Bad Friends

by Seeber, Claire

  I heard a drink being poured and suddenly I felt like screaming. I bit my lip painfully.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘No, Alex, wait.’

  ‘What?’

  Hannah appeared in the hall in a pair of patent tap-shoes and a Snow White outfit two sizes too small. ‘Watch this, Auntie Maggie.’ Some very loud and unrhythmic tapping began.

  ‘So where were you last night, Alex?’ I gave Hannah a thumbs-up. ‘You never told me that.’

  ‘Last night? Let me think.’ That silly silvery laugh chimed in again, as if someone had once told the owner she sounded bell-like and she was pealing for her life. ‘Ah yes. Most conveniently, between the hours of twelve and three I was screwing Serena, at her place. Which is in Kensington, Maggie – i.e. on the other side of town from where we – where you – live.’

  I recognised the serration in his voice, the invincible blade of alcohol that cut his words. He spoke very slowly, provocatively, in a stupid Sean Connery accent. ‘Postcoitally, I crashed out in her delectable arms.’

  My grip on the phone tightened. If you laugh again, you cow, I will scream. Hannah did some inelegant but extremely flamboyant turns up the hall.

  ‘How lovely for you,’ I muttered, and I thought of all the times Alex hadn’t made it to bed with me. ‘I’ll be up in a minute, baby,’ he’d promise, but when I got up for work the next morning he’d still be slumped on the floor, inert, surrounded by cans and, quite often, later on, porn.

  ‘I’m sure Serena will be more than happy to corroborate my story.’ His voice faded as he turned to speak to her. ‘Won’t you, sweetheart?’

  ‘Oh, I’m quite sure she will,’ I said tightly. Hannah began a complex tapping-backwards routine that resulted in her flying over a packing-crate and landing on the cat, who squealed indignantly as loud tears ensued. ‘Ow!’

  I rushed to the little girl’s side.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Alex stopped showing off.

  ‘It’s Hannah.’ I put my arms around her as best I could. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Is she okay?’ He sounded worried and my heart softened a little. ‘Send her my love, won’t you? And tell her to mind out for those boomerangs.’

  ‘I will,’ I mumbled ungraciously.

  ‘And Maggie –’

  ‘Yes?’ I savoured the child’s solid warmth as she sniffled softly against my chest.

  ‘I might be a bastard, but I’m not a stalker.’

  There was a long pause. I squeezed Hannah tighter, burying my face in her silky hair until she began to wriggle.

  ‘Be careful out there, Maggie,’ he said quietly, and rang off.

  ‘What’s going on? Are you off the phone from that idiot? I’m still waiting to hear what you’ve been up to, Maggie, you minx.’ Bel appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair tied up Mrs Mop-style, packing-tape in hand, and clocked her dishevelled daughter. ‘Gawd. I’m only upstairs five minutes, Han, and you’re in the flipping wars again. Come and show me what you want to take on the plane.’ She held out a hand to the little girl.

  Reluctantly, I released Hannah, following her upstairs slowly. I was still tempted to believe Alex. But then, believing him had always been my downfall.

  I didn’t tell Bel everything about Seb. She was my oldest friend; we’d shared every secret since I was eight, and a new man was definitely a subject usually up for debate – but for some reason I kept silent now. Perhaps I was a little ashamed by my rash actions and the fact I hadn’t heard from Seb yet. Perhaps I knew I wasn’t ready: I wasn’t at all sure it was time to get involved with someone new; I didn’t want Bel to emphasise my doubts. Or perhaps we were simply distracted by Hannah’s whinging.

  ‘You’re not going halfway round the world dressed as Snow White, so don’t even bother, okay?’ Bel snapped when Hannah threw her tracksuit trousers down the stairs in a fit of pique. ‘Sorry, Mag. It’s so hard to concentrate right now.’

  ‘S’okay,’ I said, and topped up my wine. ‘I’m knackered anyway. I need to go home and look for the key to Pendarlin. I can’t find it anywhere.’ I peered out of the window, through the old magnolia tree in the front garden, looking for the cab I’d called. It was still pouring outside and the street was empty apart from a man unloading shopping from his car and making a dash for his front door. ‘I keep losing everything at the moment. My memory’s still terrible.’

