The Best Friend

  He raises an eyebrow and gives a hesitant smile before turning serious again. ‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ he says. ‘About how we can catch Darcy out.’

  ‘Good,’ I reply. ‘Because I’ve got nothing.’

  ‘Well, I picked up some stuff . . . in prison. Ideas and skills that could help us expose her.’

  ‘Nothing illegal,’ I say, ‘or dangerous.’

  He waggles his head from side to side. ‘Hmm, how about semi-illegal?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘We could bug her house and her car. Put some kind of hidden camera on her.’

  ‘How would we do that?’ I ask. ‘You’re not allowed within one hundred feet of her, and she hates my guts.’

  ‘I can do it,’ he says. ‘I’ll be careful not to get spotted. I managed to follow you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Well . . .’ I begin.

  ‘What?’

  ‘As stalkers go, you weren’t particularly good. I spotted you every time you came near.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He gives me a wry smile. ‘Not every time, actually. Did you see me at all after Darcy warned me off?’

  ‘No. I thought she’d managed to scare you away.’

  He shakes his head and smiles.

  ‘You mean you’ve been following me ever since?’

  He nods.

  ‘Well, that’s not creepy at all.’ I pull a face.

  ‘Sorry, but like I said, I had to know if she was targeting you. If I hadn’t followed you, I’d never have known what was going on.’

  ‘True, I suppose.’ I gaze down at the carpet of brown leaves beneath my feet and think about how strange my life has become. About how a few weeks ago I was merely a writer, wife and mother, and now I’m a murder suspect, sitting in the woods with an ex-convict, plotting to bug someone’s house.

  ‘The thing is,’ he says. ‘It’s awkward to ask, but I would need some money for the surveillance equipment.’

  Immediately, my senses go on full alert. Is this some kind of scam? Am I being taken for a gullible fool?

  ‘It’s humiliating,’ he continues. ‘I’ve got no savings from before. Like I said, Darcy took the lot. Now I have to work shifts stacking shelves in a supermarket and I live in a B&B. There’s nothing left over after bills. She took everything.’ He looks me in the eye, his soft gaze unwavering. I break eye-contact first.

  ‘How much are we talking about?’ I ask.

  ‘For everything I’d need, we’re looking at a little over eight grand.’

  I inhale and bite my lower lip. ‘That sounds an awful lot.’

  ‘It’s actually not that much, not for the type of gear we need,’ he says. ‘I’ve researched the cheapest options.’

  I lean against the back of the bench and exhale, linking my hands behind my head. I don’t have any spare money at all, let alone eight thousand pounds. ‘Is there any way we could do it for less than that?’ I ask. ‘My credit card only has a four grand limit, and I’m already up to two. If I spend the rest, I’ll have absolutely nothing left.’ An arctic breeze sweeps through the almost-leafless trees; their branches creak and groan.

  ‘If we want to do this properly, we need the right gear,’ he insists.

  ‘What if I told Jared, my husband? He’d be able to help us. He’s got a couple of credit cards we could use.’ I drop my hands back into my lap.

  ‘No.’ Max says. ‘It’s too risky to involve anyone else. And anyway, I thought you two weren’t getting on. You’re staying at your sister’s aren’t you?’

  I nod, uncomfortable that this man knows where I’m staying and what I’m doing. I know he says he’s on my side, but still . . . ‘You can stop following me now, you know.’

  ‘Just looking out for you,’ he replies.

  ‘Well, it’s not necessary. It’s . . . creepy.’

  He bows his head and pulls at his fingers.

  ‘I don’t mean you’re creepy, I mean the situation is―’

  ‘I know what you meanand it’s fine,’ he says. ‘But that’s beside the point. The fact remains that Darcy has already driven a wedge between you and Jared.’

  His deduction gets my hackles up despite the fact he’s absolutely right. ‘It’s only temporary.’ I snap. ‘Couples argue, you know.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s temporary? Darcy’s a beautiful woman – if she’s set her sights on him, it’ll take a strong man to resist.’

  ‘Stronger than you, you mean.’ I instantly regret my sharp words. ‘Sorry, that was uncalled for.’

