Keep Your Friends Close

by Paula Daly

  The doorbell sounds and nobody moves. I look to Alice, and she is totally rigid.

  ‘Secrets fester,’ Eve continues. ‘So, now you know. Now you know the truth, Alice.’

  When there is no immediate reaction from Alice, when Alice, being too dumbstruck to speak, stares vacantly ahead, Eve decides she’s not yet through. ‘Ever wondered why you’re so science-minded?’ she asks. ‘Well, your father was an engineer, a very talented student. Ever wondered why you’re nothing like that man over there? Well, now you have your answer.’

  Alice is trembling.

  Felicity moves towards her, holds out her hand to comfort her sister, but Alice flinches. ‘Get away from me,’ she breathes.

  After what seems like an eternity, she utters, ‘I have never wondered about those things. Why would I?’

  She doesn’t know whether to believe it. Her arms are glued to her sides. Her eyes settle upon me; hatred is coming off her in waves. ‘Is it true?’ she asks, addressing Sean.

  He nods.

  ‘Why was I never told?’

  ‘Because we didn’t want you to know!’ I cry out, desperate to give her an explanation. ‘We didn’t want anyone to know. Your dad always loved you, loved you as his own daughter. Nobody needed to know.’

  ‘I needed to know!’ she flares. ‘That’s not a thing you hide.’

  ‘We couldn’t,’ I stammer. ‘It wasn’t that we didn’t want to, we just couldn’t.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you? Why not?’

  The hurt in her eyes is extreme. She feels cheated, feels like everything we’ve based our lives upon is a lie.

  I try to speak, but I can’t find the words.

  Yes, why couldn’t we tell her? It seems barely possible that the initial reason had mostly to do with Sean’s mother; duping her was upmost in our minds. I don’t suppose we ever thought through the long-term consequences. Neither of us imagined it would ever turn out this way.

  Alice turns to Sean. ‘Is Felicity yours?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says.

  And she yelps at his response, like she’s been bitten. As if there’s always been a part of her that knew Sean loved Felicity more.

  Which, of course, is not true.

  ‘Alice,’ he says softly, moving towards her, ‘we were so young, we had just left school. Can you imagine what your grandmother would have said when she found out that you weren’t . . .’ He pauses, unable to finish the sentence, unable to articulate that she is not his child. ‘We were trying our best to get on with it and make a life. We never meant to deceive you. We made a decision that we thought was best at the time and then tried to be the best parents we could be.’

  ‘Who was he?’ Alice snaps. ‘Who was my father?’

  ‘Somebody who didn’t want me,’ I reply.

  ‘He didn’t want you, or he didn’t want me?’

  ‘Neither of us,’ I admit honestly.

  At this, Eve scoffs. It’s a strange noise she makes – almost spitting. Whatever it is, the intention is clear. It’s an attempt at ridicule, as if she means to convey: Newsflash, why the hell would he want either of you?

  The doorbell sounds again and it’s as if in this moment the noise presents something transformational. Alice glowers at Eve. ‘Why are you even here?’

  ‘Sorry, Alice, I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Why are you here? We asked my dad to come over today. We phoned Dad, not you.’

  ‘I . . . I was in the car with him when we received the call. You said it was an emergency and asked us to come straight away.’

  She glances at Sean, expecting back-up. When none is forthcoming she adds, ‘Anyway, Alice, why shouldn’t I be here? Your mother is clearly demented, why shouldn’t I be here to support your . . .’ She pauses. She was about to say ‘father’, but changes her mind. ‘To support Sean,’ she finishes, a satisfied tone to her voice.

  ‘I hate what you’ve done to us,’ Alice hisses. Her eyes are cold, dead almost.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, Alice. I certainly wasn’t the cause of all of this,’ Eve mutters. ‘I was not—’

  But Alice already has the knife in her hand.

  As quick as that she picked up the knife and is now holding it to Eve’s throat. Eve has her chin raised as she screams at Sean to help her.

  ‘Alice!’ I’m yelling. ‘Put the knife down! Christ, Alice! Step back, step back away from Eve.’

