Bad Friends

by Seeber, Claire

  ‘Lunchtime, eh, Dig?’ I whistled to the dog. Turning back, I could see a figure in a blue anorak heading our way, distant, on the other side of the cliff. Otherwise it was deserted, Digby barking occasionally as the birds swooped and veered above us before sweeping off. The silence was immense, and for the first time in days I felt at peace.

  The figure in the blue anorak had disappeared. Digby and I were alone in the world apart from minuscule brown cows clinging to the chequered hillside in the distance. I reached the point where the track narrowed, fringed by a vertiginous drop to the frothing sea – and suddenly the man was there, on the narrow path in front of me, and I nearly screamed in shock because he’d come from nowhere.

  ‘God, sorry,’ I said, laughing shakily, my hand on my beating heart. ‘That was a bit overdramatic. I just didn’t realise you were so close.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ His blue hood was tightly drawn around his grey curls like an old pixie. He looked down at Digby darting between our feet. ‘Nice dog. Pedigree, is he? A terrier?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a Border,’ I said, moving round the man on the path, my tummy a bit squiffy as I tried not to look down at the fierce sea lashing the rocks that were like giant’s stairs below.

  His arm shot out and grabbed mine, his anorak crackling with the sudden movement.

  ‘Saved your life,’ he joked.

  I looked at him uncertainly and fear gripped my stomach as I shook him off before heading away, a little quicker than before; my heart pounding a little faster. I realised how deserted it was up here, how stupid I had been. I should have stayed on the beaches. I should have stayed in sight of people.

  ‘Dig,’ I commanded over one shoulder, ‘come on. Now, Digby.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the man was calling forlornly as I slid through the sludge. ‘I was only messing around.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ I muttered, and tried not to actually run.

  By the time I got to the car I was sweating despite the chill. I locked all the doors and then laughed tremulously to myself again as Digby gazed at me curiously from the passenger seat. Perhaps I was going insane. Some poor hill-walker trying to be friendly and I think he’s a stalker. I started the engine before scrabbling through the glove compartment in hope of a cigarette, but I remembered I’d binned them all last night.

  And then I looked up and the man was at the farm gate. He must have practically run to catch up with me and he was shouting something and he was climbing over the gate towards me and that was it – I pulled off, except I revved the engine too much, so much that my tyres stuck in the mud for a second and I wasn’t moving, I was just spinning up dirt, and the white-eyed farm dog was barking frantically and the man was getting nearer, he was waving something at me, something shiny, oh my God was it a knife: and then eventually we shot off. I kept my foot pressed to the floor until I reached Polzeath, where I sat for a minute until my heart stopped racing, and I saw how normal everything around me was: the winter surfers lolloping up the beach, boards under their arms, wetsuited like sleek black seals, laughing, flicking tangled curls from their squinting eyes, and for a minute I thought of Sam.

  Then I took a deep breath and started the car again, heading home to safety. Only when I reached Pendarlin and went to unlock the front door, shopping bag in hand, that cold fear gripped me again, irrevocably this time. Someone was inside, inside my house. The front door was unlocked, and someone was inside. Someone who was playing my piano.

  Chapter Forty

  No one had a key to Pendarlin except Val in St Kew, and my father up in London. Frantically I searched for my phone, but my phone wasn’t in any of my pockets, or my bag. My phone wasn’t here at all, I realised with a sinking heart. The man running down the farm path with the shiny thing in his hand. Not a knife at all. My bloody phone.

  The pub would be open now – there were vehicles in the car park, I could see them through the trees, but I knew I wasn’t in shouting distance. Should I go into the cottage, or should I jump in the car and find help?

  I pushed the door tentatively; it was ajar. ‘Hello?’ I called gingerly. ‘Who’s here?’

  I recognised the melody. The allegretto of the Rondo was perfectly judged, the movement flowing seamlessly. But who the bloody hell played that well?

