Keep Your Friends Close

by Janelle Harris

  I glance at my daughter, nursing on my lap. It’s hard to believe she’s two months old already. Her hand is curled around my finger, a habit she’s had since the day she was born, and her knees are tucked into her chest. Mildred says it’s because my bump was so small it’ll take her a while to unravel. As if she’s a ball of beautiful twine that has changed my life.

  The doctors couldn’t believe she survived. She was delivered by emergency C-section shortly after my arrival in hospital, but I was so dehydrated and malnourished that she was massively underweight on her arrival.

  We spent the first week of her life apart. Me in one hospital, Rosie in another.

  ‘She’s a little fighter,’ the doctor said when I was finally strong enough to visit.

  ‘Just like her mother,’ the nurse said, and then she asked me for a selfie because she couldn’t wait to tell her friends she’d met me and cared for my baby.

  In the here and now, someone from make-up tells me to shut my eyes as she brushes shadow over my lids.

  ‘Hello, hello, hello,’ Lindsay St Claire says at the door. ‘Welcome back, Darcy. We’re so excited to have you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t forget to leave your phone here. No more calls on air this time.’ She winks.

  I laugh. But what Lindsay probably doesn’t know is that my phone is hopping. Every big-name entrepreneur in the country wants a slice of Darcy’s Dishes. When the story of my kidnapping broke, sales went through the roof. The factory can barely keep up with demand. And the banks are throwing money at us.

  I do still wonder if things would be different if Luke had been more honest with me instead of hiding mounting bills and lying to me about panicked phone calls to the bank. But, on reflection, I understand why he did it. He was trying to protect his family. It was misguided and foolish but it was also kind and caring, and so typically Luke.

  Lindsay places her hand on my shoulder and says, ‘We’re on air in five, are you ready?’

  ‘So ready.’

  ‘And we’re live in three . . . two . . . one . . .’ the man with the headset says, and I smile and face the camera as I open the door of Luke’s hospital bedroom and walk inside, just as we rehearsed. I have my baby in one arm and a crutch in the other and Lindsay said it’s TV gold.

  The camera rolls as I approach Luke’s bed and he smiles.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve walked into Luke’s room. The first time, I sat in a wheelchair crying in the hallway before I even got near the door. And I was a hysterical mess when I saw him lying in bed for the first time draped in wires, as machines did the work for him that his body simply could not. Luke saved my life when he managed to free himself enough to raise the alarm, but the worry that he wouldn’t pull through was too hard to bear. I sat beside his bed for hours every day. Often the nurses from my ward would have to come and drag me unwillingly back to my bed. And when I was discharged, I divided my time evenly between Rosie and Luke, bouncing from one hospital to another. Rosie and I were discharged weeks ago, me first and Rosie three days later. We’ve been crashing at Mildred’s since – not quite ready to face our house. And especially not without Luke.

  Today isn’t the first time Luke, Rosie and I have been together as a family. I’ve brought our little girl to the hospital often to see her dad. But today is the first day we tell our story, in our own words, to the whole country.

  After the regular theme tune to Good Morning, Ireland and the usual light introduction from Lindsay, the camera focuses on Luke’s bed. I’m sitting perched on the edge with my beautiful baby in my arms. Lindsay sits in a navy plastic chair next to us.

  And she says, ‘Folks. You’ll notice we’re on location today. And what a special place it is. Thank you to the doctors and nurses and all the staff at Beaconfield for all the amazing work they do. And thank you to the Hogan family for welcoming us with open arms today. This is their story.’

  The interview doesn’t run over but the segment feels long as I answer kindly worded questions.

  ‘The real Gillian Buckley has been exhumed and buried with her father,’ I say. ‘It’s been nearly twenty years but they’re together again.’

  ‘And Rose Callahan, the Garda who was also kidnapped?’ Lyndsey asks.

  ‘Writing a book,’ I say, beaming proudly. ‘An autobiography about balancing life on the force with being a mother of four.’

  ‘Remarkable. And, you’re a remarkable woman too, Darcy. You really are.’

  As the interview continues Rosie cries a couple of times and I rock her patiently. Luke wilts on occasion too, as he describes his ordeal under the floor of the house, and how his chance to escape finally came when Tina, after telling him about the impending arrival of Rose’s baby, had dashed away to play midwife without properly securing the floorboards.

  And when Lindsay says, ‘Just one last question’, I’m light with happiness.

  I just want to sit beside my husband and feed my daughter. Like any regular family.

  ‘What is the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?’ Lindsay asks.

  Luke places his hand on my knee and I know he’s got this.

  He says, ‘We’re having carpet fitted. No more floorboards.’

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Some books are effortless to write. Fingers bang keys furiously until all the characters, feelings and crescendos of action come together in a beautiful symphony of black and white. This was not one of those books! Keep Your Friends Close challenged me every step of the way. But, it also reminded me that writing is a team effort. And I am so grateful for all the other players.

  Hayley Steed – you are a trailblazer. You’re also kind, funny, encouraging and most importantly Westlife-loving! I’m so lucky to have an agent like you at my side.

  Sammia Hamer – thank you for giving me, and this story, the time needed. It’s made a world of difference to me and the characters. Ian Pindar – for pushing for the best. Always. From me. And from the story. And mostly, thank you so much for doing it all with a sense of humour intact. And thank you to Sadie Mayne and Swati Gamble for your eagle eyes and attention to detail.

  To my fellow writer and dear friend Caroline Finnerty – thank you for your ever kind and encouraging words. For understanding the ups and downs. And for being the sounding board that I so badly need.

  To my family – I love you. But, if it’s 7.30 p.m. and I’m still in my pyjamas at my desk with four empty coffee cups next to me, the answer to, ‘What’s for dinner?’ is probably takeaway, or pizza – if you can find some in the freezer.

  Finally, Dear Reader – thank you very much for reading this book. I will forever remain blown away that people choose to spend their precious time reading my words. I so hope you enjoyed this story.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2019 Steve Langan

  Janelle Harris penned her first story on scented, unicorn-shaped paper. She was nine. A couple of decades, one husband, five children, two cats and a dog later she wrote another story. Unfortunately the paper lacked any fragrance but that didn’t hinder No Kiss Goodbye from becoming an international bestseller. Janelle now writes psychological suspense for Lake Union and women’s fiction for Bookouture. She is always on the lookout for aromatic notepads.