  ‘You’re not being very forthcoming about this bloke, Mag,’ Bel chided me as I turned back into the room. ‘I want all the juicy details.’

  I pretended I hadn’t heard her, pulling the curtain back again. It was so dark and wet and the branches were flailing around so energetically in the wind that I couldn’t make out if my cab was there or not. I kept imaging Alex lying in Serena’s arms. I was suddenly exhausted, desperate to be home, alone.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ asked Bel. ‘Right, bed for you, young lady.’ She pushed Hannah gently towards the bedroom door.

  ‘My cab.’ I squinted down at the street. ‘I wish it’d hurry up.’

  ‘But Mum –’

  ‘But Mum nothing.’

  I spotted what must be the cab driving slowly down the road.

  ‘Johnno,’ Bel shouted downstairs, ‘go and tell Maggie’s car she’s coming, can you?’ She pushed a suitcase shut with her foot. ‘Go on, Hannah, before I get really annoyed.’

  Dropping the curtain, I went down the stairs. Johnno had left the door ajar and the wind rattled the safety-chain. Shivering, I shoved my feet into my sodden trainers again. ‘Yuk.’

  Bel carried a black bin-liner down and shoved it in the cupboard under the stairs. ‘God, it’s freezing. Why’s he left the bloody door open?’

  ‘Er – so he can get back in? It’s like something from Halloween out there.’

  Bel went to the door now. ‘Johnno?’ she called. ‘Hurry up.’

  But the pathway was empty, the gate banging in the wind.

  ‘God, where is he?’ she muttered, peering into the rain. I picked up my bag and stood behind her, waiting. A sense of unease pervaded me slowly. Something didn’t fit.

  A huge gust of wind savaged the old tree so it bent its branches to the ground in supplication, and Bel and I unconsciously huddled together in the doorway. A small hand suddenly snaked in between us and we both jumped.

  ‘Hannah,’ Bel snapped, ‘get up the stairs NOW.’

  And then Johnno burst through the door, soaking, his hair all stuck up in clumps.

  ‘God, it’s foul out there.’ Grabbing a fleece off the peg, he towelled his head. ‘I don’t know what that bloke was playing at but as soon as I came out, he screeched off. He’s gone, I’m afraid, Maggie.’

  When I rang the cab company they said there was still a thirty-minute wait because of the rain. They hadn’t sent anyone yet.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Wednesday it rained all day. I’d slept badly, hounded by nightmares involving rain and flowers as big as Triffids, and DI Fox telling me off. During the day my mood only got bleaker as I worked up the ridiculous You’re Dumped proposal. I stared out of my tiny office window at the sheets of rain, despising myself, longing for the sandy beaches of North Cornwall. For the umpteenth time this week, I considered hurtling into Charlie’s office and resigning, never mind the consequences – but he was in Paris for the day, so my plan was foiled.

  I went to get coffee around eleven, walking behind Joseph’s desk to the machine. He was swinging back and forth on his chair, talking loudly, oblivious to my presence. I heard him say, ‘Yes, seriously, I’m the director. We need a pair of Bose earphones, yeah, that’s right. Yeah – and the Sony. Fabulous. I can send a bike if it helps.’

  I put my hand on his shoulder and he nearly fell backwards off the chair in shock.

  ‘I’d like a word, Joseph, please.’

  He couldn’t have been more sulky if he’d tried as he stalked into my office. ‘What?’

  ‘What do you mean, what?’ I raised an eye
brow. ‘Who were you talking to?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just someone. About props.’

  ‘And what props are those then?’

  Joseph met my eye with watery grey ones.

  ‘You were on the blag, weren’t you?’

  He scuffed his foot on the nylon carpet.

  I sighed wearily. ‘Joseph, it’s the oldest trick in the book. Everyone does it, and it’s fine for a ticket to a concert or a club –but use your head. Don’t blag really expensive stuff – and don’t tell people you’re the director of a network show, for God’s sake. You’ll only get rumbled.’

  He glowered at me and I was aware of a new emotion beginning to emanate from him. Adulation was turning to serious dislike.

