to Kirsty; the point of our coffee is to regroup, not tear each other down. I ignore her comment and as we walk to our tables with the drinks, I ask about her kids to stay on safe ground, and she tells me about her son Josh’s twelfth birthday party, which is coming up.
‘Two words… zombie crypt,’ she says like I’m supposed to understand the apparently massive implications of this. I must look puzzled because she laughs. ‘It’s themed paintball parties, all the boys do it for their birthdays. I won’t bore you with details – a teenage birthday party is something you’ll never have to worry about…’ As the words tumble out, she suddenly realises what she’s said. ‘God, I’m sorry, that was insensitive… I didn’t mean…’
‘Don’t be daft. We’ve known each other long enough that you should be able to say anything without me being all hurt and sensitive,’ I say, and I mean it. I would hate for anyone to feel uncomfortable about my childlessness. ‘And yes, what a relief I’ll never have to host a Quest Laser party,’ I add with a giggle.
‘It’s Laser Quest.’ She laughs. ‘But it doesn’t matter, you and Matt can spend your money on something far nicer than paying for a load of kids attacking each other and eating too much cake, fighting, vomiting… Shall I go on?’
‘No, I get the message, thanks. I guess there are downsides to having kids.’ I laugh and pull a ‘horrified’ face. This is nice, me and Kirsty having a coffee and just chatting about nothing, and everything, but then out of nowhere she pulls the dreaded rabbit out of the hat again.
‘You know she’s not the friend you think she is, don’t you, Lucy?’ Kirsty stirs her latte slowly, and I take a deep breath. Not this again.
‘She’s my friend. That’s all I need to know. It’s the same with you, Kirsty. I don’t question my friends, I just enjoy their company, their support – and I’m there for them. I’m there for you too. Just because I’m her friend, it doesn’t mean I’m not yours.’
She puts down her spoon and looks up at me. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ She’s calm, not feisty and confrontational like she was with Amber. ‘I understand that you have other friends, I do too. That isn’t it. I just don’t like her. I don’t trust her – and I’m telling you this because I’m your friend.’
‘Okay, okay. But look, I trust her. You don’t have to, so let’s leave it at that shall we?’
‘I’m looking out for you, Lucy.’
‘I know you are, but I don’t need you to.’
‘Okay, you don’t want to hear me, but if you’re going to continue to let her pull the wool over your eyes, I can’t stand around and watch.’
‘No.’ I hold up my hand. ‘I know what this is and you can’t ask me to choose between you and Amber. It isn’t fair – I can’t and won’t end my friendship with her just because you don’t trust her.’
‘Fine,’ she says, standing up, leaving her drink untouched.
I’m shocked at her reaction. ‘Are you going?’
‘Yes. You’re heading for a world of trouble with that one, and don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she says, pulling on her coat, throwing her scarf around her neck. She picks up her handbag and turns to leave, but fires a parting shot on her way. ‘Call me when you need me – and you will.’ And with that, she walks out, leaving me alone with my cold brew latte topped with caramel cold foam.
What can I do? I’ve tried to include her, stay in touch, but she just doesn’t like Amber – and, let’s face it, Amber doesn’t like her. I don’t blame Amber, because Kirsty seems so mean to her, then again I sometimes wonder if Amber likes anyone. I’ve also felt the tension between Amber and Matt during her stay with us; it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, but I know them both so well, and honestly sometimes you could cut the air with a knife. I suppose they’re both quite similar in a funny way: both passionate about their careers and what they are doing, both ambitious. But their similarities cause problems, because Amber likes to get her own way and so does Matt, which doesn’t make for an easy time. And once again I find myself acting as mediator, jollying everyone along and bringing them together, the oil that lubricates the wheels. Now Mia’s here I want to keep everything calm for her, because babies pick up on people’s stress and tension.
If I’m honest, I’ve been a bit frustrated with Amber recently. She seems very down, and more edgy than usual. Some days I can’t say anything to her without having my head bitten off, and when she’s not finding things wrong with the way I change Mia, or the food I make her, she’s just sleeping or has her head bent over her phone. She says she’s worried about money, but a whole load of ASOS parcels arrived the other morning. Even Matt commented, ‘Oh God, has Amber been shopping again?’
I just shrugged. ‘It’s none of my business, but what a new mum wants with fancy underwear and tight-fitting dresses is a mystery to me,’ I said, rather bitchily.
Today, as it’s Saturday and I’m off, I suggest we take Mia for a walk in the sunshine. ‘It’s a lovely day. Let’s all get some fresh air,’ I say brightly, trying to inject some life into Amber, as she’s so lacklustre these days.
‘I’m exhausted,’ she sighs, without even looking at me. Perhaps she is – in fact she hasn’t looked well recently; her skin is grey and there are dark circles under her eyes – but I suppose that’s what having a ba
by does for you.
‘Come on, we can take Mia to that lovely teashop,’ I say, not really understanding why she’s so ‘exhausted’, as it was me who was up with Mia in the night, and me who was up again at dawn feeding her. I don’t mind – in fact it’s usually me tending to her when I’m home so Amber can rest – but it seems to me she’s ‘resting’ a lot these days. She’s always been a bit moody, but she is just so offhand, quite rude.
‘You take Mia to the teashop,’ she says. ‘I need a rest.’ And with that she throws Mia’s jacket onto the sofa and stomps upstairs. I feel like I’ve been shut down. I’m fed up of her complaining she’s tired all the time – it’s two thirty, and she didn’t get out of bed until midday, and even then she just drank coffee and lounged around the living room. She even got Matt to make her some soup before he went to rehearsals. She does nothing around the house, has no interests other than online shopping, and I worry about her. You read all this stuff about postnatal depression, and women doing stupid things to themselves, and sometimes their babies, and I’m concerned. Am I the only one who’s noticing this? Though Matt doesn’t see that much of her, surely he’s noticed how disinterested she is in everything? I wanted him to be aware and to look out for anything that might indicate she’s unstable, so last night when we were alone I told him about finding the knife in her car months ago when I moved her in. He was, not surprisingly, shocked.
‘Shit. Where is it now?’
‘In our wardrobe, but that isn’t really the point.’ He could be so frustrating sometimes, picking up on stuff that wasn’t relevant. ‘What worries me, Matt, is why it was hidden in her car in the first place. She was really devastated at the time, she’d been let down by Ben and she’d just found out she was pregnant. Was she suicidal? Had she planned to drive somewhere and do something stupid? And if so, might she be that way again?’
He just looked at me. ‘Who knows?’ he said eventually.
