The Best Friend

  ‘And I can’t believe Mike actually came good with his offer,’ Jared says. ‘Sending Joe to that school has turned out to be one of the best moves we ever made.’

  ‘It wasn’t a “move”, Jared,’ I say, frowning. ‘We did it to help Joe with his reading.’

  ‘You know what I mean, Lou. If we hadn’t sent him there, we’d never have met Mike, and my dream of owning my own agency would probably have stayed a dream . . . for a hell of a lot longer, anyway.’

  I can’t disagree with him. Joe’s new school is teeming with wealthy and influential parents. I’m not so keen on that aspect. But the teaching is superb, and I guess it’s also helped Jared out. There’s no denying Mike has opened doors for my husband.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes more, lost in our thoughts, enjoying our lunch.

  ‘I’m stuffed,’ I finally say, licking the salt off my fingertips. ‘If I eat another mouthful I’ll explode.’

  ‘Here, give me that.’ Jared takes the fish and chip wrapper from my lap and strolls down the road a little way to dump our rubbish in the bin. I watch him walk. Even from behind he appears confident – his broad shoulders upright, his stride smooth and even. He gives a little leap to the side, clipping his feet together, making me laugh out loud. He screws the wrappers into a ball and shoots it into the rubbish bin. Then, he turns and rubs his knuckles on his jumper, blowing on them to show off his skill. I shake my head at my husband’s antics, then I freeze.

  A man just crossed the alley behind him. A man with a beard, in a fisherman’s hat. He was too far away for me to be absolutely sure, but it looked just like my stalker. Should I run after him to check? I’m with Jared now, so we could go together, confront him. But do I want to ruin our day? Do I want to tell Jared that this man is stalking me? Jared’s response will be to punch first, ask questions later. It will be a nightmare. And what if I’m wrong? The man has never approached me. He wasn’t even looking my way today. It probably wasn’t even him. Anyway, this is Poole Quay – there must be plenty of bearded fishermen wearing hats.

  ‘Okay?’ Jared is back, standing right in front of me.

  I push the man from my thoughts. ‘Yep,’ I reply, swallowing my unease. ‘I definitely ate too much, though.’

  He pulls me to my feet. ‘Let’s go home.’

  I wrap my arms around my husband and give him a salty kiss. Then, we amble back to the car while I try to push all unsettling thoughts of that man from my head.

  * * *

  Back home, Jared makes us a cup of tea, while I sit at the kitchen table checking emails on my laptop.

  My stomach is teeming with nerves – Jared’s new offices, the man who may or may not be following me. It’s like I’m standing on the end of a moving seesaw trying to get to the middle where things are more stable.

  I see a message from Kathryn, my editor. She’s been a little off with me these past few weeks. Usually, after I submit my work, she emails me back with glowing praise, pointing out the bits she found funny and occasionally adding suggestions. This month, she’s only replied with a simple Thank you. Or Great, thanks. It’s been bugging me, making me insecure about my work. But she hasn’t said anything specifically negative, and I haven’t plucked up the courage to ask if anything’s wrong.

  I open the email and read it, the words on the screen hitting me like blows to the stomach. A lump forms in my throat and tears prick my eyes as Jared comes and sits opposite me.

  ‘Louisa?’ he says, putting the mugs on the table. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Kathryn’s cancelled my column.’

  ‘Oh no. Why? Surely it’s a mistake.’

  ‘She says . . .’ I sniff and wipe the tears away with my sleeve. ‘She says: we’ve loved “Louisa’s Life’s a Beach”, but feel our readership is now looking for something fresh. Fucking great. So why didn’t she ask me if I could try something different? I wouldn’t have minded writing something else.’

  Jared rushes round to where I’m sitting. He crouches down and wraps his arms around me, kissing the side of my head. ‘I’m so sorry. That sucks. Can you email her back, ask if they’ll reconsider, or if you can write something else for them?’

  ‘I suppose. But it’ll be humiliating. Her email is pretty definite. She’s thanked me for the work I’ve done over the years and wished me good luck for the future. Look.’ I swivel my laptop around so Jared can read the rest of the email.

  ‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Well, okay, fuck ‘em. You’ll get another writing gig. Something better.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I reply, unconvinced. I know how unlikely that is. I was lucky to have held onto this one for as long as I did. I have a horrible feeling this has something to do with the time I let Darcy write for me. I think it pissed Kathryn off. I don’t blame her really. I guess I assumed that because I’ve been writing the column for over three years, she wouldn’t mind one guest spot. I was obviously wrong. I thought what Darcy had written was sharp and brilliant – hilarious actually – but maybe the readers hadn’t liked it for whatever reason.

  ‘We’re going to miss my paycheck, too,’ I say gloomily. ‘Especially now, with you starting your new business and everything.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the money,’ Jared says. ‘We’ll be loaded soon.’

  I try not to roll my eyes at his words. Hopefully, this time, it really could be more than blind optimism talking.

  ‘Why don’t you get back to writing your novel?’ he says. ‘You’ve been saying you want to finish it for years. Now you’ll have more time.’

  ‘I suppose I could try,’ I say. ‘I’ll need to be more disciplined and write a bit every day, or it’ll never get done.’

  ‘So, do it,’ he says.

  My disappointment lifts a little. Jared’s right. I should look at this as an opportunity. And yet I still feel flat. Like someone has steamrollered over my life. Like I’ve failed somehow, and there’s nothing new left out there for me.

  Chapter Ten

  Summer 1990

  Nicole’s mum lurched into the lounge where Nicole and Callum were sprawled on the carpet watching some boring kids’ science programme. It was the only thing on telly apart from sport or the news.

  ‘Go down the shops and get me some crisps,’ Mum said, holding out a crumpled five-pound note. ‘I got no change so you’ll have to take this. And take your brother with you.’

  Nicole’s stomach rumbled. Did she dare ask Mum if they could get something to eat? There was no food left in the house. Not even any tins of beans or packets of cereal. She stood up and nudged Callum with her toe. He got to his feet, eyes still glued to the TV screen.

  ‘Shall I get us some food?’ she asked. ‘For tea?’

  Mum’s eyes narrowed. Nicole’s stomach clenched, waiting to see if the question had angered her.

  ‘Get a tin of something,’ Mum said. ‘Mind it doesn’t cost more than 50p, and get some milk and bread ‘n’ all.’

  Nicole relaxed her shoulders and edged over to take the money. Her thumb and forefingers grasped the note, but her mum still held it tight. ‘I want change,’ she snapped, her gin breath hot and bitter.

  Nicole nodded quickly and Mum released the five-pound note. Nicole stuffed the cash into the pocket of her school cardigan, and she and Callum scuttled out of the flat, clattering down the concrete stairs and out into the sunny afternoon.

  ‘We having spaghetti hoops, Nic?’ Callum asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Callum grinned and did a skid on his knees.

  ‘You get a hole in your trousers and Mum will skin your backside.’

  Callum got up off the dusty pavement and wiped at the front of his school uniform.

  ‘No hole – look.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’

  As they walked the half mile to the local Kwik Save, Nicole came up with a plan. She was smiling when they reached the store. Callum made to go inside but she dragged him back by his shirt.

  ‘Wait, dipshit.’

  ‘Wha
t?’

  ‘Come over here a minute.’ Nicole walked over to a clump of bushes at the edge of the supermarket car park and sat on the wall, kicking at the bricks with the heels of her shoes. Callum climbed up beside her. She took the fiver out of her pocket. Then, she shrugged off her cardigan and held the garment out to her brother. ‘Put that on.’

  ‘I ain’t wearing that. It’s girls’ clothes.’

  ‘Put it on or I’ll give you a Chinese burn.’

  Callum stuck his bottom lip out but did as she asked.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m gonna go in and buy the milk and stuff. You’re gonna go in and stick a tin of spaghetti hoops a packet of crisps, and two bars of chocolate inside your cardigan and sneak back out. Meet me up the road by the park in ten minutes.’

  ‘Why do I have to nick it? Why can’t you?’

  ‘Because I’m seven already, stupid. If I get caught they’ll put me in jail. You’re only five – you’ll only have to go to juvy.’

  ‘I don’t wanna go to jooby.’ Callum’s eyes filled with hot tears.

  ‘Then don’t get caught,’ Nicole said.

