The Friend: An emotional psychological thriller with a twist

by Teresa Driscoll

  CHAPTER 14

  BEFORE

  LIBRA

  Be careful. Sometimes when we read back what we have written, we read what we intended to write, not what is on the page. And sometimes when we listen, we hear what we expected to hear and not what is being said . . .

  The first thing I noticed when we pulled back into Tedbury was that the police cordon was gone. At Gill and Antony’s pale pink cottage, the curtains remained drawn, like eyes closed against the daylight – but at least the horrid flash of blue-and-white ribbon was no more. I noticed also that someone had thought to water the tubs which stood either side of the deep blue door – Gill’s petunias thriving, faces upturned to the afternoon sun. I didn’t understand why this bothered me but I was wondering who had thought to do this and felt oddly troubled over whether they would have done it openly, watering them in daylight, or crept out quietly after dark.

  They stayed in my head, the petunias, as I unpacked the cases, hurling piles of dirty clothes on to the bedroom floor. It’s tough but life goes on. Be strong. That’s what Helen had said when we hugged goodbye, and she was right.

  The doctor was right too. Before the shock of the Hartleys, I had allowed myself to spiral into a world of waiting. Pinning everything on the next baby. Small wonder I coped so badly; made such a spectacle of myself in Cornwall. Started imagining things . . . Fainted.

  ‘Enough, Sophie.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  Mark was standing in the doorway. He was wearing a favourite shirt in this soft turquoise colour which so suited him. I looked at him properly and was struck by how handsome he still was. Why did I dwell so often on his little flaws? Cause arguments over nothing? Why did I do all that? Was this how all couples ended up or was it because of the wait for the second child? All the time apart.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking aloud.’ I tilted my head. ‘You do know I hate that you’re still doing all this driving.’ It was true. I really had hoped he would have been able to move the business by now. That we could have found some compromise on the geography.

  As he walked into the room I began sorting the clothes into piles: darks, mids and whites.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ A pause. ‘You look much better, by the way.’

  ‘I am. Helen gave me a good talking to. I need to try to put this behind me; also I’m going to get my act together, Mark. About work.’

  And now he pulled a face.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t rush into anything, but when the dust settles I’m going to get myself back to work. It’s been long enough. And if I could contribute again maybe you could scale back a bit? Afford to move the business out of London?’

  ‘I thought we both agreed the deli’s the last thing you need. And to be frank, I doubt it would make much money, Sophie.’

  ‘I didn’t mean the deli. I haven’t decided about that. Although I rather think you’re only dead set against it because Emma’s involved.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ I checked myself. ‘Look. I don’t want to argue and I don’t want you to worry either. The truth is I’m beginning to agree that the deli probably isn’t the right way forward but I need to do something, Mark. Especially after what’s happened here. I need to get out of the village a bit. Get a different routine.’

  ‘And Ben?’

  ‘Ben is starting school. Ben has a big enough slice of Mummy and is going to be just fine. I need to do something for myself. At least until—’

  Another slip. I needed to stop automatically assuming this default position, linking everything with my ovaries. Bumping every decision, where we lived and what I did, until I knew if our family would be four.

  ‘OK. I see what you mean. But you won’t rush into anything? I was rather hoping we might talk some more – about moving. At least considering it before Ben gets too settled in the village school.’

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him really carefully. How I hated this stalemate of the geography. I was torn. I felt disorientated now in Tedbury because of what had happened with Gill and Antony but I couldn’t face a move anytime soon and I hoped the feeling of unease would pass. Most important? I simply loved having Emma’s support and didn’t want to lose her friendship or having her close by. Hell – maybe that was why I conjured her up in Cornwall. It was almost like a girl crush back in school. I had started to feel so differently about Devon with Emma around and I hoped I could build on that; at the same time I did feel terribly guilty over the price Mark was still paying.

  ‘Could we just give ourselves some time to regroup, eh, Mark? Not make any big decisions just now.’ I was remembering what Helen had said. ‘I know you can’t keep up this commuting forever. I just need to press pause. Please. Maybe down the line we could consider Exeter or Bristol?’

