The Friend: An emotional psychological thriller with a twist Page 10

  ‘At last, Superman puts in an appearance.’

  ‘I’ve packed my rucksack. I am going to Cornwall to stay with Ben.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that, buddy, because it’s a long walk. See this, Theo?’ Emma held out the muddy brick and tilted her head to the broken window looking out on to the back garden. ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘I didn’t do it.’

  ‘I beg to differ, Theo. Do you know what has happened here?’

  Theo shook his head and Emma could see tears welling in his eyes as he stared at the glass all over the floor.

  ‘Because you are a wicked boy and bit Mummy in the bath again last night.’ She let out a long sigh. It had happened while she was scrubbing off one of his stupid felt-tip robins. Theo had taken to secretly doodling robins on his upper arm and hated her removing them. ‘Because it is very, very bad to bite and people always find out about these things, Theo – you have made everyone here in Tedbury hate us.’

  Emma turned over the brick so that her hands were now covered in wet mud.

  ‘You make everyone cross, Theo, wherever we go. That’s the truth. You made Nanny Lucy cross when we lived in Manchester. You made Granny cross when we lived in France. And now you have made everyone cross in Tedbury. Well done, Theo. Excellent work.’

  Theo was now crying properly and Emma took a deep breath. She looked at her watch, working out if there was time for a shower before Nathan turned up. No. Probably not.

  ‘Do you know that you ruin everything for me, Theo? Wherever we go and however hard I try, you ruin absolutely everything.’

  CHAPTER 12

  BEFORE

  Matthew Hill was chopping a large banana into small chunks, staring at his daughter in her high chair.

  Four years out of the police force and just one as a father. He could not quite believe how dramatically his life had changed.

  ‘You want banana with your toast, sweetie?’ He already knew what her response would be. His daughter so far had only one word in her vocabulary.

  ‘No.’ She was smiling.

  Matthew tried to smile too, but through gritted teeth. After months wondering whether Amelie’s first word would be Mamma or Dadda, the reality for Matthew and his wife had been a blow.

  ‘You mean yes, don’t you? You like banana. Say yes, Dadda.’

  ‘No.’

  He put the banana on his daughter’s bright pink princess plate, alongside her fingers of toast. Amelie tucked in immediately, still beaming.

  ‘You see. You meant yes. Amelie loves bananas. Yes.’

  Amelie continued to smile as she munched her breakfast, holding out a chunk of squashed banana for her father to examine. Matthew leant forward and feigned exaggerated munching noises, pretending to nibble at the squashed mess before pouring himself another coffee. Five minutes later, as Sally arrived back from filling up the car, he greeted her with his new theory on their daughter’s contrary vocabulary while flicking on the kettle switch.

  ‘Do you think we say no to Amelie too often? Is that the problem here?’

  ‘No, Matt. The problem here is that she has half your genes.’

  He bumped his shoulder playfully into his wife’s and poked out his tongue before moving to the sink to rinse the cafetière and refill it with fresh coffee grains.

  Matthew watched as his wife moved forward to kiss their daughter ever so gently on the forehead. It still got to him. The little punch of disbelief.

  His two beautiful girls.

  He checked his phone for today’s notes while making the fresh drinks. Life as a private investigator was not what he had expected but there were some distinct advantages now. At least he could control his hours, work around Sal’s plans. He had been running his agency just long enough to pick and choose jobs a bit. Security-consultancy gigs were on the increase, which meant – hallelujah – he could wind down the dreaded divorce snooping. Today? He had a couple of missing person cases. Good. He liked those.

  ‘Any cruising this morning?’ Sal was hanging her coat on the back of a chair. Walking was the other milestone their daughter was withholding, apparently keen to keep the upper hand.

  ‘No. Just bum-shuffling. My theory is she is going to leapfrog straight to running. Aren’t you, Amelie?’

  ‘No.’

  They both let out a little huff – a half-laugh of love, exasperation and worry all wound up into the same parental knot.

  Matthew put away his phone and grabbed the remote for a news update. He flicked channels on the small kitchen television to see the familiar village scene. A reporter with an update on the Tedbury case. Matthew felt an uncomfortable surge inside and turned up the volume.

