My Best Friend's Murder

by Polly Phillips

  I flinch and for a moment I’m right back there. She was wearing Issey Miyake that night too. The night Rich and I were supposed to get together. He and I had been circling each other all night, finding excuses in shots and song choices all designed to bring us together. We were in Izzy’s parents’ back garden, next to the rose bushes, standing so close together, the front of our shoes were touching. His lips had just met mine when Izzy appeared, handed me a phone and told me to order a pizza. By the time I’d finished the order, she had her tongue so far down his throat she could probably taste what he’d had for breakfast. They were a couple from that point on. None of us has ever discussed what happened since. And while I know it didn’t happen the way Izzy said it did, her confidence has cast a shadow across my memory. She’s taken my most precious thing and smashed it.

  ‘It’s pathetic,’ she jeers. ‘You’ve spent your whole life lusting after a man who doesn’t even know you exist.’

  So she doesn’t know. Which means this whole thing hasn’t even been about revenge; it’s simply been another power trip. I don’t know whether that makes it better or worse. I take a breath. I’m going to savour the next words that come out of my mouth. ‘If Rich doesn’t know I exist, why did he kiss me the other night?’

  ‘You’re deluded.’ Izzy doesn’t even blink.

  ‘I’m not. He kissed me the other night when I was babysitting Tilly. And I’m willing to bet it would have gone a lot further if I hadn’t pulled away.’

  ‘You’re a fantasist.’

  I look at her standing there, perfect white teeth shining like tiny pearls, and I wonder what she finds more difficult to believe: that Rich cheated. Or that he cheated with me?

  ‘I don’t need to fantasise. It was right after he’d ripped down all your Post-it notes. See. This one left a mark.’ I point to a speck of white in the grey paint on the wall next to my head.

  ‘We had a lovely time actually. Told me all about his book. You might want to have a flick, I think you’d find it illuminating.’

  ‘You haven’t read it.’ At last a note of doubt is creeping into her voice.

  ‘No, but he asked me to. He wanted to know what I thought. Right before he kissed me. I’d forgotten how soft his lips were. Oh, and Tilly and I had pizza. With pepperoni. She was practically crying with happiness. At least I’m not stupid enough to try to feed mung beans to a four-year-old.’

  Izzy slaps me so hard my ears ring.

  ‘You leave Tilly out of it. I made you. I. Made. You. You were nothing before me; a quiet little mouse with frizzy hair and a monobrow. I found you your job, your fiancé, everything. And this is how you repay me.’

  I put my hand to my cheek. It’s stinging and something feels wet against my palm. Izzy must have caught me with her nail. She’s not finished yet.

  ‘I hope she loses that baby,’ she snarls. ‘And the whole thing ruins your career. And your relationship with your pathetic brother. By the way, you can tell him if he’s so happy with his Hollywood floozy, he should stop stalking me on Facebook.’ She gives a hysterical high-pitched laugh that makes her sound unhinged. ‘And if it doesn’t, I’m going to ring the Daily Mail and tell the world. Then I’m going to call my dad and tell him what you’ve done. Don’t bother going into the office on Monday. Or trying to find another job in journalism. You’re finished.’

  She’s so angry she’s panting. ‘And if you see your precious Rich, tell him not to bother coming home. I’m changing the locks. If he wants his clothes, he’d better scour the charity shops. And he can whistle if he thinks he’s going to see his daughter again.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ I start to falter. I wanted her perfect world to come crashing down but I didn’t stop to think what would happen when it did.

  ‘Watch me. By the time I’m done, he’s going to wish he’d never been born. He’s not such a prize, you know. Not that you’ll ever get to find out – he’s only ever gone near you to make me jealous. I bet he’s been gagging for you to tell me. Oh, and on that note, Ed’s been trying to shag everything that moves and whining about it to me since Norwich. I almost fucked him myself just to put him out of his misery, but sloppy seconds aren’t my style, they’re yours. Now get out of my house.’