  ‘My clients need me in London.’

  ‘So why didn’t you say that when we bought this place? I thought the whole plan was to relocate the business.’

  There was a long pause and Mark looked at the floor. ‘I miscalculated, Sophie. I took on too many clients who want me in London.’

  ‘But lots of media companies thrive outside of London.’ Mark’s admission was really worrying. His office lease had run out only recently and he had moved the business to slightly bigger premises. He had still implied it was a phase, staying in London. Just for a couple more years . . . Now I wasn’t so sure.

  Mark held his hands up in mock surrender.

  ‘OK. First things first . . .’ I really didn’t want this to spiral into another argument. ‘I’m going to get this wash on and call into the shop. Find out if anyone knows any more about how Gill is doing.’ I babbled on that I’d tried phoning the hospital several times from Cornwall but they would only share details with relatives, so this was my first real chance for a full update.

  I headed downstairs to the utility room, loaded the machine quickly and unhooked a string bag from the back of the door, checking my watch. Ten minutes till closing. Just milk and bread, then. Oh – and chocolate for Ben for being so good in the car.

  In front of me in the queue, Mrs Richards had her arm linked through her neighbour’s. I couldn’t remember the other woman’s name.

  ‘Well, from what I hear, she’s cold as ice, that Emma. And the police have been sniffing about again. Checking out her inheritance . . .’ Mrs Richards didn’t even attempt to lower her voice.

  ‘Who told you that?’ The neighbour at least had the decency to whisper.

  ‘Bloke up the garage knows someone in the coroner’s office. Reckon they’re going to dig the mother up. In France.’

  I could feel the shock on my face.

  ‘Can they do that?’

  ‘Oh yes. The word is there was a very big inheritance. That’s how she afforded Priory House. And you know she was the last one to see Gill?’ Mrs Richard’s head was making little jerky movements. ‘Didn’t I always say there was something a bit odd there . . .’ And then suddenly she was prodded hard in the back by Alice Small who was standing close by. Both women then turned and blushed.

  ‘Ah, Sophie. You’re back.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how are you bearing up, dear? Terrible, terrible business.’

  ‘I’m doing OK, thank you. Is there any more news from the hospital? On Gill?’

  ‘Still no change, I’m afraid.’

  The two women turned back. All was suddenly stillness and quiet, only the ping of the electronic till piercing this new awkwardness. I waited for what felt like an eternity to be served.

  Once back home at last, I continued with the unpacking but all the time my mind was back in that shop. I normally ignore the tittle-tattle of Tedbury tongues. But what the hell was going on?

  I texted Emma.

  Back. Feeling better. You OK? S x

  ‘Did you get my chocolate, Mummy?’

  Damn.

  ‘I’m just going to the garage, honey.’

  ‘But Daddy said you were g
etting it from the shop.’

  ‘I forgot – all right? I’m really sorry. I’m going now. Right this minute.’

  Twenty minutes this second trip took – the shop now closed and a tractor blocking the B road to the nearest garage. And then – with two bars of Cadbury on the passenger seat – I pulled the car up on to the little verge outside Priory House, en route home. Yet again, there had been no reply from Emma. I left the engine running and tried the bell. No response, so I peered around the side of the house where, to my astonishment, the large window to the kitchen-cum-family-room was boarded up with a patchwork of crudely fitted MDF sheets. Inside, all was dark and silent. I tried Emma’s mobile but it went straight to voicemail.

  I got back in the car and parked on the village square, hurrying across to Heather’s, relieved to see a light on in her kitchen.

  She didn’t look at all surprised to see me as she answered the door. ‘Good to see you. You’d better come in. So you’ve spoken to Emma?’

  ‘No. I didn’t manage to get hold of her. Why – what’s been happening, Heather? I’ve just seen her window. And I heard the most bizarre nonsense in the shop.’

  ‘Someone put a brick through her window, Sophie, with a rather unpleasant message attached.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘I wish. Happened yesterday.’

  ‘But why on earth? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes, well. Feels like the whole world’s gone a little crazy while you were away. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘No. Look, I haven’t really got time. So where is she?’

