What My Best Friend Did
Page 22
By ten past midnight I was in my old single bed, under the same duvet cover I’d had aged fifteen (ballet dancers in dresses of various colours, wistfully trailing ribbons behind them), wishing with all my heart I’d taken Vic up on her offer of New Year in Paris. On cue my phone buzzed with an answerphone message. I could hear cheering in the background and general merriment. ‘Just remember this too will pass!’ Vic shouted over the noise. It made me think of Gretchen’s bloody tattoo. ‘Happy New Year never seemed more appropriate! You are so brave and I’m proud of you! You’ll get there – I know you will! Love you!’
Once the Christmas break was thankfully over, I went back to work. The familiarity of the studio was reassuring when I opened up and I was relieved to have something to focus my attention on. After a morning spent concentrating on a product shot that was technically very complicated, I realised that I hadn’t thought about Bailey, Gretchen or Tom for at least three hours. It was quite a revelation.
But, it being January, things were a little slow in patches too. The studio owner cheerfully popped by to tell me he was putting his rates up; on the same day a celebrity hairdresser cancelled some head shots. In a moment of paranoia, I panicked that perhaps Gretchen might have had a few sly words in ears, she had contacts after all. But then I realised, of course, that would have suggested she cared enough to bother, when I knew she didn’t. Even so, I felt better when the hairdresser rang back the following day with a date to reschedule.
But just as I was starting to put 2008 firmly behind me, Bailey surfaced again on Thursday January 15th at 5.04 p.m.
‘Hello?’ I answered my phone curiously; it had come up number withheld. I shut the lid to my laptop.
‘Alice?’ And even though we hadn’t spoken since the evening he’d ended it all, I knew it was him straight away. Not only that, but the mere sound of his voice lit me up inside and I slithered back down a snake, dropping past the ladder of progress I’d painstakingly hauled myself up. How did he do that? Just by talking?
He didn’t even bother with the niceties of ‘How are you?’ and ‘Good Christmas?’ but just cut to the chase. ‘Ally, I know this is a bolt out of the blue and I’m the last person you probably want to speak to – which is why I withheld my number – but I need your help. I’m really worried about Gretchen.’
I nearly threw the fucking phone across the room. Why? Why did people only ever ask me about her? She had him, she had Tom. For God’s sake, she apparently had the whole bloody world wrapped around her finger. Couldn’t they just stop seeking me out and let me get on with my life? And since when had he ever called me Ally?
‘I’ve fucked up massively. I’m supposed to be at Gretchen’s – like now – but I missed my plane earlier. I’m in Spain, you see, and I’d call Tom but he’s in Bath at some work thing and, well, he hates me. I phoned Gretchen and she sounds pissed. As in drunk. Incredibly drunk actually.’
‘So?’ I tucked the phone under my chin as I packed up my bag.
‘It’s five p.m.! I know she likes a drink but come on! Will you please go round and check on her? She just kept saying, “But you’re supposed to be here,” over and over and then she got really cross, told me I was a cunt and hung up.’
‘Oh well, in that case, yes please, I’d love to go round,’ I said sarcastically.
‘Something’s not right, Al. I can feel it,’ he insisted. ‘Something is going on.’
‘OK, well the last person she’s going to want to see is me. She’s very far from my number one fan.’
‘I know,’ he said uncomfortably, and I wondered how much she had told him, ‘but I still need you to go round. Please. I’m worried.’
‘Just call the police if you’re that frightened,’ I said, picking up my keys and turning the studio lights off. ‘Or your parents.’
‘They’re doing a production of “Whoops There Go My Bloomers!” in Little Chalfont. No one’s answering any phones. I can’t phone the police just because she’s drunk . . . Alice, please,’ he begged. ‘Please! Just check she’s OK and then leave. I’m begging you. Please do this for me – please.’ He played his trump card and waited. ‘I’m counting on you. Don’t let me down.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
At twenty to seven I very grumpily and apprehensively arrived at Gretchen’s flat. I’d already been home, vowing to myself that I wasn’t going, before I’d finally given in and done an about-face. Someone was going into the block when I arrived and let me in with them, but I knocked and rang several times on her front door to no avail. Sighing, I eventually held open the letterbox and called in, ‘It’s me. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be, but I promised Bailey. Please just open the door.’
