Keep Your Friends Close

by Janelle Harris

  There’s a sudden inhale and Luke races to whisper, ‘Darcy, run.’

  A gasp. A muffled grunt. A loud bang. The line goes dead.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  TINA

  Monday 8 May 2000

  Gillian Buckley is pretty, I think, as I sit behind her in assembly twirling a strand of my hair around my finger. Her sand-red hair swirls around her shoulders in large, loose curls like beautiful leaves blowing in an autumn storm. My poker-straight, much-too-bright ginger hair is cropped and sits on my head like a bowler hat. A smattering of faint freckles dusts the bridge of Gillian’s nose and spills across her cheeks. I wish I had freckles. Sometimes I think about drawing them on with pencil, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  But regardless of our differences, every now and then someone will mistake me for her. They tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Hey Gillian.’ And when I turn and they realise their mistake, they walk away as if I’m infected with some sort of disease that they might catch if they stand too close.

  I often wonder what it would be like to be even more like her. Maybe if I let my hair grow, I think. And if I stayed out of the sun, perhaps my skin would lighten until my face was as perfect as a china doll’s too. People might think we are sisters. Twins, even. But I guess there can be only one Gillian Buckley.

  Just as there is only one Darcy Flynn. And she has only one best friend. Me.

  I’ve decided Darcy and I are best friends now. Lucky Darcy.

  We’ve been practically inseparable since the yearbook fiasco.

  Just last week, for example, Darcy said, ‘Good morning’, when we happened to be at our lockers at the same time.

  And I said, ‘Hello.’

  It was fabulous.

  And then a few days ago at lunch I asked if the seat beside her was taken and she quickly replied, ‘No. You can take it.’

  So, I sat down. Unfortunately, Darcy had to leave a couple of minutes later. It must have been something to do with class, because everyone else at the table left too, when I sat down. Darcy was in such a rush she didn’t even get a chance to say where she was going or why she took her lunch tray with her.

  I asked her about it later of course. ‘What happened at lunchtime?’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were in a hurry,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I said.

  She shrugged and replied, ‘Eh, yeah. Sure.’

  I thought she seemed a bit stressed so I made her a cup of tea and snuck some biscuits out of the canteen into our dorm. She was so impressed, she smiled and said, ‘Thanks, Tee.’

  I’ve brought Darcy tea and biscuits every night before bed since. Most of the time she shares them with some of the other girls, the ones who expect it. But every now and then they fall asleep before I sneak back from the canteen, and Darcy is free to share them with me. Once we even sat on her bed and chatted the way the others do, because I know Darcy hates being alone as much as I do.

  She told me all about hair and make-up and clothes. It’s our little secret. Our conversation. Our time. The moment we shared is so special we pretend like it never happened, and none of the other girls know that Darcy and I have become best friends.

  I’m late for this morning’s assembly and when I try to slide into the seat next to Darcy she says, ‘Sorry, Tee. Luke is sitting there.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. I’ll sit in the next row,’ I say as I shuffle into the seats in front, but I don’t think Darcy hears or sees me once Luke arrives. He’s all red-faced and still in his rugby gear – a beautiful mess. He flops into the seat Darcy has saved for him and drapes his arm over her.

  ‘Ah here,’ she says, squirming away and laughing. ‘You’re all sweaty and gross.’

  I can’t believe Darcy spoke to Luke that way. I would never hurt him like that. Darcy doesn’t deserve him. No one deserves him except me.

  ‘Ew, did I just see that ginger nut try to sit here?’ Gillian, the yearbook-credit-stealing bitch leans forward from the row behind Darcy.

  ‘Tina?’ Luke whispers, and I don’t like the sound of his voice. ‘Ah Darcy, c’mon. I thought you were going to stay away from her.’

  Darcy says as I strain to hear, ‘I’m not friends with her or anything. I’m just being polite really.’

  ‘Well when your picture starts appearing in her creepy scrapbook, you’ll be sorry,’ Luke murmurs and the whole row erupts with laughter.

  Darcy doesn’t laugh. It so happens I do have a picture of her in my scrapbook. It’s a beautiful one taken on sports day last year. The sun is shining right above her and her hair is all shimmering and glossy. It wasn’t easy to snatch it from the noticeboard outside the sports hall without getting caught. I decide I’m going to rip it out and burn it.

