Keep Your Friends Close

by Janelle Harris

  I tug on the red bow around my box as Luke tries to peel back stubborn sticky tape on the odd-shaped gift in his hand. I don’t know what draws my attention to the girl at the end of the table. Her fiery red hair frames her face and her eyes glisten with what looks like tears. Her name is on the tip of my tongue. I’d noticed her watching Luke and me earlier, but I’d ignored how she stared. People often stare at us. Or, more accurately, girls always stare at Luke and his toned athletic body with his broad shoulders and chiselled jawline.

  Luke finally releases the sticky tape and the wrapping falls off a gaudy key ring that spells out SEX GOD in chunky, bright letters. Luke shoves the key ring into his pocket and tries to act as if he’s not embarrassed as some of his friends notice the key ring and begin to tease and laugh.

  ‘Don’t look now,’ Luke tells me. ‘But that Tina has been staring at us all night.’

  ‘Tina. That’s her name. I knew it. She’s in my dorm,’ I say.

  ‘What’s her problem?’ Luke asks.

  ‘What?’

  Luke shrugs. ‘Her staring freaks me out.’

  ‘She just fancies you, that’s all,’ I say, knocking my shoulder gently against his. ‘That key ring is probably from her. No wonder she’s staring. She wanted to see your reaction.’

  Luke rolls his eyes. ‘That’s even weirder.’

  I can’t hold in a snorty laugh and I feel bad as Tina looks away with her head hanging low, and she’s as still as a statue. Her stillness stands out as awkward and odd among the excitement buzzing all around her. And I wonder if she’s realised we’re talking about her. I look at the table in front of her. There’s a near-full plate of food she hasn’t touched and although there is wrapping paper scattered all around, there’s none in front of her.

  Suddenly my happiness is pushed aside and replaced by the sting of sadness. I watch her for a little while, but she doesn’t move or look up. The people around her laugh and enjoy themselves and they don’t seem to even notice she’s there.

  Luke has returned to laughing and joking with his friends too. I tug on his arm to get his attention and I whisper, ‘She doesn’t have a gift.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Luke turns towards me, still sniggering after a crude joke made by one of his friends about his new key ring.

  ‘Tina. She didn’t get a Kris Kindle present,’ I say, a little louder. ‘I think she’s been forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten?’ Someone laughs. ‘You have to know someone exists before you can forget them.’

  I glare at the guy sitting on the far side of Luke. His gummy smile is stretched wide as he belly laughs.

  Luke looks as if he’s thinking about giggling too, but I shake my head and he straightens up and becomes serious. ‘Maybe we should tell Principal McEvoy.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ the guy beside Luke says, before he turns his back on Luke to joke some more with the people at the other end of the table.

  ‘No. No, don’t do that,’ I say, glancing at Tina, and my heart aches for her. ‘Mr McEvoy will make a big deal out of it and that would only embarrass her.’

  I look at the present in my hand. I’ve taken the ribbon off and the paper is torn on one side where I’ve been subconsciously picking at it. I can’t very well give Tina a gift that I’ve half opened. As if Luke has read my mind, he slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out the present he was going to give me earlier.

  ‘This?’ he says.

  I swallow hard. I really want the present Luke has bought for me. I want to open it slowly and savour the moment, before I throw my arms around his neck and tell him that I love it, no matter what’s inside.

  Luke sighs, clasping the box with both hands as if it’s terribly delicate and he might drop it if he doesn’t concentrate. ‘It’s a bracelet. As soon as I saw it, I thought of you. I ducked into the shop last week when you were in the loo after the cinema.’

  ‘Oh, Luke.’ I can feel my pulse coursing in my veins. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. And thank you even more for knowing that giving it to Tina is the right thing to do.’

  Luke’s forehead wrinkles which makes him seem more mature. I’ve never been more attracted to him.

  ‘Tell her it’s from you,’ I suggest. ‘Tell her that you’re her Kris Kindle.’

  ‘Darcy.’ Luke says my name in a way that tells me he really, really doesn’t want to tell her that.

