The Perfect Friend: A gripping psychological thriller
Page 10
Why? Why was I lying to myself about wanting to get better?
I’m a perfectionist. I’ve always tried so hard to get things right. I wanted to be the perfect wife, perfect mother, and failed at both. But I’m brilliant at starving my body and punishing myself for my mistakes. Anorexia is a form of self-flagellation, for me.
It’s been a long, hard slog to get myself to stop. I’m finally eating again and am in control of my life. I understand Rosie’s concerned that the group isn’t helping, but I’ll give it up soon. I need to cling on for a tiny bit longer while I continue to build my strength and make restitution for the way I’ve hurt people. One day I’ll share everything with them, right down to what happened to Elise, Edward and Owen, and everything I did wrong that resulted in their deaths over four years ago. One day.
Twenty
When I get out of the clinic, my steps slow as I walk towards my car. The last people I need to see right now are waiting for me, leaning on the car. I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised.
‘Mum. We need to talk,’ says Elise.
I should clarify here. I don’t actually see the kids. I’m not mad, or hallucinating, and I fully realise the difference between reality and my lies. I just imagine them as chubby-cheeked toddlers, or cheeky ten-year-olds, or babes in arms. Most often they’re teenagers, and pretending they’re speaking to me is a huge comfort. Because I miss them. Because I’m lonely. Because they should be here with me.
But I know they’re not.
So now, I’m imagining the disapproval my children would feel if they were alive here and now. They’d give me a stern talking-to, no doubt. I get in the car with a sigh and start the engine before I speak.
‘I know, I know. You agree with Rosie,’ I say aloud. There’s no one in the car park to see me talking to myself, and I feel less lonely when I do. I drive away, still speaking.
‘There’s no time for prevaricating. Before I pick Carrie up, I’ve got to nip to her place and check it out for any more messages. I can intercept them before bringing her home. You think I’m getting too wrapped up in her and should concentrate on my health. But it’s thanks to her that I haven’t had a relapse, not one since meeting her. Finally, I’ve got someone to look after and mother again.
‘Besides, let’s say I do stop seeing her. Then what? There’s no saying that the messages targeting us both would stop.’
Another sigh as I imagine Elise arguing back. In my mind, she’s always been the feisty one who tells it like it is and uses tough love. She’s always dressed boho, but since I met Carrie her clothes have been brighter, and she wears a lot of jewellery identical to my friend’s. Sometimes I feel guilty that in my mind’s eye my daughter is morphing into my friend. Edward has inherited not just his father’s kind eyes but the same humour that made me laugh at myself when I was being an idiot. He doesn’t have his father’s quick temper, though.
‘Okay, I admit, I’m a little worried for my own sanity,’ I add. ‘The pressure of keeping quiet is already making me skip meals, but I’ve got to honour my vow to be there for her and do everything possible to help her. You know what I did to her, you know I owe her.’
‘You didn’t know Simon was with someone else, let alone a woman with cancer,’ says Elise, taking on the voice of my head, while my heart argues back.
‘My guilt aside, I can’t leave a dying woman to be persecuted by some weirdo. I’m sorry, but that’s my final word on the matter. I do promise I’ll look after myself better, though.’
The children melt away as I pull up outside Carrie’s house. Pulling the spare key from my purse, I let myself in.
Oh, crap.
Heart racing, pulse stamping in my neck, I hunch over the steering wheel. Houses blur by. The car dodges through traffic lights as amber turns red, speeds over a roundabout and flies over a speed bump at a tooth-rattling pace. I’m racing against the clock to get to the Freeman Hospital, where Carrie will be waiting for me.
All the time I’m driving, I keep glancing at the glove compartment as if I can see its contents still. That’s where I shoved the latest message sent to Carrie, but out of sight is not out of mind.
The photograph of a woman I don’t recognise. The message scrawled across the back.
Losing patience. Give me what I want, or me telling everyone what you’ve done will be the least of your worries.
Abrupt. Terse. The impatience obvious. I shiver and turn up the heat in the car. Once again, I wrestle with whether or not to tell Carrie what’s happening, but I’ve covered up so much now that it feels too late to turn back. This is becoming more serious, though, the person seeming to take their anger out on both Carrie and me.
Who is behind this? And why? It can’t only be about me sleeping with Simon and threatening to tell Carrie. There’s clearly more going on, but I can’t figure out what.
A car beeps as I switch lanes at the last minute. Swear words spill from my lips, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, but my mind doesn’t stop tumbling through the clues so far.
Carrie’s top, along with a picture of the two of us coming out of the support group.
I’m watching you.
The photo of Simon, my lover and Carrie’s boyfriend.
There are no secrets from me.
Now this. I wonder who the woman is and how she’s linked to us. Thinking of her face again, no memories are stirred.
Smudge is still missing, too. Has his disappearance got something to do with this?
No matter which way I turn, there seems to be nothing but blind alleys for me to explore. I’m at an impasse.
* * *
Carrie is waiting near the multistorey car park. I slow and wave before entering the building and finding a free space. As I reverse in, I have a thought. Could it be someone from the support group who’s targeting us?
