The Best Friend: a chilling psychological thriller

by Shalini Boland

  ‘Lou, I’m setting up a new advertising agency, not a telesales business. It’s all about perception. We need those quay-front offices – it’ll make us look premium. And what about Mike’s contacts? I won’t be able to get things moving without clients. I just can’t do it. We can’t afford to piss these people off. You’ll just have to keep being nice to Darcy. I’m really sorry about your column. I truly am. It sucks. But the opportunity I’ve got will make up for it, I promise. I’ll make this work, and then, who knows, maybe you can even set up your own magazine.’

  His words trickle over me like cold water. I stare straight ahead. The roads are empty. We pull up to a set of traffic lights and stop as the lights change from amber to red. No other cars cross the junction. We sit in silence. Clouds are gathering and the gloom swallows me up. It’s like I’m disappearing into the void.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The day after the party, I drop Joe at school and drive straight over to Beth’s. I called her last night, needing to talk. To get her opinion on everything that’s happening. To unpick the tangle of worries in my head. She has a spare hour this morning before she has to meet a client. It’s not enough time to speak properly, but she’s busy the rest of the week and I can’t wait any longer.

  As I drive, I squint into the piercing, morning sun. It’s dangerously bright. Too bright for my mood. I pull up outside Beth’s block and take a deep breath as the engine cools. I mustn’t get myself into a state, she’ll only worry about me and I can’t put that on her. She has a busy enough life as it is – working full time, with a young daughter. I just need some advice, that’s all. Her opinion on what to do for the best.

  My seatbelt catches in the door as I try to close it. I swear, loop it back inside the car, and close the door with a clunk. Beth and Carys live in an unlovely seventies block, built from garish yellow brick. But the location is a fabulous five minutes from the sea, and the interior is high-ceilinged, light-and-airy beach chic. I climb the steps and press the buzzer. Beth lets me in and I make my way up to the third floor.

  ‘Hey, Lou.’ She’s already at the door, her head tilted to the side, dressed in a skirt suit and towering heels.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘You look amazing, sis.’

  ‘What, this old thing?’

  We hug and laugh.

  ‘Sorry, Beth,’ I say. ‘You could probably do without your flaky sister dropping in on you right before work.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You’re not flaky, and it’s not a problem.’

  I follow her through the hall to the kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee setting my caffeine-craving taste buds off.

  ‘I’ve already whipped you up a nice, strong cappuccino,’ she says. ‘Sounds like you need one.’

  ‘Got any whisky to splash in that?’ I ask, only semi-joking.

  Beth raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Sit. Talk.’

  I perch myself on a stool next to the granite island. Beth sits next to me cradling a tall glass of green tea.

  ‘You’re going to think I’m paranoid, or mad,’ I say, taking a tentative sip of my drink. It’s way too hot so I set it back down on the counter top.

  ‘I already know you’re mad,’ she replies with a smirk.

  I try and fail to smirk back. ‘It’s all to do with this mum from school,’ I begin. ‘Her name’s Darcy.’

  ‘The one we met at the beach? With her husband?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ I proceed to tell Beth everything that’s happened between then and now. About the subtle little games I think she’s been playing. About Joe’s party. About Jared’s plan to lease one of their offices. I also consider telling her about my stalker, but I haven’t seen him since Darcy told him to piss off, so I decide to leave him out of it. That news will only detract from the stuff about Darcy.

  Beth doesn’t interrupt me as I speak. She lets me get everything off my chest. Her patience and listening skills are more than I could ever manage. If it were me listening, I’d be interrupting left, right, and centre. It must be her lawyer training or something. Whatever. I’m grateful. Now I’ve started, it all comes spewing out in a torrent.

  Once it’s out there, she sets her drink down and steeples her fingers together. ‘Well,’ she finally says. ‘If Darcy’s as bad as you say she is, then you need to steer clear of her . . .’

  ‘But?’ I say. ‘I can sense a “but”.’