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘I don’t want her to feel any worse than she already does. She can’t know this is a sympathy present. Please?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Luke says, reluctantly. ‘She’ll think we’re friends or something.’

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ I ask.

  Luke takes a deep breath and shakes his head. ‘If it’ll make you happy . . .’ He pushes his chair back, ready to stand up. ‘But I’m not making friends with her.’

  ‘I love you,’ I say.

  ‘What?’ Luke’s eyes widen and I cringe instantly. I can’t believe I just said that.

  My cheeks are on fire. ‘I . . . I . . .’ I mumble.

  ‘I love you too.’

  Luke kisses me, hard and passionately, and then he stands up and walks around to the far side of the table to give an unsuspecting Tina my bracelet.

  I watch as she’s unsure at first. But as her slender fingers tug at the ribbon, her face lights up. She’s open-mouthed when she discovers the bracelet inside and she takes a moment to stroke the silver almost possessively.

  Luke begins to walk away, his eyes on mine with a gaze that asks, Happy now? I’m nodding when Tina grabs his arm and pulls him back. He wobbles, thrown off balance by the sudden tugging. Tina stands and brushes her fingers against his cheek and I shift in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable as I look on. She leans closer to Luke and whispers something in his ear. I imagine it’s simply ‘Thank you’, but I’ll ask Luke for certain in a moment. Luke pulls away while dragging a hand through his floppy hair, the way he always does when he’s embarrassed or nervous. Before he has time to take a step away, Tina drapes her arms around his neck and hugs him. Luke’s body stiffens and I can tell he wasn’t expecting that. Neither was I. She kisses his cheek and her lips linger much longer than appropriate. Luke finally breaks free, quite roughly, and hurries back to me.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ he asks, flopping back into his seat. ‘See, I told you she was bonkers.’

  Tina glares at me with wicked eyes as she sits back down and strokes the bracelet some more. A sense of malaise settles into the pit of my stomach and I think Luke might be right. Luke has made Tina’s day, and I can’t help feeling that we might regret it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  DARCY

  Tuesday 9 July 2019

  The whole country seems to be on holiday at the moment. I’ve called my solicitor a couple of times hoping for a quick update on the Buckley contract, but his secretary told me he’s off the grid in the Maldives for the next two weeks. And I haven’t had much luck getting hold of an exterminator either. A quick Google search brought up plenty of websites, but most of the numbers rang out. The one or two who did answer couldn’t get to me before next week, and I’ll go crazy if I have to wait that long to fish out Luke’s secret papers.

  One guy, who seemed to take great pleasure in telling me that he was answering his phone from the comfort of a poolside sun lounger in the Costa del Sol, made some suggestions.

  ‘My best advice, love, would be to get yourself a few traps,’ he said in a thick inner-city Dublin accent. ‘Shove them up in the attic and forget about it. Or, if you’re very worried, throw down some poison. That should sort the feckers out. But be careful. Don’t want to get that stuff on your hands. It’s lethal.’

  I wondered, if taking care of a vermin issue is so easy, how this guy had a job, but I didn’t say anything. I thanked him for his advice and asked him to call me back when he got home from holiday. ‘Just in case I’m still having a problem,’ I said.

  I lay in bed awake for most of last night. My tummy was
rumbling with hunger. Luke made a really nice butternut-squash curry with jasmine rice, my favourite recipe, and one that I included in my cookbook that was published a couple of years ago. And although it smelt so good my mouth watered, I couldn’t bring myself to actually eat any. I threw it in the bin when Luke left to take another secret call with nobody important.

  I’ve spent the morning napping, drifting in and out of light sleep. Luke left for work hours ago. By early afternoon I can’t stay in bed any longer. It’s no surprise to find a bowl of muesli and a jug of milk left on the bedside table. There’s a yellow Post-it stuck to a glass of juice. I squint to read Luke’s handwriting.

  Eat and drink me, please.

  Love you.

  Luke xx

  I pour some milk over the flakes and carry the bowl into the bathroom and flush it down the toilet. I get dressed and go downstairs. My legs are a little shaky on the steps so I hold the banister extra tight and take my time.

