The Perfect Friend

by Lorna Dounaeva

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to work it out, aren’t you?”

  Bleeding Out

  When I next woke, I noticed that my left arm was still untied. I felt for the rope on my right arm. It was tied tight, but I could move about enough to reach for the skull on the bedside table. I stretched my hand out towards it. My fingers were just inches away from it, but I could not reach. I needed to try something else. I tried the little desk drawer beside the bed. There was all kinds of tat in there: half a dozen turquoise nail varnishes, bus tickets, biscuit crumbs and, right at the back, a framed picture of Jock.

  It was not a particularly good picture, his mouth was turned down in a frown, and his hair hung over his eyes. And he looked like he was in need of a good haircut. From the expression on his face, I would say he didn’t even know his picture was being taken, like someone was spying on him, without his knowledge.

  I glanced at the door, wondering how long I had before the vile woman came back. I was bleeding from the ankles now, both of them tied up at the ends of the bed. The gashes felt sore and itchy and there was blood all over my socks. I strained at the ropes, but it did me no good. I took one last look at Jock’s picture and brought it down as hard as I could on the table, gratified to see that the glass had smashed.

  Twists and Turns

  Yolande charged towards the building, not waiting for the soldier before she dived in through an open window.

  “Josh!” she called. “Josh!”

  The only sound that greeted her was an echo. He was not there. There was nothing in that room but a chair and table, on top of which lay his mobile phone.

  “We’ve been tricked!” she yelled to the soldier, who was checking the place to ensure there were no explosives.

  “Clear!” he yelled.

  “Clear!” his colleagues echoed.

  “Now what?” she cried.

  “Stop making her so clueless!” yelled Yara, over his shoulder. “Why did she barge in there before the soldiers had checked it was safe? She should have waited a few minutes.”

  Jock bit his tongue. How could he take a character with a track record of stupidity and turn her into a heroine? The only way he could think of was to make everybody else more stupid than her, then she would appear like a genius. A smile formed on his lips as he tapped the keys, and the soldiers finished checking the building. By rights, Yolande should have left with them, when they returned to their chopper, but instead she decided to stay and hunt for clues. Her love interest was given orders to stay with her and keep her out of trouble. Easier said than done.

  The solider, a young man by the name of Laurence, was fed up now. He was great when there was action to be had, but he didn’t cope well with downtime.

  “What if there’s something hidden in the walls?” he suggested, aiming his gun at some suspicious looking brickwork.

  Yolande screamed as a stray bullet ricocheted off the walls.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “I’m fine. What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry.”

  His voice no longer sounded so heroic.

  Yolande lay down on the floor and looked up at the ceiling.

  It was a bumpy ceiling, like one in Yara’s flat.

  “Why does the ceiling look like that?”

  “Do you want me to shoot at it?”

  “No!” she squealed, but, on closer examination, she could see bullet marks. Dozens of them. It looked like someone had already let off a gun.

  She lay there a while, staring up at the ceiling until the marks made a pattern, and then the pattern formed a word. Lido.

  “We have to find the pool!”

  The Pool

  Yolande walked towards the window and was about to leap out when Laurence caught her by the elbow.

  “Why don’t we use the door?”

  “I thought the door was locked?”

  “Not a problem.”

  He cocked his gun and shot the lock off, then he blew on his gun.

  Yara rolled her eyes. “Does he have to do that?”

  Jock let out a sigh. “Probably not, but he did it, alright?”

  Why did the readers always think they knew better?

  Yolande and Laurence scouted the grounds. There was no pool, but they found a message scrawled in chalk on the outside wall. Gunn Street.

  “Gunn street? Couldn’t you be a bit more original?”

  Yara wasn’t even pretending to wait for him to print it anymore, she was gobbling up words right over his shoulder, practically sucking them out of his head.

  “Will you let me just write it?”

  They found it on the map. Gunn Street was a short walk, but Laurence looked conspicuous in his uniform. People stared at him as they passed, and more than one woman gave him an admiring glance. Yolande slipped a protective arm around his waist.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Yara said. “What is this, a romance?”

  “No,” Jock said defensively. But sometimes, he found it hard to stay within the bounds of his genre. It wasn’t his fault his characters sometimes fell in love.

  “Look, there it is!” Yolande said, as they rounded the corner.

  Without a care for her own safety, she bolted into the road. Luckily, Laurence grabbed her before she was hit by a motorbike. She hadn’t seen it, weaving in and out of traffic. If he hadn’t been there… She gazed into his eyes. They were a deep greeny-blue. Almost turquoise...”

  “What about the lido?” Yara shrieked.

  The street was full of tatty old buildings and faded billboards, that had become washed out with rain. Not a single curtain twitched as she moved towards the crumbly old lido. It had broken windows and a sunken doorway, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time.

  “I hope there aren’t any bats in there,” the soldier said, as they peered into the darkness.

  “Only one way to find out,” she said.

  Yolande took out her phone and shone it around the deserted swimming pool. Many of the mosaics that had once decorated the pool had fallen off and now lay on the ground, like brightly coloured pieces of shrapnel.

