My Best Friend's Murder

  ‘You’re pretty good.’

  ‘I got new shoes.’ Tilly sticks one sopping foot out in front of her. ‘They’ve got big-girl heels.’

  I look at the black patent Mary Jane she’s wiggling in front of me. They’re smeared in mud. Izzy would have a fit.

  ‘Do you think you should go back and find Granny now?’

  ‘Do you think Mummy will like them when she comes back?’

  She looks so hopeful that I have to press my hand to my mouth and step away so I don’t lose it in front of her. Of course she doesn’t get the concept of death. She’s four. I feel wrung out. This weather doesn’t help. My sleeves are clinging damply to my arms and my dress is pressing against my chest. The air feels like it’s pushing against me. I wish it would start raining again.

  It was scorching at my mum’s funeral. I remember how weird it felt to do something as mundane as sweat when my mum was dead. Izzy, wearing something that resembled a cocktail dress, positively glowed. Some of my dad’s friends did double takes until their wives elbowed them in the ribs and moved them along. Not that Izzy hung around. She’d been a rock in the run-up but when it came to the funeral she stayed long enough to neck three champagnes in a row and went to go and watch Rich play rugby instead. That was Izzy. Always there for me – when it suited her. That’s what makes missing her so complicated.

  ‘We’re heading back to the house now.’ I don’t see Rich at first. He’s leaning against the plinth dedicated to the parish’s war dead and his face is half in shadow. ‘Tilly wanted me to come and get you, though personally I can’t think of anything worse. Tempted to skip the whole thing and check in to a hotel.’

  ‘Aren’t people expecting you?’ I try to get a feel for whether he’s forgiven me.

  ‘To be honest, I think people would be glad if I bailed.’ His tone gives nothing away. ‘I’m the reason most of them are swerving it.’

  ‘They just don’t know what to say. That’s what they were like when my mum died, too.’

  ‘Or it’s a case of guilty until proven innocent. Even my own family doesn’t seem to believe the official version of events. Mum can barely look at me.’

  I feel a thump of guilt in my chest. ‘I’m sorry I jumped in and said you were with me. I was only trying to help.’

  ‘I know. But sometimes I can’t help thinking it would have been better if they had taken things further. Then I’d have had the chance to show I didn’t do it. So that people don’t listen to Glenda.’ He jerks his head back towards the churchyard. ‘She’s gone home, by the way. Had to be helped into a cab. So it’s safe to come out.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m sure nobody believes you did anything bad for a second. Anyone who knows you knows you’d never do anything to hurt Izzy.’

  ‘Do they?’ He tries to hitch his mouth into a smile but his eyes are hooded.

  ‘Well they should do. And if they don’t, they’ll have me to deal with.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He doesn’t smile but he does move a step closer, into the light. It’s a start. ‘Anyway I’d better get going.’

  I take a chance that his need for support will outweigh his anger. ‘Why don’t we nip into the pub before we head back to yours? You look like you could use a drink.’

  Thirty

  Monday 4 March

  10.10 a.m.

  Everyone in the office is avoiding me. I’ve been working from home a lot and this is my first real day back. I remember this blanket of silence from when my mum died. People think if they ignore the situation, things will go back to normal. They don’t understand that once you’ve lost someone important, there is no normal. Jules is the only person in the office who still talks to me. And even she’s jittery.

  ‘You don’t have to treat me like I’m in mourning,’ I remind her after she’s asked me if I’m okay for the third time. ‘Sorry. I can’t stand everyone looking at me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll die down.’ Jules screws up her face at her choice of words. ‘Lucy from production’s getting that much-needed nose job next week and then everyone will be looking at her, not you.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I can’t help glancing over. I’d never noticed her nose before but from this angle it does look prominent.

  ‘She’s doing a feature on it for us. They’re giving her a discount. Anyway, I didn’t come over for that. I came to see how you are.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, once again. I turn back to my keyboard and try to look busy.

  ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘I do.’ And I do miss her. But also, I don’t. Not that I can tell Jules that.

  ‘Do you want to go for a drink tonight?’