  ‘Enough. That’s enough talking.’ The vice-principal’s squeaky voice carries over the speakers, and although she’s probably onstage she’s so short she’s lost behind the podium and not visible to any of us. I laugh.

  ‘I said, that. Is. Enough,’ she snaps again, and the chatter slowly fades away until there is nothing more than the odd cough or loud sigh.

  ‘Mr McEvoy is indisposed,’ the vice-principal begins, pausing as one of the other teachers carries over a step and places it next to the podium. She climbs up and her flushed cheeks and round glasses come into view.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Purcell,’ everyone chimes.

  ‘Ah yes, that’s better,’ she says. ‘Good morning, everyone. As I said, Mr McEvoy can’t be here this morning. So, I’ll be speaking to you in his place.’

  A dull groan ripples across the hall like a Mexican wave. Mrs Purcell either doesn’t hear it or she is so used to ignoring teenage opposition that it rolls off her like water dripping down shiny wax.

  ‘I don’t say this lightly, boys and girls,’ Mrs Purcell continues, her lips barely parting. ‘But it has come to our attention, Mr McEvoy and me, that we have a bullying problem in this school.’

  Gasps and sniggers divide the hall. The bullied and the bullies. I glance around as quickly as I can, taking in as many indignant and scared faces as I can register.

  ‘And worst of all, it’s our senior year where the problem is most rampant. I must say I’m ashamed. What a terrible example you are setting for younger children here at St Peter’s.’

  The groaning among bored students gains traction, once again.

  Mrs Purcell is quick to continue. ‘Mr McEvoy and I will be calling each of you out of class this morning to speak to you about it. Everything you say will be held in the strictest confidence.’

  ‘Ugh, God. Would you listen to her,’ Gillian whispers. I can only imagine the rolling eyes that accompany her droll moan. ‘She sounds like a bloody detective. Everything you say will be held in confidence, blah bloody blah,’ she mimics, and I have to press my lips firmly together to hold in a laugh. ‘I bet it’s the yearbook that’s the problem,’ Gillian says. ‘Ugh, trust Tina to not take a joke.’

  ‘Shh,’ Darcy whispers. ‘I think that’s Tina in front.’ And I can only imagine she’s pointing at the back of my head. I’m not brave enough to turn around.

  ‘So,’ Gillian says, even louder. ‘She’s obviously the snitch. She deserves everything that’s coming to her, if you ask me.’

  ’Do you want me to beat some sense into her?’ someone asks, and I hold my breath as I try to figure out who. I hope it’s not Flabby Gabby. She’s about three times as wide as I am and at least a foot taller.

  ‘Nah,’ Gillian says. ‘The snitch isn’t worth it.’

  ‘I was the one who told actually,’ Darcy says.

  ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me.’ Luke sighs. ‘Darcy, Jesus. What were you thinking? Are you trying to make sure everyone at school hates you?’

  ‘The yearbook stunt was a dick move and you know it,’ Darcy says. ‘I didn’t mention names. To be honest I don’t even know the names. I just told Mr McEvoy that Tina was really upset.’

 
My cheeks flush and fire burns in the pit of my stomach. I can’t believe Darcy did this. How could she embarrass me like this? What a bitch.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Mrs Purcell bellows, startling everyone, including me. ‘What is all this mumbling about?’ She points, but really her finger could be directed at anyone.

  Darcy freezes.

  And Gillian stupidly says, ‘Nothing, miss.’ As if butter wouldn’t melt on her notoriously fiery tongue.

  Mrs Purcell pulls herself especially tall, and, looking down on the entire hall, she says, ‘Well, nothing certainly seems to be very interesting. My office. After assembly, Gillian. Let’s see if you’re as chatty then.’

  Whispering and giggling start at the back.

  ‘Enough!’ Mrs Purcell roars, and for a petite woman her voice is incredibly large. ‘Unless, of course, more of you would like to join Gillian in my office.’

  An instant hush follows.

  Mrs Purcell cocks her head to one side. Satisfied, she says, ‘No. I didn’t think so.’