  ‘Hello?’ I called again, more vehemently this time. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  Of course he wasn’t actually playing it. The piano stood untouched in the corner of the room, the muslin I’d draped over it last year still unruffled. He’d just helped himself to the stereo in his usual arrogance, choosing a CD of Beethoven’s piano sonatas as he lounged on the sofa waiting for me.

  As I crossed the room, heart still thumping painfully, I was gratified to hear Digby actually manage a growl for once. ‘Good boy,’ I murmured to the dog, who was stuck steadfast at my heels. ‘How the hell did you get in?’ I asked, reaching the stereo and snapping it off.

  He smiled his oily smile, his deep-set eyes inscrutable. ‘You left the door unlocked, my dear Maggie.’

  ‘I’m sure I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, someone did, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I didn’t see your car. How did you get here?’

  ‘It’s over at the pub. I walked the last fifty metres. I’m exhausted, darling.’

  I sat on the arm of the old squashy chair that had been my mother’s favourite. ‘Why are you here, Charlie? I’ve said my goodbyes.’

  ‘I missed you, darling. And I fancied a little spin in the country.’

  I sniffed. ‘I thought Dubai was more your thing?’

  ‘It is, darling, to be honest. So bloody parochial around here. All the cottagers’ curtains twitching the minute I pulled up at the pub, and everyone knowing exactly who you were when I asked for directions. Talking of which –’ he stood up and stretched, ‘let me buy you a drink. I may loathe the West Country, but they had a damn fine-looking steak and Guinness pie on the menu over there and I’m bloody starving. Thrashing the Alfa down the motorway has given me an appetite.’

  For a moment I just glared at him. ‘So you haven’t come to kill me?’

  ‘No, darling.’ Fraid not.’ He studied his perfectly shaped nails. ‘If anything, actually,’ he didn’t look up, ‘I’ve come to apologise.’

  ‘Blimey,’ I said, whistling for Digby. ‘Wonders will never cease.’

  The fire danced in the old metal grate as an overly jovial Charlie ordered at the bar, debating the best pub red with the melancholy landlord as if he drank here every day. Longing for a cigarette, I tapped my foot impatiently against the antique settle, waiting for an explanation.

  It took Charlie a good half an hour of blowing his own trumpet and talking about new ideas and an LA office that he thought I might just be interested in running, while I said nothing much and ate my chicken pie, every morsel, because I was so hungry. And then he said it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maggie. I dealt with the whole affair very badly.’

  The final pea eluded me, rolling round the plate. ‘What affair?’ I murmured, concentrating on its capture. ‘The awards ceremony, you mean?’

  ‘The whole thing really.’ Charlie folded his napkin and placed it on the table.

  I waited.

  ‘Sam, your accident, your – your breakdown. I should have realised you needed help,’ he said eventually, and topped up his glass. ‘That it wasn’t really you.’

  ‘What wasn’t?’

  ‘All that business with Alex and Sam. The drugs and the drinking. Your fall from grace. I should have been more –’

  ‘Understanding?’ I suggested.

  He laughed. ‘Darling, I don’t do understanding. No, tolerant was the word I was looking for. Sometimes, you know, I get caught up in –’ He paused again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My own ambition. And frustration. I couldn’t believe it of you, Maggie. I was shocked you fell so far.’ He regarded me for a moment; I thought I read regret in his look. ‘I’d expected su
ch great things of you. I just needed you back on your feet.’

  ‘I thought it was more my knees you wanted me on.’

  ‘Well, that too, darling.’ He grinned, and with a shudder I remembered that night in his flat. ‘That would have been nice. You’re an extremely attractive girl –’

  ‘Fuck off, Charlie.’ I choked on my cider. ‘Quit while you’re ahead, why don’t you?’

  ‘Look,’ he poured himself more claret, ‘suffice to say, contrition is not my thing, Maggie. But,’ he concentrated on the dark liquid in his glass, ‘I do regret the way I dealt with the whole affair. I had Lyons breathing down my neck; I was terrified Crosswell was going to the press. I was trying to redeem myself.’ Finally he looked me in the eye. ‘I should have realised the whole trauma show was one step too far. And I should have warned you about inviting Fay on first.’

