Between Friends

by Jenny Harper

  There was no response.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Cramond Island lay just offshore from the village, joined to the land by a causeway that revealed itself twice a day. It was possible to walk across the beach alongside the breakwater that marked the way, but care had to be taken to check the tides for the return.

  The causeway converged to a pinprick in the distance, where the green slopes of the small island fell down to a golden fringe of sand, and when Marta stepped out on it on Saturday at nine it was wet, but not slippery. The sun was full on her face and although there was little warmth in its rays, the light lifted her spirits and gave her hope.

  To her right, a series of concrete pillars stood like ragged teeth, a war fortification against enemy shipping. She stood for a moment, caught up in memories.

  ‘Jump me, Papa! Jump me!’

  A searingly hot day. Her father, impossibly tall and as strong as any giant, laughing and lifting her from tooth to tooth until they tired of the game and she rode on his shoulders instead.

  A picnic – a hard-boiled egg and juicy tomatoes, squidged into a morning roll so that they spilled out onto her chin as she bit into the bread. Her mother laughing, mopping her face. And her father’s voice, weaving her a magical story of the island’s long history, of stone-age man, of the Romans who had a fortification near here, of farmers and fisher folk and of a peaceful return to nature.

  A lost day of innocence.

  Half way across, Marta stopped for a moment. There was a coolness in the air that carried with it the faint mouldering smell that signalled the start of autumn. To underline the point, the trees along the shoreline were turning red and gold. A brisk breeze ripped at the weakest leaves, plucking them free, and they twisted and twirled and plummeted to earth. Marta’s hair whipped around her face and into her eyes. She pulled a woollen hat from her pocket and tugged it down over her ears so that the whistle of the wind between the teeth of the pillars was dulled.

  It was a mile across the causeway. On her left, the sands spread as far as she could see, not smooth and even but ridged and rippling, sand imitating sea. Water still filled the deepest undulations, catching the light, reflecting the blue and the cloud of the skies above. At the edge of the causeway, seaweed sprawled wetly, trying to claim the path for its own. Striding on, she felt the sand shift beneath her feet, making an easy walk into a work-out.

  From sand to soil – she’d reached land.

  Without pausing, Marta began to scale the hill. It didn’t take long and her reward was a view without parallel, across the Forth estuary to Fife in the north and back across the ragged skyline of Edinburgh to the south. She shrugged off her small backpack, took out a light mat, and lowered herself to the ground. The tea she had had the foresight to brew would be more than welcome.

  It spun like molten copper in a steady stream from flask to cup, steaming gently in the cool air. Across the expanse of wet sand and concrete path, she spied a small figure skipping onto the first few stones of the causeway. The gait, bouncing and energetic, was familiar. A minute later she was able to make out short, stylishly cropped hair, the exact colour of the sand.

  Marta smiled. Carrie. She’s come. She’s answered my call.

  She drank her tea and waited.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  A shared cup. More humble than the breaking of bread and the sipping of wine, but a ritual with meaning nonetheless.

  Carrie said, ‘You’ve come well prepared.’

  ‘But I’ve only got one mat. Sorry.’

  Carrie reached inside her jacket. ‘No worries. I bought a newspaper.’ She unbent and flattened it, then sat on it before the breeze could whip it away. They sat shoulder to shoulder, gazing across the white-crested waves as though the timeless beauty of the scene could act as a salve, and sipped the tea in turn.

  ‘You called,’ Carrie said at last.

  ‘I called for Jane too.’

  Carrie looked at her watch. ‘I don’t think she’s coming. It’s past ten.’

  ‘No.’

  Jane won’t come, Marta thought. Repairing the rift with Jane will take more than the glue of a meeting on Cramond Island.

  ‘What’s up?’

  How should she should answer? What’s up? Only that my husband has left and my friends have deserted me and I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

  ‘Why haven’t you answered my messages?’ she said, evading the question for now. ‘You’ve been hiding from me.’