  ‘No!’ she shouts, and Eve is inching away, slowly, as carefully as her heels will allow. The blade is resting against her skin.

  Fear clutches at my insides. What if Alice slips? What if she moves just a hair’s width? Fuck, what if she sneezes?

  ‘Alice, don’t hurt her. If you hurt Eve, it’s you we lose, not her. It’s not worth it. Please . . .’ I’m pleading with her, but she doesn’t hear me. ‘Alice, we don’t care about Eve, we care about you. Don’t do this. You’ll ruin your life.’

  Sean tries to approach. ‘Stay away from me!’ Alice warns him. She’s shaking now, and the end of the blade is quivering against Eve’s neck. ‘Why didn’t you tell me!’ she screams. ‘Why did you let me live my whole life as a lie! Both of you!’

  Eve’s eyes are wild with fear. ‘Sean, do something!’ she hisses. ‘Alice, this is not my fault. Let me go before you do something you’ll regret.’

  ‘Not your fault?’ spits Alice. ‘We were all doing just fine before you turned up.’ She looks to Sean. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  He’s frightened. The colour has drained from his face. He’s terrified his daughter will slice this woman’s throat. I stare at him. Help her, my eyes beg.

  ‘I wanted you to be mine, Alice,’ he tells her. ‘I loved your mum.’ He’s watching Alice closely, but it’s me he’s speaking to. He glances my way to let me know he needs me to hear this, too. ‘I couldn’t believe she had left me for another guy . . . and if this was a chance to keep her, then I’d take it, because I wanted to keep you, too.’ His face is anguished, like it’s all too much to relive. ‘I wanted you both,’ he whispers. ‘I always did.’

  Christ.

  ‘Alice,’ I say firmly, ‘for the last time, put the knife down.’

  ‘No!’ she shouts, but the fight is going out of her; her elbow wobbles as she starts to cry.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Alice!’ comes Felicity’s voice from the doorway, like she’s had enough of this bullshit.

  She marches across the kitchen. My hand flies to my mouth. I’m powerless to stop what is about to occur.

  Felicity shoves Eve hard with both hands, shoves her away from Alice’s blade, and sends her flailing backwards.

  Eve falls in slow motion.

  It’s as if she’s grabbing on to thin air, reaching out with her hands to try to save herself. But she’s going down. We watch as she falls, her heels scrabbling on the floor tiles, her eyes searching madly for an alternative, but there is nothing she can do.

  There is one dull, sickening thud as the back of her cranium connects with the granite worktop. It’s the sound of a bag of sugar falling from an open cupboard. A ripe grapefruit thrown against a wall.

  Nobody moves.

  Alice gives a small cry as Eve crumples to the floor and, straight away, I search for blood, because she’s unconscious, maybe even dead.

  The floor is clean.

  I look up, and panic sets in. If Eve is dead, our lives as we know them are over. Immediately I start thinking through the full extent of this situation, the logistics of lying to the paramedics, the police, about what just happened here, but I’m halted when something catches my attention out of the window.

  It’s a shadow.

  A shadow passed the window, someone that has more than likely witnessed my daughter Felicity knock Eve Dalladay right off her heels and into lifelessness.

  39

  ‘CALL AN AMBULANCE.’

  ‘Is she breathing?’ Sean asks me.

  ‘Call an ambulance.’

  ‘Do we move her?’


  ‘No,’ I reply. ‘She may have a neck injury. If she’s breathing, don’t move her.’

  He pulls out his mobile, dials and, as he waits for an answer, asks, ‘What do I tell them? They’re going to ask – what do I tell them?’

  ‘Pass it to me,’ I instruct, and reach out my hand, grab the phone and hold it to my ear. With my free hand I feel for Eve’s pulse. It’s shallow and erratic. Her blood pressure is dropping.

  Alice is whimpering, wringing her hands over by the fridge. Sean is pacing. And Felicity sits on the other side of Eve’s slack body, wearing a look of defiance, as though she’s ready to deny anything thrown her way. ‘Why don’t we just let her die?’ she says in a forced whisper.

