My Best Friend's Murder

by Polly Phillips

  ‘You’re right. Screw them.’ Rich summons up a grin. ‘Just being up here is making my head feel clearer. I feel like I can breathe again now we’re not living on top of ourselves.’

  I don’t point out that, although it might not be penned in by a cluster of neighbours, this house is smaller than his and Izzy’s place in Clapham. I don’t want to spoil the moment.

  6.04 p.m.

  ‘I’d better go in search of civilization and supplies.’ Rich comes into the hallway where I’m lining our wellies up under the coat rack and working out where to hang things. The movers left an hour ago, each clutching a crisp twenty-pound tip from Rich. Since then I’ve blitzed the kitchen and all the bathrooms. Rich has spent the time trying to connect the internet and tune the TV.

  ‘Have you done the telly at last?’ I peer into the cosy ‘snug’ where the movers put the television and the buttercup-coloured sofa. The floor is covered in coils of wires and extension leads.

  ‘We don’t have the right cable.’

  ‘How about the internet? My phone’s got zero reception.’

  ‘That’s hardly my fault, is it?’ Rich sounds irritated. ‘Sorry. Mine’s the same. I’ll see if I can get it sorted tomorrow. But I thought I’d do a quick food shop now before the shops shut. Any special requests?’

  I look at my watch. ‘Won’t everything be closed by now?’ Trying to keep it light, I add: ‘You’re not in Kansas anymore.’

  ‘I could always go back into Cambridge—’

  ‘Perhaps we should all go? Do a bit of exploring.’ Tilly hasn’t surfaced since she claimed the master bedroom but I don’t think I can face more of her attitude tonight.

  ‘It’ll be quicker if I go on my own.’ Oblivious to my expression, Rich grabs the car keys off the hall table. ‘I’ll pick up some groceries and stop for fish and chips on the way back. The one out by Barton’s supposed to be one of the best in the country. Maybe you can go upstairs and see if you can get Tilly sorted while I’m gone?’

  He’s at the door before I can object.

  6.10 p.m.

  I have to collect myself before I approach Tilly. I know moving’s never easy but the fact we can’t even connect to the internet is grating. It makes me feel cut off. Rich and Izzy’s house was slap bang in the middle of things, every appliance top of the range. I have to remind myself I don’t want that. I’ve got Rich. That should be enough. When I’ve calmed down, I go in search of Tilly and find her lying spread-eagled in the centre of her bedroom, drumming her feet against the bottom of her bed. Toys and books spill out of boxes and the duvet’s scrunched in the corner. It looks like a bombsite. Tilly pauses as the door opens. When she realizes it’s me, she goes back to banging her legs.

  ‘Hey, Tills, how’s it going?’ I refuse to rise to the banging. If she wants to kick the crap out of her own bed, that’s her business. ‘Do you want to go outside and explore? It’s still light out – we could take Missy and wander down towards the fields. See if there’s anything exciting at the bottom of the garden.’

  Tilly shows no signs of shifting so I try again. ‘Or we could have a poke around in some of those boxes? Daddy’s gone for chish and fips – we could unpack and set up your room while we wait for him to get back.’

  I was hoping using Tilly’s old way of saying fish and chips might soften her. She glowers instead.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll get on and make a start and you can join in if you feel like it.’ I go over to the wall and open the flaps of the first box. ‘Now, where do these teddies go?’

  I take out the first one – rather appropriately, Sulley from Monsters Inc. – but Tilly comes over and snatches for it.

  ‘That’s mine.’

  I relinquish the toy. ‘It’s not very nice to snatch.’

  ‘Sooorry.’ She says it in a sing-song voice that suggests the opposite and slumps back to the floor, Sulley clutched between her hands. She gives the bed a particularly vicious boot.

  I close my eyes and count to ten in my head. Then I hunker down on the floor to make sure we’re talking on the same level the way the parenting books recommend. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’

  ‘No.’ She won’t meet my eye.

  ‘If I’ve done something that makes you sad, you can tell me. Maybe I can make it better.’

  Tilly shrugs, but she does stop kicking.

