Keep Your Friends Close

by Janelle Harris

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you may remember the twisted web of deceit Lindsay introduced you to recently on her morning show?’ The presenter’s voice sounds before the photo of Gillian fades and Lindsay appears on-screen, sitting cross-legged and nodding. ‘Why don’t you tell us what you’ve found, Lindsay?’

  ‘Thank you, Frank,’ she says, and her usual charm for the camera is effervescent. ‘Folks, I’m sure most of you will remember the lovely Darcy Hogan whom I had on my show not too long ago. Poor Darcy had every guest’s worst nightmare live on air. A disgruntled someone from her past calling mid show.’

  I can’t breathe. It’s as if Lindsay is reaching her hands through the screen and wrapping them tightly around my neck with every word.

  ‘What you don’t know is who this caller was, and what on God’s green earth she wanted, am I right? Well, try as I might, I couldn’t get hold of the mysterious Tina. But as some of you may know I started my career as an investigative journalist and I know alarms bells when I hear them. And my goodness, folks, were they chiming.’

  Oh my God. Oh my God. I grab my chest.

  Lindsay continues and I could swear she’s staring right at me. ‘It seems that Tina Summers and Darcy Hogan were at school together. The exclusive St Peter’s – recently privately sold and commissioned for apartments, but that’s another story.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll cover that soon. You heard it here first, folks,’ the male presenter sitting opposite Lindsay interjects, breaking the flow.

  Lindsay visibly inhales and quickly smiles and nods. ‘Good idea, Frank.’

  There’s a pause as Lindsay gathers her thoughts. And I find my eyes wide open and my fingers tugging on the strap of my bag as I will Lindsay to hurry up and finish the story.

  ‘Further research led me to Andrew Buckley,’ Lindsay continues.

  There’s a collective intake of breath and it’s only then I realise there’s a studio audience.

  Lindsay appears saddened and she sinks lower into her chair as she says, ‘As we’re all too aware Mr Buckley was recently laid to rest after his body was found in the Wicklow Mountains.’

  ‘God rest his soul,’ Frank says.

  The flash of irritation that sweeps across Lindsay’s face might not be noticeable to the audience and certainly not to Frank, but I recognise it. It’s that sudden look of what the hell that your face registers before your mind has a chance to catch up. Of course, you wipe it quickly once your brain catches up, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t wear it for the briefest of moments. I’ve no doubt I wore this look the morning I was on Lindsay’s show and Tina caught me off guard. And I’m certain I sported it again just now when Gillian tried to spin some generic internet crap off as legal documents. I think I’m still making this exact face.

  ‘Andrew Buckley, himself once a pupil at St Peter’s, was a keen investor in alumni. He had recently shown an interest in Darcy’s Dishes. A wise decision, no doubt. Have you tried their plant-based cheesecake, folks? Absolutely a-mazing!’

  ‘I haven’t actually tasted it, but I hear great things,’ Frank says, just about remaining in shot on his own show.

  ‘It’s great, Frank. You’d love it,’ Lindsay says, and the camera once again zooms in on her, cutting Frank out. ‘But Andrew Buckley wasn’t just a clever and successful businessman,’ Lindsay continues, bringing the tone right back as if Frank never spoke. ‘He was also a loving father. Behind the suits and cars and mansion was a broken man.’

  The audience gasps again and it’s no doubt directed but it doesn’t lose the effect.

  Lindsay’s eyes shine and I believe her empathy as she continues. ‘His only daughter, Gillian, whose photo you saw just moments ago, was also a pupil at St Peter’s. Kind. Clever and popular. An integral cog in the school.’

  Lindsay pauses. Maybe to let the audience catch up with a story I’m so familiar with. Maybe to catch her own breath.

  Lindsay doesn’t have to say the next sentence. I know what comes next. But my heart still skips a beat when she says, ‘Gillian has been missing for nineteen years.’

  ‘What are you watching?’ Gillian barges into my room without knocking. The door is flung back and hits the wall behind with a loud thud, the handle, no doubt, taking a chunk out of the wall as I quickly switch off the television.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Just the news.’