  ‘Isn’t that the place you had a case?’ Sal was adding milk to their fresh coffees.

  ‘Shhh.’ Matthew listened more closely as the reporter confirmed the identity of the man who had been killed. ‘Sugar. That’s not good.’

  ‘Why . . . sugar? What’s up?’ They had both been training themselves not to swear around their daughter, terrified that she would learn to curse before she deigned to say Mummy or Daddy.

  Matthew was trying to process this new information. Antony Hartley? He felt his frown deepen and took in a long, slow breath. Must be a coincidence. Had to be . . .

  ‘I thought it was just some planning case you were working on. Research.’ His wife was now seated next to their daughter, who offered her a share of the banana mush.

  ‘It was.’

  ‘So not linked with this case. I mean – you’re not in any kind of trouble, Matt?’

  ‘Certainly hope not. Unlucky coincidence most likely, but I might have to make a few more inquiries. Just to make sure I don’t need to disclose some stuff. To the murder team, I mean.’

  Matthew twisted his mouth to the side and narrowed his eyes. He had a mate still working in forensics; he would just need to check that it was a straightforward domestic. No third party . . .

  ‘Sure there isn’t something you’re not telling me?’ His wife sounded a little more worried now, and so Matthew brightened his tone and deliberately calmed his expression.

  Since Amelie had arrived, Matthew had tried to downplay work worries. In the force he had watched too many marriages dissolve. Though it wasn’t why he left the police; Matthew Hill had left the force for reasons he preferred not to think about.

  These days he tried to count his blessings and to keep work and home entirely separate. He looked again at his lovely daughter, a squelch of mashed banana in each of her little fists. Then he turned to his wife, who still looked worried.

  ‘I promise that if there’s anything to worry about, I will tell you.’

  Sal tilted her head and looked unconvinced, so Matthew turned to their daughter.

  ‘Tell Mummy that she is to stop worrying, Amelie.’

  ‘No! ’

  CHAPTER 13

  BEFORE

  I stared at the two puzzles on the large coffee table. Paw Patrol for Ben and a coastal scene for me and Mark.

  We hadn’t got too far with ours. The sky, as always, was proving infuriating. I knelt on the floor, then sat back on my heels, scanning the scores of seemingly identical blue pieces which Mark had set to one side.

  Why don’t they put in more clouds, Sophie? This is ridiculous . . .

  It was the Lizard that got us into puzzles; a holiday cottage cliché but a welcome one. It had become a ritual, even before we had Ben. During our early visits, Helen would sometimes join us for an evening, bringing good wine and an eagle eye. To Mark’s astonishment, she could quickly place a tricky piece that had been baffling us for hours. How do you do that? Seriously. How do you do that, Helen?

  I tried a few of the contenders for a space in the top right-hand corner of the puzzle.

  ‘You’re rubbish, Mum.’ Ben was suddenly standing beside me.

  ‘Thank you very much, darling.’

  ‘I’ve nearly finished mine.’

  I glanced at the second puzzle, abo
ut seventy-five per cent complete, and pulled him to my side, kissing my congratulations on his forehead.

  ‘Theo’s rubbish at puzzles too. I always beat him.’

  ‘Well. Theo’s a bit younger, remember.’

  ‘Anyway. It doesn’t matter. Puzzles are dead boring. We like it when you let us play on your phones . . .’

  ‘Shhh.’ I put my finger up to my lips, pulling a face at our ‘bad mother’ secret as Mark appeared in the doorway with two rucksacks and the beach cricket set.

  ‘Did I hear something about phone games?’

  ‘No.’ Ben pulled a face.

  ‘So – you still too tired to join us?’ Mark was grinning, staring right at me before picking up his sunglasses from the kitchen surface.

  I sighed. I’d tried my best not to disturb him last night but the insomnia was so bad that in the end I got up to make tea and read for a couple of hours. He assumed it was flashbacks over Gill and Antony, and it was. Partly. But I couldn’t tell him the extra thing now troubling me. Daren’t . . .

