The Best Friend

by Shalini Boland

  ‘That’s what I just said.’ She heads over to the black marble island in the centre of the room. It’s dark, apart from a couple of central pendants illuminating her workspace. Two huge beef tomatoes sit on a chopping block next to a black-handled knife. She grasps the knife and slices into one of the tomatoes, the knife going in smoothly. ‘I’m making a salad,’ she says. ‘Care to join me for supper while we wait for them to come home?’

  ‘No I bloody don’t want to join you for supper. I just want my son.’ I clench and unclench my hands by my sides impotently. ‘Darcy, why did you take my son out of school?’ As I wait for her to answer my question, the blood whooshes in my ears and my heartbeats fill the pregnant silence.

  ‘I needed to get you over here,’ she finally replies. ‘But I didn’t think you’d be quite this keen. I think you might have left skid marks on the driveway.’ She laughs at her little joke.

  I don’t find anything she says funny anymore. ‘You needed to get me over here? What do you mean? Why didn’t you just call me?’

  ‘No, that wouldn’t have worked. I couldn’t risk my call being traced.’

  A chill sweeps through my body. What’s she talking about? ‘Call Marianna!’ I cry, hearing the shrillness in my voice. ‘Get her to bring Joe home, right now.’

  ‘Oh, they’ll be in the movie theatre already. Her cell will be switched off. You’re not allowed to have your phone on once the movie starts. Or are you one of those selfish types who keeps it switched on? It’s very annoying, you know. You’ll be in the middle of a tense scene, and then someone’s phone starts ringing. Takes you right out of the moment.’

  ‘What the hell are you on about? Try her phone,’ I demand. ‘Call the cinema and tell them it’s an emergency.’

  ‘No,’ she says, her eyes glinting.

  ‘Fine. Then tell me which cinema, and I’ll go and collect him.’

  ‘No.’ She smirks and laughs, and I can tell there’s something really wrong with her. Something rotten.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, my voice trembling. ‘Then I’ll go and find him myself. And if he’s not at the cinema, I’ll call the police and tell them you abducted my son.’

  ‘No,’ she says softly as she turns towards me with the knife in her hand. Tomato juice drips from the blade onto the white marble floor.

  Surely she wouldn’t try to . . . But I remember Mike’s blank eyes, the blood everywhere, and I know without a doubt that she killed him. I glance to my right and see the bifold doors are closed tight. Probably locked, I can’t get out that way. I’ll have to go back through the front door. The same way I came in. I turn and run, fumbling with the front door, shoving it open. I head straight for my car, her laughter chasing me out onto the floodlit driveway.

  Too late, I realise my keys are with my bag on her hall table. I swear under my breath. Darcy’s footsteps are close behind me. I can’t turn back now. Instead, I swerve and make a run for it, racing around the side of the house, my heart battering my ribcage. A security light flashes on.

  ‘I can see-ee you!’ she calls, enjoying my blatant fear.

  The freezing night air takes my breath and chills my tears of terror. I make my way down the side path, past the white-rendered wall of her house, tall, dark pine trees on the other side, her steady footfalls behind me. I have no idea if this path leads anywhere, or if I will find myself at a dead-end, with a wall in front of me and a mad woman brandishing a knife behind me.

  Luckily, it’s not a dead-end. The path leads to the decking area behind the house. Through the closed bifold doors, I glimpse the half-lit kitchen. There’s no time to look behind me. I have to find a way out of here. The wooden deck is slippery, a thin film of ice forming on its surface. I skid and slide across it, stumbling down the wooden steps and almost falling head first onto the grass below, the place where Tyler and Joe played their game of football all those weeks ago when I first got caught up in Darcy’s web.

  ‘You can run, but I’m gonna get you, Louisa,’ she calls out from behind me.

  The icy, brittle grass crunches underfoot as I race towards the gate, set into the white wall that leads onto the beach. Security lights click on, illuminating my progress, like moving spotlights on the star of the show. I crash into the wooden gate at the end of the garden, pushing and pulling at it in desperation. It won’t budge.

  ‘Don’t strain yourself,’ Darcy calls out, amusement in her voice. ‘It’s locked!’