  ‘Why we gotta steal stuff, anyway? Mum gave us five quid.’

  ‘If we nick it, we can keep some of the cash for ourselves, stupid.’ Nicole slid off the wall. ‘We’ll go in separately. I’ll go in first, you count to ten slowly then you go and get the stuff. Don’t forget – spaghetti hoops, crisps and chocolate, right? That’s three things.’

  Callum nodded, unshed tears still brightening his eyes.

  ‘And don’t cock it up,’ she added.

  Nicole swaggered into the store, dizzy with the thought of free chocolate and cash. She made her way to the bakery aisle and soon located the store’s own-brand white bread. She snatched a loaf off the shelf and made her way to the chiller cabinets and stared at the milk. Should she get a two-pint carton or a one-pint carton? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to get in trouble for buying the wrong one. She opted for the two pints, gripping the condensation-covered handle in her free hand. She should’ve got a basket. Never mind.

  Nicole marched over to the checkout, swinging the bread in one hand and the milk in the other. Callum had better not get caught. She’d kill him if he messed this up. An old woman smiled at her. Nicole was just about to stick the Vs up at the nosy old bag, but then she thought it wouldn’t do any good to draw attention to herself – not with Callum nicking stuff – so she forced herself to smile back, dumping the milk and bread on the conveyor belt.

  The queue wasn’t too long. There was a man who’d almost finished packing his groceries, and there was a woman in front of her – the one who’d smiled at her a minute ago. The woman was chatting to the cashier about her grandchildren in Australia. Nicole huffed, keeping an eye on the main entrance, and pushing a ratty lock of hair out of her eyes. A security guard was standing by the doors, next to the newspaper stand. Why hadn’t she noticed him before? If Cal walked out now, while that guard was there, he’d definitely get caught. What should she do?

  Her hands grew clammy and her heart sped up. Mum would give them such a bollocking if they got caught stealing. And she’d know that it had been Nicole’s idea. She’d know Callum had been put up to it. Nicole didn’t even want to think about what Mum would do to her. She’d rather be sent to jail.

  The old woman was still in front of her, yapping on to the cashier about her grandchildren. Nicole glanced around, made sure no one was looking and swiped a packet of sweets from the stand next to her. She dropped the packet into the old woman’s open handbag.

  Nicole turned her attention to the entrance doors. Where was Callum? Had he already finished and left the store? She didn’t think so. It would take him a while to work out where to find each item. He’d probably be ages trying to find everything. It would be okay. She’d be able to distract the guard if she needed to.

  The man in front had paid and was leaving. Now it was the old woman’s turn. The scanner beeped as her groceries made their way along the conveyor belt and into the cashier’s hands. The woman didn’t stop talking. The cashier nodded and smiled, not really taking any notice. The guard by the door looked bored.

  Finally, the woman’s shopping was bagged up and she moved away from the checkout, towards the exit. Just at that moment, Nicole saw Callum head for the doors. Stupid bugger was clutching at the cardigan like he had a live kitten in there.

  ‘Oi!’ Nicole shouted across the store. Her gaze locked on the guard. ‘That woman nicked something!’ she cried.

  Jolted from his boredom, the guard glanced from Nicole to where she was pointing at the old woman pushing her loaded trolley. Out the corner of her eye, Nicole saw her brother sidle past the guard and out to freedom. She smirked.

  ‘What are you talking about, love,’ the cashier said to Nicole. ‘That lady just paid for her shopping.’

  ‘Saw her stick a packet of Chewitts in her handbag without paying,’ Nicole said.

  The cashier pursed her lips. ‘Dave,’ she called out to the guard, ‘Check her handbag – packet of Chewitts.’

  Everyone was staring at the woman now, who was standing still, her mouth hanging open as the guard removed the offending sweets from her handbag. Nicole wanted to laugh at the old cow’s expression.

  ‘Can I pay for these?’ Nicole said sweetly to the cashier. ‘My mum’ll kill me if I’m late back.’

  ‘Course you can, sweetheart. And well done for spotting that thief. Honestly, she doesn’t look like she’s short of a few quid. What’s she want to go and steal a packet of sweets for?’