  ‘I can’t. I promised I’d pick Tilly up from nursery.’

  ‘That’s the third time this week.’

  ‘Are you counting?’ It’s snappier than I intended and Jules’s face falls.

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘No no, I know you didn’t. I’m sorry I snapped. You sound like my brother. But I’m happy to do it. Rich doesn’t want to get a nanny right away. We think it would be hard for Tilly to have someone she doesn’t know in the house.’

  I feel a stab of pleasure at the casual way I can use the word ‘we’.

  ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘She has her good days.’ I think of the nights she refuses to go upstairs; how she kicks and flails in Rich’s arms until he calms her down. ‘Rich is wonderful with her.’

  Jules frowns. ‘It’s all very well when she’s at nursery but what’s he going to do when it’s the summer holidays? He’ll need someone. I know some good sites if he’s looking for an au-pair – they might be a bit north London-centric though.’

  ‘Nurseries don’t have holidays,’ I remind her. ‘They run all the way through. Of course, it’ll be different when she starts school in September. But I’m sure we’ll have figured out what to do by then.’

  Jules looks like she might burst into tears. ‘Of course. She’s not even at school yet. God, so little.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ I eye Jules, wondering why she’s having such an extreme reaction.

  ‘Do you want to come to the vending machine? I’m starving.’

  ‘I should really get some work done. Especially if I’m leaving early.’

  ‘Please. I need to talk to you in private.’

  I stand up and grab my wallet, my interest piqued. Usually Jules is like a public service announcement. She can’t keep anything to herself. ‘The vending machine it is.’

  We pass Tony’s office on the way. The blinds are drawn. I try to peer through the slats. He hasn’t been in since Izzy died. There are rumours he isn’t coming back. Then again, it’s a magazine – rumours are what we do. But I have to admit I hope he doesn’t. I don’t want to bump into him. What if he blames me?

  ‘So?’ I say as Jules peruses the shelves. ‘What’s up?’

  She keys in the code for a Mars bar. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Jules.’ I reach out and give her a hug. ‘That’s great news. I’m so happy for you. You should have told me before and I could have bought the Mars bar!’

  ‘You can buy the next one. This baby’s going to be the size of a small house if its brother is anything to go by. I’m hungry all the time.’

  I don’t point out that Jules is always starving, pregnant or not. I don’t know where she puts it. She’s about the size of a gnat.

  ‘How far along are you?’

  ‘Fourteen weeks last Tuesday. I was going to tell you earlier but… that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘Well, it is, but it isn’t. I was talking to Tina – she knows, by the way – and I suggested you might want to do my mat leave cover.’

  ‘You’re joking, right? I don’t know anything about beauty.’ I pull at a strand of hair coming loose from my ponytail. ‘Look at me. Hardly the epitome of glam.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you’re gorgeous. Anyway, you don’t need to know
about beauty to edit it. I barely do any writing these days. Tina was really impressed with your interview with Sydney Scott. Plus it’d be great news for her budget if she doesn’t have to get someone in. She needs a bit of convincing, but I’m on it. So are you up for it?’

  ‘Gosh, I don’t know.’ I try to imagine myself as acting beauty editor. ‘It’s a big step up.’

  ‘You’d be fab.’ Jules takes a bite of her Mars bar. ‘Don’t know what it would mean for your nursery pick-ups though. But, you know you can do it.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ I decide to ignore Jules’s nursery comment for now. ‘Only if you promise to show me exactly what to do and not to pop until I’ve got it.’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Well let’s get back in there then. I can’t be loitering out here with the likes of you if I’m going to be the next beauty editor.’

  I make a face at Jules so she knows I’m joking, but there’s a definite spring in my step as we go back in.

  5.29 p.m.

  Although there are a few four-by-fours parked up, mothers tapping away on iPhones behind the wheel, I’m the first to knock on the nursery door. I left the office well before five. Nobody said a word – grief has its benefits – and I was determined not to be late. This time, it isn’t Kayleigh that opens the door. It’s a woman in her fifties with Deirdre Barlow glasses and the loose, flowing clothes of a former hippy. She makes a sad face when I explain I’m there to pick up Tilly.