  He gives a rueful smile. ‘No, you’re absolutely right. I already admitted I was weak enough to fall for her.’

  ‘I really don’t think Jared will betray me like that.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  So do I. Max’s words send shivers down my back. If Darcy wants Jared, will he really be able to say no? Will he stay true to me now he thinks I’m losing my mind? Will he turn her away if she flashes her eyes at him and flicks her silky hair? A wave of nausea sweeps over me, but I manage to fight it off, taking in a lungful of the frigid morning air.

  ‘Okay, I’ll extend my credit limit,’ I say, exhaling. ‘Or, I’ll get another credit card. I’ll figure something out. We need to trip her up. We need to stop her before she completely ruins my life.’

  ‘Only if you’re sure,’ Max says.

  ‘I’m not sure about anything,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think I’ve got a choice.’

  ‘Okay, well the sooner you get me the cash, the sooner I can get going with this.’

  ‘Can you get me a list of all the equipment you need? Is it available online? I’d like to see what my money is buying.’

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Give me your email address and I’ll send you a link to the store. You can buy the stuff yourself, if you prefer?’

  I breathe a sigh of relief at his suggestion. If he’s willing to let me buy the equipment . . . well, it gives me a greater sense of security that he’s not after the money.

  ‘Just make sure you get next-day delivery,’ he says. ‘Otherwise, we could be waiting around for days.’

  ‘Do you think it will work?’ I say. ‘Can we really catch her out like this?’

  ‘Truthfully? I don’t know. She’s a smart woman. Let’s just say this will give us our best shot.’

  I nod and chew my lip.

  He gets to his feet. I guess this means our meeting is over, so I stand up, too. We shake hands again.

  ‘Give me your email address and I’ll message you in an hour or so,’ he says, scratching at his beard.

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ I rummage in my bag for a pen, and scribble my email on an old receipt.

  He takes the address from me, nods and turns, fallen leaves crunching under his boots as he walks away.

  * * *

  I’m not going to worry and dwell on things like I normally would. I’m just going to do it. I close Beth’s front door and stride through the hallway, shedding my shoes, coat, hat, scarf and gloves on my way through to the bedroom.

  I sit on the bed and take my phone out of my bag. I search out the number for my credit-card company, then I call them, waiting interminably for a real person to speak to. When I’m finally put through to someone, I tell them I’d like to increase my spending limit for home improvements and a family holiday. To my surprise, they agree a further four thousand pounds on my limit without a fuss – madness if you ask me, seeing as I have no job and we’re absolutely skint. Now I’m just two grand short of the eight thousand pounds we need.

  Next, I call my bank and manage to extend my overdraft limit by two thousand pounds. My heart is pounding at the thought of borrowing such vast sums of money. But I can’t dwell on it. It’s worth it to get Darcy off my back, to expose her for who she really is. To get Jared to believe me. To reclaim my life.

  Max’s email already came through, so I open up the website and add all the gear he’s listed to my basket, checking and double-checking that I’ve got it right. I pay extra for next-day deliver
y like he suggested, so I should receive the order tomorrow. Finally, I press the checkout and pay button, swallowing down my fear at spending such a vast sum of borrowed money. I text Max to let him know it’s done.

  Only moments ago, my account was showing a whole heap of zeros. Now, I barely have enough money left over for a weekly grocery shop. Jared and I have no savings, and my credit card is completely maxed out. I should’ve asked the bank to extend my overdraft by a bit more, so I at least had a little cushion to tide me over. I can’t panic about it now. Just take one day at a time. Money is the least of my worries.

  I leave the bedroom and pad down the hall into the kitchen. Maybe a spot of lunch will stop my head from swimming and my stomach from rolling. My gait is unsteady like I’m walking across the deck of a heaving ship. I put my hands out onto the walls to steady myself for a moment. I take a breath and continue on. I need to stay strong for my son. Whatever else is going on, I still have Joe to think about.

  * * *

  Dusk softens the edges of the day as I walk down the hill towards school, excited to see my son, at last. It’s only been two days, but it feels like forever since I last saw his sweet face. Even though I’m skint, I’ve decided to take him out for a pizza. We could both do with a treat after all the upset of the past few days. There’s a new trattoria at Penn Hill. I’ve heard good things about it. The alternative is to go back to Beth’s and brood about everything.

