The Best of Friends

by Alex Day

  Back home, I wrap my arms around my husband.

  ‘I’m cold,’ I say. ‘Let’s have a sauna.’

  Since Dan paid off my debts, I’ve rekindled my enjoyment in the sauna and we’ve recently had it upgraded, and a steam room complex installed. It helps both my back and Dan’s stressed and work-sore limbs. I can really recommend it to anyone. It’s worth every penny of the thirty thousand it’s cost us. It doesn’t remind me of my peccadilloes anymore, of my gambling. That’s all in the past now, like so many things.

  I go to the bedroom to take off my jewellery and my Dior jacket. I needed to look the part for court and I went for understated elegance. I think I pulled it off.

  I take a piece of paper out of my pocket. I unfold it slowly and deliberately and scan my eyes over it. A slow smile spreads across my face. My ‘alternative’ victim statement. The one that is for my eyes only, that no one else will ever see or know existed.

  Epilogue

  Well, Susannah, my erstwhile friend. What can I say? Walking away from the court when my case collapsed, I experienced the triumph that you probably felt when you got off more or less scot-free, all those years ago. It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?

  You thought you were clever, that you could rob me of my husband. You pretended to be my best friend, but all the while you were plotting to take Dan from me. Unfortunately for you, though, I saw you coming. I’ve seen your ilk many times before. From the moment I first caught sight of you on the village green in your ridiculous scarlet coat, I knew the scarlet woman who lay beneath – and I knew that it was of the utmost importance that I keep close tabs on you. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer; it’s the principle I always live by.

  That ‘accident’ Luke had on the adventure playground? It was no such thing. I orchestrated it deliberately, knowing that yelling out would cause him or Jamie – hopefully both – to lose concentration and balance, leading to a fall. It was a surefire way to worm my way into your life, for us to bond over a terrible tragedy that, by dint of some great good fortune, had been avoided. I needed to be close to you so that I would know what you were up to.

  I have to say, though, that over time I did start to think that maybe my first impressions had been wrong. That you were, indeed, someone to be trusted. That you meant it when you said you’d look after Dan whilst I was in Corsica. Hindsight, as they say, is a wonderful thing and now I can’t believe I was so stupid. Oh, you looked after him all right. Your treachery, in my opinion, was worse than his. Friends should stand up for each other, stick together. Have you never heard of sisterhood?

  Of course I knew it was you who’d fucked my husband in my own bed. I suspected it even before I realised that the necklace was yours. When I remembered why it was familiar, that I’d seen the matching earrings in that photo that Miriam took of you and Dan outside the tennis club, I both could hardly believe it and knew it had always been inevitable. I saw that you had always been determined to get your hands on him. Was it arrogance, stupidity, or a bit of both that made you put the necklace straight back on again the day I returned it to you in the post? Did you do it deliberately to flaunt yourself? I wouldn’t put it past you to have left it in my bedroom on purpose, some pathetic attempt to make sure I found out, to break Dan and I up. If that was the case, how little you know me – and him.

  Even now, after all that’s happened, I can hardly believe you’re in prison, serving fourteen years for trying to kill my husband, Dan, the man you professed to love. Things got a bit sticky when I was arrested instead of you. I’ve got to admit, that was a tricky moment. It was so obvious to anyone with half a brain that you – the spurned lover, the discarded other woman – were the culprit. But for a moment there, I have to be honest, Susannah, I wondered if I’d completely blown it.

  I’ll grant you that what I did was risky. I had to take a chance – a big chance – that the hemlock I used to garnish the curry you made wouldn’t kill him – or me. Planting the leaves in that ridiculous red coat of yours when you dropped off the curry and collected Sam for the sleepover was easily done. I knew that you had stashed leaves away in your pockets before and therefore wouldn’t be surprised to find little bits and pieces of greenery still in there. The police, on the other hand, would be most interested in this evidence. Especially when forensic tests identified it as the very same substance that had been used to taint the dish that you prepared, supposedly so lovingly.

  In the end, I managed the poisoning bit with admirable precision and accuracy. You should have been the only one ever to be in the frame. But Naomi blethered on about those bloody mushrooms, which were a genuine mistake, genuine, I tell you, and before I knew it I was in the dock. Everyone knew I had the knowledge from my foraging expertise and one thing led to another and … well, things nearly went very wrong for me.

  Thank goodness for Miriam, faithful to the last, and always, always on the lookout for gossip. When she met that researcher in the pub she quickly put two and two together and made four, realising who he was seeking: you. Finding out that he was trying to track you down to take part in a TV documentary about female poisoners was a gift to my defence and therefore to me.

  It was complete coincidence that I chose poison as the way to set you up. Absolute serendipity. I didn’t know then that you had form in the poisoning area. But I did know that you would be able to find the hemlock patch again and that you knew how dangerous it was. Not only I, but any of the foragers who were with us that day, would be able to testify to that. When it came out that you had done it before, that you had tried to harm the man and woman who had thwarted you in your desires, it all fell into place. Your shameless offer to make the curry for my reunion with Dan bore so many similarities to adulterating that box of chocolates that you had given to your boyfriend and his lover, the woman he preferred over you.

  From the moment all this information was out in the open my plan, which had for a while been under such threat, fell back into place again. I had made sure to taste the curry when you brought it round, but to take only such a tiny amount that it couldn’t possibly have an adverse effects. That was important because at first I thought the allegation would be that you’d already poisoned it when you deposited it at my house. Miriam’s eye-witness account of seeing you outside later on, in the early evening, changed all that. You’d come back to do the dirty deed, so my earlier tasting became irrelevant. I could hardly believe the gift I’d been given – such stupidity on your part, such luck for me!