I heard the scuffle of feet from across the room and watched through the very small gap as a half empty whisky bottle slid into sight and stopped spinning, the amber liquid still sloshing around, finally stilling. Then I saw a pair of bare legs weave quickly but unsteadily towards me, before stumbling out of view. There was a heavy thump, like the sound of someone falling over. Then silence.
‘Gretchen,’ I called worriedly, ‘are you OK?’ My irritation was instantly forgotten. ‘Open up!’ I hammered my hand on the door and, to my relief, heard her voice say, ‘Coming, coming. I’m trying. Hang on.’
There was a heavy thud against the door, the sound of a lock being thrown back and then the door swung open to reveal her swaying slightly in a pink vest top and matching shorts, the sort that come in packs of three and blokes might picture sixteen-year-old girls wearing while having a pillow fight.
‘You’re late,’ she said, looking agitated, and promptly sneezed as she walked back into the flat, leaving me to shut the door behind me. ‘He said you’d be here ages ago. The timing is all buggered up, I had to stop and now I’m not sure where I’m at. It’s a bit of a problem!’ she said in a singsong voice. ‘But, I think you should find me in the bathroom. Or maybe the sitting room. I don’t know.’ She looked anxious as she wrung her hands. ‘I’ve never planned it before, just done it, and now it’s gone all saggy tits up thanks to my stupid brother.’
My heart sank. She was manic. ‘You’re not making sense. Slow down. Have you come off your medication, Gretchen?’ I asked, although the answer to that was obvious.
‘I had to, you stupid cow!’ she burst, eyes wild and wide as she rushed up to me and grabbed my coat front with both hands, getting so very suddenly up in my face I tensed with the shock and jerked away from her. Her breath stank of booze and there was a thin shining trail of snot running down from her bright red nose, before she wiped it away with the back of her hand and grabbed me again eagerly. ‘There’s something you don’t know. I want to tell you a secret, because I need you to help me with my plan. I can only tell you if you say yes. Do you promise to help me?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed reluctantly, taking my coat off. I was going to somehow have to get her to sit quietly until Bailey arrived because there was no doubt she was going to have to be admitted again – she was ramping up nicely to a major flip-out. I exhaled. I was going to see Bailey again. If I’d have only known I’d have worn some bloody makeup and wouldn’t have come dressed in scuddy trainers and trackies.
She let go of me and stepped backwards, twisting her fingers and picking her nails frantically.
‘I’m pregnant! No one knows – except you.’
I whooshed back to attention and my mouth fell open.
‘I had to stop the lithium because it’d mess the baby up.’ She started pacing in a small square. ‘I said no way did I want one so that’s partly why they put me on it. You shouldn’t have lithium if you want one, they said that, they said that to me. So I stopped really fast, but of course there was the party night anyway . . . so I couldn’t have had it, even if it was normal. Because he’d know. And that’s why you’ve got to help me.’ She raked a hand up through her hair. ‘I can’t do this alone.’ Her eyes started shining with tears.
‘Do what alone?’
‘An ambulance? What are you—’
‘Shhh!’ she said. ‘I’ll explain. Tom’s away with work – that’s why it’s got to be tonight, he’s back tomorrow. All we have to do . . . is actually do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Get rid of the baby,’ she said patiently, as if I was a bit slow on the uptake.
I pulled my hands away so sharply one of her nails scratched me. ‘What?’ I said, thinking I’d misheard her.
‘It’s really simple,’ she said, jiggling up and down like she was warming up for a run while explaining an easy-bake recipe to me. ‘I’ve already had some whisky and if I have too much of my lithium, my co-proxamol and drink some more, I’ll go into a coma – I learnt about how to do it on the psych unit. I’m sure that will be enough to get rid of it . . . I think I’m only about seven weeks. Everyone will just think I’ve tried to commit suicide again; they’re all waiting for it to happen anyway. At home, over Christmas, I found a book under my mum’s bed called Living with Manic Depression and she’s folded the page down over this bit that says, “Research shows a high percentage of suicides within a year after a person has been discharged from hospital.” You see? They all think I’m going to do it anyway and no one will even need to know about the baby! I need you to call the ambulance because I don’t want to actually die. You’ll have to call them when it looks like I’m going unconscious because if it goes too far I could have a heart attack.’ She sneezed violently and wiped at her nose.