  Nicole shrugged and handed over the five-pound note. She put the bread and milk into a carrier bag and clutched her change. She’d sort out how much she could take out of the change once they were far enough away from the shop.

  The woman was talking to the guard now, her face grey and creased . . . scared. She kept staring over at Nicole, a confused expression on her face. Nicole glanced down at the lino floor. She didn’t like the look of things. She’d be happy when she was out of here.

  Nicole walked past the woman and the guard, head down. Once she made it through the doors and out past the rows of shopping trolleys in the car park, she sprinted in the direction of home, making out the shape of her brother up ahead. He’d already reached the park by the look of things.

  The shopping bag swung back and forth as she ran, bashing at her leg.

  ‘I did it, Nic!’ Callum’s eyes shone as she reached him. ‘I got the tin of spaghetti and Mum’s crisps and I got us a couple of Mars bars.’

  Nicole yanked him around the corner so they wouldn’t be seen from the main road. She didn’t trust that old bag back there not to wheedle her way out of things. Then, they might think Nicole had done something wrong. They might come after her. ‘Stick that lot in here,’ she said to her brother, opening up her carrier bag and waiting while he tipped his haul in with the bread and milk. ‘We better eat the chocolate before we get home,’ she said, suddenly not so hungry anymore. ‘And if you tell Mum we nicked stuff, I’ll feed you rat poison and lock you in the wardrobe.’

  Callum’s eyes grew wide. ‘I ain’t a grass, Nic.’

  ‘Better not be.’

  Callum dug his hand into the carrier bag and pulled out one of the Mars bars, tearing off the wrapper. Nicole did the same. They leant against the side wall of someone’s house while they crammed chocolate into their mouths.

  ‘Look what we’ve got here.’ A figure appeared around the corner and his hands shot out grabbing each of them by their school shirt collars. ‘Got a receipt for that chocolate have you?’

  It was the security guard, and he had them firmly in his grip. Nicole kicked him in the shin, but the man just laughed and held her further away from his body. ‘You two can come back with me to the shop and wait while we call your parents. And you’ve got an apology to give to that lady you accused of stealing.’

  ‘You can’t prove anything,’ Nicole cried through a mouthful of chocolate.
‘We didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘We’ll check the security cameras, shall we?’ the man said. ‘Then we’ll see. Come on, back to the store.’

  Nicole writhed and kicked, but the man had a firm grip on them. She wasn’t going to get out of it. She pictured her mum’s face when she got the news. A cold feeling settled in Nicole’s stomach. Why had she let herself get caught? Next time, she’d have to be much smarter.

  Chapter Eleven

  2016

  Flora’s – a rustic artisan bakery-slash-café – is set on the corner of a small, exclusive row of cafés and restaurants just a short walk from school. Along with the various eateries, there’s a designer florist, a winery, a deli and an overpriced gift shop. The obligatory Tesco Express looks somewhat out of place here.

  I push open the door to Flora’s and, as I weave my way past the other tables, I’ve already spotted various groups of yummy mummies and gym bunnies from our school. This must be the local hangout for ladies who lunch, workout and do coffee. Does that description apply to me now?

  I spy Darcy seated at a table in the corner. Two other women stand chatting with her, laughing hysterically about something. They give me pursed-lipped, squinty-eyed smiles when I arrive. In my head, I dub them the poison twins. Darcy stands and introduces us and I treat them to my most charming smile, but I can tell I don’t quite come up to scratch. My clothes aren’t as well tailored, my handbag isn’t genuine leather with the right name tag, my nails are bare of varnish and my curls are too . . . natural. I’m glad Darcy isn’t snooty. Maybe it’s the American influence – I’m sure they don’t have such a blatant snobbism going on in the States.

  The poison twins finally move away in a flurry of laughter and air kisses.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ I ask Darcy.

  ‘Come, sit. They’ll take our order at the table.’

  ‘Okay, great, I wasn’t sure if it was waitress service or if you had to go up and . . .’ I’m rambling like an idiot so I shut up, slide in opposite Darcy and dump my bag on the floor. We’re meeting to finalise the details of the boys’ party on Sunday. Not that there’s that much to sort out – it all seems to be pretty much taken care of by Darcy.