  She gives a wry smile, wrinkling her nose. It’s something she always does before telling me something I don’t want to hear. ‘It’s just . . .’ she begins. ‘Do you think there’s any way you might have misinterpreted things? By the sound of it, Darcy is one busy lady. She could genuinely have forgotten to include Joe’s name. It’s not something you would ever conceive of doing because you’re far too sweet and considerate to ignore a child’s feelings. But, you don’t really know this woman, Lou. She sounds like a flighty, self-obsessed socialite. Thinking about how other people feel is probably way down her list of priorities. I don’t think she would have done it on purpose. What would have been the point?’

  Hearing Beth talk about Darcy like this makes me doubt myself even more. But my sister hasn’t spent time with Darcy. ‘What about my column?’ I say. ‘How do you explain that?’

  Beth takes a sip of her tea. ‘You were ill, right?’

  I nod.

  ‘And she brought you soup and offered to help you out with your work?’

  I twist my lip.

  ‘And then, your editor offered the column to her. Darcy didn’t go after it, did she?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m not really sure. I don’t know how the conversation went between them.’

  ‘Lou, I’m worried about you,’ Beth says. ‘You’ve been looking really thin and pale these past few weeks.’

  ‘I’m always pale,’ I say with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘I’m serious, sis. I think . . . Well, Carys and I think you might be a little depressed.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to Carys about me?’ A spark of anger ignites in my gullet.

  ‘I talk to Carys about everything,’ she says. ‘We both love you.’

  ‘You think I’m overreacting,’ I say, sliding off the stool, ready to leave.

  Beth takes my hand and squeezes. ‘No. Sit back down. I don’t think you’re overreacting. I just think you might be seeing bad things when they’re just coincidences or bad luck.’

  I stay on my feet. Part of me wants to slam out of her apartment, but I know that wouldn’t be fair. I know Beth is only trying to make me feel better. Trying to make me see the other side of the story. I want to believe that what she’s saying is true. To shake the constant dread rolling around in my stomach. I realise my thumbnail is digging into the side of my forefinger so hard it hurts.

  ‘And as for Jared’s new agency,’ Beth continues, ‘you need to support him. Be excited for him. It’s a big deal. He must be feeling nervous about it, too. The fact that Darcy and her husband are willing to give him a year’s free rent is incredible. I actually think they must like you guys, a lot.’

  My heart rate slows at Beth’s words. I sit back down and gulp down a few mouthfuls of coffee. Could she be right? Could I be seeing bad things where there’s nothing? ‘Could there be some kind of catch, though?’ I ask. ‘With the free office thing.’

  ‘Bring me the contract before you sign,’ she says. ‘I’ll look it over for you.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course. I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me or Carys about it before.’

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you. I feel bad moaning to you now.’

  ‘You’re my sister, you’re allowed to moan – as long as you don’t do it too often.’

  I roll my eyes and she pulls a stupid face. I feel better already. I knew talking to Beth would help ease my anxiety.

  The chorus to Mr Brightside by The Killers emanates from my handbag on the floor. It’s my ringtone – the song that reminds me of when Jared and I first met.
‘I better get that’ I say. ‘Could be Joe’s school, or Jared.’

  ‘Sure, go ahead. I’ve got to get ready to leave in a minute, anyway.’ Beth puts her glass in the sink and leaves the kitchen while I fumble in my bag and hook out my phone.

  It’s Darcy. Her ears must’ve been burning.

  I take a deep breath and answer. ‘Hello?’

  Instead of her overly confident drawl, her voice is quiet – almost a squeak. ‘Louisa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t know who else to call,’ she says. ‘Can you come over?’

  ‘What? Now? Are you okay, Darcy?’

  ‘No,’ she gulps. ‘No, I’m not. Please, can you come over now?’

  I wonder what can possibly have happened to make Darcy sound so upset. ‘Yes, sure. I can be there in about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, okay?’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says.

  ‘Okay.’

