The Friend: An emotional psychological thriller with a twist

by Teresa Driscoll

  ‘It’s hard to be precise. About six o’clock, I think.’

  ‘OK.’ Her tone was more considered now. ‘So talk me through precisely what you saw and heard.’

  ‘I was walking up towards the church to check on our stall. We run one for the RSPB each year.’

  ‘You’re into birds?’ She did not mean to sound so surprised, to give so much of herself away again.

  ‘Yes. We’ve been raising money for a cirl bunting project near the coast.’ He was the one who was a tad flustered now, blushing.

  ‘Not Labrador Bay?’

  ‘You’re kidding me – you know it, Inspector?’

  ‘Not really, but I’ve just been googling local options for my parents. They’re visiting soon and they’re very into that sort of thing. My mother mentioned it. I think she saw something on Facebook.’

  ‘Good grief. I was there just this morning.’

  ‘No!’ Melanie could not help herself; felt a warm smile spreading across her face at the coincidence. The pictures online looked terrific. She was thinking of how she hoped the access would be OK if her mother was still using the wheelchair; how much her mother would like to see it . . .

  In turn, Tom Fuller was suddenly picking imaginary fluff from his sleeve and Melanie was rather pleased to pass the baton of embarrassment. Why was it birdwatchers were so often defensive? Her mother said people took the mickey a lot. It went with the territory, sadly.

  ‘So you were saying. About the argument? I’m wondering why you didn’t say anything before.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t seem important before. I mean – you get a good few frayed tempers on fair day, what with all the organisation. But now that there’s all this gossip flying around.’

  ‘Gossip?’

  ‘Yes. About Emma Carter and Antony. Well, I thought I should mention it.’

  ‘I see. So what exactly did you see?’

  ‘Antony and Emma were on Green Lane, which is a short cut through to the village hall, and he seemed to be having quite a go at her about something.’

  ‘You didn’t hear what?’

  ‘No. Not really. Just a few words. He said there was no way he was going to pay. Something like that.’

  ‘You can’t remember the exact words?’

  ‘No. Sorry. At the time I assumed it was some aggro over the fair. But I do remember thinking it was a bit odd because she’d only just moved into the village. And it wasn’t like him at all. He wasn’t the confrontational type.’

  ‘But not odd enough for you to mention this before?’

  ‘No. I realise now I should have done, but I don’t like to get sucked into things and I didn’t want to be seen to be pointing fingers. But, as I say, there’s a rumour going around now that they were having a fling. Is that right, then?’

  Melanie did not reply. She was trying to stare Tom Fuller out, but was rather wishing that he did not have such striking eyes. It was making it difficult.

  ‘There’s another rumour that you’re investigating her mother’s death in France. The inheritance?’

  And now Melanie leant back in her seat. ‘So, Mr Fuller, did you really come here to tell me something or is this just a fishing trip on behalf of the Tedbury grapevine?’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry.’ He was blushing again. ‘It’s just I was fond of Antony. He was a bit of a lad – I guessed that. But he wasn’t a bad bloke.’

  ‘So you knew that he had affairs?’

  ‘Not for sure. More an assumption. He and Gill were having a bit of a bad patch. She wanted a kid. He didn’t. He was a bit like a kid himself still, to be honest.’

  ‘And you didn’t know who he might have been having an affair with?’

  ‘He certainly never discussed it openly with me, but he may have said something to Nathan. Local architect. They were quite close; had a few lock-ins at the Church Inn.’

  ‘OK. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, actually. I’ve seen a bloke hanging around the village. Seen him three or four times in the last few weeks. Taking pictures. I get up early – for the birdwatching – so I tend to notice people’s movements.’

  ‘OK. Can you describe him?’ She had picked up her notepad and pen.

  ‘Striking chap. Blond hair – almost white, actually. Very short and curly. And very tall too. Like I say – he’s often taking pictures. I thought he was perhaps a freelance photographer. We get a lot of people taking pictures of the church because of the stained-glass windows, but again, I thought I’d mention it. Given what’s happened.’

