My Best Friend's Murder

  I can’t help laughing. ‘She said some really nice things. I just have to write it now.’

  ‘You’ll nail it. I can’t wait to read it.’

  ‘Thanks, Rich.’

  ‘Any time.’ He turns back to the computers. When I get to the door I look back. He’s already clicking his mouse so frantically it’s like he’s trying to resuscitate it. My heart constricts with sympathy. Even a six-figure salary and a Clapham townhouse isn’t worth staying shackled to a job you hate.

  ‘Rich?’

  ‘Yup.’ He looks up from the screens.

  ‘Hang in there. Things can only get better.’

  1.30 p.m.

  The Flare office is in uproar when I get back. Every desk is filled, even though it’s lunchtime. Nobody’s looking at each other. There’s a knot of people examining proofs and talking in low voices by the production desk and Tina’s standing up in her office, bellowing down the phone.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I sidle over to Jules’s desk, trying to look as though I’ve been there the whole time.

  ‘Marina Terekovsky’s been arrested for doping. It’s all over the news.’ Jules shakes her head. ‘Which means our cover interview with her—’

  ‘Has gone down the drain. God. Tina must be—’

  ‘Absolutely losing it.’

  I sneak a glance into Tina’s office. Her face is puce and she’s shouting. This is bad news. Marina Terekovsky’s the best female tennis player in the world. She combines her career on court with her own fashion line and five-year-old twins. She’s the poster child for ‘having it all’. Fenella and Tina worked for six months to get her to be our cover star.

  ‘So we can’t use any of it?’

  ‘Not a word. BBC News is saying she might be banned from sport for life. We can’t touch her with a bargepole.’

  ‘We’ve already had the proofs back though. I thought the magazine was ready to go.’

  ‘Not without a cover.’

  I look at the production desk. The whole issue is laid out on a whiteboard over by the computer; a miniature copy of each page tacked up to the board. But the box where the front cover was pinned is empty.

  ‘And that’s where it gets interesting.’ Jules does a little shimmy at her desk. ‘Because she was looking for you earlier. Quite urgently.’

  ‘What’s interesting about that? She probably wanted to bollock me for coming back late.’

  ‘Doubtful. Think, Bec. Who have you just interviewed?’

  ‘Sydney Scott.’

  ‘And what did she say about the interview in that meeting?’

  It takes me a minute to make the connection. ‘She said it might be a cover story.’

  ‘Give the girl a prize. My bet is the second she gets off that phone, she’s going to come marching over here. She’s going to tell you she wants that interview written up now and that it’s going to be this month’s cover.’

  ‘No way. Do you really think we can turn it around that quickly?’

  ‘We don’t have much choice. Here she comes now.’

  We both watch as Tina slams the phone down and scrapes her hands through her cropped hair. She starts scanning the office with a frown on her face. When she sees me, she marches over to the door and yanks it open.

  ‘Give me your phone,’ Jules hisses. ‘I’ll get one of my work experience girls to transcribe the interview for you while you start going through your notes.’

  ‘You’re a star.’ I hand the phone over, watching Tina approach. Could this be my big chance? I try to read into her face but her mouth is a thin line. She’s giving nothing away.

  ‘Bec. At last. Can I have a word?’

  And it unfolds the way Jules said it would. Which is why I find myself ringing Ed to apologize profusely for skipping dinner and sitting at my computer finishing off the interview long after everyone else has gone home. Lucy, the picture editor, is still here, pulling up old photo shoots of Sydney Scott, and Tina’s pacing in her office. Other than the monitors on the production desk and the desk lamp in Tina’s office, my computer is the only light in the room.

  ‘Have you finished yet?’ Tina pokes her head out of her office. It’s the third time she’s asked.

  ‘Finishing up now.’ I’ve been typing so long, tuning and retuning the same words, that my hands feel like claws.

  ‘Send it over as soon as you’re done. We still need to run it past her people.’

  Pressing send feels like I’ve got my hands on the nuclear button. I remind myself I’m pleased with the piece. I might not have been able to linger over it as I’d planned, but Sydney said some nice things about ageing and sexism in Hollywood. I’ve even managed to include some opaque references to a new romance without giving anything away.