  I walk through the school gates, flexing my fingers in a futile attempt to warm my hands. It’s bone-chillingly cold, the tang of snow and wood smoke in the air. As I enter the playground, my gaze remains firmly on the ground, I’m wary of catching anyone’s eye after what happened here on Friday. And if Darcy approaches me, I’ve decided I’m not even going to engage with her. I’ll simply back away and ignore anything she says. Luckily, the dark evenings mean I can stay relatively hidden, my hair tied back in a ponytail, a thick woollen hat wedged down low over my forehead.

  I’m right on time. Mrs Landry is standing outside with her line of pupils. She’s stamping her feet and blowing on her hands as she releases each child into the care of their parents. I don’t see Joe in the line, but it’s quite a jumble of children, and it’s almost dark so I’m sure he’s there somewhere. Either that, or he’s forgotten something and has run back in to get it. I’m loathe to step forward and draw any attention to myself, so I wait until the crowd of parents has thinned.

  Joe is definitely not in the line of children. I hope Jared hasn’t gone against our agreement and picked him up without telling me. I pull my phone out of my bag, pull one of my gloves off with my teeth, and check to see he hasn’t called me. No. There are no missed calls or texts. I ring my voicemail, just in case. My phone has an annoying habit of being selective about which alerts it chooses to show me. But there’s nothing there either.

  There are just two children standing with Mrs Landry now, neither of which is Joe. I skirt around the edge of the playground, trying to make myself as invisible as possible.

  ‘Hello.’ I smile at Joe’s teacher.

  ‘Mrs Sullivan,’ she says without smiling back.

  ‘Just wondering where Joe is. Is he still inside?’

  Mrs Landry holds her hand up to halt our conversation for a moment. She turns away to relinquish another child. ‘Yes, goodbye, Eva.’ They shake hands and the girl runs over to her dad who’s just come into the playground.

  ‘Joe?’ I enquire again.

  She frowns. ‘He had a playdate with Tyler today. Did you forget?’ She gives a brief wave to another parent who collects the last remaining child from her.

  My pulse begins to race, partly in anger, partly in fear. ‘Joe certainly did not have a playdate with Tyler,’ I say. ‘Aren’t you supposed to have a note from the parents if someone else picks up your child from school?’

  Mrs Landry’s mouth drops open, and then she purses her lips. She reaches into her pocket and fumbles around for a moment, bringing out a crumpled tissue and a square of blue paper. She hands me the paper. ‘Your note,’ she says crisply.

  I take it from her and hold it out so it’s illuminated by the exterior wall light. It’s handwritten in what looks to be almost exactly like my handwriting. The date at the top is today’s date. The note itself says:

  Hi Mrs Landry

  Just to let you know, Joe is going back to Tyler Lane’s house today after school.

  Thanks so much

  Louisa Sullivan

  My signature is on the note. It’s exactly the kind of brief letter I would write if Joe was going on a playdate. Only, I didn’t write this one, and I don’t even have any notepaper like that.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ I say.

  ‘It was in Joe’s bag,’ she says. ‘Mrs Lane came and picked them both up half an hour early today. I asked for a note and said she’d asked you to write one. So she checked in Joe’s bag, and there it was.’

  ‘So, Darcy produced the note from Joe’s bag?’ I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.

  ‘Yes. Is something wrong? That is your note, right?’

  ‘Yes something’s wrong,’ I snap. ‘And no, that’s not my note.’ My hands are shaking. I stuff the note into my coat pocket. My mind races. That mad woman has my son. Could Jared have asked her to pick him up? No, no, he would have told me. And anyway, Darcy forged my bloody signature. Cold terror clutches at my heart.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mrs Landry puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Would you like to come inside? Is there a problem. Should we talk to the headmaster about this?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I mutter. ‘I need to go. I need to go and get Joe.’