  ‘Because someone would have to take the consequences.’

  The call is answered and before the operator speaks I mouth to Felicity, ‘Follow my lead?’ and she nods.

  ‘Emergency, which service?’

  ‘Ambulance,’ I tell the operator. ‘My friend has fallen and hit her head on the kitchen worktop . . . Eve Dalladay . . . No, she’s not conscious . . . Yes, she’s breathing . . . okay, thank you,’ and I give the address. I stay on the line for another minute, explaining that my husband will, ‘Wait on the road to wave them in,’ as this address is not always recognized by GPS.

  I hang up and tell Alice to stop crying. I return the knife, the doorstop, and the hockey stick to their rightful places. Then, from beneath the sink in the kitchen, I pull out the small wooden stool I use to reach things from the high shelves and I place it next to Eve.

  Looking to each of them in turn – Sean, Alice and Felicity – I impart what I need them to know.

  ‘This is what happened,’ I say. ‘We were discussing the house you looked at this afternoon, Sean, with a view to perhaps selling the hotel. There was no mention of the fire. No mention of the fire being started deliberately. We were not arguing, we were not discussing what just came to light’ – and I look towards Alice, my expression unyielding, cautionary – ‘we were talking about our plans for the future. Eve stepped backwards and stumbled over this stool in her high heels, hitting her head in the process as she fell. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ they say in unison.

  Sean, frightened, asks, ‘What if she wakes up?’

  ‘What if she doesn’t, Sean?’

  And I give the kitchen a quick examination, checking for anything that would cast doubt on our story.

  ‘What if she wakes up and says she was pushed?’ he repeats.

  ‘What if she doesn’t wake up, and we admit what happened, and your daughter is charged with killing her?’ I fix him with an open stare. ‘It’s your call, Sean.’

  As expected, he responds with ‘I’ll say it was me,’ without hesitation. ‘I’ll say I did it. I hit her out of frustration and she fell.’

  I keep my voice calm. ‘You won’t need to do that if you do as I say.’ I don’t wait for his reaction; instead, I turn to Alice: ‘Alice, you’ve got to stop crying,’ and I reach down to monitor Eve’s pulse again. It’s scarcely palpable. ‘If the paramedics come in here and see you like this, they’ll know something isn’t quite right. Look worried and concerned, yes, but do not look hysterical. Go and wash your face if you have to.’ She’s watching me issue orders, not quite sure how to respond. Surely we should be pandering to her in this moment? Surely, even though Eve is motionless, possibly dead, we should not overlook the enormity of what just took place? She has been lied to, for heaven’s sake.

  I pretend not to notice and address the three of them. ‘We’ve got about six minutes until they get here. Are you all okay with this? Because this is the story we’re going to have to go with. If Eve’s condition is serious, we’ll have to go over it again and again with the police, understand?’

  I place Eve’s wrist against her breast and move towards Sean.

  ‘Can you manage this?’ I ask him quietly. ‘Can you lie to help your family?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answers. But he’s conflicted. The woman he has been sharing a bed with lies before us unconscious, and it was his own daughter that put her there.

  I take his hands: ‘Thank you,’ and I tell him to wait out on the road for the paramedics. Tell him to move his car so they can park the ambulance outside the front door.

  He hesitates, and I can feel him trying to get the order of events straight in his mind. He’s not certain he’s doing the right thing, but what choice does he have?

  He picks up his keys and makes for the door.

  When he’s in the hallway he calls out my name. His tone is anxious, frightened. ‘Natty,’ he says, ‘you need to come and see this.’

  I have no idea what to expect, and walk towards him. He’s looking in the direction of the stairs.

  There, halfway up the steps, back leg cocked vertically, licking his hindquarters, sits Morris.

  ‘That’s your dad’s cat, isn’t it?’ whispers Sean.

  I nod.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  I don’t answer. I go to the front door, my head starting to overload. Five seconds ago I was handling it. Now it’s as if there’s a ligature wrapped around my forehead, and the tension is mounting.

  Just to the right of the door, next to the girls’ school shoes, is a box of Tesco’s Cat Crunchies and a small aluminium dish.