‘Did you even hear what you just said?’ My voice was trembling. ‘Did you actually just say your poor mum is dreading and waiting for this to happen and that’ll fit with your plan? And this is a BABY, Gretchen. Tom’s baby. You can’t do this! I won’t let you! It’s sick. It’s more than that – it’s evil.’
‘It’s not Tom’s baby! Well, I suppose there is a chance it could be – but it doesn’t feel like it is. You know what I did at the party in the garden. I saw you go and check in the alley. In fact,’ her eyes blazed, ‘this is all your fucking fault anyway. If you hadn’t have kissed Tom I wouldn’t have thought you were getting back together and I’d never have let Paulo touch me again.’
‘Paulo?’ I said, horrified.
‘Oh fuck off,’ she said scornfully. ‘Don’t act like you didn’t know, little miss I’m-so-good-and-innocent-but-you-can’t-have-my-ex-boyfriend-because-I-don’t-like-it!’ She mimed a pout and stamped her foot. ‘Do you know how sad I was, Alice? I cried and cried and Paulo found me and hugged me and then he was kissing me and . . . I’m not going to lose Tom, Alice. He’s the one good thing I’ve got in my life.’
‘But there are other ways. Other things you can—’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘If he left you because of a kiss, he’ll leave me for this. I’ve worked so hard – I didn’t go all the way to America for nothing. I’ve had so much taken away from me, I’m not giving him up too.’
‘You could . . . Hang on, what did you just say?’ I suddenly realised what I’d just heard.
‘I’m keeping him,’ she said defiantly. ‘And no one is going to stop me.’
‘Before that,’ I said, staring at her.
She looked confused. ‘Before what? You have to stop talking, Alice.’ She flapped her hands erratically. ‘We need to just do this!’
‘You followed him out to America?’ My voice was higher than it had been a second ago. I felt a wave of anger rush through me.
‘Yes! I mean no – I don’t know. So what if I did?’ She darted over to the sofa and snatched up a bottle of pills which I hadn’t noticed and tipped out a handful. She ran over to the whisky, stumbling en route, dropped down next to it, unscrewed the cap with one hand, took a huge swig and then shoved the pills in. She swallowed, a look of pain flashing across her face as she forced them down. She took another gulp of drink and then gasped and coughed. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and said, ‘See? You can’t back out now.’ She grinned manically, a flash of triumph in her eyes.
I was completely horrified by the surreal and totally terrifying thing I’d just seen her do. It was like watching a scene from a film.
She closed her eyes and took another slug of whisky so big she gagged and had to cover her mouth with her hand. ‘Urgghh!’ she said, lurching slightly. She paused and then smiled up at me through swimming eyes. ‘I can’t be sick.’
My instincts kicked in and I rushed over to the phone and started dialling 999. If I got her to A&E straight away she could probably have her stomach pumped and hopefully have done no more damage. I couldn’t believe she was having a baby.
‘No!’ She rushed up and yanked it away from me. ‘Not yet! It’s too soon! It’ll only take half an hour for me to go unconscious.’ She poured another three or four pills into her hand and walked back over to the kitchen. ‘I think that might be enough of them now,’ she said, and I thought I detected a heavier slur in her voice, as if it were becoming more of an effort for her to talk.
‘Have you already taken some?’ I said and she nodded. ‘When? Before I got here?’
‘Um,’ she looked confused, ‘earlier I think, just before Bailey rang and said he wasn’t coming over after all.’
Oh God. Then it might already be too late. What had she done?
I snatched up the phone and she went to grab it again. ‘Don’t!’ I shouted and rounded on her with such a look of ferocity she backed off. I was about to dial when I glanced up at Gretchen and saw her sneak a small white something into her mouth. Another pill. ‘Stop it!’ I shouted desperately.
She paled suddenly. ‘I’m going to be sick.’ She got up and rushed to the bathroom. I heard an almighty crash, dropped the phone and dashed after her. She was hanging over the loo and heaving, a load of bottles that had been on the edge of the bath had been knocked off. I could see her muscles jerking and her face straining. ‘No, no!’ she said. ‘If I’m sick it won’t work!’
