Between Friends

by Jenny Harper

  Her life had imploded. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so miserable.

  Four o’clock on Sunday morning and the darkness outside was as impenetrable as the darkness in her heart. She turned over, instinctively reaching out for Jake, and the dull misery as she remembered he wasn’t there weighed her heart down like lead.

  Four fifteen. She thought about turning on the light and trying to read.

  Four thirty. She checked the clock again – surely it couldn’t just be fifteen minutes later? It felt like hours.

  The phone rang. Marta jumped with shock. Jake she thought. He can’t sleep either, he misses me, he wants to come back.

  ‘Hello?’ she snatched up the receiver and spoke into it breathlessly.

  ‘Is that Marta Davidson?’ The voice was young and high-pitched.

  ‘Yes. Who’s this?’ Puzzlement mingled with profound disap­pointment.

  ‘Suzy Patterson.’ There was panic in the voice. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, honest I am, but it’s Emily. I don’t know what to do. I found your number on her mobile and I know she trusts you.’

  ‘Emily? What’s wrong? Do you know what time it is?’

  ‘I know, sorry, honest, but she’s, like, unconscious. I can’t get her to wake up.’

  ‘Unconscious? What’s happened? Where are you?’

  Marta switched the light on and sat up, very wide awake.

  ‘She’s had a lot to drink. And maybe some drugs too, I dunno. We’ve been at this party—’

  ‘Party? Where?’ Marta’s recollections of Emily’s party-going were still all too vivid.

  ‘We’re not far from you. That’s why I’m calling. Can you help? Please? I don’t want to ring her Mum. Em’s not meant to be out, but I know she likes you, see, and—’

  ‘Suzy, listen.’ Marta’s voice was urgent. ‘I’m going to call an ambulance. And her parents. And I’ll come there at once myself. Now where are you?’

  ‘Are you sure that—’

  She interrupted sternly. ‘If she’s unconscious and you can’t wake her, she needs help. It sounds serious. Give me your address.’

  Suzy gave it. Marta dialled the emergency services and requested an ambulance, right away. Then, before should could change her mind, she did what she felt in her heart was right – she phoned Jane.

  ‘Neal? Hi, it’s Marta. Sorry to wake you, it’s about Emily,’ she said hastily when a drowsy Neal answered the phone.

  ‘Emily? What about her? She’s fast asleep here.’

  ‘Oh.’ Marta was dismayed. Had Suzy been lying? Had she called out the ambulance on false pretences? She could see all sorts of trouble looming. ‘Are you sure? I mean, it sounds stupid, but can you just check?’

  ‘Hold on.’ Neal sounded resigned, but she could hear him murmuring something – to Jane, presumably – and the sound of a door opening. Then running feet, and Emily’s name being shouted and then he was back and she could hear the panic in his voice as he called out, ‘She’s not there. Emily’s not there!’

  ‘What the hell’s happening, Marta?’ Jane had snatched the telephone and was shouting down the line. ‘Where is she? What have you d-done to her?’

  ‘Done? I’ve done nothing,’ Marta strove to keep her voice level. It wasn’t surprising Jane was upset, her daughter was missing. What was odd was that she clearly had no idea she was out. ‘Listen.’ She emphasised the word. ‘She’s at a party. I just got a call. She seems to have passed out. I will go there now, because I’m quite near, but I’ve asked for an ambulance. Okay?’

  ‘Okay? No, it’s not okay, it’s—’

  ‘Marta?’ Neal’s voice came back on the line, much calmer. Thank heavens he was taking control. ‘Give me the details.’ He listened while she relayed the address. ‘Thank you.’

  Marta couldn’t remember ever dressing so fast. She was in her jeans and a sweater in an instant, snatching her keys and her phone and then she was in her car and off.

  She beat the ambulance by fifteen minutes. The house she’d been directed to was no student dive, but a smart, large house, clearly the home of a well-to-do family. The smell of marijuana was powerful and there were still a number of people in evidence, sprawled in the front room, on the rug in the hall, slumped on the stairs. Music was playing, but quietly. Marta remembered Suzy Patterson when she came to the door, her kohl-ringed eyes black in her ashen face.