  ‘She’s at Nathan’s, I think. Until they get the window fixed properly.’

  I felt this sinking feeling in my stomach; guilt for all the stupid overthinking in Cornwall while poor Emma was so up against it. ‘So – have the police been?’ I started to pace while Heather sat ashen-faced at the kitchen table.

  ‘She doesn’t want the police involved.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. You can’t have someone throw a brick through your window and just leave it.’ I could feel myself shaking my head, not understanding this. ‘And you said there was a message? With the brick?’

  ‘Yes. Suggesting that she leaves the village.’

  ‘Leave? But why on earth would anyone be so unpleasant?’

  ‘Oh, there’s plenty of unpleasantness, Sophie. It’s getting quite ugly.’

  ‘But I just don’t understand. What’s Emma supposed to have done? I don’t get it.’

  Heather took a deep breath. ‘The police are saying that Emma was the last person to see Gill before it all happened. In the fortune teller’s tent at the fair. People have put two and two together and made five – decided she was the one having a fling with Antony.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s completely ridiculous. She’s only just got here.’

  ‘Yes, well. People aren’t exactly being rational at the moment.’

  ‘Jeez.’

  ‘And there’s another rumour.’

  I sat down, feeling just a little bit giddy with it all.

  ‘I’m embarrassed even to repeat it. But better you hear it from me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That the police are looking into how Emma’s mother died. While she was in France. Questions about her inheritance before she came here. Apparently the police always look into bank accounts.’

  My face must have given me away.

  ‘So you didn’t know either? That her mother died while she was over there?’ Heather was watching me very closely.

  ‘Of course I knew. She just doesn’t like to talk about it.’ Later I would ask myself over and over why I lied; also why I minded so much that I felt I needed to.

  ‘Yes – well, I guessed it was something like that. She never mentioned her mother dying to me. But like I say – people round here have gone a bit over the top. You know what they can be like. It doesn’t help, of course, that she’s seeing Nathan. People can be—’

  ‘I’d better get out to see her. This is my fault.’

  ‘Your fault?’

  ‘Yes. If I hadn’t made her do that stupid turn in the tent – people wouldn’t have jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

  ‘Yes, well. I guess everyone’s still in shock.’

  ‘I’d better go. See how she’s doing.’

  ‘Look – why not leave it until tomorrow, Sophie? You look done in. Do you want me to ring Mark?’

  ‘No, no. I’m fine. Really.’ And then back at the front door, a long sigh as I reached for the handle, turning suddenly. ‘Heather. My friend in Cornwall – Helen. She was saying that places eventually recover from this kind of thing. That, in the end, they simply have no choice. Do you think she’s right? I mean – I don’t want to sound callous and I’m not saying we won’t always remember him. Antony. But I just can’t bear to think that Tedbury will always feel like this. Sort of ruined.’

  ‘I don’t know, Sophie.’ Heather’s eyes were fixed on the floor. ‘I just don’t know anything any more.’

  Out at Nathan’s barn there was just the dog barking furiously as I tried the bell, and then I waited for a time in the car, sending another text to Emma just as my phone chirruped. Not her. Mark’s voice.

  ‘Sophie. Thank heavens. I’ve been worried. Also, I have a child here point-blank refusing to have his bath until he gets chocolate.’

  CHAPTER 15

  BEFORE

  Later, in bed, I had the familiar dream about the deli. I was serving customers in my crisp, striped apron, happy and humming until I retreated to the back area to fetch more bread, where on the floor – dear God – Gill Hartley sat staring and bleeding with the bread knife lolling from her hand and her head gaping with the white matter pulsing and dreadful . . .

  My gasp was so loud that it woke me. I felt the sweat on my forehead and under my arms, but turned to find, to my surprise, Mark still asleep. I wondered if I had made the noise out loud at all, or just in my head, and very carefully lay back down to allow my mind and body to find each other.