  ‘Is it because I’ve been spending lots of time with you and your daddy?’

  Silence.

  I’ve rehearsed this conversation a thousand times. I want to get it right. ‘You must miss your mummy a lot. And that’s okay. You know I loved her very much, too. And so did your daddy. I’m sorry we can’t all be here together. But I think your mummy would be happy to know that I’m helping you look after your daddy, don’t you?’ Inwardly, I cringe. Izzy was a lot of things, but forgiving wasn’t one of them. I look at the top of Tilly’s blonde head. Is any of this getting through? ‘Don’t you think she’d want you to be happy too?’

  Tilly stares at the floor and refuses to engage.

  ‘I want you to know I love you very much, Tills. No matter what you say or do. I’ll never stop loving you. And I hope that in a little while we can be friends again. Because I miss you.’

  When she doesn’t say anything, I haul myself to my feet. What a washout. I need to talk to Rich again about Tilly seeing someone. This can’t go on. I’m running through how I can raise it in a way that won’t upset him when I hear Tilly murmur something.

  ‘What was that, Tills?’

  ‘I don’t want you to go.’

  I drop to the floor again. I don’t know if she means right now or permanently, but I’m grabbing hold of the lifeline. ‘Oh, darling, I’m not going anywhere. Is that what you’re worried about? I promise you I’m staying put.’

  She considers this with her head tilted. She has this way of looking at me, assessing me, which is straight from Izzy. I do miss her. Or some aspects of her, at least.

  ‘Pinkie promise?’ She thrusts her hand at me and our fingers curl around each other.

  ‘Pinkie promise.’ I hold on a little longer than I need to. At last.

  We’re downstairs on the carpet of the snug playing animal snap when Rich gets back, arms laden with paper-wrapped bundles, slick with vinegar. He walks into the open-plan kitchen and dumps the lot onto the island in the centre. Missy’s already at his feet, nosing into his shopping. ‘Chish and fips is here. Hope you’re hungry.’

  ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a house.’ Tilly scampers after him.

  ‘Horse,’ Rich and I correct in unison, and she giggles. Rich hands her a plate piled high and raises his eyebrows at me. I make a thumbs-up behind her back. ‘Later,’ I mouth.

  ‘And who’s thirsty?’ He nudges the dog out of the way and reaches into the carrier bag on the ground between his legs and pulls out two bottles; one of Moet and one of Ribena. Tilly and I react with equal excitement. ‘We’re celebrating.’

  ‘Oh, Rich – did you hear from an agent?’ I clap my hands together. I’d wondered whether the main reason he wanted to go was to get reception. He’s been checking his phone all day.

  ‘I’d say if I had,’ he says a little forcefully as he helps Tilly pour a beaker of Ribena. I wonder whether I’ve put my foot in it and hurt his feelings. But he doesn’t seem too fazed. He’s already opening the cupboards looking for champagne flutes.

  ‘They’re in the—’

  ‘Got ’em.’ He balances two flutes between the fingers of one hand and pops the cork of the champagne with the other, shaking it a little like a Formula One driver.

  Tilly shrieks as the bubbles burst out of the bottle like a liquid volcano. Then we sit up at the island, eating our dinner in a sticky-fingered, messy way. For the first time since she died, the shadow of Izzy doesn’t hang over us.

  Thirty-Five

  Thursday 4 July

  8.47 a.m.

  I give Tilly’s collar another tug, making sure it lies flat. I step back and squi
nt, assessing my handiwork.

  ‘It looks fine, Bec.’ Rich smooths Tilly’s hair. ‘They’re not going to be grading them.’

  ‘I know, I know. I just want it to be perfect.’ He’s nervous too. I can tell from the way he keeps flitting around the kitchen. Although term won’t start for Tilly until September, her new school is doing a welcome day for the new reception class. It might not be her first ‘proper’ day, but it feels like it. Getting it right is our way of proving we’ve steered Tilly through the worst. Judging from the way she’s been since we moved and how she bounced out of bed this morning and attempted to get herself dressed, I think we have. Getting her away from Oak Tree was half the battle. But I still want this to be perfect. ‘So what can I get you both for breakfast? Eggy bread?’