They know us well; perhaps they’ve taken my betrayal of Carrie as duplicity against the whole group. These messages definitely feel personal as well as angry. Any right-thinking person would be annoyed with me for breaking the heart of a dying woman – I stole the love of her life, all for the sake of a quick fling to boost my flagging ego.
Jackie seems to have had a slight edge the last few times we’ve seen her, but nothing to write home about. I go through each member, suspecting, examining, casting aside, even as my enthusiasm for the idea wanes because it makes absolutely no sense: if someone were angry with me for hurting Carrie, they wouldn’t be sending her the messages.
The only consolation in all of this is that she hasn’t a clue what’s happening. She’s leaning against the wall beside the hospital entrance, her head lolling back as if trying to catch the sun’s winter rays, though none peek through the slab of slate clouds that have rapidly gathered. The position exposes her neck, where black dots can be clearly seen on it, and the skin is red and sore-looking. She catches me staring and pulls her scarf up higher, to cover the area.
‘Burns from the radiotherapy,’ she mutters.
‘I thought it was chemo today. Are they still giving you radio, too?’
‘Palliative radiotherapy, to try to buy me a couple of extra months. Don’t know why they’re bothering with any of it, they’re fighting a losing battle. Honestly, I’m thinking of jacking it all in – the treatments make me feel like crap, and we all know the outcome will be the same.’
‘Come on, don’t—’
‘Eurgh, you know what, it’s bad enough having all this stuff without talking about it. Let’s change the subject – how did you do today at the clinic?’
My laugh is uncomfortable. ‘Nice weather we’re having.’
‘Wow, that bad, eh? Okay, so that’s your illness and mine off the table. Let’s decide where we’re going for coffee, instead.’
We link arms as we walk and chat. The fear of death is getting to her. The calm acceptance has been replaced by twitchy fear. I can almost smell it pouring from her. If there was a way for us to swap places, I’d do it gladly.
Nowhere until I found Carrie, a person who, despite appearing so fun-loving and confident, seems to soak up love like a sponge. We suit each other perfectly.
She pulls me out of my thoughts now by stopping suddenly. A man is sitting on the pavement, a small plastic tray in front of him to collect money from passers-by.
‘Sorry it’s not much. Take care of yourself,’ she says as she bends down and hands over a couple of quid. She receives a grateful nod.
Feeling bad for almost sweeping by without noticing, I do the same. He’s only in his late teens or early twenties, but the eyes that flick up to meet mine in gratitude are dark-circled and world weary.
Two minutes later Carrie and I settle in a cosy café, just as it’s starting to spot with rain outside. A chatty waitress takes our order, and we laugh when she mistakes us for mother and daughter. That happens a lot – we do have similar features and build.
‘Doesn’t the treatment make you feel sick?’ I ask, watching Carrie enthusiastically putting away her chicken salad.
‘I’ve a few hours before it hits. Around 7 p.m. tonight, I’ll be as limp as a dead tulip.’
‘Want me to come round, then? Keep an eye on you?’
‘I’ll be fine. I’m getting my strength up now, eating this.’
‘Well, it’s my treat.’ I grab my purse, won’t take no for an answer. ‘I feel responsible for what happened to your car.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
She’s hiding something from me. Her annoyance. I understand Carrie’s urge to mask everything, despite the frustration of being on the receiving end of it. I’ve hidden my whole life, apologising. Still, I can’t help wishing she’d let rip with her anger, rather than squirrelling it away. She does blame me for the car; she must do, because it happened on my driveway. The only good thing now is that giving her lifts means I’ve got an excuse to spend more time with her and keep a close eye out for whoever is doing this.
Next time they come for her, they’ll have to get through me first.
At the thought, the desire to keep her close flips on its head. Of course! There’s a way to keep everyone happy, apart from this troublemaker. Although it requires sacrifice on my part.
Twenty-One
The world has turned upside down for me, the solution so obvious it’s amazing I didn’t see it before. All this time I’ve been selfishly trying to keep my friend with me, but the best thing for her is to send her away. If I can get Carrie to move back in with her parents, then I’ll know she’s well looked after and safe from our tormentor. Rosie will be pleased, too; she’ll say it will free me to concentrate on myself.
There’s no time like the present to put the plan into action, so I lean on the wooden café table and am about to speak when someone beside me flaps open their umbrella. I glare. Don’t they know it’s bad luck to do that inside? Shaking off the bad omen, I try again.
‘You mentioned the other day that you’re going to live with your parents. Is that happening soon?’
Carrie stops chewing her chicken salad and puts her head on one side. ‘Keen to get rid of me?’
‘Not at all… but I can’t help thinking it might be for the best if you go sooner rather than later.’
‘I’ll have to leave fairly pronto, I suppose, but,’ she toys with a rocket leaf, thinking, then stabs it decisively with her fork, ‘I can probably risk staying a bit longer. Maybe another month or so.’
‘You think that’s wise?’
‘Wow, you really are keen.’
‘You’re like a daughter to me – and no, don’t protest that I’m not old enough, because I am. That’s the thing, Carrie, I keep thinking about your parents and, well, you should all spend as much time together as possible, don’t you think?’