  The pool was completely drained, like a giant bathtub, waiting to be filled.

  A ghostly figure leaned against the doorway…

  “No ghosts!” Yara said. “I hate ghosts.”

  “Alright, alright!”

  As Yolande moved closer, she saw that the figure was, in fact, a statue, an artefact of the not so distant past, when King George V reigned the country. The swimming pool must have been built around that time.

  Laurence moved around the room, checking for signs of life. A cat scuttled out from behind a pillar and yowled plaintively.

  “Don’t!” warned Laurence, as Yolande leaned down to stroke it.

  “I’m sure he’s harmless,” she said. The cat hissed and bared its teeth; terrible, jagged teeth they were, and there was dried blood on its whiskers.

  She edged away and shone her phone down into the swimming pool. She had never seen an empty pool before. She moved onto the steps and clambered down into the depths.

  “What are you doing?” Laurence called after her. The muscles in his cheek twitched in agitation.

  “Just having a look.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you…”

  Yolande did not listen. She kept climbing until she reached the bottom rung. The steps didn’t go down any further, but she wanted to see what it was like to walk on the bottom. She had always wanted to walk on the bottom of the deep end of a swimming pool. She had tried it many times when she was young, but it wasn’t easy when the pool was full of water.

  She let go of the ladder. It was a bit of a jump, but she landed neatly, and immediately ran her hands over the rough floor of the pool. It was bone dry. She gazed up at Laurence, but his cheek was popping like crazy. He needed to lighten up.

  “I think you’d better come back up now,” he s
aid. “It’s not safe.”

  “Don’t be such a worrywart!”

  She still found him very attractive, but his nagging was getting on her wick.

  “Look, up there!” he suddenly cried.

  He was looking at the diving board, positioned high above the empty pool. There, on the very edge of the board, sat Josh, his legs swinging precariously in mid-air. He had a gag over his mouth and his hands were tied behind his back. Only his balance kept him from falling. He was hanging on by the very seat of his pants.

  Freedom

  I picked up a large shard of glass and held it my hand. It glimmered as I pressed it against the ropes that bound my wrist. I began to saw furiously. It was a tricky business, difficult to carry out one-handed and I nicked my hand more than once. But what was one more nick? I sawed faster, not knowing how long it would be until she returned. It was a slow, painful process, and I was sweating profusely. But I was determined that I was going to get out of there. I was as stubborn as a mule, and there was no way I would let that vile woman defeat me.

  I wanted to whoop for joy when I finally got my hand free. I picked it up in the other hand, and held it. If felt strange, like it didn’t belong to me. I was unused to having such a normal range of motion. It was such a luxury, the freedom to move that hand, and I felt euphoric, even though it was still stiff and sore.

  But it wasn’t over yet. I still had to untie my legs, and there was a lot of rope to cut through. I pulled at the ropes with my hands first, but when that didn’t work, I went back to sawing. The shard of glass was getting blunt, so I picked another, smaller piece and worked with that. It was slow going, hacking through all that rope, and my body was wounded and weak. But I would not be defeated.

  Eventually, my efforts paid off, and I was able to stand and stagger towards the door. I turned the handle, but it refused to budge. I was locked in and, what’s more, there were voices outside the door. I shrank back against the wall and listened. Might they be friendly, these voices? If I was to call out, would they open the door and rescue me, or did they wish me harm? I tried to be brave, but my legs refused to stand any longer and I sank to the floor, unable to do anything but clutch my shard of glass, and wait.

  The End

  Josh’s eyes were lit by fear, as he stared down into the pool. There must have been over thirty metres between him and the bottom, and he could totter over at any moment.

  “Stay there!” Yolande yelled. “We’re going to get help!”

  But first, she had to climb out of the pool.

  The ladder was some way above her. She hadn’t really thought that through. She had been so intent on touching the bottom of the pool that nothing else had seemed to matter. But now she had the not inconsiderable task of pulling herself back up.

  “Laurence? Where are you?”

  Her voice echoed in the darkness. She looked up and saw that Josh’s legs were trembling. He needed help, fast. She took a running jump at the side of the pool and managed to grip the bottom of the ladder with her hands, but not well enough to pull herself up. She was going to have to try again. And again.

  “Laurence!” she yelled, but the solider had vanished. Perhaps he had gone outside to get help, but there was no time for that. The diving board was wobbling precariously.

  She tried again, backing all the way up until there was no more room, then she ran as fast as she could, running some way up the wall before she started to slip. This time, she held on tight. It was agony, pulling herself up. Tougher than any exercise she had ever done in the gym. Tougher than any workout she had ever attempted. But pull up she did, lifting her entire body until her knee finally came to rest on the bottom rung of the ladder. From there, she just had to climb.