  Goosebumps pucker my skin as Gillian’s eyes crawl all over me and I wait to see if she will flick the television back on.

  ‘Global warming,’ I say, pointing towards the blank screen. ‘There was a really interesting piece on it.’ There’s a quiver in my voice but I think I’m passing it off as tiredness. ‘Methane. It’s a huge problem, as we know. Plant-based foods are the way forward. Darcy’s Dishes is the way forward, isn’t it?’

  Gillian ignores me as she shuffles her hip between the dresser and the wall. She grunts as she pushes hard and the dresser and wall separate.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Got it,’ she says, pulling a cable out from behind the television.

  She shoves the dresser back, straightens up and dusts her hands off.

  I begin to sweat as I wonder when Gillian will notice my handbag slung over my shoulder.

  ‘You need rest,’ Gillian says, spinning the cable around her hand until it’s a neat loop, then she slides it off and tucks it under her arm.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, afraid to move.

  ‘You moved the rug,’ she says, pointing.

  ‘I, eh . . . I thought it looked nicer here.’

  Gillian makes a face. ‘I’ll get you something to eat. You haven’t eaten in a while.’

  ‘Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.’

  Gillian places the cable on the rug. A simple gesture to warn me she’s always been one step ahead.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  DARCY

  Saturday 20 July 2019

  I roll over and wrap my arms around Luke ready to snuggle for another few minutes before the day begins. My eyes flicker open when I don’t find my husband next to me and reality dawns quickly. I find myself in bed with my eyes closed and I have the worst headache ever. Every now and then I hear noises downstairs. It’s bright outside but I don’t know if it’s late evening or early morning. I’m not sure it matters. Gillian locked my bedroom from the outside and after I fought against it for too long and lost too much energy, I realised it was pointless. I think that’s when I crawled into bed. I can’t really remember.

  Warm summer light shines through the window kissing my face, and I remember how I love this feeling. The way the bedroom window captures the light is one of the reasons I suggested to Luke that we buy this place. It’s beautifully bright. Or at least it was. The window is open and a gentle breeze rustles in every so often as the sound of carefree children playing in the distance carries on the wind.

  When my stomach heaves, reminding me that mornings often start this way, I crawl my way towards the en suite on all fours. Surprisingly Gillian hasn’t locked that door too. I flush the loo, but the smell of vomit clings to the air and I fetch some air freshener from the cabinet above the sink. It’s empty and I drop it into the bin. The broken shards of soap tray stare at me. I fish them out piece by piece, pricking myself a couple of times and sucking on my fingers.

  Back in the bedroom I arrange the pieces on my dressing table, trying as best I can to recreate the original shape. It’s tricky and I’m missing a few pieces that were, no doubt, lost between empty aerosol canisters and dirty cotton buds.

  My ringing phone startles me and I jump, jumbling the pieces all over again. I hurry towards the bed where the ringing is muffled by the haphazard bedclothes it’s got tangled up in. I’m relieved I can still receive calls even if I can’t make any.

  ‘Hello?’ I say, and I can’t believe how I sound. As if I’m underwater. Luke sounded just like this the last time we spoke.

  ‘Darcy.’ The voice on the other end sounds noticeably shocked.


  I try again. ‘Hi. Hello.’

  ‘Darcy, it’s Mildred.’

  ‘Millirred. I’m stuck,’ I say.

  ‘You’re drunk?’ Mildred replies, baffled.

  ‘Stuck,’ I repeat.

  ‘Drunk? Darcy I can’t understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘S’locked me in. S’not real. It’s not real. You have to help.’

  There’s heavy sighing.

  ‘Darcy, if it wasn’t early morning and you weren’t heavily pregnant, I’d honestly believe you’re high as a kite right now.’

  ‘S’bad, Millirid. She’s bad.’

  ‘Take some deep breaths, okay?’ Mildred says.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You have to listen. Are you listening?’

  I am listening.

  ‘Darcy?’

  My eyes close without me telling them to, but I keep the phone pressed against my ear. I’m past words but I’m desperate for Mildred to keep talking.

  ‘Darcy. Darcy, are you there?’