  ‘Blond and curly, eh?’ She paused. ‘How tall?’

  ‘A good six-three or four, I reckon.’

  ‘And good-looking?’

  He shrugged. ‘You ladies would probably say so.’

  And now she was frowning, her mind whirring. ‘He wasn’t by any chance wearing a long, dark green parka? Fur collar?’

  ‘Yes. How on earth did you know that?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Still frowning, Melanie quickly changed the subject back to Labrador Bay. He told her that Tedbury had played a big part in the fundraising years. He was really proud of the support. The pub in Tedbury held quizzes. Darts nights. It was when the RSPB had been trying to buy the site – now a dedicated nature reserve for cirl buntings.

  He gabbled some more about his hobby. Into his stride. Told how Antony would sometimes join him out at Labrador Bay. He would bring along notebooks for his writing – also tea in a large thermos, plus iced buns with hundreds and thousands. I used to tease him about that. But he was all right, Antony. Hard to believe he’s gone . . .

  Tom chattered on about his work locally with general RSPB fundraising; how he had recently helped with a robin rescued by Emma Carter’s little boy.

  He’s a nice lad. Sweet boy . . .

  And then finally a pause and Tom Fuller narrowed his eyes, and Melanie stood to signal it was time for him to leave. She walked over to the door and summoned one of the DCs from across the room to show Tom back to reception.

  For a good few minutes after he had gone, Melanie sat entirely still at her desk. He really did have the most piercing blue eyes, Tom Fuller. She was not normally thrown but had found it quite disconcerting.

  She thought of the man in the parka and began rummaging through the top drawer for her private phone, suffering a pang of embarrassment again at the house particulars – upset that Tom Fuller had seen them. She imagined him chuckling about it on his journey home. Telling everyone in the village?

  The truth was Melanie had been thinking of getting herself on the property ladder for some time. The salary increase with her recent promotion made it complete nonsense to stay in rented accommodation, but she was reluctant to leave Cynthia. Lately she had been considering buying a place and letting it until she was ready to make the break and live alone.

  Everyone told her the South Hams was a gold mine, at least in the good times, but the prices were a stretch. She stared again at the cottage with the wisteria. It would be hard to afford it but the estate agent had said it was a particularly good time to invest. Strictly off the record, he had tipped her off that a celebrity was negotiating to buy a large house on the outskirts of the village, which was bound to push the prices up.

  TODAY – 7.00 P.M.

  I stare out of the train window and can tell from the corner of my eye that the doctor is watching me.

  There are just forty minutes of the journey left and still I fear that if I put a foot wrong, there is a chance they will put me off the train. Send for help. An ambulance?

  Eventually, as Mark goes to use the loo, I cannot help myself.

  ‘Has the guard asked you to keep an eye on me? Unofficially.’

  The doctor looks at his wife. I wonder how long they have been married. He looks late forties to me, maybe early fifties; I can’t tell. She is much younger and I am assuming a second marriage. Can they read each other’s expression? Have they reached that stage?

  ‘I’ll get some more drinks from the buffet. Do you w
ant something?’ His wife is looking at me and I am thinking, Yes. They can read each other. He wants to talk to me alone.

  Good? Bad? I don’t know.

  I ask for coffee for both me and Mark, and smile my thanks.

  ‘The guard just has protocols to follow. When someone gets off a train. Is clearly under intense pressure as you are . . .’ The doctor is looking at me very directly as his wife moves along the carriage, but his eyes are kind.

  ‘So he did ask you? Officially, I mean?’

  ‘Look – I simply offered to vouch for you. That’s all. I hope you won’t be offended by that. He was worried he would be blamed if you were taken ill or became—’

  ‘Hysterical?’

  ‘I didn’t say that . . .’ He smiles more broadly at me. ‘You don’t strike me as the hysterical type.’

  ‘To be honest, I do feel a bit hysterical inside. Thinking of my son in that hospital bed without me. But you mustn’t let them put me off the train.’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t do that.’

  ‘So that’s not something the guard mentioned?’