  When she eventually reached the top, Yolande looked up at the diving board and saw that Josh was wobbling even more precariously. There was a loud creaking noise and she was convinced he was going to fall. She closed her eyes for a moment, unable to watch, but there was no sound. When she opened them again, she saw Laurence pop up behind him. He was climbing the ladder that led to the diving board and he had almost reached the top. She held her breath as he powered his way up, lithe as a cat. He reached out a hand. He almost had Josh in his grip. He let out a moan as he stretched further and grabbed Josh around the waist, pulling him with all his might. Slowly, Josh moved back up the diving board, until his legs no longer dangled over the edge. He was safe.

  Laurence stood on the top rung of the ladder and untied Josh’s hands with his penknife.

  “Hi five!” Josh cried with exhilaration. “I’m alive!”

  His voice bounced off the wall and reverberated around the building.

  “Yeah man!”

  Laurence reached up to high five him but, somehow, their hands failed to connect and he plunged forward, sliding head-first down the diving board. Josh tried to grab him, but his fingers were too stiff. Laurence slid from his grasp and hurtled through the air, performing a perfect somersault as he tumbled to his death. There was a loud, sickening squelch as he landed and his blood formed a large red puddle on the bottom of the empty pool.

  “Well,” said Jock. “Did you like it?”

  “Bloody hell, I can’t believe you killed Laurence,” Yara said. “But you know, I’ve always hated happy endings.”

  “Me too, but the critics will hate it.”

  A slow smile spread across Yara’s mouth. “Don’t you worry about the critics,” she said. “I’ll deal with them.”

  He sat back, sweat dripping off him as he printed his work. He lay his head down on the desk. He was dog tired and his head pounded like a drum.

  “Can I go home now?” he asked.

  Yara ripped the pages from the printer and lounged back on the sofa, re-reading his work.

  “I still think it’s missing something,” she said. “I like a really good twist at the end.”

  Just at that moment, a key sounded in the lock. She jumped up and ran to the door. Jock held his breath as she slid back the bolt.

  “Hi, darling,” Kenneth said, leaning in to give her a kiss. “Did you miss me?”

  “Yes, I did, but Jock here has been keeping me company.”

  Kenneth looked over in his direction. Jock would have got up, but he had nothing left.

  “He’s written me a book.”

  “Has he now?”

  “Yes, but he’s having trouble with the ending.”

  “Oh, well these things have a way of working themselves out.”

  Kenneth didn’t seem the least bit jealous and Yara looked put out.

  “I need to get home now,” Jock said.

  “Of course,” Kenneth opened the door for him.

  Jock stumbled out into the corridor. He had been sitting down so long, his legs felt like jelly. He stumbled forward, desperate to get away. Was Yara really going to let him go? Wasn’t she the least bit concerned that he would go to the police?

  “Come on, this way,” Kenneth said, leading him past the stairs that led up to his flat. He put an arm round Jock’s shoulder and pulled him towards the front entrance.

  “Where are we going?”

  Yara smiled. “Like I said, we’re going to help you with your ending.”

  “Can it wait until tomorrow?” he pleaded. “I’m really tired.”

  “A good ending does not wait,” Kenneth said, sternly.

  Jock tried to get away, but his legs wobbled uncontrollably. He let out a yell, but Kenneth clamped a meaty hand over his mouth. His breath come in short, panicky bursts, as Kenneth picked him up and tucked him under his arm, like a roll of carpet. They passed a few people on the way out to the car park, but they all looked the other way, even when Jock moaned and kicked his legs. He couldn’t believe no one would help him. Kenneth tossed him into the back of his van and slammed it shut behind him.

  “Help!” he yelled, banging on the window. “Help!”

  Still, nobody took any notice. Kenneth got in the driver’s seat and angled the mirror
so that he could watch him. Yara hopped into the passenger seat. Jock rattled the door, but they must have had the child locks on, so he could not get out and the windows were tinted, so no one could see in. No one would ever know he was in there.

  Farmyard Battle

  Jock fought the urge to sleep as they drove out of London, towards leafier suburbs. His head felt heavy, as if the effort of holding it up all day had been too much. He leaned against the window, staring out at all the cars passing in the opposite direction. He really should attract someone’s attention. Let them know he was in trouble. But all he could do was sleep.

  When he opened his eyes, they were in the country. He stared out the window at the fields, dotted with sheep.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Sometimes it helps to have a change of setting,” Yara said.

  “But the book’s finished,” he said. His voice sounded strangely pathetic.

  “What about the epilogue?”

  “Doesn’t need one. I hate epilogues.”

  She turned and faced him, her olive-green eyes narrowed to the pits. “If you hate them so much, then why have you included them in your last seven books?”

  “My editor insisted,” he said. “But I have a new editor now. She’ll see things my way, I’m sure.”

  “All the same, we’re nearly there now,” Yara said, with the fake cheer of a mother trying to force her child to enjoy the view.

  Where the hell were they going? Eventually, Kenneth pulled to a stop at the end of a long, dusty road. They hadn’t passed another car for a while now. Not even a tractor.

  Jock rattled the door handle but, of course, it wouldn’t open. He waited impatiently for Yara to let him out, but it was Kenneth who came to his aid.