  I’m unfit. Un-athletic. Weak. And my knee is shot to pieces. But somehow I scramble up and over the high gate, tearing my nails in the process. I guess fear of death is a powerful motivator. I land on the hard sand with a thump, pausing for only a few seconds before struggling to my feet and limping away across the sand dunes.

  She’s behind me. I hear her laughter, her fragmented taunts whipped away by the wind. As I stumble across the dark sand, I picture the knife in Darcy’s hand. The sharp edge of the steel, the glint of the blade. Again, I remember the sight of Mike’s body covered in blood. Will that be me soon? Lifeless and bloody? My knee feels torn and ragged, the pain a throbbing precursor to what is about to come. It hurts so much, I don’t know how I’m even still running. Will it hurt to die? To be stabbed in the chest? Or will the shock blot out the pain?

  The swish of the waves merges with the thump of my heart. It’s never beaten so loud before. Like a war drum, a death knell in my throat. I daren’t look round. What if she’s there, right behind me, ready to tackle me to the ground? She may be slim, but she’s tall, strong, sinewy. She could beat me in a fight, I’m sure of it. Especially armed with a knife. In my mind, I see Darcy’s mocking face. The glint of steel in her hand. Will she catch me any second and stab me in the back?

  I have to run faster. My breath comes in wheezing gasps, my lungs bursting, thighs burning. The cold wind stinging my cheeks, boots thudding unsteadily across the hard sand. To my right, the rolling sea. To my left, the millionaire mansions shimmering as fear blurs my vision.

  A shape looms up ahead. It’s a man walking towards me.

  ‘Help!’ I cry, my voice half-strangled.

  The man stops. Comes into focus, the three-quarter moon throwing his face into relief. Thank God. Thank God. It’s Max. He must have ignored my request for him to stop following me. Sobbing with relief, I stagger straight into his arms and he gathers me into the safety of his solid body.

  ‘She’s coming!’ I pant. ‘Darcy. She’s got a knife. We need to get out of here. Have you got a car?’

  I try to step back out of his arms, but he’s still cradling me.

  ‘Max, didn’t you hear me? She’s got a knife. Let’s go. We need to run.’

  His grip tightens. I try to lever my body away from him but it’s like being held by warm stone. He’s unmoving. Through my panic, I’m trying to make sense of it. Does he want to confront her? Another, more distressing thought cuts through. I push my hands against his chest, twist my body back, then kick him in the shins, but still he doesn’t move.

  ‘Shh,’ he says, his soft voice merging with the crash of the waves. ‘Don’t struggle. You’ll only hurt yourself.’

  The sound of Darcy’s laughter comes to me through the salty air. ‘Oh, Louisa,’ she says, her voice closing in, ‘you are funny. Thinking you could ever outrun me with your gammy knee. And I see you’re already acquainted with my brother. Actually, I think he’s got a bit of a soft spot for you.’

  Her brother? ‘What? . . . I . . .’ and then the penny drops. Max was working with Darcy the whole time. He’s her brother. He’s her bloody brother. My shoulders sag. So everything Max told me was a lie! I’ve been so stupid. So gullible. No wonder Darcy’s laughing at me. I’ve been played so beautifully. She’s been several steps ahead of me this whole time. And I thought I was actually making progress, getting her out of my life.

  ‘Max is your brother,’ I say, my shoulders sagging.

  She tuts. ‘That’s what I just told you, isn’t it. You’re a little slow on the uptake tod
ay, Louisa. I needed him to keep an eye on you this week. To see what you were up to. Find out your plans. That’s when I had the fabulous brainwave of promoting him from being your stalker, to being your friend. Clever huh?’

  But she’s American. And Max is English. How can they be related?

  Max eases me around so I’m facing Darcy, his arms still circling my body like chains. The moon illuminates her face, eyes gleaming, hair shining. She’s not even mildly out of breath, while I’m still wheezing like an elderly, asthmatic cat.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy the next part of this evening,’ she says, dropping her smile. ‘Let’s get you back into the warm, Louisa. Look at you, you’re shivering.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Spring 2003

  She’d waited not so patiently all through the brutal winter, sure that eighty-seven-year-old Arthur would pop his clogs by March. But the old git was still going strong. Apart from his hearing and his sight, he was healthy as a horse, worse luck. Nicole had hoped the icy conditions would have weakened him, especially as she’d accidentally on purpose left the heating off one night. Arthur had said that it would take more than a bit of cold to see him off.