  ‘Not as such. No. He’s just watching his back; doesn’t want to get it in the neck and he wants to make sure you’re OK. As do I.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I feel better. Am glad I asked.

  ‘It’s not too long now.’ He is looking at his watch.

  ‘No. Not long.’

  ‘So do you have other children?’

  Of all the questions . . .

  I want and need to stay calm, and so I look again through the window as the trees and the clouds and the green of the grass skim past like a sweep of paint across a canvas. The colours blurring together.

  I took a watercolour course in the village hall soon after we moved to Tedbury, taking Ben along, asleep in his carry cot. Mark’s idea. He’d seen a flyer. He was hoping it might gee me up out of the black moods, but it didn’t. I enjoyed sweeping all the colours across the page, just like these colours sweeping past the train window. But the release was temporary. It didn’t solve anything, and the minute I got home I would just sit on the sofa and cry.

  I can feel my heart rate increasing again and I breathe in and out very carefully to try to counter this. I suppose I could tell the doctor the truth; what I increasingly think is the nub of it all.

  My obsession with having another child.

  You would think, after the bad time I had first time round, I would have been frightened, let it go. But somehow it had the opposite effect. Made me want it even more. To hope to get it right the second time, perhaps? I don’t know . . .

  Should I tell the doctor this? Any of this? That if I could have found a way to be happy with just Ben, maybe none of this would have happened.

  CHAPTER 24

  BEFORE

  I looked out from the bedroom window just as the familiar Volvo with its battered bumper turned on to the square. Thank God . . .

  Helen.

  For the second time in as many weeks, I was very soon hugging her longer and tighter than I intended. And then I noticed the luggage – an enormous brown leather case and a plaid carpet bag.

  ‘Heavens, Helen. Who do you think you are? Mary Poppins?’

  ‘You are not to be rude. My husband bought me that.’

  ‘And what on earth have you got in the case?’ I tried the handle, but worried for my stomach muscles. ‘A body?’ I put it straight back down and closed my eyes to the flashback. The splatter marks up the wall. The blood oozing from Gill’s head – knife in her hand . . .

  ‘I put in some things for the boy. Books, mostly – oh, and a croquet set. So how’s school going?’

  I could hear Helen’s voice but as if through fog, and she touched my arm ever so gently to steer me back.

  ‘I was wondering how school’s going, Sophie?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Ben? How’s Ben getting on?’

  ‘Oh, right. Yes. Sorry. Going really well, thank you.’

  I led her through to the kitchen, followed by the two dogs – eager and panting. I wondered if it would always be like this. Feeling the punch of the wrong words and the wrong thought; triggered by a slip of the tongue. Thinking of Gill and Antony always. That scene. The colour red . . .

  ‘He’s absolutely exhausted but loving it. Not entirely sure how much they’re learning – he seems to play, mostly. But – come through, come through, I’ll make a drink.’

  En route Helen paused, looking down. ‘I had quite forgotten how gorgeous your floor is, Sophie.’

  ‘Yes. Everyone says that. I’m afraid I rather take it for granted. I guess that’s what we’re programmed to do. Just leave the case in the hall. We’ll do that later. I’ve got so much to tell you. But I must get a drink for the dogs. Did you bring their bowl? Oh, hang on. I might have an old ice cream tub out the back if Mark hasn’t moved them. He’s an absolute nightmare for turning things out without—’

  ‘Sophie.’ Helen put her hand on my arm again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is only me, darling.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes. Christ. Listen to me, I’m babbling. Sounds silly but I feel really . . .’ I wanted to say nervous. Not myself. Going mad. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m just so glad you’re here. Everything’s still so completely crazy . . .’

  Helen tilted her head to the side affectionately. ‘I’d rather gathered that from talking to Mark.’

  ‘You spoke to Mark?’

  ‘Yes. He phoned me. Didn’t he say?’

  And now I felt my expression change.

  At the weekend we had had another terrible row – me and Mark. Over Tedbury; over the fact he was falling for all the grapevine gossip about Emma and Antony . . .

