The Friend: An emotional psychological thriller with a twist Page 3

  ‘Can I have maple syrup, Mummy?’

  Emma pretended not to hear. Eventually, she had learned, he would give up asking questions.

  Instead she was picturing broken glass and crockery all over the floor of her mother’s kitchen in France and, with the memory, an echo in her head of her own voice, angry and uncontrolled.

  Who did this, Theo? Did you do this again? You must own up to Mummy and Granny right this minute if you did this.

  ‘Come on then, Theo.’ Emma tilted her chin up. She would need to be more careful around her son in Tedbury. ‘Pancakes with maple syrup.’

  Much more careful.

  Aware now that the lane could probably be seen for miles, she lifted the flat of her hand for a high five, intending to offer a piggyback home. Yes. The kind of thing Sophie might do. She was pleased with herself for thinking of this, but Theo did not respond, instead wrenching away his hand. Something, she realised, had caught his eye in the hedgerow a few feet away. Crouching down with one knee on the ground, he very gently parted the long grass at the foot of the hedge, his eyes wide with concentration as he reached forward with uncharacteristic control and care. His face was just softening in anticipation when there was a riot of barking from further along the lane, and both their heads turned at once as a large dog appeared – bounding to join them and diving head first into the very same section of the hedge.

  ‘Theo!’ Emma lunged forward. The dog was a golden retriever, but for all the breed’s gentle reputation its highly animated state was alarming. With Theo wailing in horror, the animal reversed, low to the ground, wiggling its bottom and with something very clearly in its mouth.

  ‘He’s eaten it. Oh, Mummy, he’s eaten it.’ Theo’s distress was still incomprehensible, Emma having no idea what had caught his eye. As she tried to calm him sufficiently to explain himself through the sobbing, there was a loud and at first disembodied voice calling, ‘Bella! Bella! Here girl,’ from further up the lane.

  Emma turned to see Nathan, the guy from the village square that first day, swinging wellington-clad legs over a stile. The dog responded immediately – first a turn of the head and then complete obedience, bounding through the mud to her master, tail wagging and leaving Theo still wailing.

  Emma, crouching low to put both arms around her son, watched as the dog offered up something which Nathan was very carefully examining, pulling a face of concentration and then surprise before rummaging in his pocket. ‘It’s all right. Stay, Bella, stay.’ Leaving the dog by the stile he strode towards them, wrapping his find very carefully in a handkerchief.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. But she’s all bark. Look, it’s still alive,’ and then, crouching down to Theo, Nathan gently opened the white handkerchief to reveal, to Emma’s astonishment, a small, quivering bird.

  ‘I’m surprised it hasn’t died of shock from the barking, to be honest. But she’s trained to retrieve very gently. See. She didn’t break the skin.’

  He peeled the handkerchief back just a little further to reveal the bird opening and closing its beak silently as if trying to chirrup. There was dark blood on its left wing which Nathan quickly covered as Theo winced.

  ‘That wasn’t Bella, I promise you. It’s dried blood, not fresh. The bird must have been in a fight. Sorry – I don’t remember your name, little chap?’

  ‘Theo. It’s short for Theodore.’

  ‘Right, well, I’m Nathan. It’s short for Nathaniel.’

  There was no response – not the tiniest smile – and so Emma, eyebrows arched, mouthed an explanation over her son’s head – he’s very fond of birds – as she struggled to wipe away the evidence of his misery with a tissue.

  ‘Sorry about the kerfuffle, but it’s nice to meet you properly, Emma.’ Nathan stretched out his hand to shake hers, holding it firmly along with eye contact. ‘I was on the square when you arrived.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Sophie has been telling me all about you.’

  ‘Has she now?’ A pause, still holding her gaze, unblinking, before grinning and turning back to Theo.

  ‘Well, Theo. Looks like you’ve saved yourself a robin.’

  ‘A robin? But I thought they were for Christmas.’

  ‘No, not just Christmas. They’re around all year. And very territorial. Fights are quite common, actually.’

  Emma stood up. ‘So you’re a bit of a twitcher, then?’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’ Nathan began brushing down his trousers. ‘Not me. Drinking companion in the pub – Tom. Not much he doesn’t know about birds.’ And then, brightening suddenly, ‘I tell you what, young man. Why don’t we get this bird back to my place – I’m just up the road – then we can give Tom a bell and see what he thinks.’

  Theo checked for his mother’s reaction. ‘We were going home for pancakes.’

  ‘Well, as it happens, I do a very good pancake myself.’

  ‘Do you now?’ Emma returned Nathan’s stare and then glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, go on, then. Why not?’

  The barn, about a third of a mile along the lane, was one of those rare conversions which did not sit directly opposite a farmhouse, enjoying its own two acres and with them an unexpected degree of privacy. It was an upside-down affair, steep steps to an entrance of magnificent double-width oak doors leading into an open-plan sitting room and kitchen-cum-diner.

  ‘Wow.’ Theo was eyeing the long and open stretches of polished wood floor. ‘Can I take off my shoes?’

  ‘No, Theo.’ Emma was clocking the expensive-looking ceramics on low tables. Direct hits for skidding in socks.