  When Carrie said nothing, Marta twisted to look at her. The profile was so familiar, so very dear to her. The small, snub nose, the sandy lashes, the clipped hair – she’d seen them mature from a child’s features into an adult’s and she knew them almost as well as her own. The chin was neat, but its set was always determined. Carrie was the driving force of the trio, she always had been. Marta was the peacemaker and Jane—? Jane had been sweetly, gratefully needy, her gratitude the velvet ribbon that pulled them all together.

  Used to Carrie’s restless ambition and her fiery energy, something about the absolute stillness of her now scared Marta and in an instant she forgot her own ills.

  ‘You tell me, Carrie. You tell me what’s up.’

  The wind whipped Carrie’s hair into a frenzy as she turned her head slowly. But whatever Marta had expected to see – worry, regret, sadness? – she had certainly not anticipated the raw bitterness in Carrie’s eyes.

  ‘Not returning your calls? No. Frankly, Marta, I was too angry with you.’

  ‘Angry?’ Marta rocked back, shocked. ‘With me? Why?’

  ‘Because it’s your fault. Typical Marta. The do-gooder. Never thinking it through first.’

  ‘What? Thinking what through?’

  ‘Asking Tom Vallely to stay. Inviting us all round. If you hadn’t brought Tom into our lives, we’d all have gone on very nicely, thank you very much, and none of this would have happened.’

  ‘What’s Tom done to you? I don’t understand.’

  Tom, Tom, the piper’s son, stole a pig and away did run. Tom the charmer. Tom the thief.

  ‘Didn’t it even occur to you that seeing him again might upset Jane?’

  ‘But it’s years and years since they split and it was all very amicable.’

  ‘Amicable?’ Carrie’s laugh was sour. ‘Amicable? What in the name made you think that?’

  ‘Jane said ... she wrote to me ... I was in South Africa ... She told me they’d agreed to split, that it had run its course, that she was fine about it.’

  Again the dry laugh.

  Marta was bewildered. ‘It wasn’t? Why would she fib about that?’

  ‘Oh Marta. You’re such a sweetie, you always believe the best of people. Jane was heartbroken, she was just too proud to let you see the hurt, I guess. When did she write?’

  ‘I don’t know – yes I do, around Christmas, just when it happened I think.’

  ‘Did you realise she disappeared after that?’

  ‘I – no! ... disappeared?’

  ‘For months.’

  ‘I suppose I didn’t hear from her for a while. But letters weren’t always reliable.’

  ‘She had a nervous breakdown, Marta. She went to ground completely.’

  ‘Oh God. I didn’t know.’

  ‘She left the orchestra.’

  ‘She left before she met Neal? I thought she left when they got married, when she was pregnant with Emily.’

  ‘No. Neal, bless him, has been her saviour – but bringing Tom back into her life has dragged her to the edge again. Her stutter has returned, haven’t you noticed?’

  ‘Yes, of course I noticed, but I didn’t realise—’ Marta’s voice tailed away. ‘You were around, though, Carrie. You were in London at that time. Weren’t you able to help her?’

  ‘I was the last person who could have helped her.’

  ‘Why? Her best friend? If she couldn’t turn to you—’


  Carrie was silent. She looked away from Marta, as though she was scanning the horizon for some distant object.

  ‘Carrie?’ Marta prompted.

  Carrie turned back slowly.

  ‘Jane didn’t know,’ she said at last, ‘but I had an affair with Tom Vallely.’

  ‘You did? When? After they split up?’

  Carrie shook her head slowly. ‘No. They were still living together.’

  Marta gasped. ‘What? How could you, Carrie? How could you do that to Jane? How could you do it to anyone, let alone your best friend?’

  ‘I’m not proud of myself, Marta, believe me. But Tom is a very persuasive man and a very good liar. He made me believe that he was just about to split from Jane, that he was simply waiting for the right moment to tell her. He also made me believe that he loved me.’

  ‘And you fell for it? Honestly, Carrie, I thought you were smarter than that.’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘Jesus. But Jane didn’t know?’

  ‘No. And my affair with Tom wasn’t why they split up. Tom was two-timing both of us. The sneaky rat went off and married the ghastly Serena.’