  She realised with alarm that old people lived to be past one hundred these days. It was selfish. Make more room on the planet, she thought. Toddle off early for fuck’s sake. But no, now it was spring, and Arthur was still hanging in there, sprightly as ever, holding on to her inheritance.

  Nicole jiggled the key in the front door, the April rain had swollen the lock and it was a bugger to open. Finally, the key hit home and she turned it and pushed open the door, shaking her umbrella out over the front step and stepping into the hallway.

  It was her turn to do earlies this week. She yawned, took off her raincoat and hung it over the bannister, tramping up the creaky stairs. She wondered who had been on nights. Nicole never minded doing the night shifts; the spare room here was a lot nicer than her grotty place, and she got paid more for the privilege.

  ‘Morning, Arthur!’ She rapped on his bedroom door and called out again. He was becoming deafer by the day.

  ‘Morning,’ she heard him reply.

  Nicole eased open the bedroom door. Arthur was sitting up in bed wearing a pair of checked pyjamas.

  ‘You just missed Natalie,’ he said. ‘She had to leave a few minutes early – her daughter had a doctor’s appointment. I told her she needn’t have bothered staying all night, I’d be fine on my own until you got here, but she’s a conscientious girl. She’s new. Have you met her?’

  No, Nicole had not met her, and she didn’t like the sound of her. Not at all. She hoped this Natalie person wouldn’t become Arthur’s new favourite. If Natalie was on nights, she’d get to soothe his nightmares and while away the evenings with him. Arthur might change his Will again, and Nicole couldn’t have that. She’d have to be especially nice to the old git from now on. Nicer than she already was.

  ‘Let’s go and get you washed and shaved,’ Nicole said, ‘and then I’ll lay some clothes out for you. How about your grey trousers? And then I thought a pale green shirt and dark green jumper - the one your Margaret always liked. Will that be all right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. You know I’m not fussy about what I wear, dear.’

  Did she detect a bit of impatience in his voice? She’d have to be careful not to irritate him. Nicole helped him out of bed and onto his feet, wondering just who this Natalie person thought she was, trying to move in on her Arthur. Nicole had been with him for months now, listening to his boring stories, cooking for him, picking up after him, having to be nice to him, and she wasn’t about to let some jumped-up newbie take preferential place. No way.

  Despite his blindness, Arthur always insisted he could find his way around his own house perfectly well, but Nicole took his arm anyway, and led him out onto the landing, suddenly wanting to make herself indispensable.

  ‘How about I cook you a nice fry up this morning?’ she asked. ‘With all the trimmings?’ That should get her into his good books. Arthur always loved a cooked breakfast.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Natalie was telling me about these people in California who are vegetarians and, according to her, they’re the healthiest people in the world – just eat nuts and berries and raw vegetables, can you believe it?’

  ‘You want nuts and berries for breakfast?’ she asked, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘Well,’ he chuckled. ‘Natalie was very persuasive. She wants me to try a new healthy diet – said she’d try some of her vegan recipes out on me. I was very impressed with her, I don’t mind telling you. Not sure she’d be happy with me eating a fry up.’

  Nicole led Arthur over to the bathroom door, her blood boiling at the thought of this vegan bitch putting all these healthy-eating ideas into Arthur’s head. It would ruin her plans. He’d live much longer if he stopped eating fry ups and stuff. Plus she would have to work twice as hard to keep him sweet with this new girl as competition.

  Or . . .

  ‘Are we going into the bathroom, dear?’ Arthur asked. ‘You’ve stopped.’

  ‘Sorry, Arthur, miles away.’ She eased his body around and led him away from the bathroom door.

  ‘Just a couple more steps,’ she crooned. ‘There. Door’s open. You go in first.’

  ‘Aren’t we going in the wrong direction?’ he said, turning his head from left to right, trying to make sense of his surroundings. ‘The bathroom’s the other way. Are you sure this is the―’

  ‘In you go,’ she said brightly, giving him a little nudge.