  At lunchtime I ate a cheese sandwich at my desk, and avoided Joseph’s daggers, reading an article from yesterday’s Guardian on child labour in India until I felt quite tearful. Guiltily I glanced down at my high-street top and pushed away the Dumped proposal in disgust, the limpid eyes of a little boy in the Calcutta sweatshop gazing blankly at me from my desk. I thought despairingly about booking a psychologist to make sure Darren from Wembley would survive once girlfriend Sandra had dumped him live before the nation because he wouldn’t ever clean the loo. Given that he’d also shagged Sandra’s sister three times behind her back, Darren was probably tough enough to survive the ordeal, but I found I’d lost my appetite anyway.

  I chucked my crusts in the bin and checked, for the first time in five whole minutes, that my phone was actually working, which of course it was. I was pretending really hard that I wasn’t waiting for Seb to ring, and that I didn’t mind that he absolutely indisputably hadn’t. Then, galvanised finally by my indecision over flying Charlie’s coop, I phoned Naz to ask about a Dispatches programme on childcare that I’d heard was crewing up. She promised to make enquiries.

  To compound my misery that afternoon, I was just going into a meeting with Renee and her stylist when Susan rang from Gar’s nursing-home.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘It’s fine, lovie. Your nan’s tickety-boo, honest. It’s just –’

  Renee tapped her Cartier watch officiously at me through the conference-room window.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Susan, but could we talk later?’ I interrupted apologetically. ‘I’ll call in after work. Will you still be there?’

  ‘Course, lovie. Mustn’t keep those celebs waiting, eh?’

  I tried to laugh in agreement, but my guilt at not visiting my grandmother again in the past week was already intense. Susan’s remark only made my crime seem worse.

  To me, Gar had signified a peace, a kind of sanctuary, since I’d lost my mother at the age of thirteen, and now I desperately missed the grandmother who’d half brought me up. Part of me feared the vacant look in her eye as she skimmed over me, the feeble smile she sometimes managed. I had to remind myself that she was still there somewhere deep down; that, like a shiny little onion under the browning outer layers of illness, she was the same Gar at heart. I could still just about find a vestige of that sanctuary as I sat in the quiet of her room, and it was vital for both of us that I kept that going.

  After work it was still raining. I dashed through the rush-hour to pick up my car, tensing in anticipation as I neared the flat. I hoped fervently the painter I’d called had made it while I was at work.

  Rounding the corner, I saw the foul graffiti had been covered. But, sliding the key into the lock, I was sure I could still see the shadow of those words through the fresh cream paint that smelled so strong, and I fled through the front door as quickly as I could.

  Grabbing the car-keys from the bowl, I tried not to mind about the distinct lack of flashing lights on my answer-phone. Despite Seb’s call to the police on my behalf, the fact I hadn’t heard from him since we’d parted yesterday was compounding the increasingly sick feeling I had with myself. I really wasn’t ready to start worrying about a new man ringing me; I wanted to be strong, free and single. I caught my eye in the mirror and nodded at myself coolly, like the strong, free, single woman I was. The phone rang. I leapt on it as if it were a live thing about to escape.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Goodness, Maggie, you sound a bit breathless.’

  Crashing disappointment, followed by a creeping sense of disquiet.

  ‘How did you get this number?’

  Fay laughed breathily. ‘You’re always so suspicious, Maggie. Honestly! You gave it to me when we met a while ago. Don’t you remember?’

  I wrinkled my forehead. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s only a quickie. I’m sorry about our little spat. I never saw you at Love All. Are you avoiding me?’

  ‘Oh.’ I thought about Seb’s lips on mine and I blushed. ‘I never made it inside actually. Something, er, something came up.’ I smiled to myself. Oh yes, it had most definitely come up.

  ‘It was very good, you know, the film. But look, never mind. I was just ringing to tell you I’ve forgiven you and we’re having our first meeting next Monday.’

  I felt a sudden pain.

  ‘Do you want to come? I wish you would.’

  I realised I was clutching the car-keys so hard they were digging into the soft flesh of my palm. ‘What meeting?’

  ‘You know, the trauma survivors’ meeting. I’d love it if you came.’

  ‘Fay, I don’t want to be rude again, but I thought I’d made it pretty clear I’m not interested.’

  ‘Oh, I know you said that, but a girl can change her mind, can’t she?’

  I glanced at the clock and pulled myself together. ‘I’ve got to go, Fay. My grandmother’s expecting me.’

