Keep Your Friends Close

by Janelle Harris

  With Jinx nestled contentedly at my feet I sit at the table and enjoy peppermint tea and a croissant. I am so hungry. I polish off both the tea and pastry before I take my phone out of the pocket of my oversized and comfortable tracksuit, ready to call my husband. There’s a missed call flashing on-screen and, assuming it’s Luke checking in, I listen to the waiting voicemail.

  ‘Darcy, hi. It’s Lindsay here. Lindsay St Claire. How are you?’

  I roll my eyes and groan loudly. Jinx is on his feet instantly and nudging his nose into my hip. ‘I’m okay, boy,’ I say, stroking him between the ears. ‘It’s just somebody I don’t want to hear from.’

  Jinx lies back down as if he understands.

  ‘I just wanted to touch base with you after your visit to the studio,’ Lindsay continues. ‘Things got a little wild, didn’t they? I thought you’d like to know we’re following up on that call. We pride ourselves on providing the best experience for our guests and our audience and calls like that are totally unacceptable. Rest assured, I’m personally making sure nothing like that happens on air again.’

  I sigh, wishing it were that simple, as Lindsay continues.

  ‘I would also like to extend an invitation to come back on the show any time you like. Honestly, Darcy. Any time. Any product. You have our full support. Do have a think about it. Call the studio any time and someone on reception will be able to sort you out. Byeeee.’

  ‘Sort me out,’ I echo, as if Lindsay can hear me while I try not to take offence. ‘I’m perfectly capable of sorting things out for myself, thank you. Aren’t I, Jinx?’

  Jinx whimpers, my irritable tone obviously upsetting him. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I toss my plate and cup into the sink and let Jinx into the garden. If I grab a quick shower I’ll make the 9.30 a.m. bus and I’ll be in the office in fifteen minutes. Luke won’t approve, but I’m not spending another minute hiding from my life.

  I’m just about to walk upstairs when the doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone. I glance through the peephole half expecting to find an overzealous Lindsay St Claire on the porch, but of course I don’t. Although I can’t help but feel that the red-haired woman with pretty green eyes and cherry lips waiting on the other side of the door is familiar.

  I surprise myself when I open the door and say, ‘Good morning, can I help you?’

  She smiles and says, ‘I really hope so.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  GILLIAN

  Friday 21 June 2019

  The smell of freshly cut grass and summer flowers wafts towards me as I sit in the garden. There are dogs barking in the distance and I can hear the odd cat too. The sounds and smells seem to sum up life in Cherryway so precisely. Perfect gardens, perfect pets and perfect people. I wonder if I stand out. I can feel anxiety heating the back of my neck as if the timid morning sun, shining down on me, has burnt me. Every time I think over yesterday, my stomach flips. But the wheels are in motion now and all I can do is hang on for the ride.

  I don’t actually know what possessed me to knock on Darcy Hogan’s front door yesterday morning. I don’t even remember walking up the somewhat-intimidating granite steps towards her front door, but somehow I found myself, dressed head to toe in a fancy business suit, ringing her bell.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Darcy said, unsure and almost nervous – it seemed so unlike her.

  I smiled and pretended not to be intimidated by her and said, ‘I’m Gillian Buckley.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her eyes wide with recognition. I knew, of course, that it was my name and not my face that was familiar to her. And while I never expected her to remember me, I must admit it hurt more than I thought it would to be so forgettable.

  I had a whole speech prepared about my father and our troubled relationship and how nineteen years after I ran away we were trying to make amends, but Darcy looked so awkward and frail on the doorstep I decided to save my story for another time.

  Instead, I asked her if she had received the gift from Buckley & Co. ‘Something small for the baby,’ I said, when she baulked as if I had said something awful.

  Silence followed and Darcy was so pale I thought she might faint.

  ‘The bracelet,’ I reminded her.

  She nodded and kept her hand firmly on the door handle as if she were seeing a ghost. I guess in some ways, she was.

  The conversation was stilted from there. I thought, considering the eye-watering sum she’s hoping to wrangle from Buckley & Co, that she might invite me in, but she never moved out of the doorway. At one stage a horrible, snow-white puppy arrived at her feet, his teeth bared and his tail rigid, warning me that I was not welcome inside.