  ‘Yes, you should.’

  He shrugged elegantly, the firelight flickering in the gold of his signet ring. ‘I’ll try better next time, Miss Warren. I promise.’

  I gazed into the flames. ‘There won’t be a next time for me, Charlie. I’m all done.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Maggie,’ he snapped as I stood up. ‘Sit down.’

  I called Digby to heel. ‘I’m not stupid, actually, Charlie,’ I said pleasantly. ‘Thanks for lunch anyway. I guess you can claim it on expenses, so I’ll let you get it. For old time’s sake, shall we say?’

  ‘Maggie, you –’

  ‘I what?’ I stood over him and last night’s fury welled up again. ‘You expect me to forgive you for the way you blackmailed me? I was at my weakest, most vulnerable ever, and you used that absolutely to your advantage.’

  With a huge shudder, I remembered his visits to my father’s house, my dad grateful for Charlie’s apparent concern while he’d actually muttered in my ear about drugs and prostitutes and millionaires’ sons – but mostly about how I’d let him down.

  ‘You knew I was delirious from shock and painkillers, and you made me feel so cheap, so worthless I wanted to practically kill myself.’ I winced as I saw myself in that hospital bed; in my old bedroom at my father’s when I would wake sweating, convinced I was trapped in that coach again. Winced as I remembered praying Alex would come and make it all all right again, only he never did.

  ‘You twisted things so I was terrified my dad would find out – and that’s the only reason I agreed to your stupid deal. I hadn’t really done anything wrong. I was just in a mess.’ I slammed the chair under the table angrily. ‘So I lost myself for a bit, so what? I’m better now.’ I stared down at him. ‘And d’you know what else?’ The pub held its collective breath. Charlie smoothed his bouffant hair back nervously.

  ‘You can take your stupid show and stick it up Renee’s arse, that’s what.’ The barmaid’s eyes were round with astonishment. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you back for coffee.’

  Peter Trevenna from the farm across the lane nearly fell off his stool with excitement as I crossed the snug, Digby skittering on the flagstones behind me. Slamming out into the crisp December air, I muttered all the way home, crunching up the drive to Pendarlin, and when I was inside I locked all the doors behind me.

  ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ I said, shooting the final bolt home. ‘Hey, Dig?’ For once I knew I’d done the right thing.

  Chapter Forty-One

  But, right or wrong, I hardly slept that night. For the first time since I’d been coming to Pendarlin alone, I felt nervous in the cottage. I could hardly bear to admit this new fear to myself, so I didn’t. After my showdown with Charlie I rattled round the kitchen noisily, baking a cake. I didn’t need to weigh the flour or sugar because I knew it all instinctively – only this time something went wrong and I burnt the top. Sadly I chucked the charred sponge away and went to bed with a cup of camomile tea, leaving the radio on quietly beside me, flicking through Nigel Slater’s new book until eventually I drifted off with the light on. But I never fell into that sleep so deep you wake refreshed. Instead I skated on the surface of a host of nightmares that kept me waking in the shadows, wishing fervently it was dawn.

  The phone rang in the kitchen as I was boiling the kettle the next morning, and I failed to stifle my yawn as I answered.

  ‘Malvolio’s broken his bloody leg. He got a bit carried away in the yellow stocking scene and forgot the stage is only about six-foot bloody long. I think he thought it was the National, not a two-bit pub platform.’

  I couldn’t help laughing at the image.

  ‘It’s not funny, babe.’ Seb’s tone was plaintive. ‘He hasn’t walked since, and we’ve got to cancel the first night. We’re going to have to cancel the whole bloody run if Jonah can’t learn his lines over the weekend. The good news is, I can come down and look after you.’

  Was it good news? Pouring the steaming water onto the teabag, I watched it turn a murky brown. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see.’ The teabag sank.

  ‘I’ll get the train, I think. It’ll be quicker. Can you collect me from –’

  ‘Seb,’ I interrupted softly, ‘I don’t want to be rude. I’d love to see you, I really would. It’s just –’ I watched a spider outside the window wrapping a ladybird in a silken shroud.