  Chatter begins again as assembly ends and teachers and pupils disburse to their respective classrooms. I’m swallowed in a group of boys roughhousing as they laugh their way out of the double doors of the hall. It takes me a while to shuffle free and I instantly search for Darcy. I see her chatting with a group of girls from our dorm, but I keep my distance.

  ‘She’s so weird,’ I hear one of the girls say.

  ‘Who?’ someone else pipes up.

  ‘Your one, the scrapbook freak. You know, what’s-her-name.’

  A deep and angry voice that I instantly recognise as Gillian’s cuts across both girls. ‘Why the hell are we talking about that ginger freak?’

  ‘Exactly. Why are we talking about her?’ says a softer, calmer voice that I also recognise.

  It’s Darcy.

  ‘She’s obsessed with you, Darcy,’ Gillian says, exaggerating an exhausted sigh.

  ‘Yeah, she really is,’ one of the other girls says. ‘It’s kinda creepy. I think she wishes she could magically become you, or something.’

  ‘Well, yeah.’ Gillian laughs. ‘Then she’d be the one sleeping with Luke Hogan, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘That’s not funny,’ Darcy says, securing a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. And she’s instantly perfect again. ‘Luke can’t stand her.’

  ‘Yeah c’mon girls, be nice.’ Gillian laughs again. ‘That’s no way to talk about Darcy’s best friend.’

  ‘She’s not my best friend,’ Darcy says.

  ‘That’s not what she’s been telling people.’

  There’s a flash of disgust in Darcy’s eyes and she scrunches her nose and says, ‘What?’

  ‘She’s been telling everyone stories about tea and biscuits and chats,’ someone else says.

  ‘Ugh, God.’ Darcy drops her head. ‘I was just trying to be nice. She’s lonely.’

  ‘See. Bet the yearbook doesn’t seem so bad now,’ Gillian says.

  Darcy doesn’t reply.

  ‘Tina Summers is a freak,’ Gillian says, jamming her hands on to her hips. ‘And I’m not going to rest until the whole school knows it. Hell, why stop there? I should probably do the world a favour and tell everyone.’

  ‘Bit far maybe.’ Darcy smiles. ‘But yeah, something about her makes me uncomfortable no matter how nice I try to be.’

  ‘Freak. Freak. Freak,’ Gillian chants, seeing me by the lockers.

  ‘Freak. Freak. Freak,’ chorus other kids, joining in.

  It’s loud and scary and I run. I’m outside and all the way down by the construction area for the new tennis courts when the ringing in my ears finally stops. I look up to find birds flying overhead. I envy their simple life. A life without judgement. Or bullies. Or Gillian Buckley.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  DARCY

  Monday 15 July 2019

  I’m standing in my bedroom with my phone in my shaking hand. I’ve tried calling Luke back but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I have to figure out what he means. Run. But from whom? Gillian? Surely not. I’d be running away from her money and towards bankruptcy.

  The doorbell rings as I’m pulling on an oversized tracksuit. Good. This will distract Gillian while I slip out the back. I’ve no idea where I’ll go – I can’t get far in my condition – but the fresh air will clear my head. I need to think. I creep out of my bedroom and on to the landing as Gillian opens the front door.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says.

  And a man’s voice I don’t recognise says, ‘Should we carry this into the sitting room or where would you like it?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ Gillian says confidently as if it’s her house. I gasp when she adds, ‘Please put the new TV in the master bedroom. Second door on the right.’

  ‘Upstairs, Mick,’ the man shouts, beckoning his colleague to assist.

  A skinny man with a goatee appears under the door arch. He stubs a cigarette out on the porch before walking into my house. ‘All the way up the bleedin’ stairs,’ he grumbles.

  ‘Second door on the right,’ the original man says.

  My heart is beating quickly as I skulk backwards.

  Despite their complaining, the men are at the top of the stairs before I’ve made it back as far as the bed.

  ‘Oh hello,’ the clean-shaven man says, clearly surprised to notice me. ‘Where do you want this, love?’ he asks.

  ‘Is it heavy?’ Gillian asks, appearing behind them.

  ‘Well, it’s not light.’ The skinny man snorts as they shuffle into my bedroom.

