by Val McDermid
Scarlett nodded. ‘Nail on the head, Steph. I don’t think she thought I would take it as far as I did. But I couldn’t see any other way forward. Once he knew that I actually knew, there would be no need for him to keep the lid on his harem. I’d be humiliated at every turn. I had to throw him out.’ She slid her big sunglasses down from her hat and covered her eyes. ‘Me and Leanne, there’s always been a bit of love/hate going on. Competition for lads’ attention when we were kids. Which I usually won because I was older and smarter. She knows enough to make me look bad if she wanted to be spiteful. That’s the real reason I wanted to keep her out of the first book. I knew I was taking a chance, bringing her into my life. But I thought it would be OK. And it was, for a while.’ She sighed. ‘Then she grassed Joshu up and I knew there was a message there.’
‘What message?’
‘She was reminding me that she knew a secret about me. Not in so many words, obviously. But the message was there. That’s when I knew it was time she went to Spain. We both understood the terms of the deal. She stays in line and she gets the lifestyle she’s always craved.’
‘M-A-D,’ I said. Scarlett gave me a puzzled, offended look. ‘Mutually Assured Destruction,’ I explained. ‘It’s what they used to say about the USA and the USSR during the cold war. Their nuclear weapons meant that if one of them started it, they’d both be finished.’ I patted her arm. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you were mad.’
Scarlett looked relieved, then giggled. I realised she absolutely didn’t want to have a reason to fall out with me. With Leanne gone and Marina going, she’d be very short on people she could trust without me. ‘I never heard that before. I thought you were making out I was daft. See, I’ve still got a lot to learn before I can go head to head with the likes of you, Steph.’ She gave me a sideways shoulder nudge.
‘You do all right.’ I licked the last of my ice cream off the cornet and flicked it into the air, watching it glide in lazy circles till the wind snatched it under the pier.
‘Anyway, I realised the time had come for her to sling her hook when she said that thing at our celebration dinner.’
I didn’t have to be reminded of Leanne’s tasteless remark. ‘She was pissed.’
‘She was. And she gets pissed fairly regularly. Like most of the useless women in our family. And I don’t want that loose mouth around me now. Like I said, I’m going for a positive outlook on life. I don’t want her bringing me down. And Jimmy’s getting to an age where he’s like a sponge. I don’t want him hearing shit like that about his dad. Plus, you never know. I might find another bloke one of these days, and the last thing I need is Leanne waiting in the wings to put the poison in.’
I couldn’t argue with that. ‘So she’s off to do people’s nails in Spain?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How did she react when you told her it was time?’
Scarlett shrugged and turned away from the rail. ‘Let’s go and play bingo.’ I followed her back down the pier to a bingo stall. ‘She knew she was on borrowed time anyway. After I got my diagnosis, there was nothing for her to do in terms of impersonating me. I told her if I made it out the other side of the treatment, I’d put it about that I was changing my lifestyle to stay healthy. So the writing was on the wall.’ We sat down on the padded vinyl stools and the stallholder immediately recognised Scarlett. There was the usual flurry of autographs and shots with camera phones before we could settle down for a game of bingo.
‘Did Leanne go quietly in the end?’ I said when we were alone again.
‘Yeah, she knew she’d crossed a line. I think she quite fancies the weather, to be honest. And where she is, it’s nice. It’s not like Benidorm. It’s up in the hills. A lot of expats and enough nightlife down by the sea to stop her pining for those fucking horrible clubs. I said I’d take Jimmy out for a holiday once she’s settled.’ She smiled. ‘She loves the little bugger.’
‘So, big changes all round.’
As we spoke, we were cancelling the numbers being called. I was always a beat behind, but Scarlett was sharp as a gull’s beak, clicking off the numbers on her card the second they were announced. ‘Yeah,’ she said without a pause in her play. ‘The only thing that doesn’t change is the paparazzi always on my case. I thought the brand-new me would have been too boring for them. But they can’t wait for me to screw up. You’d think I was Princess Diana the way they chase me around. It’s totally out of hand.’