‘Stick your fingers down your throat – now!’ I grabbed her face, desperately trying to shove my fingers in her mouth, reminding myself she was ill, very ill, and this was a lunatic plan from a very unbalanced mind – this wasn’t Gretchen. She needed help.
‘Get . . . off . . . me!’ She shoved at me and then wham! Her fist exploded into my face and caught the underside of my chin. I had never been hit before and the hot pain that seared into my cheekbone felt like someone had jabbed me with a branding iron. My hand rushed to my face with shock and I just stared at her and stated, very obviously, ‘You hit me!’
She fell to her knees and then, pushing back on the bath, pulled herself up, tipped her head back, looked at the ceiling and her eyes rolled. ‘I’m going back out there.’ She staggered out into the living room, swiping the whisky bottle again as I followed her. Before she could even get the lid off she stumbled and crashed to the ground. It smashed everywhere and the sticky, burnt smell of spirits filled the room.
‘Shit!’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I haven’t got any more!’ There was a big puddle of it on the rug and she leant forward and stuck her tongue out in desperation.
‘No!’ I yelled. ‘There’s glass everywhere!’ I hauled her backwards and pushed her up against the wall. She leant against it and closed her eyes, scrunching her face up in pain, wrapping her arms round her middle. ‘I want to be sick,’ she whimpered. ‘It hurts!’
‘Just don’t move!’ I said, terrified. ‘We’re stopping this now!’
I got up, grabbed the phone and rushed back to her. But before I could dial she heaved and her head lolled forward. I dropped the phone, collapsed down next to her and grabbed her hair. ‘Just be s
ick! It doesn’t matter if it goes everywhere.’ My legs were stuck out awkwardly in front of me as I cradled her.
Her movements were becoming sluggish. ‘Nooooo,’ she insisted, trying to push me off. I reached out for the phone again. ‘I’ll tell you more secrets. Listen, listen. Don’t phone. Shhhh!’ She put her fingers to her lips. ‘I’ll tell you about Bailey.’
I paused.
A small smile flickered over her face. She lifted a floppy hand up and rested it on my arm as she tried to raise her head and look at me. ‘I told him not to see you any more. I said I didn’t want him to be your boyfriend so he said “OK,” and he dumped you. I didn’t like you taking him away from me.’
‘You’re lying,’ I whispered. ‘You didn’t do that. You were in America. With Tom.’
I picked up the phone. She frowned with annoyance and said with effort, ‘I did tell Tom about you and Bailey deliberately. Tom was so sad about you, Alice. I had to love him better lots. So many times. In the bedroom, in the kitchen, in your flat.’
‘Shut up!’ I pushed her away from me with utter revulsion and disgust. Her vile words felt like they’d burnt me and set fire to my insides.
Without me propping her up she slumped sideways to the floor. She fell silent and then her eyes shot open again. The phone was lying right in front of her face. I didn’t move towards it this time and she smiled faintly with satisfaction.
‘You want help, you phone them,’ I said suddenly, my voice shaking and shivering. I stood up.
‘Nooo!’ she insisted. ‘Got to be suicide. Don’t leave me!’
She looked at the phone and, with a huge effort, brought an arm up and pushed it towards me. ‘Now then,’ she said, face half mashed into the carpet. ‘Juss do it now then. You need to tell them Alice. Lots of pills.’
‘What did I ever do to you?’ I said in a whisper. ‘You wreck everything – me, Tom, Paulo . . . I don’t even know your poor mum and yet she’s reading books and trying to help you – and now this. You told Bailey to finish with me? How could you? You just can’t share, can you? It’s all got to be yours. You’re poison. Everything you touch turns bad. I trusted you!’ I cried brokenly, heated tears streaming down my face. ‘I thought you were my best friend! Tom thought I was mad when I told him I was suspicious . . . and you said you were just being nice to me, letting me live in your flat, but I was right! You just wanted me out of the way! And how can you do this to Tom? This will devastate him, he’s so lovely – he’s such a good man! Why can’t you just leave us all alone – we’d all be so much better off without you! You’re not ill – you’re just sick!’