  ‘Where is she?’ Marta tried to sound calm and authoritative.

  ‘Here. She’s in here.’ Suzy opened a door.

  It was a dining room, or a music room, or maybe a study, or some kind of combination of all three. A baby grand dominated the far corner but there was plenty of room for a dining table too. In the large bay window, a desk faced out to the world. Emily lay on the rug, absolutely still. Someone had placed her in the recovery position, curled round, foetus-like, and covered her with a coat. ‘We can’t get her to wake. I’ve tried and tried.’

  Suzy sounded scared, but she’d done all the right things. Marta said reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry. You’ve done well. Thanks. You’re a real friend. What’s she taken?’

  Suzy shrugged. ‘Dunno. She’s drunk a lot. There was a kind of punch and people kept pouring stuff into it – whatever was around really. I told her to stop drinking but she’s mad at me right now and she didn’t want to listen. She had some weed, too.’

  ‘Anything else? Were there pills? Ecstasy? Coke? Crystal meth? Any legal highs? Think, Suzy. If you know it will help the medics.’

  ‘Dunno,’ Suzy said again. ‘Sorry. I don’t do any of that stuff but her boyfriend Robbie’s a real smackhead. I told her, but she wouldn’t listen. She thought she was being grown up.’

  At last the ambulance came. Marta had never been so relieved. Still no sign of Jane and Neal. Quickly, she dialled Jane’s mobile, but it was switched off.

  ‘Want to come with us?’ one of the paramedics asked when Emily was strapped onto the stretcher in the back of the vehicle.

  It seemed sensible. ‘Okay.’

  By the time Jane and Neal arrived at the hospital, Marta was sitting in A&E amid a couple of dozen drunken or drugged youths in various states of damage. There was a smell of vomit and more than one person was lying across a row of chairs, moaning. Emily had been identified for speedy assessment and was in a cubicle being examined by a doctor.

  Jane, white with worry, was obviously in no mood for thanks.

  ‘What the hell has been g-going on, Marta? How could you let this happen? She’s a child, for heaven’s sake. A child. What were you thinking?’

  The injustice made Marta furious. ‘Me? What was I thinking? What’s it got to do with me? You’re her parents. You’re the ones with a duty of care. Why did you let her go out at that time of night if she’s just a child?’

  ‘How come you knew all about it then?’ Jane said, her thin face gaunt.

  Surely she’s lost weight, Marta thought. She can’t afford to get any thinner, she looks positively anorexic.

  ‘Her friend phoned me. No doubt she’d have phoned you if you were a little bit more understanding.’

  Neal, clearly anxious to avoid confrontation, sensibly asked a more pressing question. ‘Where is she, Marta? Where’s Emily?’

  ‘In there.’ Marta, feeling suddenly shaky, sat down abruptly.

  Jane abandoned her inquisition and swept off with Neal. From behind the curtain, Marta could hear a low murmur of voices. She waited a few minutes, but no-one came out. I can’t stand this, she thought, I’ve got to get out of here. She looked round the room. In the far corner someone was vomiting into a bowl. Everywhere people sat huddled and forlorn. A small group seated near the back wall looked as though they might get into a fight at any minute.

  She stood up and headed for the door. It was almost six in the morning, she was on the wrong side of town and she had no transport. She still had no idea how Emily was. Jane was furious with her over something that was absolutely not her fault – and as she made her way into the slow
, grey light of dawn to search for a taxi, it occurred to Marta that she still hadn’t told her friend that Jake had left her.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘Hi, Ms Davidson? This is Drew McGraw, Innovation Enterprises.’

  Years of dealing with clients from all over the world had built an inner clock into Marta’s system. It was afternoon in Scotland, but morning in the States.

  ‘Mr McGraw, good morning. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, thank you, extremely good. Now, about my trip, it’s all finalised?’

  ‘Indeed yes, I emailed the details, I believe?’