  ‘Look, I was planning to come anyway so you’re not to think this is some kind of conspiracy, Sophie. But – hold that thought, whatever it is. I very urgently need a pee. As do the dogs.’

  Helen opened the French doors to let the dogs out before using the downstairs cloakroom. Then, five minutes later, we were both staring at my mug of raspberry and camomile tea as I poured her coffee.

  ‘So – what’s de rigueur here? Do you want me to pretend I haven’t twigged?’ Helen’s eyes were wide with anticipation, her mouth breaking into a smile.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Sophie. You practically mainline coffee normally.’

  I’d guessed she’d guess. And I found as she examined my face very closely that I didn’t mind at all; it was good for her to know. I certainly needed someone to know.

  ‘Only just, Helen. Six weeks or so. Mark doesn’t want us to tell anyone yet. He’s really nervous.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ And now she was sweeping me once more into a tight bear hug, then pulling back to examine my face. ‘This is quite simply the nicest news I’ve had in as long as I can remember’ – tapping the table then with both hands like a drumbeat. ‘Cross my heart, I promise I won’t say a single word until you give me the all-clear. But I did wonder. The fainting in Cornwall. And I’m just so pleased I came now. You’re tired – yes?’

  ‘Exhausted.’ Even my voice sounded tired, the word fading away and my shoulders slumping as if giving up on the effort of holding up my head. I looked away towards the window, thinking of everything beyond. ‘It’s still such a strange time here, Helen. In Tedbury. I mean, I’ve waited so long for this next baby and I thought it would feel so perfect but it doesn’t. Mark – well, he seems more worried than pleased, and now I’m starting to feel guilty.’ I glanced again through the front window on to the village square, where a white van was pulling up near Gill and Antony’s cottage.

  I thought again of the row with Mark and closed my eyes.

  He had not reacted to the baby as I had hoped. There was this initial smile, a hug and a kiss, and then? Too quickly he was pacing and muttering about all the stress. Money. The Hartleys. The poisonous mood in Tedbury. Eventually, he sat sombre on the edge of the bed and advised we tell no one until we were through the dangero
us early few weeks. And next – he was on his phone, googling estate agents; setting things in motion for a move. To Surrey.

  Surrey?

  Yes, Sophie. We can find a nice village with a good school and a good railway station. You know I can’t leave the company in London, and with another child we’re going to need the money. But you’ll need me around more too. And with all that’s happened here—

  Oh no, no, no, Mark. This is not just your decision. I’m just starting to feel a lot happier. More settled here. With Emma, and with Ben and Theo getting on so well.

  And that’s something else I wanted to discuss . . . I think it would be a good idea to see less of Emma. With what’s going on. I’m not liking what I’m hearing.

  Oh, don’t be ridiculous. That’s all idle gossip and you know it.

  From what I hear, it’s getting nasty, Sophie.

  Which is precisely why she needs me. She’s a friend.

  Oh, come on. You know what I think. You’ve hardly known her five minutes. She’s very obviously—

  Obviously what, Mark? Spit it out. You saying I have no judgement?

  I opened my eyes and turned back to Helen. ‘I mean – Gill’s still in a coma, Helen. The cottage is still boarded up. My friend Emma that I told you about? She’s having a really hard time.’ I let out a huff of breath as Helen reached out for my hand. ‘And to top it all, Mark is getting very much more determined about moving. We’re arguing about it. Quite a lot, actually.’

  ‘Right. That does it.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Come on. Get your coat. You need fresh air and the dogs have been cooped up too long.’ Helen slurped the last of her coffee and stood, beaming. ‘And then we can go to that nice butcher you showed me last time and get you some red meat.’

  ‘Red meat?’

  ‘Yes. I know what you stick insects are like. All steamed fish and braised chicken. That’s why you’re feeling a bit low. A good piece of steak or venison is what you need. Oh, and I hear ostrich is very good. Low in fat but you have to be careful how you cook it. You need more iron.’

  I could feel the paradox of a smile and tears forming at the same time. I looked at Helen and I saw it. And she saw it. And I loved that as we held each other’s gaze, neither of us had to say out loud just how much this moment meant.