‘I couldn’t handle it,’ I admitted.
Scarlett grinned. ‘Yeah, but you’re a ghost.’ Then she grew serious again. ‘I had that Madison Owen on the show the other day. You know, that Welsh kid that got her West End start from Who Wants to Be a Thoroughly Modern Millie. She reckons somebody’s been hacking her phone messages.’
I snorted incredulously. ‘You’re kidding? How could anybody do that? And why would they want to? It’s not like she’s a big star or anything.’
Scarlett let her sunglasses slide down her nose and gave me a knowing look over the rim. ‘She’s not. But the geezer she’s having an affair with is.’
‘Really? Who?’
She pushed her glasses up and turned down the corners of her mouth. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. Only that he’s a household name who makes a mega deal out of being the perfect family man. Anyway, she says that she hasn’t told a living soul who he is. Not even her best mate. And obviously the boyfriend’s not talking. They were supposed to get together last weekend. He’d borrowed a cottage in the Cotswolds from a mate of his. She was all set to meet him there. Except, when she arrives, there’s a car parked in the lane. And she recognises the guy in the passenger seat because she’d seen him interviewing one of the judges on that stupid bloody TV talent show she won. She puts her foot down and shoots past. Only when she drives round the bend, she sees another guy in a field with a long lens pointing back towards the cottage. So she had to high-tail it out of there and text the boyfriend to tell him they were busted.’
‘Maybe they were following the boyfriend? Maybe they’d had a tip-off?’
‘She says he wasn’t followed. He’s sure about that. He’s paranoid because of his wife and his reputation. Maddie says the only way anyone could have known about the arrangement was if somebody listened to her voicemail messages.’
It sounded to me like a tale that had the makings of an urban myth. Another case of a C-list celebrity who overestimated her importance. With my professional hat on, I’d heard a lot about the media’s dirty tricks – eavesdropping on mobile phone calls with a scanner, for example – but this was a new one on me. I was dubious, to say the least. And not just because it would be illegal. Mostly I couldn’t believe anyone could be arsed to hack the voicemail of people like Madison Owen on the off-chance of finding something more significant than, ‘Hi, it’s me, call me back when you get the chance.’
‘I bet there’s another explanation,’ I said. ‘This all sounds too far-fetched.’
‘House!’ Scarlett waved her hand in the air, all thoughts of invasion of privacy gone now she’d won.
The stallholder bustled over, delighted that she’d got a celebrity winner. ‘You’re supposed to get anything on the bottom shelf,’ she said confidentially after she’d checked Scarlett’s card. ‘But since it’s you, go on and have the pick of the stall. You deserve a treat after what you’ve been through.’
Scarlett gave her the hundred-watt smile. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a living to make. I’ll take one of those dolphins down the bottom. For my boy,’ she added as the stallholder handed her a small stuffed toy in white and royal blue. ‘He loves dolphins. He went swimming with them last year in the Bahamas.’
We slid off the stools and headed back into town. ‘I’ve had a brilliant time,’ she said when we turned into my street. ‘Next time, I’ll bring Jimmy again. When are you coming up to town again?’
I had an editorial meeting with a publisher the following week so we arranged to have dinner afterwards
. I was glad that things seemed to be settling into an easy routine between us and when the day of our dinner rolled around, I made sure the meeting didn’t overrun. Turning down the offer of a drink I knew would roll into the early evening, I took the tube to Hyde Park Corner and walked up Park Lane to the Dorchester. Once Scarlett had discovered there was such a thing as posh Chinese food, there had been no stopping her. Tonight, we had reservations at China Tang in the Dorchester where the food makes me want to lay my head on the table and weep. In the best possible way. I was already salivating at the thought of it. Unusually, everything had run according to time and I was half an hour early for our reservation. So I took a deep breath, mentally checked my bank balance and walked into the cocktail bar. There’s a section of the bar that’s cordoned off for private parties and I glanced in as I walked down the steps.