  I tried to calm myself but other images began to swirl around my brain then. That day Ben fell into the swimming pool and Mark had to dive in to haul him out, gasping and coughing. Me fainting in Cornwall. That woman on the cliff in Cornwall with the same coat as Emma. The brick through Emma’s window. I closed my eyes and felt another headache coming. Enough . . .

  Quietly I slipped from the bed, grabbing my dressing gown from the chair, and meandered carefully through the darkness, keen not to wake Mark or Ben.

  Downstairs, out of habit not thirst, I put the kettle on the stove and sat at the table. The deli dream had completely winded me. So vivid. I looked across to the window seat. Just a few months ago, Emma was kneeling right there, looking at her furniture van, the parsnips overflowing from the split bag on the floor. I couldn’t believe so much had happened.

  I thought again of the dream and of Emma’s plans. I lost out to the tune of ten, maybe eleven thousand pounds over the deli disaster with Caroline, and though I hated to disappoint Emma, I really couldn’t afford to lose any more money. Also I wanted to help balance the finances so that it might seem more viable for Mark to move the company. Wind down the pressure on him so that he could afford to lose a few clients.

  Next I got that prickling sensation of being watched and turned to see Mark standing in the doorway. So odd, isn’t it, how you know when someone is looking. His hair was sticking up in little horns, his pyjama bottoms hung low on his hips. I found myself looking at his body, noticing that he had lost a little weight. The stomach more toned. All that golf.

  ‘Was I a complete idiot over the Caroline business?’

  Mark’s face softened. ‘Sophie. It’s three o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘I know that. But I can’t sleep. You think I’m a bad judge of character, don’t you?’

  ‘You married me.’ He was yawning. Tired eyes. Cute little spikes of hair. ‘Come back to bed. Please, Sophie. We’ll talk about it in the mornin
g.’

  ‘You’re wrong about Emma, Mark. She’s OK. And the thing is I don’t want to become this really cynical, glass-half-empty person. I don’t want to stop trying new things just because of what happened with Caroline. Don’t you think that would be a horrible way to live your life? To always think the worst of people just because—’

  ‘Sophie. It is the middle of the night. Will you please just come back to bed?’

  I stared again at his torso, thinking how he had turned down ice cream and cake a couple of times in Cornwall. Was he trying to lose weight because I’d teased him a while ago? I felt guilty, then touched, and then a stirring. So that I smiled. He smiled back. I went back to bed. To surprise him. Myself also.

  And then, when he was once more asleep, naked now, I stewed some more. Four a.m. Five a.m. Until Ben was suddenly standing by the bed in his school uniform.

  ‘What are you doing, Ben? It’s Sunday. You don’t start school until tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m practising.’

  Slowly I opened my eyes properly. He looked so cute, but the olive green sweatshirt was too large. I should have gone for the smaller size. The white polo shirt was all twisted at the neck. The grey trousers – too long and with the zip undone.

  ‘You look great, darling.’ I would have to get the sewing basket out. Damn. Not my forte, hemming trousers. ‘Now put it all back on the hangers and go back to bed.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m too excited.’ He moved over to the mirror on the double wardrobe, chest plumped up proud. ‘Can I have school dinners?’

  ‘I thought we agreed on sandwiches.’

  ‘Theo says you get puddings with school dinners.’

  ‘Theo doesn’t start school until next year.’

  ‘I like puddings.’

  At that moment my handbag buzzed on the floor. Well practised, Ben walked across the room, removed my mobile and handed it to me in bed as Mark opened his eyes.

  At last. Emma.

  Sorry AWOL – loads to tell. Meet Hobbs Lane 11 am.

  I put the mobile on the bedside table as Mark stirred fully alongside, swung my legs out of bed and wriggled my toes into the carpet. I wandered over to pull back the curtain slightly, intending to check the weather, but instead noticed something odd. A tall man with white-blond curly hair over by the church, taking pictures. Initially he seemed captivated by the church itself. This was not surprising. It is a splendid church – the original section dating from the thirteenth century, with magnificent stained-glass windows. But the man, wearing a dark parka-style jacket, then turned his camera around and seemed to be taking pictures of other houses. And cars . . . including ours.