  ‘I should be on—’

  ‘We’re aware of the circumstances. I’ll go and get her.’

  The Tilly that greets me isn’t the exuberant child that came flying through the doors a few months ago. This Tilly has a pout and her head is bent low. Kayleigh’s marching by her side like a prison warden.

  ‘Tilly, can you just wait here a moment?’ Kayleigh motions at the coatrack. ‘I need to have a quick word with Mu—. My friend Rebecca over here.’

  I can’t believe she nearly said ‘mum’. My dislike for her intensifies. Tilly’s head sinks lower.

  ‘We’ve had a bit of a problem with Tilly today,’ Kayleigh says in a stage-whisper when she reaches me.

  ‘What kind of a problem?’

  ‘I’m afraid there was an incident with another child.’

  ‘What did they do?’ I glance over. Tilly’s chin is on her chest and her lips are quivering. Heaven help the kid that hurt her if I get my hands on them.

  ‘I’m afraid it was Tilly that was the aggressor. She bit another little girl and refused to say she was sorry. We understand… there’s been a lot going on at home, but we needed to bring it to your attention.’

  ‘Did she say why?’ I know I sound aggressive but I don’t care.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Kayleigh looks taken aback.

  ‘Did Tilly say why she bit the other girl? I imagine she was provoked.’

  ‘It’s our policy not to ask. We think asking for a justification normalizes the behaviour. At Oak Tree we believe there’s no excuse for any acts of violence.’

  ‘It’s hardly an act of violence, is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I mean; they’re four. Four year olds bite, don’t they?’

  ‘Not at Oak Tree.’ Kayleigh says it with a grandiosity that makes me want to bite her.

  ‘How nice it must be to live in Utopia. I think we’re done here.’ I hold out my hand to Tilly. ‘Come on, darling, shall we have a McDonald’s on the way home?’

  I can’t bring myself to eat in at the horror show that is McDonald’s in Clapham Junction so we get a takeaway. I refuse to let Tilly eat it until we get home and I cut up a flaccid-looking cucumber so that her entire plate of food isn’t beige. Tilly’s wolfing down the nuggets when the front door slams and we hear Rich thundering down the stairs.

  ‘Where’s my monkey?’ He picks her up and flips her upside down just like he used to. I can’t believe how strong he’s being, shouldering all this alone. ‘Just checking for loose change.’ He pretends to rattle her and she curls up in giggles. It’s the first time she’s smiled since we got home. ‘Nothing here – did you spend it all at Maccy D’s?’

  ‘I thought she could use a—’

  ‘Relax. I was just wondering if there was enough for three.’

  ‘I can run back if you’ve got a Maccers craving.’ He looks like he could use a good meal. His face is gaunt and the contents of the fridge weren’t particularly appetizing when I got the cucumber out.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re our guest. I’ll knock something together later.’ He rubs his hands together in a mock-sinister way. ‘If you’re feeling brave, that is.’

  ‘You can’t be as bad as me. I only worked out how to use a tin opener last week.’

  ‘Now that is bad. We’ll have to have a cook-off to see who’s the worst and Miss Tilly can judge.’

  I smile. I’m so glad things are back to normal between us. Although Rich made it clear he didn’t approve of what I did when we went for that drink, he started to thaw when he realized why I did it. For Tilly. Me helping with her has also smoothed things over, though in my more insecure moments I’ve wondered whether he’s only being nice to me because he has nobody else. I shake those thoughts away. They don’t do anyone any good. He scoops Tilly up and carries her back to the breakfast bar. ‘We’re going to need some sustenance first though. Can I tempt you to a chip?’

  He grabs a handful of Tilly’s chips and hands me one. She immediately tries to prise the rest from his hands. ‘They’re mine, they’re mine!’

  ‘Can’t Daddy have one little chip? This little one’s dying to be eaten.’

  He walks the smallest chip off the plate, up his shirt and towards his chin. I think Tilly’s going to laugh but to my horror, she bursts into tears.

  ‘Mummy says chips are bad for you. I want her to come home. Why hasn’t she come back?’