  When I look back now, I can appreciate that there were more than a few delicate moments. On the night itself I didn’t bargain on the storm, nor on quite how much Dan would eat. But once a gambler, always a gambler – and this time, the risk paid off.

  Now you’re in prison and Dan’s eternally grateful to me for what I did, driving through the relentless weather, the tree-felling storm, to get him to the hospital in time to save his life, even when my own was also in jeopardy. For snatching him away from your disingenuous clutches.

  He’ll never stray again.

  You didn’t ever really understand what kind of person I am, how far I’ll go to protect me and mine. Though you knew that, when it comes to my kids, I’m a mother bear defending her cubs to my last breath, you failed to see that this would extend to my husband, too. You thought I’d just give him up to you. That I’d let him go and wish him well. How could you be so foolish? Like Icarus, you flew too close to the sun on flimsy wings of lust and deceit and inevitably you crashed and burned.

  If you’re feeling down, look at it this way. You haven’t done so badly. With the sentence you’ve been given, you’ll be out in under ten years, probably even less if you behave nicely. Don’t come back to the village, though. You won’t be welcome here, ever again.

  Sorry-not-sorry, Susannah Carr – or should I call you Sue Birch? But nobody touches my husband, threatens my family, my lifestyle, my future and gets away with it.

  I hope you know that now.

  When
I’ve finished reading, a smile of quiet and simple satisfaction upon my face, I tear the letter into tiny pieces, scrunch them up in my hand and put them back in my pocket. I leave them there until the afternoon, when we troop out to the green to take part in the first of the season’s paper chases. ‘We’, today, means me and Dan and Sam. Toby is still at school, the twins on their gap year in South America. They had to postpone it because of the court case but they’re back on track now and will be off to university in the autumn. It was hard for all of them to come to terms with the attempted assassination of their father, but over time we’ve helped them to understand and in the end it’s actually brought us all closer together, the Hegartys against the world, snug and safe in our – extremely well-heeled – little unit. Even my baby, Sam, is over the worst of it now and positively revelling in all the attention that comes to the last one left at home.

  Your Jamie and Luke have moved back to London to live with their father for the duration. Poor kids. But it’s best for them to be away from your suffocating care; they were in danger of becoming terrible mummy’s boys. All women deny that they criticise other mothers’ parenting but they all do it. And with you, there is – was – a lot to criticise.

  Leaving Dan and Sam talking strategies – it’s lovely to see how much greater a part Dan is playing in the boys’ lives these days – I wander a little way away, following the paper trail. I pull the remains of the letter out of my pocket and open my hand, allowing the wind to grab the pieces and disperse them into those already lying on the frost-hard ground. At first they seem conspicuous, so white amidst the colours of red, blue and green. But soon the eye becomes accustomed to differences and stops noticing them and so it is now. I pause for a moment, considering the irony of making my letter part of the very game that first brought us together, two years ago on Toby’s birthday.

  That day was the start of the competition between us, the tussle to win the heart and mind of Dan. And I’ve ended up where I always knew I would.

  The winner.

  A gust of wind stirs the paper pieces and then subsides, leaving the trail intact, stretching into the distance. A whistle sounds and the race starts. The boys stream past. My husband, on the sidelines, cheers them on.

  This time, my Sam is in the lead.

  Acknowledgements

  Like many authors, my writing takes place around the demands of an extremely taxing job so I must thank everyone who puts up with me taking notes, editing documents, and getting lost in thought in the middle of a conversation when an idea strikes me. My time to write is so limited that it has to be an ongoing process – there’s no opportunity to wait for the muse to arrive, it’s a question of making the most of every spare minute.

  That said, in the midst of all my other commitments, this book has taken quite a few iterations to get right. I am eternally grateful to my agent, Megan Carroll at Watson, Little, for carefully, patiently and painstakingly helping me get the story right. It took a bit of time, but we got there in the end! Thank you also to Kathryn Cheshire at HarperCollins who greeted the manuscript so enthusiastically – that was a real boost at the end of a long-drawn out writing process.

  Thank you, finally, to everyone who reads The Best of Friends – I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I – eventually! – enjoyed writing it.

  Keep Reading …

  Enjoyed The Best of Friends? Make sure you’ve read The Missing Twin …

  A missing girl … a secret to be uncovered.

  Edie and her identical twin Laura have always been best friends. So when Laura surprises Edie at the Mediterranean holiday resort where she’s working, Edie can’t wait for the partying to start! But then, Laura vanishes without a trace …

  At the same time, in a country on the other side of the sea, Fatima and her twin daughters set out on a harrowing journey that only the strongest – and luckiest – survive.

  Edie and Fatima’s lives are worlds apart, but now, their paths are set to collide, with devastating consequences. When Fatima hovers on the brink of survival, Edie must risk her own life to save her, and finally discover the truth about her missing sister.

  Click here to order a copy of The Missing Twin

  About the Author

  Alex Day is a writer, mother and dreamer who has been putting pen to paper to weave stories for as long as she can remember. Her actual job roles, like her plotlines, have ranged far and wide – from melon-picker to secondary school English teacher by way of videojournalist and TV director. Her subject matter varies from the international to the domestic but whichever it is, her books are designed to keep readers guessing.

  Alex is based in North London and, when she’s not teaching or writing, can usually be found slogging up and haring down the hills of Hampstead Heath where she regularly works out with her military fitness class buddies. She also is on a mission to have a 100% handmade wardrobe, though this aim has taken a diversion whilst she’s been putting her sewing skills to good effect making face masks for friends, family and colleagues.

  To find out more, please check out Alex’s website www.alexdaywriter.co.uk or follow her on Instagram: @alexdaywriter

  Also by Alex Day

  The Missing Twin

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