  ‘Okay,’ Marta said slowly. ‘So Tom hurt you too. And I invited him to dinner. But what’s eating you, Carrie? It was a long time ago – you can’t still be hurting, surely? Presumably Jane still doesn’t know? And she’s happily married with three children. I mean, I can see in retrospect that it was a bit insensitive, to say the least. But surely it’s not worth spoiling our friendship for, after all this time?’

  ‘Maybe it would have been, but for one thing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tom Vallely. And I call him “thing” advisedly. He was a rat back then and he hasn’t changed. He made me give him money to stop him from telling Jane my secret—’

  ‘You mean he blackmailed you? You didn’t pay, surely?’

  ‘I paid – and more fool me, because he told Jane anyway.’

  ‘No! What a scumbag.’

  ‘Yup. So you can see why Jane hasn’t turned up this morning.’

  ‘What a mess. Oh Carrie, what a mess,’ Marta said miserably. ‘That stupid dinner. I thought I was being so clever, bringing us all together again. I thought it would be a nice surprise. You know I’ve always worried about you being on your own, Carrie. You used to be so ... you lost your virginity ages before Jane and I did.’

  ‘Simon Small. Small by name, small by nature.’ Carrie’s smile was pale. It had been an old joke, something she’d invented after splitting up with her first boyfriend, to mitigate the pain of that first broken romance.

  ‘That’s why I’ve tried to find nice men for you. I mean, it would be great if you found someone special.’

  ‘Jesus, Marta.’ Carrie dropped her head not her hands and rubbed at her eyes. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘What? Don’t get what?’

  Carrie looked at Marta. Slim, tall, pretty, her skin only now beginning to show the early signs of aging. Marta had always been all the things that Carrie was not, physically and temperamentally. She was meticulously monogamous, for a start. What did she really think about her, now that she had confessed that affair with Tom? What would she think about her if she told her now about how she conducted her private life? On the other hand, maybe now was the best time, when she had already taken a downwards slide on Marta’s moral compass. Carrie was rarely impulsive, but she made a quick choice.

  ‘You know what, Marta?’ she said, ‘Secrets are corrosive. I’ve had enough of them. So I’m going to tell you another one.’

  Far to the north Carrie could see storm clouds swirling across the peaks of the distant hills. She shivered. No doubt about it, autumn was here and winter was already sending out its early warning signals. She drew her knees up to her chin and picked her words carefully.

  ‘I have lovers, Marta. But I keep my emotions out of it.’

  Marta looked nonplussed.

  ‘I suppose you could say that after that affair with Tom, I took a decision. I was ambitious, I wanted to concentrate on my work, not get distracted by men, certainly not get sucked into the whole husband and babies thing. Quite soon, I became obsessive about it. I liked being in control. I liked not committing. To be honest, I was convinced that this was the way to be. I would not get hurt – and I wouldn’t hurt anyone else either.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘No. I don’t suppose you do.’

  The clouds looked as though they were getting nearer. Perhaps soon the rain would reach them. Carrie didn’t dare look at Marta. She plunged on. No point in stopping now.

  ‘At first I went the route of singles clubs and lonely-hearts columns. There were plenty of guys out there who weren’t really looking for love, they were simply looking for sex and that suited me just fine. Then, a few years ago, when the internet really took off, I joined a dating site called Bed Buddies. It’s for people like me who want sex without strings. That’s all.’

  ‘You mean, not looking for a permanent relationship, just sex?’ Marta sounded scandalised.

  ‘Yes. Exactly.’

  ‘But that’s immoral!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well—’ Marta floundered. ‘Who joins this site? Men who don’t have partners, presumably?’

  ‘Not always, no. Men – and women – who have an unsatisfactory sex life in their permanent relationship. People who want a change or a bit of fun without jeopardising their marriage. People who are on the road and lonely. People like me who just want to have sex without commitment.’

  ‘Carrie!’