  Whatever else Marta might be, she was a true professional. The one thing that had been keeping her going since Jake’s departure was her work – and among the many humdrum jobs she had to deal with, Drew McGraw’s trip stood out like a sparkling jewel. Organising it had been fun. From the fine-dining experiences in Edinburgh and elsewhere to the shooting trip in the Highlands, she had planned the tour down to the last detail.

  ‘Is everything the way you want it?’

  ‘Well, no, not quite everything.’

  Marta’s heart sank. I’ve been so thorough, she thought – what could I have missed?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘What would you like me to address?’

  ‘It’s the trip round the Highlands itself.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d like you to accompany the tour.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Such a request wasn’t particularly unusual and Marta had spent a considerable part of the working like as a tour guide so the prospect didn’t daunt her. It was just that Mr McGraw hadn’t mentioned the request before.

  ‘Is that possible? I mean, I’d like you, not some other employee of Tartan Ribbon Tours.’

  Travel was no novelty to Marta. She had spent her life travelling – or at least much of her life before she’d met Jake and settled for an office job – and she knew it sounded a great deal more glamorous than it usually was. However, this tour would be different. Everything she had arranged was top quality and, with Jake away, a break in the Highlands might be just what she needed. Swiftly, she reviewed the travel plans in her head. Were there any points at which she might run into accommodation problems? It seemed straightforward. ‘I’ll need to confirm that, Mr McGraw. I will just have to contact each hotel, make sure they can accommodate me. And I’ll need to check with my boss here that I can be spared. And of course, there would be an extra cost – time and expenses, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Sure, sure, I understand that. But I can’t afford for anything to go wrong with this trip, Ms Davidson, and I have been extremely pleased with your service to date. Would you like me to clear it with your boss myself? Whatever it takes—’

  ‘No, no, thank you, I’m sure that will be fine. Let me get back to you. Is there anything else?’ There were just five days until Drew McGraw arrived. His party was to follow a couple of days later. She would need to act quickly.

  ‘I’m sure it will all be fine. You’ll be in touch?’

  ‘As soon as I can, I promise.’

  Marta opened the last drawer in her bedroom with a sense of mounting desperation. Her brooch was missing. It was an antique, a gold brooch set with diamonds and emeralds. It had belonged to her great-grandmother and although it was not something she wore often, it had enormous sentimental value. Besides, it was exactly what was needed to spruce up her outfits for the McGraw tour. When had she last worn it? At a reception for one of Jake’s clients in the National Museum, so it must have been a year ago, before Jake had been made redundant.

  An hour later, she’d searched every nook and cranny, every drawer and cupboard in the house. The brooch was definitely not there. She sat down in the living room and thought carefully. The cleaner? Out of character. Who else had been in the house? Mr Morrison, of course. Jake’s face flashed into her mind, and his quiet but shocking sarcasm. ‘Are you seriously suggesting Mr Morrison came up to the bathroom and pocketed my iPod?’

  Tom Vallely. The source of all their troubles – the small change from the pot in the hall, the cash from Jake’s study, Jake’s iPod.

  Her brooch.

  More than anything, Marta longed to hear what Jake thought. He’d phoned a couple of times since his departure – to let her know he had arrived safely in London and to give her some contact details. They hadn’t argued. The politeness had been even more painful.

  Marta looked at the mantelpiece. The glass ornament lay exactly as it had the day she’d broken it. She eyed it dispiritedly. I should try to mend it, she thought.

  Somewhere in her head she could hear whispers. Tom’s fruity voice describing the message of his play: Friendship is like a glass ornament, once it is broken it can rarely be put back together exactly the same way. Contradictory whispers – Carrie and Jane, thirteen years old and so intense: Friends. Friends forever. Jake, long ago, his voice tender: I will always love you, Marta.

  Life could not go on in this way. She must not allow her friendships – or her marriage – to slip away. A new determination took hold deep in her heart. I’ll fight for Jake, she thought. I’ll win him back, whatever it takes. And I’ll mend whatever it is that’s broken in my friendship with Jane and with Carrie. It’s too important to allow it to shatter like this. The ornament might lie broken, but relationships are not the same – the more effort you put into them, the more rewarding they become. Whatever our problems are, for each of us and between us, we’ve got to sort them out and face the future together.