  Arthur took a step. Instead of the bathroom floor, he found nothing beneath his foot. He wobbled but somehow managed to stay upright.

  ‘Careful, Arthur,’ Nicole said, letting go of his arm. ‘You don’t want to slip.’ With her toe, she nudged the back of his calf – the one that was still on firm ground. His slippered foot shot out from under him and he slipped backwards towards her. ‘Don’t worry, Arthur, I’ve got you,’ she cried, giving his back a light shove so he ended up careering head first down the steep flight of stairs.

  ‘Arthur!’ she screamed, suppressing a smile. ‘Oh my God, are you okay?’

  There was a crunch and a thud, and then silence. The air seemed to thicken for a moment as if holding its breath.

  Nicole stared at the crumpled shape of the old man at the bottom of the stairs, admiring her handy work. This would be easy. She’d say that when she arrived Natalie had already left, and she’d found the old man dead in the hallway.

  Nicole couldn’t believe that the new girl had left Arthur on his own this morning. What a slacker. And now look what had happened! Natalie – or whatever her name was – was supposed to have stayed with him until Nicole got here. You couldn’t leave these old people on their own – that was how accidents happened. There were rules about that sort of thing. God, that girl was going to get into so much trouble.

  Chapter Thirty One

  2016

  The shock of discovering that Max is actually Darcy’s brother freezes my brain for a moment. I stare open mouthed at her smug expression. My heart is still pounding and my legs are weak, yet I have to get away from them. Max’s arms encircle me. I try squirming free but his grip only tightens. I take a breath and start to scream. His massive hand comes over my mouth, squeezing my cheeks.

  ‘Make one more sound,’ Darcy says, ‘and I will cut you so bad your son won’t recognise your face.’ She holds the blade up to my nose as I stifle a whimper. Her words take the fight from my body. ‘Understand?’ she says.

  I nod, and Max removes his hand from my mouth.

  ‘Good,’ she says. ‘Now we’ve got that sorted, let’s get back home. It’s chilly out here.’

  Max leads me across the beach, back towards the house, both hands clamped around my shoulders. I can barely feel the cold anymore. My body and my mind are numb. Defeated. Everything I tried to do was pointless. She had it all planned out. She’s ruined me. But why? Why the hell did she do it?
I need to know. I have to find out.

  Somewhere during my bid for freedom, I lost my hat, and now my hair whips around my face. Max and Darcy are quiet. There’s just the crash of the waves and the sound of my breath and heartbeats, of our soft footsteps out of time with one another.

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ I ask, ‘Is Joe okay?’

  ‘Of course, he’s okay,’ Darcy says. ‘I told you, he and Ty are at the cinema. Honestly, he’s an eight-year-old child. What kind of person do you think I am?’

  I don’t answer.

  The white boundary wall of Darcy’s property comes into view, stark against the dark sand, and I instinctively slow down, knowing nothing good will come of going back inside. Max notices my hesitation and grips me tighter, urging me forward. I should fight, yell, try to escape, but Max is big and Darcy still has the knife in her hand. Please, God, don’t let her use it on me. I’m not ready to die. I want to see my son again. I want to see Jared, despite the fact he lost faith in me.

  The gate to her garden is still locked. Darcy must have climbed over it, too. Looking at it now, I can’t believe I made it over. Max takes a bunch of keys from his pocket, slots one into the keyhole and unlocks the gate. Darcy walks in first. This is my last chance to try to escape before I’m taken back inside, but Darcy’s threat has chilled my bones and turned my knees to jelly. I’m too scared. I’m no runner. I know they would catch me. Should I at least try?

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Max says softly. ‘You heard her. She’ll make you suffer for it.’

  His words do the trick. I step through the opening and onto the icy grass, with Max keeping hold of my elbow. Darcy is already striding back towards the house, knowing we’ll be following close behind. She slides open the bifold doors. Seems I could’ve escaped out that way – too late now. It seems like days since I was in her kitchen, but it can’t have been more than half an hour ago.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Darcy says, heading to a door just off the kitchen. Max and I follow her into a long, narrow utility room. At the end, she opens another door and presses a light switch illuminating a flight of stairs which leads down into a basement.