  ‘Mrs Sullivan!’ Joe’s teacher calls out to me as I turn away from her and jog across the playground. But I don’t acknowledge her cries. My heart thumps in rhythm with my footfalls. Oh God! Darcy’s got Joe. What’s she going to do with him?

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  I jog up the hill to my car, trying not to cry. My whole body trembles. Darcy is a murderer, I know she is. And now she has my son. Should I call the police? What if it really is a misunderstanding and Jared arranged for Darcy to pick him up? I’ll kill him if he did, but I’ll also be relieved because then it won’t mean that she’s taken him without permission. If this is Jared’s doing, the police will think I’m a deluded crazy person. They might arrest me again or lock me up in an institution like they did with my birth mum.

  I slow down for a moment, trying to get my jumbled thoughts straight. This can’t be Jared’s doing – Darcy forged a note. My brain is racing, spinning. Am I crazy? Actually, it doesn’t matter – not when Joe is involved. If there’s the tiniest chance that he’s in danger, I have to try to save him, even if I’m wrong and end up having everyone think I’m mad.

  A thin skin of ice coats the car, glistening under the streetlights. I open the door and slide into the driver’s seat, putting a call through to Jared at the same time. I growl in frustration as it goes to voicemail. I end the call and redial. Voicemail again. I end the call again and redial, praying for my husband to answer this time. Bloody voicemail again.

  ‘Jared, please get back to me.’ I sound shrill and wavery. Unhinged. But I can’t make my voice any calmer. ‘Did you arrange for Darcy to collect Joe from school tonight? I thought we agreed that I would pick him up. Call me back, urgently.’

  I shove my phone into my bag, chuck my bag on the passenger seat and start up the engine. Then, I put the car into first gear and press down on the accelerator. I release the handbrake too quickly and roll backwards, almost smashing into the SUV parked a few feet behind me. Luckily, I stomp on the brake just in time.

  I take a breath, pull on the handbrake and sit still for a minute, my hands gripping the cold wheel, desperately trying to calm down. It won’t do Joe any good if I end up having a crash. I try again. This time easing out of the space without mishap. I’m going straight over to Darcy’s. The bitch better be in and she better not have harmed a hair on Joe’s head. I b
arely register the short drive over there. The roads, the lights, the cars – they’re all just a blur through a haze of anxiety as I mutter to myself, head swimming, fingers shaking.

  Almost there.

  The automatic gates are open, thank goodness. I tear down the driveway, her fancy, contemporary garden lamps lighting my way. If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I’d want to smash into each one, uprooting them, destroying her perfect driveway.

  She’s there, standing in the doorway under the porch light, the chill wind blowing her hair. As if she’s expecting me. Dressed casually in jeans, boots and a white t-shirt, she must be freezing. No sign of Joe or Tyler.

  The car skids on the driveway as I pull on the handbrake too soon, like a boy-racer in a deserted car park. I grab my bag and car keys, fling open the car door and almost fall out onto the driveway in my haste to get answers.

  ‘Where’s my son, Darcy?’ I cry. ‘If you’ve hurt him . . . if you’ve so much as harmed one hair on his head, I’ll―’

  ‘Calm down,’ she says, raising her eyebrows as if I’m some minor inconvenience. ‘Joe’s fine. Come in.’

  ‘How dare you take my son out of school without permission. How bloody dare you.’ I’m shaking with anger while she is cool and composed, admiring her nails.

  ‘I thought I was helping,’ she says. ‘Are you coming in, or not?’

  ‘Helping? I don’t think so.’ I shoulder past her into the hallway lit by a huge crystal chandelier. ‘Joe!’ I yell. ‘We’re going now!’ My heart pounds as I listen for a reply.

  Darcy closes the front door and strolls past me into the kitchen.

  ‘Where’s Joe?’ I call after her. ‘Are they upstairs? In the garden? Get him now, Darcy. This isn’t funny.’ I dump my bag and keys on the hall table and follow her into the dimly lit kitchen, scanning for any sign of my son. But it’s quiet. Still.

  ‘Marianna’s taken the boys out for ice cream and then to the movies,’ Darcy says. ‘So you don’t need to worry. They’ll be in heaven.’

  ‘What! You mean they’re not here?’