  ‘Yeah. Do you mind if I pass? Sorry, Ben, but Mummy is going to be lazy this morning. I’ll make a picnic lunch and join you on the beach later. I’ll text when I’m on my way and we can all play some more cricket this afternoon.’

  ‘OK, love. Take it easy and we’ll see you later.’ Mark crossed the room to lean down for a kiss, whispering that I was busted over the phone games. I smiled.

  I was genuinely sorry to disappoint them but I was suffering that shell-shocked fuzziness of true tiredness. Also my vision was a little blurry around the edges, though I wasn’t going to share that either; I didn’t want to worry Mark. I would just sit tight until it passed. Rest.

  Once I heard the click of the door, I moved back to the sofa, tucking my legs up to the side and picking at a piece of stray cotton on the cuff of my dressing gown.

  No surprise that the scene with Gill and Antony was still disturbing my sleep; I had accepted it was going to take time to come to terms with it. But the problem now? I felt disorientated that it was no longer just the flashbacks from Gill’s cottage that were troubling me. I glanced at the cliff section of the puzzle – about a third completed – and felt my frown deepen.

  The simple fact was it couldn’t have been her I saw yesterday. So – either her doppelganger and hence just a very weird coincidence with the coat, or I had to have been imagining it. It made no sense otherwise. I thought of my tiredness and all the stress. Yes. Most probably my mind playing tricks.

  Yet oddly I couldn’t let it go; wanted to share this. To sort it out properly in my head somehow.

  I tried Emma’s phone again but it was still going to voicemail. I’d already sent two texts and didn’t want to seem paranoid. Pestering.

  I twisted my mouth to the side and then pinched my bottom lip several times. Finally I scrolled the contacts for Heather, putting the phone up to my ear as, through the window, the sun emerged suddenly from behind a cloud to light up the whole room.

  ‘Hi there, Sophie. You OK?’ Heather sounded as if she was walking, slightly out of breath. ‘I thought you were supposed to be having a complete break from us?’

  ‘Sorry. Just checking if there is any news on Gill. The hospital won’t say anything as I’m not a relative.’ I felt guilty at the half-truth. I did badly want to know how Gill was doing but it wasn’t why I was ringing.

  ‘Her mother says no change. Still in an induced coma. But honestly, darling. You need to put all this out of your mind. Have a proper break. Rest.’

  ‘I know and I am trying. I was just wondering if you knew what Emma was up to? Can’t seem to get hold of her.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Not urgent or anything, Heather. It’s just she’s not answering her mobile. I wanted to run something past her.’

  I now remembered it more vividly. The flash of red coat and dark hair up on the cliff top as I glanced up while eating my crab sandwich with Helen. I knew it couldn’t be her. I knew that my mind was probably simply in terrible turmoil. Tired. Playing tricks. But the problem is it really did look like her, even from the distance . . . I’d even fancied I saw the light catching on the distinctive large buckle on her belt.

  ‘No idea, darling. She was off chasing some business contact yesterday. I had Theo for her for the day but no idea where she is now. You want me to tell her you rang? Chase her up?’

  A strange frisson of confusion right through me . . .

  ‘No. No. It can wait. She’ll be cross if she knows I’m fussing. I promised her I’d rest. Zone out. Please don’t mention it.’

  ‘OK then. Listen, I’m actually in the garden and need to run. You sure you’re OK, Sophie?’

  ‘Yeah. The rest is doing me good. Just what I need. See you when I get back.’

  I put the phone down at my side and found myself staring at a knot in the wood of the stripped floor until my eyes were smarting. The call had made things worse, not better; I just didn’t know what to think . . .

  Then the doorbell rang; I was delighted to find Helen had spotted the guys leaving and she was soon in the kitchen, depositing a bag of mussels and two crabs in the top of the fridge.

  ‘Excuse me, still in my dressing gown. Didn’t sleep very well.’

  ‘Flashbacks?’ She turned with a look of real concern.

  I nodded, and made her coffee and myself lemon in hot water as I toyed with whether I should tell her what else was troubling me. I couldn’t share this with Mark. He felt my friendship with Emma was coming between us quite enough already, without adding hallucinations into the mix.