  In the kitchen I pour a glass of water and sip slowly as I stare into the garden on a beautiful, cloudless day. I look at the mound where Jinx is buried. The delicate flowers I placed on top have blown away and the mound is flattening as the soil settles, and it blends in with the lawn as if it’s always been there.

  Abruptly I drop the glass into the sink and dash outside and towards the garden shed. Luke loves this shed – his mancave, I’ve teased him several times. But I find the clunky, metal shed ugly and think it spoils our pretty garden.

  The handle is rusty and difficult to open. It takes several rough tugs to finally get it to budge, and the heavy door is even less inclined to shift. Finally, when I lean my back against it and force with my full weight, it slowly creaks open and the musty smell of old, rotting grass rushes out. It’s dark inside as the light creeping in the door can only stretch so far. Luke wanted to buy a shed with a large window on one side but it was expensive and we settled on the cheaper windowless option. Thankfully Luke’s toolbox is just inside the door. I duck my head inside, holding my breath and open the box. I pull out a screwdriver, chisel and wrench. I don’t bother to close the shed door behind me as I hurry back inside and up the stairs.

  It’s not easy to get comfortable with my knees on the floor in my bedroom as I lean over the loose floorboard. I tilt my ear towards the floor and listen. I don’t hear any squeaking or scurrying but my heart is still pounding as I slide various tools in the narrow gap between the boards. The screwdriver is useless – too round and bulky. But I make headway with the chisel. I’m damaging the corner of the board but I’m definitely widening the gap on one side. Finally, the board pops up and I screech, jump back and clutch my chest, as I expect a rat to come hurtling at me with its claws poised, ready to rip my flesh off.

  I pant loudly as I catch my breath. After a couple of seconds I begin to laugh at my dramatics before I set the board to the side and lean over the hole in the floor to look. My laughter stops as I stare at the mound of paper. It’s bowed in the middle with its edges curled up like a canoe, and I wonder how long it has spent stuffed in this small space. I lower myself on to my hunkers, hold my breath and reach my hand into the gap. My fingers have barely grazed the paper when I hear the sudden onset of footsteps creeping up the stairs.

  I’m quickly upright. Inside my head is noisy as pounding blood races through my veins. My panicked fingers tremble, and I almost drop the board when I try to put it back, as the footsteps draw closer. Finally, my hands cooperate and the board settles into place like the lid of a treasure box.

  ‘Hello. Hello,’ a female voice calls.

  Gillian? I think, and suddenly feel exposed and vulnerable. I was expecting it to be Luke. I kick off my shoes as quickly as I can and jump into bed.

  There’s a gentle knock on the ajar bedroom door. ‘Hello, Darcy. Are you in here?’

  I think about pretending to be asleep. There’s something deeply disturbing about Gillian lurking in the house, just outside my bedroom.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks, knocking once more. ‘The back door was wide open and . . .’

  ‘I’m fine, Gillian,’ I reply, my voice more clipped than I would like it to be, and I hope she doesn’t pick up on my anxiety.

  Gillian’s head slowly appears in the doorway followed uncertainly by the rest of her. ‘I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in. But when the door was open and there was no answer—’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly,’ I lie. ‘You’re very thoughtful to check on me. But I was just letting in some fresh air. I have a headache.’

  ‘It’s very warm today.’ Gillian states the obvious. ‘Maybe you need some water?’

  I don’t reply. I’m not sure what Gillian expects will happen here. I’m not comfortable getting out of bed with her standing watching me, despite being fully dressed under the covers.

  ‘I had some, thanks. I think I just need some sleep now,’ I say, dropping a not-so-subtle hint.

  ‘I wish I could say this was just a friendly neighbourly visit,’ Gillian begins, and I notice her eyes drop to the tools I’ve left scattered on the floor next to the wonky floorboard.

  ‘But it’s not,’ I finish for her, anxious to bring her attention back to me and away from Luke’s tools.

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘The investment,’ I say, my heart sinking.