  That’s when I stupidly invited Darcy to come here. ‘I’ve just moved in . . . stop by . . . tea, biscuits . . .’ I rambled on.

  She didn’t reply but she smiled. And when I suggested 10 a.m. today she nodded and said, ‘Goodbye.’

  It’s 10.15 now and there is no sign of Darcy, and I gave her my number but there’s no text or call to say she’s running late.

  Rude.

  Another fifteen minutes pass before Darcy rounds the corner of the house, as I suggested she do. She’s wearing a fitted red summer dress, her golden curls bouncing against the tips of her shoulders. A beige wicker basket dangles from her arm, resting at her hip, and her face is bright and fresh. She looks like a real-life Goldilocks and for a moment she takes my breath away.

  I inhale sharply and, light-headed, I stand up as she gets closer. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Thank you for inviting me,’ she smiles, stopping in front of me. She air-kisses one side of my face and then the other before she adds, ‘You have a very beautiful house. This one is the talk of the whole street. It has the biggest garden. I didn’t know it was for sale.’

  I ignore Darcy’s property envy. And I certainly don’t add that it’s not mine and I’m renting a minuscule flat with very little natural light. Thankfully, the people living above my flat are all at work. There is no one to disturb us, or dent Darcy’s perception of me. Today, at least.

  ‘I can’t quite believe we’re neighbours. It’s such a coincidence, isn’t it?’ she says, her eyes sweeping over the house again.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, leaving it at that.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she says. ‘I was a little under the weather this morning.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, trying to sound surprised and concerned. ‘I did notice you were a little pale.’

  Darcy scrunches her nose. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘You caught me by surprise. I didn’t realise you were . . . erm, well, I didn’t realise you were—’

  ‘Alive,’ I say boldly.

  Darcy’s eyes widen and she studies me for a moment, probably checking if it’s okay to smile. ‘I was going to say I didn’t realise you were working with your father.’

  ‘It’s a recent thing,’ I say, and I know with Darcy’s impeccable manners that she’ll leave it there.

  ‘Um, I’ve brought some treats,’ Darcy says, cheerily. She slides the basket off her arm and shows me inside. ‘They’re all from the Darcy’s Dishes freezer-to-fresh range. I thought you might like to sample some.’

  ‘Freezer to fresh,’ I repeat. ‘I like that.’

  ‘It’s the range we’re hoping to expand with the help of your father’s investment. Croissants, scones, pain au chocolat, that sort of thing. Microwaveable and so good it’s hard to believe they’re not fresh. It’s taken us quite a while to get the recipes right but we’re very pleased with the results.’

  ‘Sweet to complement the savoury,’ I say, already more familiar than I want to be with Darcy’s shepherd’s pie.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiles. ‘We want to be a leader in all areas of the market.’

  Leader, I think. The word sticking to my brain like glue. Darcy has always wanted to be a leader. I guess some things never change.

  ‘Tea?’ I ask, guiding my arm through the air to direct her attention to the table.

  �
��Will your father be joining us?’ Darcy asks.

  ‘No,’ I say firmly.

  Darcy’s smile grows ever wider despite the awkwardness. She has an ability to make you feel special, as if every word coming out of my mouth is wildly interesting and she is soaking me up. On the other hand, every word Darcy utters is interesting and I hang on to her every nod, or smile or giggle the way I used to.

  The sound on my phone is off but that doesn’t stop it from vibrating against the patio table as it lights up receiving a call.

  ‘Do you need to get that?’ Darcy asks.

  I slam my hand on to the screen to steady the dancing phone, and more importantly to hide the name flashing up. ‘No. No it’s fine,’ I say. ‘It’s nothing important. I’ll call them back later.’

  Darcy looks at me with cautious eyes. I suddenly feel small and inhibited. I remember this feeling from our schooldays. Darcy can instigate it with just a blink of her crystal-blue eyes.

  I count backwards from three in my head and say, ‘Do tell me more about frozen to fresh, won’t you?’

  Like flicking a switch, Darcy’s mind is back on work and she chats effortlessly.