  ‘You can just leave it there,’ I say, pointing to an open space near the door with no furniture. I eye up the door, ready to slip downstairs as soon as Gillian and the men are out of the way, but Gillian’s eyes are on me as she positions herself in the centre of the doorway.

  Gillian twirls a strand of hair around her finger and she juts a provocative hip towards the nicer of the two men. ‘Would you mind lifting it up here for us?’ she asks, pointing at the dresser.

  The skinny man looks as if he’s about to protest when the other man says, ‘Sure thing, love, we’d be happy to help.’

  ‘You’re a star.’ Gillian giggles like a schoolgirl.

  I swallow my disgust and watch as the men carefully slip a shiny television from the box, fiddle around to attach the stand, and position it on the dresser. The whole process is messy but Gillian showers the gullible man with praise.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say, approaching Gillian in the doorway.

  She ignores me and continues talking to the man. ‘You’re so strong,’ she says, shamelessly. ‘Do you work out?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I repeat.

  Gillian drapes her arm over my shoulder and spins me around to face the men. ‘They’re doing a great job, aren’t they?’ she says. ‘A great team. It’s so important that when people work together, they make a good team. Don’t you think so?’

  I know Gillian is referring to me and her and the investment. But right now, we couldn’t possibly feel like less of a team. Especially as Luke’s words ring in my ears. Run. Run. Run!

  As soon as the television is safely in place, Gillian straightens up and says, ‘Right, I’ll see you out.’

  The man’s eyes cloud over with disappointment and his cheeks flush as he realises he’s been played.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Gillian repeats, firmly.

  The men walk towards the door, one behind the other. Gillian guides me aside, her arm still across my shoulders, weighing heavily.

  ‘Eh, you’re not leaving that there, are you?’ Gillian says, pointing towards the large cardboard box.

  ‘We don’t take recycling,’ the skinny man says, and Gillian’s nostrils flare as she glares at him.

  ‘Fine,’ she hisses.

  ‘Ah c’mon, Mick,’ the nicer man says, ‘we can make an exception today, can’t we?’

  Mick picks up the box. ‘Happy?’ he says, as he marches past us.

  ‘Very.’ She shrugs.

  The n
ice man doesn’t say another word as he walks out of the bedroom behind his colleague. I slide away from Gillian and hurry into the hall after them.

  ‘Wait?’ I say.

  He turns and smiles. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could I get a lift with you? Into town please.’

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he says. ‘We can’t have more than two in the van at any time. Insurance.’

  I swallow, catching Gillian looking at me. There’s the glint of something unsettling deep in her hooded eyes.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she says to the men.

  Gillian stands statue-like beside me until the sound of the front door closing behind the delivery men is long gone. But Gillian doesn’t move.

  Finally, I say, ‘Won’t you be late for work?’

  ‘I’m not going to work today.’

  ‘But earlier you said—’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to spend all day here. Right beside you.’

  ‘There’s really no need. I’m probably just going to spend most of my day napping,’ I say.

  ‘I insist.’ Gillian places her hand on my shoulder again, and this time she pinches so hard I yelp and squirm away.

  ‘Get into bed,’ Gillian says. ‘I’m going to make us tea and toast and we are going to eat it and watch Good Morning, Ireland. Together. The way friends do. You like Good Morning, Ireland, don’t you?’

  I nod timorously. If Gillian is trying to intimidate me it’s working.

  I climb into bed as Gillian watches and I pull the covers up to my neck. She nods her approval.

  ‘I won’t be long. Don’t move,’ she warns, and she flicks on the new television.

  The moment she’s gone I mute the television. I turn away and stare out of the window. Seconds tick by in exaggerated slow motion as I sit, still and afraid, in a place I once felt the safest in the world.

  It isn’t long before my attention is drawn to an intermittent banging that seems to resonate in the belly of my old house. Gillian’s bustling in the kitchen mostly overrides the sound. But it’s there when she stops making a noise. I hear it again now and it’s not just the rattle of rusty old hot-water pipes. This sound is new and different. I’ve never heard it in the house before. When a distinctive clawing strikes my ear, I immediately think of the rats. I drag my knees up and cradle my bump as if they can scurry through the floorboards and reach us. My baby and me.