  Gillian nods. ‘It’s more about Luke, actually.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I ask. My heart is beating so furiously it feels as if it might burst through my chest. ‘Luke’s not here. He’s not here.’

  ‘I know.’ Gillian nods with calm certainty.

  My palms are clammy and beginning to sweat. This is too bizarre.

  ‘I thought maybe you and I could talk,’ Gillian says. ‘Just one woman to another.’

  I clench the duvet, drying my palms. ‘Okay,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe I could make us some tea,’ Gillian suggests. ‘You look like you could use a cuppa. If you’re okay with me in your kitchen, that is.’

  Of course I’m not okay with that but I swallow hard, and, taking a deep breath I say, ‘Yeah. Sure. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Gillian backs out of the room and I hear her footfall on the stairs, descending much quicker and with more confidence than when she came up.

  I hop up and gather all of Luke’s tools. I stuff them into my underwear drawer. I take off my comfortable tracksuit and pull on a green dress with cream polka dots. It’s not maternity wear but it’s oversize and slides on effortlessly over my bump. I find a pair of open-toe wedges with a low heel and slide my feet in. They pinch and are uncomfortable on my swollen feet, but, glancing in the mirror, I feel more respectable and polished than I have in weeks. I brush my hair and I don’t have time for make-up, but this small effort has helped me feel more confident going downstairs to speak with Gillian. Whatever her concerns are about Luke, I feel better capable of ironing them out now than I did ten minutes ago.

  There are two cups of tea waiting on the table when I come into the kitchen. Gillian has brought cake too. It’s in a box in the centre of the table with the lid open.

  ‘I hope you like carrot cake,’ she says. ‘It’s my favourite.’

  ‘I love it,’ I say.

  ‘Well, don’t you look lovely,’ Gillian says, opening a drawer and pulling out a knife. She moves to a cupboard and takes out a couple of small plates, seemingly familiar with where Luke and I keep our crockery.

  ‘Wow. You certainly know your way around a kitchen,’ I say as she places the plates on the table and slices into the cake.

  Gillian stops cutting and looks at me to giggle. ‘Ah, all these old houses are the same, aren’t they?’

  ‘Um,’ I say, as I think about the old kitchen that was ripped out and replaced by this bespoke design shortly after we moved in. ‘What’s going on, Gillian?’ I say, firmly. ‘There’s clearly something amiss. Luke reassured me these things take time, but—’

  ‘Has he given you the old “it’s the paperwork” p
roblem?’ she asks, placing a slice of cake on a plate and passing it to me.

  I grimace.

  ‘Ah, well, that answers that question.’ She cuts another slice of cake for herself. ‘The paperwork is tedious and boring but that’s not exactly the problem.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, accepting what I’ve known all along. I get the distinct impression that Gillian has an issue with my husband.

  Darcy’s Dishes is a brand primarily directed at women, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have clever, efficient men working behind the scenes. It’s hard not to take offence and keep my professional hat on.

  ‘I’ll be back at work as soon as this baby is born,’ I say. ‘I have no intention of taking a long maternity leave. I’ve built Darcy’s Dishes from the ground up. I’m always going to be involved and present wherever possible.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad to hear that,’ Gillian says, digging her fork into her cake.

  ‘Saying that,’ I add, quickly, ‘Luke and I are a partnership and we work best together.’

  Gillian lowers her fork and runs her tongue across her teeth as if what I’ve just said is so difficult to digest it’s put her off her cake.

  ‘I know it may not seem like it right now, but don’t lose faith in us,’ I say. ‘Luke and I are a powerful team, honestly. Since I’ve been sick, he’s done an amazing job of stepping into my shoes, and as soon as I’m well again—’

  ‘Darcy, I know how hard both you and Luke work. And I know you’ve had some health issues recently. That’s why I’ve tried to be so understanding about Luke’s reluctance to accept this posting, but really—’

  ‘A posting?’

  ‘In Ohio. We need a Darcy’s Dishes face in the office there. If we want to expand throughout the US over the next few months, they need to know how serious we are.’