  She spins around so quickly I get a mouthful of her hair. I reach out to pull her back but she marches towards the stairs, her back so straight she could be balancing books on her head. It’s a performance. She knows I’m watching but she keeps going towards the stairs. She’s so secure she’s never felt the need to watch her back. She’s always assumed somebody else – her parents, me or Rich – would do it for her. She should be more careful. I take a step forwards. All I can hear is my own ragged breathing cutting through the air.

  ‘That’s not true, Izzy,’ I rasp. ‘None of it’s true.’

  I’m so full of rage I can barely see straight. In one conversation, she’s laid waste to my entire life. I take a step forward. She doesn’t turn. But I’m not finished with her yet.

  ‘Izzy.’ I say it more forcefully. This time her head whips around and she stops midway up the stairs.

  ‘Get out of my house, you fucking loser,’ she spits. ‘If you come near me and my family again, I’ll kill you.’

  Without waiting for a response, she turns back and resumes her pace up the stairs, leaving me at the bottom, itching to follow.

  Twenty-Four

  8.14 p.m.

  I’m shaking when I get back to my house. I don’t remember the bus journey home. When I open the front door, there’s music playing. That should be my first clue that something’s wrong. But my head’s so busy turning what just happened over I barely hear it. I go into the kitchen to put on the kettle and clear my head. Missy’s shut in there, whining. I feel a creep of doubt. Ed and I give her the run of the house. I pat her absently on the head and she quietens down. That’s when I hear the sound of giggling.

  I put down my bag and head towards the stairs, already knowing what I’m going to find at the top. He hasn’t even bothered to close the bedroom door properly. I can see his shoulders thrusting and the fingernails gripping his back from the top of the stairs. They don’t hear me coming. It’s not until I yank the door open, pulling down the jumble of towels that hang on the back, that they see me. Ed jumps out of bed. He scrambles into his clothes, while a girl with a sweep of black hair covers herself up with the duvet.

  ‘I can explain.’ Ed pulls on his trousers so quickly I’m surprised he doesn’t chafe. He reaches for his glasses and stabs himself in the cheek with the frame. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic. ‘This isn’t what it looks like.’

  ‘Spare me the clichés. Emma, isn’t it? Fancy meeting you here. I haven’t seen you since my engagement party.’

  Emma blushes crimson and stares at the ceiling.

  ‘Bec, I—’ Ed finishes buttoning up his trousers and comes towards me with his hands outstretched. I jerk away.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ I can see Emma wriggling into her clothes under the duvet. Her hair’s got longer. In spite of itself, my brain registers that the length suits her.

  I march into the corridor. Ed’s feet shuffle against the carpet as he follows. I look at him, shirtless and bare-footed. The parody of a man caught out. I think back to when I first met him. He seemed so stable. Reliable. What a joke. And the laugh’s on me. All the energy I’ve wasted feeling guilty about a five-second kiss with Rich. For what? I should throw it in Ed’s face, but what’s the point? He doesn’t deserve to know.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He bows his head like he’s following a script. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

  ‘What was this supposed to be then? An ego boost?’ But I don’t have the energy for another fight. I feel numb. The fact that this pales into insignificance compared to what just happened with Izzy tells me everything I need to know.

  Inside the bedroom, there’s the sound of a zip being fastened. The door inches open and Emma creeps out, clutching shoes and a Coach handbag to her
chest. Ed stares at the floor until the front door closes behind her. I don’t know if his failure to acknowledge her makes me hate him more or less.

  ‘How long has this been going on?’ I stare at him.

  ‘It only happened once.’ He shifts on his feet like a guilty schoolboy. ‘I didn’t think you were coming back.’

  ‘Sorry to inconvenience you. Next time I’ll call ahead.’ I can tell from the fact that he can’t stand still that he’s lying. A new thought occurs. ‘Were you shagging her when you proposed?’

  ‘No.’ He sounds aghast. ‘I would never do that to you. Bec, I’m so sorry—’

  ‘Oh but this – this is okay.’ I rap out the words. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just ever since we got engaged—’

  ‘You’re the one who asked me to marry you.’