  I watch Tina through the glass window after I’ve sent it. She stoops over her computer, tapping her nails against her desk as she reads. She frowns, types something, smiles, types, frowns again. I watch her, reading her corrections, head moving from side to side as she follows the words down the page. After about five minutes, she picks up her phone. The receiver on my desk rings.

  ‘Bec, I’ve finished reviewing. Can you pop in?’

  I’m in her office before she has time to hang up the phone.

  ‘It reads well.’ Tina looks up from her screen. ‘Only needed a few changes. We don’t have time to do a shoot – all the other pages are gone. This has to go to the printers tonight or we’ll miss the deadline. But if we use stock images, we’ll be able to recoup some of the costs from the Marina debacle, which should get management off my back. I don’t mind telling you this has been a colossal cock up. Your interview might just have got us out of a hole.’

  She breaks off to check her emails. ‘I’m waiting for approval from her press team. Tasha, is it? Very friendly. Production are working on the layout as we speak. As soon as we hear back from her people, we’ll send it to print. You don’t have to stay. Go home. You’ve done the hard yards.’

  On my way out of the office, I can’t resist detouring via the production desk. Rob was a bit reluctant to be mentioned so I think it’s worth checking the text. Lucy, the production editor, looks up when she sees me coming.

  ‘I thought you might be hanging around like a bad smell. Do you want to have a squiz and see how it looks?’

  She tilts the screen so I can see it. I gasp when I see the first page. Sydney’s lying in the shallow end of a swimming pool, wearing an emerald green ball gown that floats ethereally around her in the water. On the opposite page, the words ‘Great Scott’ are scrawled. Lucy taps the keyboard to show me the rest of my interview laid out.

  ‘It looks amazing.’ I can’t take my eyes off Rebecca Maloney under the headline.

  ‘Headline’s provisional at this point. Would be nice to find something less generic but we’re pressed for time.’

  I skim the text on the screen. There’s nothing in there that Rob will find offensive. Tina’s only made two changes. Inwardly, I glow. I can’t believe how well this is going. I should buy Sydney flowers. Or maybe something for the baby. I definitely owe her.

  ‘She might not say it but Tina’s chuffed,’ Lucy continues. ‘This interview’s going to be amazing. Someone from the board’s even coming down. Apparently they are a big fan of the actress. I’d better get back to it.’

  ‘Which pictures are in contention for the cover?’ I don’t want to tear myself away.

  ‘There’s another ballgown one and a swimshoot one. That’s the one I prefer but Tina’s worried it’ll make us looks like Women’s Health. I’d show you but I don’t have time. She’s in there, deciding now.’ Lucy jerks her thumb at Tina’s office where Tina’s leaning over her drafter’s table with her reading glasses on. ‘She’s only got about five minutes, though. We’re way over deadline. I’d go home if I were you.’

  I linger by my desk, fiddling with something in my bag in case Tina decides to call me in. But she doesn’t even look up. My stomach’s rumbling. Jules thrust a Mars ba
r on my desk as she was leaving but other than that I haven’t had anything to eat all day. I check my watch. If I hurry, I could catch Ed and his mum for dessert. The restaurant he’s chosen isn’t far from here. Then again, Ed’s mum has the tendency to revolve her conversation around people I’ve never met and all I want is a hot bath and a takeaway. I decide to head straight home. After what’s happened today I think I’ve earned it. I sidle past Tina’s office at a snail’s pace, trying to see the images she’s examining. I’m so busy staring that I don’t realize I’ve walked into a wall of flesh until it’s too late. My bag drops to the floor and the contents fly out.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I stuff my keys, Oyster card, a leaking biro and a copy of last month’s magazine inside and stand up. I feel a familiar shoulder grip.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Bec.’ Tony Maxwell-Martin relinquishes his grip and makes a gesture like he’s tipping his hat. ‘Nothing at all. From what I hear, you’re the woman of the hour.’

  I watch him waddle in the direction of Tina’s office. In eight years working at the magazine, this is the first time I’ve ever exchanged more than two words with him that haven’t involved Izzy.