  Finally, the sun shines high above us, and without sunglasses we are both squinting and Darcy becomes restless.

  ‘I hope it’s okay to ask . . .’ she says, pausing as if trying to find the right words. ‘But, do you think I can count on your father’s investment?’

  I place my hand above my eyes to act like a visor so I can straighten my face and see her better. ‘You can most certainly count on your life changing from here on, Darcy. I promise.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Darcy beams. ‘I’m excited.’

  ‘Oh. Me too,’ I gush, not telling a word of a lie. ‘This is going to be huge.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  TINA

  Saturday 22 June 2019

  ‘And hold. Hold. Hold. And breathe,’ the Pilates instructor says as her gentle voice washes over the gym like a wave of calm.

  My arms burn and wobble as I hold a side plank.

  ‘And, three, two, one. Relax,’ the instructor says.

  I flop on to my side and smile.

  ‘Great class, guys. See you next week,’ she says, glancing around the hall as everyone gets to their feet and gathers their mats. ‘Well, those of you still with us. And anyone who pops in the meantime, congratulations.’

  There’s lots of cheering and clapping and everyone looks at a woman in the middle of the room. Her bump is ginormous and she hasn’t a hope of bending to pick up her mat so the lady beside her helps.

  ‘She’s going in for a section tomorrow,’ the girl beside me says, her belly almost as big, and I can’t seem to take my eyes off it.

  ‘Ah.’ I nod, not sure what else to say.

  ‘You’re new,’ she says.

  I nod. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘How far along are you?’

  ‘Erm. Four months,’ I say, picking the first number that pops into my head.

  ‘Really?’ Her eyebrows shoot up as her eyes burn into my flat stomach. ‘You’re not showing at all, you lucky thing. I was a beached whale at your stage.’

  ‘I’ve been really sick,’ I add quickly, wishing I’d picked a smaller number.

  ‘Oh, you didn’t have that Hyperemesis Gravidarum thing, did you?’

  ‘That what?’

  ‘Horribly sick in early pregnancy. It’s dangerous. One of the girls from this class had it. It was Darcy Hogan, actually. You know, of Darcy’s Dishes.’

  I nod.

  She smiles and I can only imagine how much she loves to tell people that Darcy is her friend. ‘Darcy had to stop coming,’ she says, her smile fading. ‘She almost ended up housebound, it got so bad. Such a pity. She was a really lovely girl. I miss her.’

  ‘Sounds awful,’ I say. I knew joining this class would be a great way to get some information about Darcy.

  ‘It’s so hard on her because she can’t really be taking time off work. You’ve probably noticed she hardly ever posts on Instagram any more—’

  I cut her off. ‘No. Sorry. I don’t use social media,’ I say. ‘Too many weirdos online.’

  ‘Sure. Yeah.’ She nods. ‘You should have seen some of the nasty comments people were making after Darcy was on Good Morning, Ireland. I was praying she didn’t see them.’

  ‘People can be awful,’ I say, caringly.

  ‘Luckily her husband is amazing,’ she continues. ‘He has taken such good care of her. I wish I could find a man like that.’ She stops to sigh and rub her tummy. ‘But this little one’s dad doesn’t want to know. A total waste of space, he is.’

  ‘I’m single too,’ I say, not really sure why.

  She smiles. ‘I’m Polly by the way.’

  ‘Tina,’ I say, wondering what I’m doing. I never introduce myself to new people.

  ‘Do you fancy a coffee, if you’re not too busy, Tina?’ she asks.

  I’d literally rather do anything else than go to the local coffee shop with this pregnant airhead, but she obviously knows Darcy quite well and I’m sure the titbits of information about the Hogans that she could share would be worth the hell of sipping an Americano with her.

  ‘Sure. I’d love to.’

  Polly bends to pick up her mat. Her large pregnant stomach makes her awkward and I’m about to offer to do it for her when a woman from the opposite side of the room hurries over. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail so high and tight it strains her forehead taut. Her mat is crumpled under her arm and she’s restlessly shifting from one leg to the other while she engages us in small talk.

  ‘Did you hear about that body that they found in the Wicklow Mountains?’