I nearly missed my footing, only just saving myself from a mortifying sprawl at the feet of the cocktail waiter. Scarlett was raising a glass of fizz to her lips and smiling at the person opposite her. None other than Dr Simon Graham, clutching the matching glass and gazing into Scarlett’s eyes in an extremely non-medical way.
I carried on all the way down the bar and straight out the street door, much to the confusion of the waiter. I needed a drink, but definitely not in the Dorchester cocktail bar. I crossed the forecourt and headed round the corner to the tall redbrick building that houses the University Women’s Club. It’s the only women-only members club in the country and it’s my haven in central London. I first joined when I moved there and needed somewhere other than my horrible flat in Stepney to have meetings. Maggie recommended it and I was nervous at the thought of posh women with grand voices and even grander degrees looking down on me. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I warmed to it the first time I crossed the threshold and it’s been my home from home in London ever since.
As soon as I walked in, I could feel my shoulders dropping in relief. I found a quiet corner and subsided in a comfortable wing chair with a Pimm’s. The first welcome mouthful did the trick of calming me down. Bloody hell. Had I seen what I thought I had? Was that really a secret romantic tryst? Surely not. How could Simon be stupid enough to become entangled with a patient? And if they were an item, how crazy was it to be making eyes at each other in a public place? Even somewhere as discreet as the private area of the Dorchester bar? Especially after everything she’d said about the eyes and ears of the media upon her.
Which indicated that, whatever I thought I’d seen, I’d been mistaken. It was nothing more than two friends having a quiet drink together, enjoying each other’s company. I was her dinner date, after all. It wasn’t like they were making a night of it. What was wrong with me? Was I jealous of Scarlett having other friends? How old was I, for heaven’s sake?
I took my time over my drink, then headed back to the hotel, walking into the restaurant precisely on time. Scarlett was already at the table, waving to me as I approached. She stood up to hug me in a waft of Scarlett Smile. ‘Great to see you, you look fab, is that a new dress?’ It came out in a rush and we both burst out laughing. ‘Anyone would think we hadn’t seen each other for months,’ she said, settling back into her seat. ‘Speaking of not seeing people for ages, guess who I just ran into?’
I shook my head, feeling irrationally relieved. ‘No idea. That dishy cop?’
‘Nick the Greek? You’re blushing, Steph. You totally need to get stuck in there, girl. Give him a call.’
‘I don’t think so. Come on then, tell me who you bumped into.’
‘Simon. Simon Graham. He was coming out as I was coming in, we chased each other round the revolving doors a couple of times. The doormen looked totally offended. Like, you don’t do that kind of thing here.’ She giggled. ‘Anyway, he had time for a quick drink. I tried to persuade him to stay and have dinner with us, but he’s meeting friends.’
‘Small world.’
‘Yeah. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon. It was nice to see him. When Simon says you’re looking well, it really means something. Know what I mean?’ She suddenly softened and I saw a reflection of the fear she always carried with her after her diagnosis.
But the moment passed, as did my misplaced jealousy of Simon. It was a good night, the first of many over the next few months. We’d meet in town or I’d go over to the hacienda and stay overnight. A couple of times she brought Jimmy down to Brighton and we had a typically English day at the seaside. She talked about her colleagues on the TV show, the people she was working with on her merchandising, Georgie and his team, Leanne in Spain and, of course, Jimmy. Choosing a school for him was high on her list of priorities and I lost count of the number of prospectuses and websites we looked at. But Simon never came up in conversation again.
The only time I ran into him after that was at Scarlett’s birthday party. Although she’d pretty much given up on the club scene, and in spite of her regular fulminations against the vile tabloid media, she understood that she still had to make her presence felt in the red-tops. So her birthday bash was in a new triple-decker bar on the South Bank with amazing views of the river from the roof terrace. As usual at Scarlett’s shindigs, I knew almost nobody except the journos, and I wasn’t in the mood for them that night. I found George leaning on the balustrade looking out at the river and the crowds walking past towards the South Bank complex and the London Eye. The music pulsed around us, quieter than it was on the dance floor below, but a presence nonetheless. ‘Lovely evening for it,’ George said.