  Beth comes back into the kitchen. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘That was Darcy, of all people. She sounded really upset, like she’s been crying. She wants me to go over there now.’

  ‘Oh dear. Poor thing. I wonder what’s happened.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s weird that she called me. She must have closer friends than me, surely.’

  ‘People like you, Lou. You’re easy to talk to – sympathetic. You should have more faith in yourself.’

  ‘Well, you’re family, you have to say that.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Let me know what happens. And I think this shows Darcy isn’t out to get you. Enemies don’t usually cry on your shoulder.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ I say, putting my phone back in my bag. ‘Anyway, I better go. Thanks for this morning. You’re the best sister ever.’

  ‘Aw, shucks.’

  She sees me to the door and we hug before I leave.

  I jog down the stairs wondering what could have made Darcy so upset, and what on earth she could want with me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Summer 1993

  ‘Why the fuck are you blubbing, Cal. I told you to stop being such a wuss.’ Nicole gritted her teeth and pulled him around into the dirty alley. It stank of piss in the heat and was littered with fag butts and dog turds, but Nicole hardly noticed. Why couldn’t her brother be less of a cry baby? Why was she the one who always had to look after him?

  Snot trailed down his nose and he tried to wipe it away with his sleeve, but just ended up smearing it across his cheek.

  ‘God, that’s vile, Cal. You’re making me wanna vom.’

  ‘Sorry, Nic.’ He hiccuped and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to cry.

  Nicole clenched her fists. He was so pathetic. He needed to grow a pair. He was eight already but still acted like he was three. What was he going to do when she went to senior school and wasn’t around to look out for him? She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back.

  ‘Stop. Fucking. Crying,’ she hissed, shoving her face right up close to his. ‘Or I’ll give you something to cry about.’ She’d copied that line off one of the other care kids. The older ones were always saying stuff like that. And they meant it, too.

  ‘I’m trying, Nic,’ he blubbered.

  She and Cal had been in care for over two years now. A couple of different foster parents had tried them out, but no one had wanted to keep them permanently. It all started back when she and Cal had been done for shoplifting. Social services got involved and said their mum wasn’t well enough to look after them properly – too pissed, more like.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, loosening her grip on Callum’s hair.

  ‘Derek Mullins.’

  ‘Becky’s brother? The one with freckles?’

  Callum nodded.

  ‘What did he do to you?’

  Callum shook his head and started scuffing the pavement with the toe of his shoe.

  ‘Tell me or I’ll bash you.’

  Callum murmured something, but it was so quiet Nicole couldn’t hear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He told everyone I wet the bed.’

  Nicole let go of his head and straightened up. Derek was a skinny little wanker who had no right to talk to her brother like that.

  ‘Everyone was laughing at me, Nic,’ Callum wailed. ‘And then he kicked me. Look.’ Callum hoiked up his trouser leg and pointed to a gash on his shin.

  ‘That little shit did that to you?’ Nicole spat.

  Callum nodded, his lower lip trembling again. ‘And now everyone in my class knows I wet the bed.’

  ‘They don’t know, you idiot. Derek just said that to wind you up.’

  Callum’s eyes grew wider.

  ‘You should’ve called him a liar,’ Nicole said. ‘You should’ve kicked him in the balls. Where is he? Where’s Derek now?’

  ‘In the park, probably. He always goes there after school.’

  ‘His sister lives up Howton Road. I know what we’re gonna do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s not getting away with it.’ Nicole took her brother by the hand and dragged him down the alley.

  ‘Where we going?’

  ‘The shop.’

  ‘You got some money?’

  ‘No. What’s your favourite drink?’

  ‘Coke,’ he replied. ‘No, I mean Fanta – the orange one.’

  They emerged from the dim alley into warm afternoon sunshine and walked back past school, past the rows of terraced council houses with their scrubby patches of front lawn, past the gypsy house with the brown and white horse in the driveway, past the man who sat on his sofa in the garden smoking B&H fags and drinking Bulmer’s cider, and past the squat which always had house music blaring out whatever time of day or night.