  Polly and I shake our heads. My interest is instantly piqued and I stand straighter. Listening.

  ‘The man with no fingers,’ she continues.

  Fingertips. I want to correct her, irrationally irritated that the details are being skewed by this stupid woman.

  ‘Well,’ she says, taking a deep breath as if just a few words leave her puffed out. ‘They think they know who he is.’

  I gasp.

  The breathless woman continues. ‘They’re searching for family first, obviously, but once they’ve been informed they’ll release his name.’

  Polly finally manages to retrieve her mat and she rolls it and slides it into a luminous pink sleeve, seemingly unfazed by the news. ‘I hope they catch whoever did it,’ she says.

  The woman rolls her eyes. ‘Trust all the good stuff to happen the minute I go on maternity leave.’

  Polly laughs.

  The woman laughs too and shrugs. ‘Right. I’ve gotta pee. This child thinks my bladder is a trampoline.’ She leaves without another word.

  ‘That’s Rose. She’s a sergeant or a detective or something,’ Polly explains. ‘This is her fourth baby, she’s on mat leave now, but I don’t think she ever switches off being a cop, if you know what I mean.’

  I swallow. I know exactly what Polly means. Suddenly this Pilates class is far less appealing.

  ‘So – coffee,’ Polly says.

  I pull a face. ‘You know, I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m just going to go home. I’m so sorry.’

  Polly looks disappointed. ‘Still sick?’ she asks, placing her hand on my shoulder. ‘You poor thing. I hope it eases off soon. Rain check, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Another time.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  DARCY

  Monday 24 June 2019

  Luke holds my hair back as I throw up for a third time this morning. Dragging a shaky hand across my mouth, I flop on to my bathroom floor and whinge. ‘I don’t understand. I thought sickness was supposed to get better at the end, not bloody worse.’

  ‘Maybe it was something you ate,’ Luke says flushing the toilet for the umpteenth time. ‘You haven’t been this bad in a while.’

  Before I have time to reply, my stomach rumbles again and fiery bile burns its way up the back of my
throat as I lean over the loo once more to heave. Luke rubs my back and tells me it’s okay.

  ‘I’m so sick of this,’ I say, catching my breath. My body aches all over with exhaustion. ‘The last thing I actually enjoyed was a couple of Darcy’s Dishes pastries at Gillian’s house. Everything else has come back up since.’

  ‘Who’s Gillian?’ Luke asks, passing me some tissue and flushing the toilet yet again.

  I stand up and squeeze some toothpaste on to my toothbrush and shove it into my mouth, buying myself some time to think. I feel guilty for not telling Luke about Gillian before now. It wasn’t as if it slipped my mind. I thought about my conversation with Gillian often over the weekend. I wonder if I said the right things to make sure she liked me. Liked Darcy’s Dishes. She’s so hard to figure out, and I hate to admit that. It’s something else to add to a long list of can’t dos right now. Can’t manage my own business. Can’t go to Pilates. Can’t keep a simple meal down. But being nice to Gillian and word of my kindness getting back to Andrew is something I can do. I can help to close this deal.

  I feel Luke watching me, waiting for an answer. I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth.

  ‘She’s our new neighbour,’ I say, casually dropping my toothbrush back into the holder. ‘I told you someone moved into the house at the end of our road, remember?’

  Luke’s wearing a weird expression, one I’m not used to seeing. As if he’s trying to read the thoughts between my words. ‘Yeah, the removals van story. I remember. I didn’t know you’d been talking to someone who lives there though.’

  ‘Um. Just a quick chat, really. I wanted to welcome her to the neighbourhood.’

  Luke tilts his head and smiles. ‘Right.’

  Luke knows me better than I know myself. He knows bringing baked goods around to a neighbour’s house isn’t exactly my style. I see the familiar twinkle of curiosity in his eye and I’m looking forward to the questions he’s about to ask. I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to discuss the Buckley investment and my own part in helping it along by befriending Gillian, but any time I start to bring it up, Luke tells me not to worry about work stuff and just to concentrate on my health and the baby. He means well, of course, but it’s slowly driving me mad. And now as I open my mouth his damn phone rings.