  I turn around. ‘Jackie,’ I say to Sean simply. ‘Jackie must have brought him back.’

  ‘When? Do you think she heard? Do you think she saw anything?’ His eyes are wide.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I lie.

  Jackie was the shadow at the window. Jackie must have watched as Felicity pushed Eve, watched her fall against the worktop. She must have seen all this, opened the front door, silently depositing Morris before leaving.

  ‘Move the car, Sean,’ I tell him decisively.

  I return to the kitchen and ask Felicity, who is loitering near Eve’s collapsed body, if she’s still breathing. ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Felicity answers flatly.

  I’m about to go searching for Alice when something occurs to me. ‘What exactly happened between you two?’ I ask her. ‘Did you have a run-in or something?’

  Felicity goes shifty. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  She bites the inside of her cheek. ‘Maybe later.’ Then she changes her mind. Hesitating, she says, ‘Mum?’ as I’m about to walk away. ‘Mum, I need to tell you something.’

  I stop.

  Almost under her breath, Felicity whispers, ‘It was me who sent the note. I sent the note about Eve,’ and she waits for me to react.

  I regard her trusting face and for a moment I consider gently reprimanding her. I think about feigning shock and chiding her for causing trouble.

  In the end, though, I tell her the truth.

  ‘I know you did, honey,’ I say softly.

  Her shoulders drop. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I found a pad of yellow paper at the back of your bottom drawer. I was searching for photographs of Grandad – you had some old ones of him, remember? Anyway,’ I say looking down, remembering, ‘it was after the fire, and it didn’t seem all that important by then . . .’

  I study her face. I can’t tell if she’s relieved I’m not angry with her, or if she’s upset I didn’t mention I knew about the note sooner. ‘Good call, Felicity,’ I say, holding her gaze. ‘Good call. Turns out you had the measure of Eve.’

  She nods.

  I glance at Eve’s lifeless body. ‘I did wonder though, love,’ I say, almost as an afterthought, ‘I did wonder how you managed to get the note to me. It was hand delivered to Grandad’s late at night . . .’

  She looks away, suddenly evasive. ‘I called Raymond and got him to do it,’ she admits after a moment.

  ‘Raymond?’ I echo back, surprised, because she means Raymond, the hotel manager. ‘He delivered it on his bike?’ Raymond cycles to work every day so his wife can use the car.

  ‘Well, he did have to go past,’ sh
e answers defensively. ‘It wasn’t like it was totally out of his way . . . But,’ she says, a little more sheepish now, ‘I told him it was important. Told him I needed to give you a very important message and he absolutely had to deliver it.’

  And I have to smile at this, because, I suppose, in the end, that’s exactly what it turned out to be. A very important message.

  *

  It’s been more than ten minutes since the call was made and the paramedics have not arrived. I find Alice in the downstairs loo, sobbing hysterically in front of the mirror. I watch unobserved from a crack in the doorway. The cries subside a fraction, and Alice stares at her reflection hard, encouraging the emotion to surge to the surface, until once again she’s able to weep unreservedly.

  This is how I know the news about her parentage has not actually brought her to her knees. I’m aware that there is a fragment of stagecraft going on here. Because I know my daughter, and she would do this small act of pretence as a child, would make herself cry and cry if she felt our reaction to her state of despair was insufficient. But that’s not to say her reaction isn’t warranted. It’s just to say that the best thing for Alice right now is not necessarily profuse apologies and sympathy.

  I nudge the door and the hinge whines, stopping Alice mid-cry. She flicks her head around and upon seeing me does a fast about-face. She stands with her back to me, shoulders shuddering, waiting for me to do what I would ordinarily attempt to do, which is pacify. Pacify, beseech, cajole her out of her misery. Whatever it takes to lessen her dejection. Whatever it takes to make her pain my own. It hurts to watch her in this state, and my instinct is to put my arms around her, but I sense she’d shun me.

  ‘Alice,’ I begin.

  ‘Don’t.’

  I pause, trying to come up with the best way to tackle this. ‘What do you want me to do?’ I ask her honestly.