  ‘Because I knew it was what you wanted.’ He sounds plaintive. ‘I thought I did, too. But then it just took over everything. All you wanted to do was look at venues and talk about dates. I got freaked out.’

  ‘You could have talked to me about how you were feeling.’

  ‘I should have done.’ He nods furiously like agreeing with me is going to make things better. ‘But Izzy said I shouldn’t—’

  ‘You went to Izzy? You told her you were having doubts about our wedding instead of talking to me?’ As if the betrayal couldn’t get any bigger. Suddenly I don’t feel numb anymore. I’m fuming.

  ‘It wasn’t like that, I promise,’ Ed rushes on. ‘I just had too much to drink at that client dinner over Christmas, remember? The one she came on. And she’s so easy to talk to. She seemed to really care about how I was feeling. I only mentioned I was worried that it was all moving a bit quickly and that I was going to talk to you and she said… anyway that doesn’t matter.’ He gulps. ‘What matters is we’re going to fix this.’

  ‘What did she say?’ I carve the words up with my tongue.

  Ed pauses before he answers. ‘She said I shouldn’t bother you.’ He looks at me earnestly, like he’s actually expecting me to understand. ‘She said everybody gets pre-wedding jitters and they’d go away if I stopped thinking about them. She said I could call her anytime I felt them.’

  ‘That was good of her.’ Ed doesn’t even seem to notice the sarcasm. He’s too busy trying to unburden himself.

  ‘I tried, I really did. But you wanted to talk about venues and dates and I felt more and more suffocated. Then she said—’

  He breaks off as though he’s just remembered I’m his fiancée not his therapist.

  ‘Don’t stop now. Tell me what the great Izzy Waverly said to solve your next problem.’

  He looks stricken. I know I’m not going to like what he says next.

  ‘Well?’ I demand.

  ‘She said maybe I needed to get it out of my system. It was in Norwich. We’d all had a lot to drink. I think she was joking but Emma arrived and, er—’

  ‘Let me get this straight. You decided to go out and shag someone else because Izzy told you to?’ I’m disgusted. I can’t believe he’d be so weak.

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He’s starting to sound whiny, as if he’s the victim in all this. I notice the slope of his shoulders, how pigeon-toed he is. Everything about him seems diminished.

  ‘So what was it like then? For you and your pimp,’ I shout so loudly I surprise us both. I bet he didn’t think I had it in me.

  ‘You’ve been so happy over the past few months,’ he pleads. ‘I didn’t want to ruin it.’

  I stare at him like he’s grown an extra head. Happy? Where has he been?

  ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I’ve done this. To you. To us.’ Ed’s voice thickens and I think he’s going to cry.

  ‘Don’t.’ I hold my hands up. ‘You need to go.’

  ‘But I love you.’

  ‘People who love each other don’t cheat on each other.’ I yank the ring off my finger and hold it out. Rich’s face pops into my head and for a moment I feel like a hypocrite. Then I think of Emma’s nails on his back and Ed, with his head close to Izzy, confiding in her instead of me, and my feelings harden.

  ‘Keep it.’

  ‘If you don’t take it, I’m going to throw it in the bin.’

  His hands fold around the ring. I look at him standing there, his glasses askew, a hangdog expression on his face. I should feel worse than I do.

  ‘Bec.’ There’s a wheedling tone in Ed’s voice. I wonder if he’s going to make another bid for forgiveness.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Please don’t be too hard on Izzy. She was trying to help.’

  For a second I think I’ve misheard him. The look on his face leaves no room for doubt.

  ‘Do you know where I’ve just come from? I’ve come from seeing Izzy. She told me you’d been banging everything that moved since that conference.’

  ‘What?’ Ed jerks his head like I’ve hit him. ‘But she promised not to—’

  ‘Tell?’ I spit. ‘Turns out she doesn’t keep her promises either. Tell me, how long have you two been conspiring behind my back? Did you go to her for advice, ask her for help in selecting a suitable candidate for you to work out your doubts on?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. She was trying to look out for you.’

  ‘Izzy’s never tried to look out for me.’ I shake my head bitterly.