  I’m here. Oh God, I’m here.

  ‘There’s no office in Ohio, Darcy,’ Mildred says. ‘Or certainly none that I can find. There’s no email. No phone numbers. No goddamn building.’

  Mildred pauses and I try so hard to ask her to keep going, but I can’t speak.

  ‘Look,’ she says, ‘I have no idea what’s going on but I know you need this information. You also need to know Gillian Buckley isn’t a partner at Buckley & Co. From what I can find there is no mention of her anywhere in the company at all.’

  I want to thank Mildred. I want to tell her that the woman in my house isn’t Gillian Buckley and that I think whoever she is has hurt Luke and she wants to hurt me, but all that comes out is a tepid grunt.

  ‘Darcy, I’m worried about you,’ Mildred says. ‘If Luke is having an affair, drink isn’t the answer. Especially not now. We can trace accounts. We can always find money. He can’t bleed you dry.’

  It’s not Luke, I want to scream, but I merely manage an animal cry.

  ‘Maybe you could come stay with me for a bit?’ Mildred suggests. ‘We can figure this out together. A break up is hard, trust me, I know.’

  I swallow again; this lump is larger and more cumbersome to force down. I often think Mildred knows me so well that if anything were to happen to me she could keep Darcy’s Dishes. But it breaks my heart that she doesn’t seem to know Luke.

  ‘Look, I’ll be home in forty minutes,’ Mildred says. ‘Go to my place? Let yourself in. There’s a key under the mat.’

  I can’t make words.

  ‘I really hope I see you soon,’ Mildred says, and then she hangs up.

  And I’m suddenly plunged into silence, loneliness and fear.

  I cling to my phone and dial 999. Thankfully, even with an unpaid bill, emergency numbers still connect.

  ‘Hello emergency services, which service do you require?’

  A throaty gargle is all I can manage.

  ‘Emergency services,’ the male voice repeats. ‘Which service can I put you through to?’

  The key rattles in the lock and the bedroom door creaks open.

  ‘Hello. Hello,’ the voice echoes in my ear.

  I hang up and lower the phone, defeated, as Gillian walks into the room.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.

  I can feel the beads of sweat on my forehead, but I can’t quite manage to raise my arm to wipe them away.

  Gillian leans past me and reaches for the window, closing it.

  I inhale deeply, desperate to breathe. Just breathe.

  ‘Just needed some fresh air, eh?’

  I wonder if I opened it. Maybe I could shout for help if I could find my voice.

  Gillian takes my hand in hers and squeezes gently. ‘I can only imagine how you must be feeling.’

  My eyes can’t seem to focus on her but my mind still drinks in her sadistic smirk.

  ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Water? Your husband?’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  DARCY

  Sunday 21 July 2019

  I can’t see. I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed as I try to work out where the hell I am. It’s cold too, the floor beneath me. And moist. The smell is familiar, like the garden. Soil and earth. Musty and damp. But there are smells of the house too. Toast and coffee. The smells of morning. And the odd rattling and banging is louder than it has ever been.

  ‘You’re awake,’ a voice whispers.

  I rub my eyes.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I say. I think I’m on my feet. My legs are shaking and I stretch my hands out in front of me, feeling my way around in the darkness.

  ‘Darcy?’ the voice whimpers.

  ‘Rose?’ I gasp.

  ‘It’s me. Are you okay? You’ve been out of it for a while.’

  ‘Oh my God you’re alive,’ I say.

  ‘Do you know where we are?’ Rose asks.

  I shake my head, and slowly realise that I haven’t found Rose. I’ve joined her. In that place where the missing go. Where is that place?

  ‘You don’t remember what happened, do you?’ Rose asks.

  I shake my head again, before realising she can’t see me. I’m engulfed by anger and fear and confusion and words are hard. But I say, ‘No. I have no idea what the hell is going on. Do you?’

  ‘Not really,’ Rose says. ‘I mean, I know Tina is nuts, but that’s all.’

  ‘Tina?’ I echo. ‘Oh God. Oh God.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Rose says, sounding ecstatic that I seem to have some idea of what she’s talking about. ‘She’s new. I just wanted to be her friend and this . . .’