  Twenty-One

  Tuesday 5 February

  8.04 a.m.

  The Tuesday the magazine hits the shelves I’m up even earlier than Ed. It’s going to be a long day – Jules has offered to take me to some beauty reception tonight so we can have free drinks and celebrate the front cover, but I wanted to see the magazine as early as possible.

  ‘Don’t wait up,’ I shout as I leave the house. I hear him grunt in response. I think he’s still a bit miffed I missed the dinner with his mum. She was only here for the day and I haven’t seen her since before Christmas. But I’ll worry about that later. Today is a day for celebrating. As I walk to the station, I can smell spring blossom in the air. It’s one of those perfect days that trick you into thinking summer’s already en-route. I’m practically skipping by the time I get to the newsstand outside the underground. I’m too early. It’s not open. I try to peer through the heavy plastic covering the rack but I can’t see Flare. I decide to get off the tube a stop early to pick up a copy but it’s sold out at the newsstand by Bond Street station. I feel a fizz of excitement, even though I’ll have to wait until I get into the office to see it. It being sold out has to be a good sign. This could be my first front cover of many. That will show Izzy.

  8.59 a.m.

  At first I think I’m the only one in. Then I notice the lights on in Tina’s office. The velvet chaise longue in there must double up as a bed; she never seems to go home. There’s no sign of her now though. There’s a stack of issues against the wall, bound in brown paper from the printers. I ditch my bag on my desk and approach the stack cautiously. Tina normally distributes them and I don’t want it to look obvious I’ve taken a copy without waiting. I peel back a corner of the paper and ease out the top copy.

  ‘Bec? Can I have a quick word?’

  Tina is standing behind me holding a mug of coffee and a plate of brown toast.

  ‘Of course.’ I drop my hands to my side guiltily. ‘Let me just—’ I mime taking my coat off and trot over to my desk. I wonder what she wants. To tell me I’ve done a good job and she’s happy to send more interviews my way? Perhaps she’ll even promote me. I put my bag on my desk, telling myself to stay realistic. She’s probably got admin to go through. I’m looping my coat over my chair when my phone starts ringing. I fish it out of the pocket and look at caller ID. Rob. It’s not like him to call this early. And I’ve missed two other calls from him. I look up. Tina’s sitting at the drafter’s table next to her desk, looking at me expectantly. He’s probably bored between clients or ringing to thank me for the flowers I sent Sydney. I press reject. I’ll call him back later.

  ‘You don’t have to look so anxious,’ Tina says when I rap on her door. ‘Come and take a seat. I wanted to go through the piece with you.’

  I take the seat opposite. She’s got the magazine open on the interview. I scrutinize it from this angle. She went with the ball-gown shot. The colour of the swimming pool really pops against Sydney’s long limbs. ‘Great Scott,’ I read the strapline upside down. ‘Sydney Scott talks life, love and those…’ But Tina moves her hand so I can’t see the rest.

  ‘As I was saying, I thought it made sense to go through the piece with you,’ she says. ‘We’ve had some great feedback from our subscribers, dozens of emails already. I’m convinced and management seems to agree –’ she allows herself a triumphant smile ‘– that this might be our fastest-selling magazine of the year. I’d like to see a lot more writing from you going forward.’

  ‘That sounds great.’ I try to act as though I get feedback like this all the time but I can’t contain the grin spreading across my face.

  ‘There is, however, a small problem. It’s really nothing to worry about…’ My smile falters. When people say there’s nothing to worry about, it usually means the absolute opposite.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘As I said, we’ve had some very positive comments from our subscribers and I’ve no doubt it’ll be flying off the shelves. And Scott’s press team are happy too.’

  ‘That’s great. So—’

  Tina closes the magazine and looks up at me. ‘The issue is the actress herself is not particularly happy with us.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I shake my head. I must have misheard. Sydney loved the interview. She said she wanted to do it again sometime. In fact I owe her a call. My eyes drop down to the magazine. That’s when I see the headline on the cover. Set against the azure of the pool in orange letters so bright they’re almost glowing scream the words, ‘Maybe Baby?’