  ‘What?’ Feeling fiercely defensive, she swivelled to look at Marta and her defensiveness made her sound angry. ‘What? It worked fine for years. Until Tom came back and saw me and sussed out I was on the site, that is.’

  ‘Tom did?’

  ‘He worked out my pseudonym and set up a date with me.’

  ‘And you went?’

  ‘I didn’t know who it was till I saw him, right?’

  ‘But then you went home.’

  Carrie looked at the grass. A ray of sun was hitting the ground just three yards in front of them and the grass appeared to be quite extraordinarily green.

  ‘Didn’t you, Carrie?’ Marta pressed.

  ‘Sadly, Marta, Tom Vallely is just as magnetic as he was sixteen years ago, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘You mean, you slept with him again? Oh Carrie, surely not?’

  Carrie swung round and glared at Marta. ‘And why the hell shouldn’t I? At least this time I wasn’t doing anyone any harm. Only myself,’ she added bitterly.

  ‘But if Jane knew – she’d feel betrayed all over again, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Why? What’s it to do with her?’

  Marta was staring at her. ‘I can’t believe you’re the friend I thought I knew, Carrie.’

  ‘And I can’t believe you’re such a prig. I’m sorry I told you now.’

  ‘Tom’s not to be trusted. You, of all people, should know that. And you don’t even like him, so why the hell would you sleep with him?’

  ‘Why would you invite him into your house? Because he’s charming – until you find he’s not. Anyway, he was a damn good lay.’

  The accused is a passionate man, m’lud, on this occasion he allowed his feelings to run ahead of him. Convenient to forget the violence when you are defending your actions.

  Marta jumped to her feet and started stuffing her mat and her flask into her backpack, her movements jerky.

  ‘We’ve been rotten friends, Carrie. Jane’s cut me dead. She thinks I’m trying to steal Emily’s affections or that I’m a malign influence, I don’t know which. You’re trying to blame me for bringing Tom back into your life when I didn’t even know he’d been in it in the first place.’

  She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and glared down at Carrie.

  ‘And neither of you knows or cares that my husband has left me.’

  Carrie watched, stunned
, as Marta’s long legs took the slope at a pace that would have challenged even the best fell runner.

  Left her? Jake had left her? How could she not have known this? Marta was right – communications between the three of them had broken down completely. She hadn’t even told Marta yet about the partnership.

  Overwhelmed by unhappiness she realised, as she squatted at the top of the grassy knoll, that she had always found their friendship to be a form of security. Certainly, she hadn’t realised just how much she’d valued it until now, when she most needed warmth, familiarity, support, love.

  ‘Marta!’ The wind whipped her words away. ‘Marta! Stop!’

  She scrambled to her feet as Marta’s slight figure disappeared down the steep path towards the beach. She was frantic at the thought that they might part in anger. Her newspaper, caught by the wind, blew into the air and a dozen sheets of gossip, innuendo and bigoted judgement scattered to the skies.

  Best place for them. Gossip is damaging. Only the truth will do, only honesty can save us now.

  Desperately, she launched into a run, scrambling down the path, sending stones scudding left and right as she slipped and slithered and nearly fell a dozen times. Thanking the heavens for her fitness, she called again, ‘Marta! ‘Stop!’

  Marta jumped onto the causeway. This hadn’t worked out the way she had hoped. She’d meant this morning to be a reunion, a meeting of friends. Instead, Jane hadn’t come at all and she and Carrie had argued bitterly.

  Her mind was still reeling from Carrie’s revelations – how could she have betrayed Jane like that? It was unthinkable. As for that Bed Buddies site ... Marta was still paralysed by shock at the concept. Where was morality? Where was affection? Where were feelings and respect and companionship? It seemed so clinical and calculating, not to say dangerous.

  ‘Marta!’

  Far behind her, she heard a call. For a fraction of a second, she hesitated, then grimly strode on. She couldn’t bear any more revelations.

  ‘Marta!’

  Something in the tone slowed her this time. Reluctantly she stopped and turned round. Carrie was sprinting towards her, a small frantic body with arms and legs flailing as she tried to cover the ground between them.