‘Perfect venue,’ I agreed.
We stood in companionable silence for a bit, then he said, ‘You’ve been terrifically good for her, Stephanie. She’s a much improved piece of merchandise since you got your hands on her.’
‘You are dreadful, Georgie.’
‘It’s the truth, sweetie. Look around you. At least half of the people here are perfectly respectable. Most of us have never been on reality TV. Our ugly duckling has turned into a swan, I rather think.’
‘It’s all been her own doing.’
Before George could say more, Simon Graham moved alongside me. ‘Mind if I join you?’ he said, both hands on the stem of his glass in an anxious posture. He gave a quick, nervy smile. ‘I don’t know anybody else here,’ he added, throwing himself on our mercy.
‘Neither do we,’ George said.
‘Liar, half of them are your clients,’ I said.
‘That doesn’t mean I want to engage socially with them, Stephanie. I fear that I no longer number among the bright young things.’
‘I never did, Georgie.’ I smiled at Simon. ‘You’re welcome to hang out with the boring old farts, even though you are clearly not one of us.’ And in truth, he did look more of a piece with the other guests than us in his low-slung jeans and body-hugging black satin shirt.
Still, he stayed and we made genial, forgettable conversation about this and that for quarter of an hour or so, then Simon’s phone beeped. He dipped two long fingers into his tight pocket and pulled it free, then frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. Work, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s a pity,’ George said politely.
He gave a half-shrug. ‘Goes with the territory. Nice to see you both again.’ And he was off, weaving through the dancers and the drinkers and the talkers.
‘He seems like a nice bloke,’ I said.
‘If a little dull.’
‘There are worse things than dull.’
‘Indeed, Stephanie. And I suspect both of us have had rather too much of them. Personally, I think dull rather a fine quality in a doctor. It suggests a devotion to his work which always inspires confidence.’
‘Obviously worked on Scarlett,’ I said.
George raised his eyebrows in an arch expression. ‘Meaning what?’
‘Only that she invited him to her party.’
George chuckled. ‘I think she invited the entire contents of her phone contact list to her party.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Are you staying in town tonight?’
�
��I’ve got a room at my club.’
Now his smile was wholehearted. ‘How very splendid. The University Women’s, I assume? Are you ready to let me drop you off on my way back to Chelsea?’
I was ready. Maybe if there had been a handsome copper around, I’d have contemplated dancing till dawn. But I was
out of luck on that score. Clearly his number hadn’t made it into Scarlett’s phone memory. We skirted the crowd, looking for Scarlett, fighting against the press of bodies and the growing volume of the music.
We found her near the top of the stairs leading to the dance floor, vaguely gyrating with a couple of fashion models. ‘We’re off,’ I said. ‘Great party.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Are you having fun?’
‘I’m having a ball,’ she said, stepping away from the models and steering us towards the lift that would take us to the ground-floor exit. I noticed her wince as she turned.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked when we’d emerged from the crowd on to the landing. I gestured to her naked midriff. ‘You made a face.’
‘It’s nothing. I think I must have put my back out picking Jimmy up. It’s been bothering me the last couple of days. I’ve made an appointment with the osteopath. Little bugger’s getting too heavy.’ She pulled me into her arms and kissed me on the mouth. ‘You’re a total mother hen, Steph. You need to loosen up,’ she scolded me.
‘Be grateful somebody gives a toss about you, sweetie,’ George said as the lift arrived.
We all laughed. And I went home and thought nothing more about Scarlett’s back pain. More fool me.
42
I don’t buy the red-tops unless it’s for professional reasons. But I will glance at the headlines if someone on the train or in a café is hiding behind their paper. I’m only human, after all. And that’s how I learned my friend was dying.