  My stomach drops like a stone. The words are a play on a popular film Sydney did a couple of years ago but the meaning is clear. I reach for the magazine, clawing at the paper as I turn to the interview. ‘Great Scott,’ the strapline reads. ‘Sydney Scott talks life, love and those pregnancy rumours.’ In the corner of the page, right at the bottom, is a grainy picture of Sydney walking with someone who may or may not be Rob. The back of my throat fills with bile. I put my hand to my mouth. How did this happen? An alarm rings at the back of my brain.

  ‘It’s really nothing to worry about.’ Tina’s watching me closely. ‘Her team approved this before it went to press. I wanted to let you know because you mentioned you had a personal connection to her.’

  ‘Where did this stuff come from?’ I trace the pages with my fingers. Rob is going to kill me. I think back to the missed calls from him and feel even sicker. They’re going to think I betrayed their confidence. ‘She didn’t say any of this on the recording.’

  ‘That’s why there’s a question mark.’ Tina doesn’t look at all worried. ‘But her press team confirmed it.’

  ‘Why would they do that if she’s not happy?’

  ‘Come now, don’t be naïve. You know what the publicity machine is like. They need to keep her in the news now she’s dropped out of her latest film. And they need public opinion on their side before it comes out she’s abandoned filming. The studio will be out to smear her.’

  ‘But she’s not happy?’ I bite my lip, telling myself maybe Tina’s exaggerating. After all, if Sydney’s press team approved it, she can’t be that annoyed. But even as I’m thinking it, I know I’m kidding myself. I remember the protective look on Rob’s face when he swore me to secrecy. There’s no way they wanted this news out so early. They haven’t even had their twelve-week scan yet.

  ‘It’s really nothing to worry about.’ Tina pulls her lips together in what I think is meant to be a sympathetic smile. ‘It will blow over in no time. These things always do. And legally, Scott hasn’t got a leg to stand on.’

  What about morally, though? ‘Thanks for letting me know, Tina.’ I force a wobbly smile. ‘Did you need anything else?’

  ‘That was it.’ Tina holds my gaze. ‘You did a good job on this. It’s been noted at all levels.’

/>   The way she looks when she says it makes everything click into place. I can’t believe I didn’t see it straightaway.

  ‘Tina?’

  ‘Hmm…’ She’s already flicking through the issue again, folding back corners and making pencil marks at the edge of the pages.

  ‘Where did news about the pregnancy come from in the first place?’

  She gives me a half-smile. ‘You of all people should know a good journalist never reveals their sources. Let’s say it came from a “friend” to the magazine.’

  I picture Tony Maxwell-Martin’s corpulent form bustling towards Tina’s office. I know exactly who the source was. Izzy. The only question is whether she did it to punish me for what happened with Rich or whether she did it simply because she could.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me.’ I fumble for the door-handle. ‘I need the bathroom.’

  I barely make it into the cubicle before I’m violently sick.

  10.04 a.m.

  I stay in the bathroom longer than I need to, dabbing at my mouth and rinsing my hands repeatedly. As long as I’m in here, I don’t have to deal with the real world. My phone is on my desk. I’m uncontactable, like I’m marooned on a desert island. Albeit one that smells of overly floral air freshener with a back-note of stale vomit. I splash cold water on my cheeks. It doesn’t help. My eyes are puffy and my skin looks like day-old porridge. But I can’t stay in here forever.

  Back in the office, Jules is waiting by my cubicle. There’s a shiny new copy of Flare on the desk beside her. She’s wringing her hands together.

  ‘You saw it then,’ she says.

  ‘I am in such deep shit.’ I sit down and put my face in my hands. ‘Deep, deep shit. This might be the last day you get to see me happy.’ I think of the implications of Izzy spilling the beans as an act of revenge. ‘Or alive.’

  ‘Surely it won’t be that bad?’

  ‘No. It’ll be worse.’

  ‘We don’t technically say she’s pregnant—’

  ‘We may as well have.’ I notice someone’s put a Post-it note on the copy on my desk with ‘Nice job’ scrawled on it. The sight of the yellow square reminds me of that night at Izzy’s. I can’t believe she’s done this.