  ‘Yummo.’ Tilly tugs at the tie, pulling it askew again. ‘Can I have two pieces?’

  I pull the skillet onto the stove and dunk thick white bread into the eggs and milk that I beat together earlier. ‘You can have three if you like.’

  ‘Do you think the French just call French toast “toast”?’ Rich muses as he pulls up the stool next to Tilly.

  ‘Like the Danes call Danish pastries “pastries”?’ We exchange a smile as I stick the sodden bread onto the hot skillet and listen to its answering sizzle.

  ‘That smells good.’ Rich sniffs the air. ‘When are you going to tell me what your secret ingredient is?’

  ‘Probably never.’ It’s orange juice, which Rich would know if he stood still long enough to watch me finish preparing it. But I like having an air of mystery. ‘Can someone grab the maple syrup? The first bits will be done in a minute.’

  Both Rich and Tilly jump up, jostling each other as they duck to get to the shelf under the central island stacked with condiments. Missy’s snoozing in her basket next to it. This kitchen lacks the show-stopping appeal of Izzy’s bone-white basement, but it’s grown on me. Now that we’ve been here a little while, the whole place is starting to feel like a home.

  I slide two plates over to them.

  ‘You not having any?’ Rich asks.

  ‘I can’t manage something that sweet in the morning.’ Even looking at the French toast swimming in maple syrup is making me feel queasy. ‘I’ll get something later after drop-off.’

  I pick up my phone instead and start snapping away as the pair of them wolf down their French toast in matching bites. ‘Smile. You’re on candid camera.’

  Tilly pulls out an array of poses that would make Sydney proud. I make a mental note to WhatsApp some to our family group later. Impending fatherhood seems to have mellowed Rob. He’s not as prickly about me and Rich as he was. I’m sure I’ve got Sydney to thank for that.

  ‘Why are you taking them on that?’ Rich asks. ‘The DSLR is around somewhere. I got it out last night.’

  ‘You know I’m rubbish with technology. Anyway, I’ve got this on portrait mode. Some of them are lovely.’

  I put the phone down and start thumbing through. ‘Look. There’s one of you.’

  Rich covers the phone screen with his hand. ‘If you’re going to pap us, make sure you do it properly.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you were so vain.’

  ‘Ha ha. I’ll go and get the big camera. I want to take some first-day photographs anyway.’

  I can hear him as he digs around in his study. He comes back and hands me a camera that’s practically the size of my head.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with this,’ I laugh. ‘I won’t even be able to turn it on.’

  ‘Here.’ He takes it back, presses a few buttons and the screen on the back whirs to life, producing a perfect image of the top of the table it’s pointed at. The quality is amazing – even I can see that.

  ‘Wow. Okay, Tills, are you ready?’

  ‘I was born ready,’ she replies. Rich bursts out laughing and I crack a smile. I mentally gloss over the fact that it sounds just like something Izzy would say.

  ‘Four going on fourteen.’

  ‘Make that twenty-four. Okay, let’s do this.’ I hold the camera up to my eye then immediately put it down again. ‘Hang on, have you put any film in?’

  Rich snorts again. ‘You are such a Luddite. Cameras don’t use film anymore, and yes, I put the memory card in. Now hurry up before it’s time for her to graduate.’

  9.15 a.m.

  Tilly bounces through the school gates, leaving Rich and I trailing in her wake. The school is so small there’s only one reception class and it’s clearly marked. She trots up to her classroom door and greets her teacher – who she’s only seen a picture of in the school brochure – like an old friend.

  ‘Hi, Miss Payne,’ she shrieks. ‘I like your hair.’

  The teacher tucks her long dark hair behind her ears and smiles. ‘Hi Mat—No, it’s Tilly, isn’t it?’ I like that she’s taken the time to remember not just Tilly’s name but her preferred diminutive. It’s a far cry from Oak Tree. I look down at her feet. No slippers. A trendy pair of Converse instead. I think I’m going to like her.

  ‘Welcome to the Red Rockets reception class. Don’t those words sound lovely together?’ She turns to include us in her welcome too. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mr and—’

  ‘Please call me Bec,’ I jump in.