  I feel like I’ve been smacked in the guts. Rich snatches Tilly up and holds her close. Over her shoulders, his eyes meet mine. ‘I’m going to take this one upstairs. I think the cook-off will have to wait.’

  ‘I don’t want you to take me upstairs.’ Tilly cries harder. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Shush, shush.’ Rich strokes her hair. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of. Daddy’s here.’

  ‘Every night,’ he mouths over her shoulder as he turns around and starts towards the stairs. I hover in the kitchen after they’ve gone. I’d planned to go home and have a bath and a large glass of wine – and luxuriate in the possibility of being beauty editor – but I think Rich could use someone to talk to. It doesn’t feel right leaving him on his own.

  I take a pan out of the cupboard next to the Aga. An omelette is about the only thing I can make. I crack some eggs in a bowl and hunt through the fridge to see if there’s anything else I can throw in with the milk. But the ham is curling up at the corners and the mushrooms look wrinkled. Rich needs to look after himself and Tilly better. Perhaps I should be doing more. Clearly nobody else is pitching in. I pull out the butter dish and pop it next to the hob, ready to go. By the time Rich comes down, the butter’s melted into a golden pool.

  ‘That took longer than I expected.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘Is there any wine?’

  ‘Let me get you a glass.’

  ‘I’d prefer a bucket. You didn’t make an omelette, did you?’ He’s staring at the bowl of congealing eggs and milk like it’s got a Michelin star.

  ‘Honestly, it took five minutes.’ I decide not to mention the ten minutes I spent picking eggshell out of my first attempt. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s asleep.’ Rich sighs heavily as he reaches around me to grab two wine glasses from the cupboard above the hob. ‘Finally.’ He gives me a wobbly smile that makes me want to hug him. He’s being so brave but I know he’s suffering, too. ‘We’ve got a very confused and miserable little girl on our hands.’

  The way he says ‘our hands’ makes me want to freeze the moment and commit it to memory so I can replay it later a
nd untangle my feelings about it. Pleasure that he sees us as a team undercut by the usual guilt that it’s at Izzy’s expense. I could definitely use some therapy. But right now Tilly and Rich are more important. ‘You’re doing an amazing job, you know,’ I tell him. ‘The fact that you can get her smiling again after everything that’s happened… not many people could do that.’

  ‘I think that’s what upset her. She feels like she’s not allowed to be happy anymore. It breaks my heart.’

  I think of Tilly’s pinched face when I picked her up. ‘And mine. It’s so unfair that she has to go through this.’ I turn back to the hob. I don’t know if I should tell him what happened at nursery but I don’t want to keep secrets from him either. ‘She had a bit of a tough day at nursery too.’

  ‘Oh God, what now?’ Rich groans.

  ‘Nothing major,’ I hedge. ‘The nursery blew the whole thing out of proportion… but she bit another child.’

  ‘Oh crap, who? I hope it’s not the spawn of one of the more litigious parents.’

  ‘They wouldn’t say.’

  ‘I forgot they don’t. Data protection or something ridiculous. As if the kids won’t spill the beans. Last time I asked Tilly she sang like a canary. Turned out the boy had given her a whack with a toy so she’d taken a chunk out of his arm. Fair enough in my book. Not that we told her that.’

  His smile fades and I know he’s thinking of Izzy.

  ‘I’ll get these eggs on.’ I turn back to the Aga. I don’t want to see the loss on his face.

  Thirty-One

  Friday 22 March

  8.31 p.m.

  ‘Have you considered taking Tilly to see someone?’ We’re outside on the patio, taking advantage of the mild weather and sitting at the distressed wooden table-and-chair set Izzy bought at the end of last summer but never used. For someone with such a huge presence, it’s amazing how normal it’s starting to feel without her. Missy’s curled at my feet as if she lives here. I pick an olive from its plastic container and bite into it, slurping out the tang of the feta inside. I picked them up from Waitrose on the way over. Rich had offered to cook me dinner to thank me for all my help but in the end he was running late so we decided chips and dips would do instead. When he doesn’t reply, I think Rich hasn’t heard the question. I repeat it.