  ‘Of course. But look, if you change your mind, yeah, you will come along? It’s at the Tabernacle in Notting Hill. There are quite a lot of us. It’ll be fun. I’ll be really, really cross if you don’t come.’

  Just get her off the phone now, Maggie.

  ‘Right. Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Maggie.’ She sounded like someone off Oprah. The girl was a natural, everything she said was imbued with all the sincerity of a psychopath. ‘Take care out there, won’t you.’

  ‘I will.’ I rang off. As I left the flat, I cast a look up and down the street first. Nothing but a group of twenty-something girls in their finest Burberry, splashing arm in arm through the puddles to the Oyster Bar opposite the flat. I had a nasty gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach as I got into the car. A feeling I was getting used to – but a whole new suspicion.

  Susan’s cold was still streaming when I arrived at Elmside House an hour later.

  ‘Ooh dear, sorry.’ She sneezed loudly. ‘I just can’t seem to shake this off.’ She blew her nose energetically and then tucked her hanky up her sleeve. ‘You go on to Vera while I get us a nice cuppa. She’ll be so pleased to see you.’

  She wouldn’t really, we both knew, it was unlikely she’d recognise me at all, in fact – but I acquiesced politely and started up the hall. On the way I passed Emmeline. She was at least ninety but insisted on wearing smocks in little-girl pink, velvet bows in her hair, and was always accompanied by her imaginary poodle Toy-toy on a lead.

  ‘Hi, Emmeline,’ I smiled at her.

  ‘Have we met? My dance-card is full, you know,’ she simpered back and wandered off to stretch Toy-toy’s legs.

  The apricot-coloured corridor didn’t smell quite the same as normal. There was the usual stench of disinfectant, but something else was fighting it hard; something sweet and rather sickly. As I rounded the corner my skin rose into goose-pimples. Through the partially open door I could see Gar slumped awkwardly in her chair, her radio tuned to something sombre, something that I knew and had reason to hate. It took me a moment to recognise it as Mozart’s Requiem. Gar’s hair had come loose from its usual bun, flopping across her veiled face, the strange light dappling her skin. My heart skipped a beat and I started to run.

  ‘Gar,’ I shouted, but she didn’t move and I
was beside her now, my hand on her shoulder, shaking her as vigorously as I dared. She was so thin she felt like a rag-doll, like I might snap her clean in two, and I realised the horrible smell was the smell of lilies. ‘Gar, wake up!’ I cried, and then she did, she started and looked up at me, bewildered and confused, blinking her faded rheumy eyes. ‘Lily?’

  I shocked myself by bursting into tears. ‘Oh, Gar.’ I hugged her frail form, pressing my face against her crumpled cheek, her skin as soft as ash. ‘It’s Maggie, not Lily. I thought – I thought you were dead.’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself, Maggie.’ Susan came in bearing a tea-tray. ‘She’s as right as rain, honestly. Aren’t you, Vera, love?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I was embarrassed by my loss of control. ‘She just gave me a bit of a fright, that’s all.’

  Gar patted my hand kindly as I wiped my eyes, although I knew she still had no idea who I was. ‘Pretty girl,’ she murmured. Her wedding ring was so big these days that it rattled round her bony finger, clicking on my skin as she patted me. Susan shook her head as she set the tray down on the table.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Susan offered me a tissue from the box by Gar’s bed. ‘I didn’t want to panic you on the phone, but I’ve been a bit worried by these calls she’s started getting.’

  ‘What calls?’

  Susan pulled Gar’s hair gently back into its bun, hairpin between her lips. ‘Someone keeps ringing and asking for Vera Knowles. They wouldn’t say who it was until this morning, when they finally announced they’re a friend of yours.’

  ‘A friend?’ I frowned. ‘Is it a man or a woman?’

  ‘A woman. She’s perfectly polite but – I don’t know. I don’t want to be rude, but she gives me the willies, you know.’ Susan patted Gar’s head fondly and stooped to pour the tea.

  ‘What does she sound like?’

  Susan pursed her lips, her big face ruddy with disapproval. ‘It’s hard to say really. Quite posh, I suppose. And she just won’t say what she wants. But she’s rung every day for the past three days now, the bugger, and this morning she rang four times before lunch. We’ve explained you don’t live here, and we’ve offered to take a message, but she just keeps ringing back. She’s becoming a bit of a pest, to be honest.’