  ‘Actually, I have a confession, Sophie. I called round because I was worried about you. At the beach yesterday . . . I’ve never seen you so disorientated.’

  I looked her in the eyes. I didn’t want to sound delusional. Paranoid. Oh hell. What did I have to lose? Helen wouldn’t judge me.

  ‘I think I’m going a bit mad, Helen. I honestly thought yesterday that I saw my friend Emma. On the cliff, watching us. Completely ridiculous. A mistake, obviously. It couldn’t have been her, but it really threw me because my brain in the moment was saying that it was her . . . Like a hallucination almost.’

  Helen looked really concerned. ‘So why did you feel so convinced it was her? From that distance, lots of people can look alike. I don’t understand . . .’

  I paused. I knew it would sound odd and I wished I could be rational and dismiss it for what it was. A harmless and inconsequential mistake.

  ‘She has this striking red coat. She’s very arty, always dresses beautifully, and she changed the belt on the coat to add this big, beautiful buckle and I thought . . .’ I glanced away, embarrassed. I felt torn and even more confused suddenly, because out loud it somehow sounded disloyal to Emma to even discuss this. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. Ignore me; I’m really worried I’m going completely nuts. Seeing things.’

  I stood up from my chair quickly, intending to nip to the bedroom to throw on some clothes before continuing this, and then, to my horror, all was a blur.

  The next thing I felt was this strange ache to the side of my cheek and also my leg. Somehow I was now on the floor with Helen’s voice alongside me. ‘Right. Keep still, Sophie. You’re all right. You just fainted. I managed to hold you as you fell so I don’t think you hurt yourself but you need to keep still, honey. You understand? Take slow breaths . . .’

  TODAY – 6.15 P.M.

  We have made it past Dawlish. No waves. No landslide. All this is good but there are still miles and miles to go and no further news from Nathan.

  I have borrowed Mark’s phone – mine is absolutely useless – to message Helen, but the signal has been patchy; no reply from her either. She said something about visiting Truro today and I have been wondering if she would drive to the hospital, just in case she could make it there ahead of Nathan . . . and us. Ben would like that.

  Ben.

  I keep picturing him waking up all alone and frightened, calling out for me. All confuse
d on morphine or whatever it is they give children after surgery.

  I asked the nurse if they could rig up a phone call from me the moment one of the boys comes round but she said this could be disorientating for a child. And I read between the lines: they don’t want me accidentally talking on the phone to Theo until they can carefully share what has happened with his mother’s surgery.

  What a godawful mess.

  I keep thinking about this feature I read once in a Sunday supplement; it was written by a mother who had to sit for three nights by her child in the high dependency unit of a hospital. She didn’t know if he was going to live or die and had to just sit there, listening to all the machines bleeping and watching the numbers registering his oxygen levels and his heart rate. She said she was afraid to sleep or even go to the loo in case the worst happened while she was away. She wrote that, although her child had eventually recovered, she never has.

  I remember so clearly that when I read that article I thought it must be the worst thing in the world to have to sit by your child, watching them go through all that. Helpless. And now, of course, I realise that there is something much worse.

  Which is not being able to sit by your child as they go through all that.

  Maybe all this is my payback. For all the bad sex and for taking Ben for granted; for failing to be satisfied with one child and for longing so badly and so selfishly for another.

  I think of all the time I could have spent being happy and satisfied instead of obsessing over ovulation charts. I think of all the good sex Mark and I used to have long, long ago. And yes – all the bad sex and the rows, trying to make a baby according to the calendar and my temperature.

  Mark has been gone from his seat for ages but is suddenly back in the aisle, holding another set of drinks. Coffee for me and him, and tea for the doctor and his wife as a thank you.

  I take the coffee but know I will not drink it. All I can think of is Ben.

  I close my eyes, coffee cup warm in my hands, and listen to the beat of the train. Ta-tum. Ta-tum. I get it now . . .

  All this is my payback for moving us to Devon, for digging in so selfishly, but most of all for taking motherhood so completely for granted.