  There’s a long pause, but its meaning seems to get lost in this void of darkness.

  ‘What does she want?’ Rose begins to cry. ‘I don’t know how long I’ve been here.’

  ‘Have you had any food? Some water?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah. She brings some. On a tray. Orange juice and granola, mostly. And there’s light sometimes too. There’s a crack in the wall over there.’ I can only imagine Rose is pointing. ‘There must be clouds tonight because the moon isn’t shining. This is the darkest it’s been. You’ll see in the morning. There is light.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I ask.

  There’s a pause and I imagine Rose is shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure what day it is either, but you’ve been here for a while. Hours, I’m guessing. A day or so. I was beginning to worry you would never wake up.’

  Suddenly there’s a creak and a door opens. There’s a burst of light too. It’s subtle and obviously night light, but it’s a dramatic contrast to the darkness my eyes are struggling with. I can see shapes at the very least.

  ‘Hey. Hey. I’ve brought some treats,’ Gillian says.

  I can hear Rose crying. Her whimpers are subtle, but mirror mine.

  ‘Come on now,’ Gillian chirps like a cheerleader trying to rally the crowd. ‘It’s a favourite. Smoothies and granola. I’ve even added berries. Don’t say I don’t spoil you.’

  ‘Where are we?’ I step forward, but as soon as I do my legs give way and I fall, barely managing to position my hip to the ground first, saving my enormous belly from the impact.

  ‘Cherryway, Darcy,’ Gillian says, half laughing. ‘Where else would we be?’

  ‘No. You’ve taken me somewhere. Taken us, somewhere.’

  Gillian sets a tray down next to me and Rose. I gag when I recognise the bowl. It sat on my bedside table for two days last week before Gillian took it away. Rose lunges forward. She wolfs down the granola and guzzles back a full glass of smoothie. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry,’ she says to Gillian, retreating just as quickly.

  This isn’t Rose, I think. This isn’t the feisty, fit cop who could plank for three minutes while pregnant. What has Gillian done to her?

  ‘Luke asked me to take care of you,’ Gillian says to me, ‘and I’m never, ever, ever going to break that promise. Because Luke is special. But, hey. Who am I telling? You already know how am
azing he is, right?’

  ‘Where’s Luke?’ I ask. ‘What have you done with my husband?’

  Gillian laughs, and it’s dark again as soon as she closes the door. I hear rattling and clanking. And I know wherever Rose and I are, we’re locked in.

  Oh Luke. What has she done?

  ‘I told you Tina is crazy,’ Rose says.

  ‘Tina.’ I say aloud the name that has been plaguing me since the day she called Good Morning, Ireland and told the world my company was in trouble. ‘Who was that? Just now, with the food?’ I ask the question I already know the answer to.

  ‘Tina,’ Rose says with certainty.

  ‘Yeah.’ I swallow. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘You should eat,’ Rose says. ‘I left you some. It could be a few days before she’s back.’

  ‘She doesn’t bring food every day?’ I ask.

  Rose makes a noise and I can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a cry. ‘No. She doesn’t come every day. I think that’s the thing she loves the most, my excitement when I do see her. Like I said—’

  ‘She’s crazy.’ I finish Rose’s sentence for her. ‘Believe me I know. I just wish it hadn’t taken me nearly twenty years to figure it out.’

  Chapter Fifty

  TINA

  Monday 22 July 2019

  I stare at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. My hair is slowly darkening at the roots, more brick red than strawberry blonde now, and I know it’s time to dye it again. My skin breathes for the first time in months without make-up. A clear, slightly jaded complexion stares back at me.

  I can see the reflection of Darcy’s and Luke’s bed behind me. The bed they’ve spent countless nights together in. No doubt holding each other, caressing each other, making love. Making a baby. Every time I push the jealousy into the pit of my stomach it bubbles up at the back of my throat. I throw the hairbrush. It clanks against the mirror, not breaking it, but it does cause a large crack to trickle down the centre, splitting the mirror in two. I toss my head back and laugh at the irony. A mirror, mirroring me so well.