She looks at her plate. Wipes at her eyes before nodding. ‘People dying should be with the people they love, you’re right. But I love Tynemouth so much, there’s something really special about it that’s made me feel at home right away. I’m going to make the most of it while I can, because I’ll really miss it when I’m gone.
‘And I’ll tell you something else. I’m going to miss you like mad. You’re right, you’ve made me feel cherished, like part of your family, and you’ll never understand what that means to me.’
Much as I try, no words will come. My heart’s full to bursting with all the love I’ve longed to give a child, but now it has somewhere to go. It flows straight towards that young woman. Trying to stop it is like trying to stop loving Elise and Edward.
But she isn’t Little Orphan Annie, and I’m no Daddy Warbucks. There will be no happy adoption ending for us.
She doesn’t speak again until she’s cleared her plate. Instead I chat about how much fun she’ll have with her actual parents. Nuggets of information she’s given me about her idyllic childhood are dredged up. Building sandcastles together, playing games, she even had a treehouse. When she got older, her mum was on hand and her dad always kept a firm but fair eye on boyfriends, ready in case they stepped out of line. And apparently she and her mum love shopping together. It’s all the sort of thing I should have done with my own children, if only… I shut the thought down and force myself to smile.
‘Maybe you’ll get the chance to revisit some of your favourite childhood haunts, recreate some holiday memories together. Didn’t you say your parents wanted to throw you an early Christmas? That’ll be fun!’
‘It’s going to be amazing,’ she says, but her eyes are reddening, sparkling with tears. She clears her throat. ‘Excuse me, need the loo.’
Head down, she scurries away, leaving me to stare after her. What an idiot I am for upsetting her.
Feeling guilty, I decide to go after her rather than wait. Gather up our things and struggle into the loos. The toilet flushes, but not fast enough to cover the sound of vomiting.
‘Carrie, are you okay? Is it your treatment kicking in? Let me get you home.’
‘Erm, okay, that sounds good.’
The lock audibly snicks across, door swinging open to reveal my friend’s pale face. In the minutes since last seeing her, the colour has disappeared from her cheeks, her eyes are red and there are shadows under her eyes. Rushing to the basin, she runs the tap and splashes water on her face, rinses out her mouth repeatedly, making little gasping noises.
When she’s done, I put her coat over her shoulders and rub her back.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have taken that extra biscuit the tea lady sneaked onto the ward for me.’ Her smile is weak, but her eyes beg me to laugh. I do my best but I can’t help adding a sigh.
‘You’re such a good person. You don’t deserve this.’
‘Eurgh, I hate all this talk of good and bad guys, when actually everyone has a bit of both. Really, there are only survivors and the beaten. If I had the chance to save my own life, knowing it would cost someone else’s, would I take it? Okay, probably not. But if someone else were mildly maimed in order for me to survive, say, lost a leg, would I allow that to happen? Honestly? Maybe. Yeah, maybe.’
When I still say nothing, she scoffs. ‘You’re telling me you wouldn’t be willing to see someone hurt to save yourself? Or, okay, if not yourself, someone you love?’
With an attempt at a laugh, I take my hands off her back and slide them inside my pockets to hide their shaking. She’s no idea how close she is to the truth.
‘Are you strong enough to get to the car?’ I check. ‘If you’re not, I can go and get it, it’s no trouble.’
‘I do feel a bit wobbly.’ She nods, hanging onto the edge of the basin for a second.
‘Stay here. I’ll speak to the manager, get a
seat for you at the window so you can see me when I get back. Oh, and you’re staying at mine tonight.’
‘No, I don’t want to take advantage.’
‘Then I’m happy to stay at yours instead. Come on, even before this you said you didn’t want to be on your own after the car business, and now your nausea has kicked in early. If you really want to be alone, I won’t be offended, but if you don’t… well, don’t feel guilty, that’s all I’m saying. Because I’ll let you into a secret: I don’t much fancy being alone, either.’
A smile hangs on her face. ‘In that case… !’
We head back to Carrie’s, so that she can pick up a change of clothes for tomorrow. As we get closer, my tension builds. Jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel. If there is another message, I need to get to it first.
When we pull up outside, I offer to run in for her, but she won’t hear of it.
‘I want to see if Smudge is home.’
‘Well, let me open the door for you.’ I dodge in front of her and race up the path, probably looking like a lunatic. My skin is prickling with apprehension as I turn the key in the lock. The door swings open…
The doormat is empty.
Carrie walks past me and heads for the kitchen, oblivious to my relief. The food she left out for Smudge is untouched.
‘He’ll come back.’ I squeeze her shoulder, trying to soothe her, but I can feel the tension even through her jumper. She pulls fretfully at her hat.
‘Tomorrow I’m going to put up posters.’
‘I’ll help. You’ve got to slow down—’
‘Honestly, I think about him out there alone and my stomach churns.’
‘He’ll be enjoying a little holiday with someone, you just watch.’
Even as I say the words, my own stomach flips. Getting rid of Carrie to her parents’ home is definitely the best thing to do. She needs to get away from this nutter.