  ‘What?’

  I said it very fast before I changed my mind. ‘I think I need to be on my own this weekend.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Seb?’ I said eventually, and I was on the verge of pretending I had been joking.

  ‘Yeah, sorry, Maggie. I’m still here.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to see you,’ I said quickly, and that was true, it was very tempting, especially after my haunted sleep. But I was running away from the truth, I knew that now. Running from the terrible void that splitting with Alex had caused in me; the emptiness I hadn’t really dealt with yet.

  ‘I’d love to. It’s just – I’ve been in a really bad place, and I need to sort it out before I rush into anything. Do you understand?’ I asked hopefully. Why should he, after all.

  ‘Yes, Maggie, I do actually. I do understand. You’ve been so on edge, I’m not surprised.’

  I felt a rush of relief. ‘Oh God, Seb, I’m so glad. It’s just – it wouldn’t be fair to get you all the way down here when I feel like this. I need to clear my head first.’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Listen, babe, relax. I’ll still be here when you get back.’

  He was such a nice man. I needed a nice man, but I needed him in about a year’s time. I sat heavily on a kitchen chair. ‘Thank you, Seb. You’re lovely, really. I’m just a bit of a headcase right now. I’ll cook you dinner when I’m back in London, next week. Is that okay?’

  ‘Course it is,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ll look forward to it. And Maggie –’ He paused.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

  There was one thing left to do before I could lay all the spectres to rest, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. I cleaned the cottage windows vigorously with vinegar and newspaper like Gar used to, prevaricating until eventually I summoned the courage to ring DI Fox. His colleague at the station told me Fox was out of town on ‘business’, and that Alex had been cautioned but was no longer in custody. I took a deep breath and rang Alex: he didn’t answer. I left him a short message saying I’d like to speak to him and then I bundled Digby into the back of the car and drove to Port Isaac to buy some fish for supper.

  It was a glorious winter’s day, the kind that makes your cheeks go cold but your heart feel glad, and Digby and I tramped round the headland to Port Gaverne, over the green-black rocks that looked deceptively soft, like fuzzy-felt. In the pub by the tiny beach I had a crab sandwich and half a cider, sitting in the window in the showy December sun that gave out no heat. The sea was so still and blue I might have draped it round me like a length of silk.

  Feeling almost revived, we tramped back again to pick up my turbot from Dennis Kn
ight’s fish shop on the quay, and Digby got very excited at the lobsters waving their mournful tentacles at him through the glass and barked until I grabbed him by the collar and drove us home.

  I was startled to see a patrol car outside Pendarlin. A smiling policewoman got out of the driver’s side and said she’d just left me a note to call her: was this the phone I’d reported lost? And she had my mobile phone in her hand, a little muddy but none the worse for wear. She popped it into my hand and I thanked her very much. And then she got back in her car and slid her window down as I was retrieving the fish from the back seat.

  ‘Take care, my love, won’t you?’ She started the ignition. ‘Nice flowers, by the way,’ she said, pulling off.

  And I looked at the front of the house where she’d jerked her thumb, and there, on the doorstep, was a bunch of flowers. A bunch of my worst nightmare: lilies.

  As I staggered through into the kitchen with my bags of shopping the phone rang again.

  ‘You wanted to talk?’ His voice was so quiet I could hardly hear him.

  ‘Alex.’ My mind went blank. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In Bristol. Looking at the old theatre. They want a refurb and –’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ I gathered my thoughts. ‘You swore it wasn’t –’

  ‘It wasn’t me, Maggie,’ Alex said vehemently. ‘I don’t care what you say, or what that Fox bloke says, I haven’t been stalking you, I swear.’

  ‘Did you just send me more flowers?’ I demanded. ‘Down here, today? Horrible lilies that you know I hate.’

  ‘Never, Maggie. I’ve never sent you lilies. I did –’ He cleared his throat. ‘I did send you some flowers at your dad’s the other day.’