  The corner shop sat smack bang between school and the park. Outside the shop, a group of older kids hung out on their bikes, spitting and swearing, chewing gum and eating sweets and chocolate bars.

  ‘Wait here,’ Nicole told her brother, before crossing the road to get to the shop.

  ‘Can I come with you?’ Callum asked, eyeing the older boys nervously.

  ‘No. I said to stay here, didn’t I.’ She let go of his sweaty hand, wiping her palm on her skirt, and she crossed the road. She didn’t care about the older boys. If they said anything to her, she’d tell them to piss off. But they weren’t bothered anyway – not by a frizzy-haired nobody like her.

  A queue snaked back from the till – kids with sweets in their hands standing next to mums with tatty purses, blokes with cans of lager, and pensioners with loaves of bread and pints of milk. Nicole marched past them all until she saw what she was looking for at the rear of the shop. She angled her back to the security camera, reached across the open chiller unit and grabbed a can of Fanta, sliding it into her schoolbag. It made a bit of a bulge, but it could just as easily be a pencil case as a stolen drink. Then she straightened up pretended to look at the drinks a while longer, before turning and walking back out of the shop. No one looked her way or called out to her to stop. She wouldn’t have cared if they had.

  Callum was waiting on the other side of the road like she’d told him. She thought he’d be crying again. Instead, he was throwing bits of loose gravel into the road, even when cars were going by. He’d get his head kicked in if he wasn’t careful.

  ‘Oi,’ she called.

  He looked up and she beckoned him across the road. He skimmed one more stone and then ran towards her without looking left or right. Lucky no cars were coming.

  ‘Did you get me a Fanta? he asked, breathless with excitement.

  ‘Shut up, idiot,’ she said, hauling him past the shop. ‘Do you want to get me arrested?’

  Callum shut his mouth and frowned.

  After they’d left the shop behind, Nicole drew the drink out of her bag. ‘Drink that,’ she said, yanking the metal ring off and dropping it on the dusty pavement.

  ‘All of it?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you want some?’ />
  ‘I’ll have a bit, and you can have the rest.’

  Nicole took a tiny sip, letting the bubbles fizz on her tongue before swallowing the chilled, sickly-sweet liquid.

  ‘Here.’ She passed him the almost-full can and he snatched it greedily from her, glugging the drink, only pausing to let out a loud belch, and then draining the rest. He stuffed the empty can in someone’s hedge and burped once again.

  ‘What we doing now?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  2016

  The electric gates are open, so I drive straight through and on down the driveway, all the while wondering what could have made Darcy so upset. I pull up right outside the house. Darcy’s there, in the doorway, her face red and tear-streaked, her hair uncombed. She’s still wearing the same tracksuit she had on yesterday at the boys’ party.

  I undo my seatbelt, grab my bag, and slide out of the car. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I sent all the staff home,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t bear anyone nosing into my business. I didn’t want them to see me like this.’ She blows her nose into a soggy tissue.

  I reach into my bag and pass her a fresh one. ‘What happened, Darcy? Is it Tyler? Is he okay? Where’s Mike?’ I put my arm around her and lead her inside, pulling the door closed behind us. I spy a cosy looking sitting room off the entrance hall and guide her in there. It’s some kind of snug, with a squashy u-shaped sofa and a deep-pile rug. We sit side-by-side on the sofa.

  ‘Ty’s fine,’ she says. ‘No. It’s Mike.’

  I wait for her to continue. She stares at me, her blue eyes pooling with more tears.

  ‘We got in a fight last night.’

  ‘A fight?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Oh, it’s been building for a while. We . . . We haven’t been getting on.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We barely spoke to one another at the party, and then . . . when we got home. He said . . .’

  I take one of her hands in mine. It’s cold and damp. I give it a squeeze, to try to comfort her. To let her know I’m here for her.