  She picked up the telephone and, before she could change her mind, she dialled Jake’s mobile.

  ‘Hello, Jake,’ she said. ‘It’s me. I need your help.’

  His voice was heartbreakingly familiar. He listened without comment as she explained about the missing brooch, before saying, ‘I’ve no idea, Marta. You know what my guess would be.’

  ‘I know. Tom. I think you’re right. What can I do?’

  In the seconds while Jake was thinking about her missing brooch, Marta realised that she couldn’t care a fig about it. She couldn’t care about anything expect Jake.

  ‘Remember we found some stuff under the bed?’ Jake said.

  ‘Did we?’ It was the day Marta wanted to forget, the day Jake had walked out and her world had fractured. What had they found? She had a hazy memory of Jake handing her something – a book? Some papers?

  ‘You haven’t sent them back to him?’

  ‘No. I’d forgotten, to tell you the truth. I haven’t even been into the spare room.’

  ‘And he hasn’t been in touch to ask if he left anything?’

  ‘No. I haven’t heard from him at all.’

  ‘Strange. Or maybe not.’

  ‘What about it, anyway?’

  ‘Well, have you looked to see what they are? At the very least, you might find his address and number. You could call him and ask.’

  Marta shivered. ‘I couldn’t do that. I never want to speak to him again.’

  ‘Frankly, Marta, I don’t blame you.’

  ‘I’ll take a look, though. Thanks Jake. How are you, anyway? How’s the job?’

  ‘It’s fantastic,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I’m loving it.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She forced herself to say the words, while all the time her heart felt like wood. She wanted him to hate it, to be homesick, to realise how much he missed her.

  ‘It’s amazing, being back doing what I love at last. I’m feeling so much better. How are you?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  This was hard. Fight for him, she had decided – but how to start? She didn’t want to sound hopeless or desperate, but she had to let him know how much she loved him.

  ‘I’m off to the Highlands. A tour.’

  ‘Really? Are you looking forward to it?’

  Jake knew her better than anyone in the world. He knew she’d rather be at home – but that was when he’d been there to share her home with.

  ‘Surprisingly, I am,
just a little. It’s a top-end tour. And Drew McGraw sounds fun.’

  For a crazy moment she wondered whether to play Drew up, to try to make Jake jealous, but the thought passed in an instant – jealousy wasn’t in Jake’s nature, it never had been, even during the long weeks and months she’d been travelling over their years together. She went for honesty instead.

  ‘I miss you though, Jake. I miss you all the time.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Marta drew a deep breath, and held it. Small steps, Marta. Keep the door open. ‘Can you get a weekend off? Maybe come home for a couple of days?’

  She could almost feel his hesitation. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Sometime.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Call me when you get back from the Highlands.’

  ‘Will do. And Jake… thanks.’

  They were talking like friends, not shouting or making accusations. Maybe it was a tiny chink of light at the end of a very long corridor, but it was enough for now. Talking to Jake restored a measure of calm that Marta hadn’t felt since he’d left. She wasn’t happy, but she neither did she feel as though someone had ripped out her heart and was dragging it behind a car travelling at a hundred miles an hour along a road full of potholes.

  She picked up her mobile. Now that she’d started, she would call Carrie and Jane. Her hands went into automatic, seeking Jane’s number on short dial – but then, for a moment, she was a child again, remembering.

  An old secret code.

  A tiny tin, shoved between the cracks in the wall behind the bike shed at the back of the playground, checked twice daily.

  Covert assignations, the stuff of childhood friendships. Harmless fun, cloaking their private circle behind a veil of secrecy, making them feel special, different.

  No need for tins now. Quickly she searched on the internet, then composed a text.

 

  Carrie and Jane would know what she meant. ‘FFE’ – Friends For Ever. It was what they used to call themselves at school. ‘2 CI’ – To Cramond Island. And the time, carefully selected after checking the tide tables. It was a rallying call, a summons they could not refuse. Buoyed up by the prospect of renewal and healing, Marta smiled, clicked Send, and waited.