  ‘I can’t claim to know the ins and outs of your friendship with Izzy.’ Ed’s got his hands out again. Like I’m a wild animal he’s trying to calm. ‘But she was furious on your behalf. Told me to break it off.’

  ‘Well she did a good job of that, didn’t she?’ I sweep my hands through the air, gesturing to the unmade bed, the remnants of Ed’s clothes crumpled on the floor. ‘I couldn’t give a shit about Izzy, Ed. You did this in my own house. In my own bed. How could you?’

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to – Emma just came round to…’ Ed’s mouth is flapping like a goldfish. ‘I broke things off. Like Izzy said. But then you were so wrapped up at work. That interview was taking over your life—’

  ‘So first I’m too obsessed with getting married, then I’m not obsessed enough?’ When I laugh, it doesn’t sound like me. It sounds hard. ‘You need to go.’

  He hesitates.

  ‘Just leave.’

  I hold my head up as he walks past but I slump to my knees when he’s gone. Even in his pathetic groping apology, Ed was trying to stick up for Izzy. I can feel the anger pressing behind my eyes, tightening my skull. I can hardly think straight. I’m not going to sit here and take it. This ends tonight.

  Twenty-Five

  8.29 p.m.

  I storm into the kitchen and open the fridge. There’s no wine left. Undeterred, I reach into the top cupboard and pull out the bottle of whisky. I discard the idea of a glass. She couldn’t even let me have Ed to myself. Taking Rich wasn’t enough; she had to get involved with Ed as well. The ironic thing in all this is that Rich is actually the one who liked me first. We spent our childhoods together. At school we hung out in different crowds but he always had a smile and a wave whenever we bumped into each other. I never thought anything of it. He was just Rich. He wasn’t on anybody’s radar then. I don’t think Izzy even knew who he was. Then one Thursday afternoon, he turned up late for double Maths. One of the few subjects Izzy and I were in different classes for. I moved my record bag to make room for his without looking up. I was barely awake. It was a warm day and the teacher had one of those droning voices that make your eyes close of their own accord. We were doing the trapezium rule, which I still don’t understand. I was sliding my eyes shut when a piece of gridded paper, neatly folded into quarters, landed on my desk. I shot a look at Rich. He was staring at the blackboard. I opened the note.

  Wake up

  I take a swig of the whisky straight from the bottle and gag. I take another. I’d scrawled, I’m bored on the paper, flicked it back and tuned out again. That’s when Rich started drawing pictures of trapeziums doing increasingly stupid
things and lobbing them at me. I’d caption them and flick them back. By the end of the lesson I had a stack a foot high.

  ‘Who knew the trapezium rule could be so much fun?’ He waited while I stuffed the last of my lever-arch files into my bag.

  ‘How come you were so late?’

  ‘Rugby coach wanted to see me.’ He rapped his knuckles against the desk. ‘Told me he was considering me for captain next year.’

  ‘That’s awesome.’

  ‘Pretty cool day all round, as it goes.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I remember looking up. The moment felt charged. The sun streaming through the window had caught his face. He had the kind of smile that makes your stomach do somersaults. He still does.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Maybe you should be late for Maths more often?’

  ‘Maybe I should.’ He made it sound like a promise.

  The next day there was a piece of paper stuffed inside my locker with a picture of two trapeziums kissing on it. I still have it. Nestled between cringy love letters from a particularly verbose university boyfriend, A-level exam papers and old photographs. Even after he married Izzy, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.

  I hugged our encounter to me like a comfort blanket. Cancer had my mum in its clutches by then. That moment with Rich was a bright spot in the dark. I started looking out for him at school, taking back routes through corridors I didn’t need to be in, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I imagined taking refuge in his house after school, doing homework, staying for tea. Letting Jenny fuss over me in a way my mother no longer could. I didn’t tell Izzy. I liked having something for myself. Would it have changed anything if I had? I doubt it. Rich had a target on his back the moment it was announced he’d be captaining the rugby team the next year. Izzy’s always been drawn to success.