  ‘Of course. Lovely to meet you, both.’ She shifts out of the way so Tilly can duck under her arm to get into the classroom. ‘Now, I’m happy for you both to stay as long as you feel Tilly needs you to. But generally I find if you prolong the goodbyes it tends to make them worse.’

  ‘Of course.’ I slip into people-pleasing mode. ‘It’s just that Tilly’s had a bit of a—’

  ‘The headmistress explained everything,’ Miss Payne says, easily. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll keep an extra-close eye on Tilly to make sure she settles. But today’s just about learning where everything is, getting a feel for the classroom space and a chance to meet some of the other children. If any of the children feel overwhelmed, we’ll call their parents. Not that your Tilly seems to be having any problems.’

  We follow her gaze to see that Tilly’s already plonked herself on the cushions in the corner. She’s taken two books from the bookshelf next to her and appears to be reading both at the same time.

  ‘A multi-tasker.’ Miss Payne smiles. ‘If you want to stay…’ Her inflection suggests we needn’t bother.

  We sidestep out of the way of another set of new parents and a girl with two long plaits tied with white ribbons. Rich takes a few steps down the path, jangling his keys in his pocket. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Wait. We can look in through here.’ The window is papered in a scene from We’re Going on a Bear Hunt but there’s a gap between the glass and the frame. I peer through the edge, ducking so that if Tilly looks up she won’t see me. Rich rests his chin on top of my head. We watch as the little girl with plaits approaches Tilly and perches on the edge of a cushion near her. She says something and Tilly hands over one of the books. The little girl picks at the cover and says something else. Tilly pats the cushion next to her and gives the girl a mega-watt smile that’s so reminiscent of Izzy, it makes me catch my breath. I look up at Rich to see if he’s noticed but he’s beaming at Tilly. ‘She gets her confidence from me.’

  I look at his profile; the proud set of his jaw, his eyes totally focused on her. I’m the one who needs to lay the ghost to rest, not him.

  ‘I thought I might head down to London this morning,’ he says as we cross the playground back towards the car park. ‘I’ll take the car and park at the station. You don’t need it today, do you?’

  I had been debating driving into Cambridge to have a mooch but it can wait. ‘I can get by without it. What’s in London?’

  ‘Just thought I might have a bit of a wander. There’s an open day on one of those teaching courses that I thought I could look into.’ I nod. Although I’m not thrilled he might spend so much time based in London, Rich’s redundancy won’t last forever. I’m still hopeful I might get some freelancing work but
so far all my pitches have gone unanswered. I didn’t exactly leave Flare on the best terms.

  Rich slides into the driver’s seat and flicks the radio on. The sound of George Ezra fills the car. Jules loves this song. I think of how disappointed she was when I said I couldn’t take the job, especially after all the groundwork she’d put in with Tina. I owe her an email but I’ve been putting it off.

  ‘Perhaps I could come with you?’ I say, suddenly thinking I could talk to Jules in person, suggest meeting her for coffee, see if I could line up some work for a few months’ time. ‘I could check in on some media contacts, see if I can get some work out of it. We could make a day of it.’

  ‘I thought we’d decided you were going to prioritise our family.’ Rich turns the wheel sharply to avoid an overgrown hedge. The movement presses me against my seat.

  My mind flicks back to a long-ago conversation about Izzy putting her career first. I don’t want him to think I’m going to do the same, especially when he’s talking about us as a family. ‘I can do both.’

  ‘I know you can.’ He moves one hand from the wheel to squeeze my knee. ‘But I think today one of us should stay here in case the school calls. And besides, I might be planning to bring you back a present.’

  ‘Really?’

  The smile now dancing around his eyes distracts me. I start to wonder if… but it’s too soon. I can’t let my mind wander down that particular path. We don’t need to get engaged. We’ve got something much stronger.

  ‘You’d better hurry home then,’ I parry. The sun bounces off the windscreen as we turn up to the T-junction that takes us back to our house and I feel a burst of excitement. ‘Who knows? I might have a present for you too.’