  ‘Oh, please.’

  ‘I said no.’ She spoke with practised determination, mother and son surveying the room together while Nathan held the bird high enough to deter Bella’s enthusiastic sniffing, eventually handing the bundle to Emma – would you mind? – and leading the dog down the stairs, apparently to the back garden.

  A couple of minutes later, Nathan reappeared with a shoebox in which he coaxed Emma to place the robin. ‘We’ll give Tom a call.’ Nathan quickly washed his hands then picked up a phone and walked across the kitchen area to open cupboard doors as he dialled. ‘In the meantime, pancakes . . . You two make yourselves at home, please. If you can forgive Bella, Theo, she’s in the garden. Plays a good game of catch. There are several balls on the lawn. It’s just down the stairs and through the big doors. She’s very friendly, honestly.’ He turned to Emma, suddenly frowning and then blushing. ‘Though if it makes your mother nervous . . . ? The dog is perfectly safe, I promise you. I know that some parents—’

  ‘It’s fine. So long as I can watch from the window?’

  Theo seemed to be checking his mother’s face closely, and when she nodded encouragement, he shrugged and headed down the stairs. Nathan then tucked the phone under his chin, chatting away to Tom while simultaneously gathering ingredients for the pancakes – to Emma’s surprise needing no prompting from a recipe as he confidently measured out the flour and began cracking eggs, all the while explaining their find to Tom. ‘Yes. Bella gave the poor thing quite a fright. I know they don’t often make it but a little lad found it and he’s a bit upset . . . Sorry? . . . Yes – half an hour is fine.’ He glanced at a large clock on the wall. ‘I’ve popped it in a shoebox for now . . . OK. See you then. My shout at lunchtime. Bye.’

  By the time he turned, Emma was watching him keenly. Both the house and the man had surprised her. The room was understated – not the dark wood and leather she would have predicted, but light and airy with large cream sofas and a series of very distinctive naive paintings hung around the whitewashed stone walls.

  ‘Lovely place.’

  ‘Thank you. Though I wouldn’t do open plan again. Seemed a good idea at the time but you get tired of living with the smell of the last meal.’ He was smiling, beating the batter with one hand while replacing the phone with the other, all the while staring at her, not at all self-conscious.

  ‘So you like to cook, then?’

  And now Nathan peered
down at his paunch, pulling an expression of feigned surprise which made Emma laugh out loud.

  ‘While I hear you are something of a crystal-ball gazer.’ His tone was teasing as he reached for a small frying pan hanging from a utensil rack above the range cooker.

  ‘And how did you come to hear about that, then?’

  ‘Oh, this is Tedbury, Emma. You can’t fart in Tedbury without a paragraph in the parish magazine.’

  Emma had now wandered over to the window to watch Theo playing with the dog on the lawn. ‘Of course, the singing keeps me very busy.’

  ‘Touché – though I would argue that particular misunderstanding was not my fault.’

  The error, he explained, had been traced – according to Heather – to a local estate agent who seemed to believe he could talk up local house prices affected by the lorry ‘blight’ by spreading rumours of ‘stars’ moving in.

  ‘Last year it was the lead singer of a boy band. This year a jazz singer . . . which everyone, of course, presumed was you.’ Nathan stopped whisking his batter as he turned to follow Emma’s gaze to the garden. ‘It’s OK. There’s nothing down there to harm him. Just the chainsaw,’ he added, grinning as she checked his face. ‘So, if Sophie has been talking about me, I expect you’ve heard all about my wicked past, then? She’s a nice girl, actually. We’re on the fair committee together. I like her. Just a shame she doesn’t approve of me – her husband’s a very fine golfer.’

  ‘I should warn you she’s been sweet to me, Nathan. Very welcoming, so you’re not to be rude.’

  He began pouring the first batch of batter into the pan, swirling it around. ‘Funny how the first pancake is always rubbish. Why is that?’ The batter hissed as he watched it closely.

  ‘We lived in France for a while. Visiting my mother. That’s where Theo got into pancakes.’

  He did not reply, concentrating on the job in hand and rejecting the first pancake into a bowl – Emma watching intently as he went on quickly and expertly to cook several of perfect colour, which he placed on to a warming dish. ‘Right. We’re in business.’

  ‘Actually, Sophie did warn me about you. She said you’d been married twice quite disastrously and had something of a reputation.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ He was smiling again. ‘Well, the lovely Sophie is probably quite right. If I had met a version of Sophie some years back then I would probably have been all right myself, truth be told. But then she is the kind of woman who sees everything in black and white, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Now, I warned you not to be unkind.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not. I like her too. Honestly. Very bright and very funny. Takes the piss mercilessly out of the fair committee, which gets my vote. I just said that she had very little experience of the grey in life.’ And now his face was much more serious. ‘While I have always . . .’ A pause then, frowning. ‘Well, let’s just say I have always found the grey bits of life the most interesting.’

  He seemed to be checking her face for a response, but this time Emma pointedly turned back to the window and so Nathan twisted on one foot back to his stove. ‘Which is why I had to learn to cook. Having made such a lousy husband. Now, do please pick some music if you like. Over by the fireplace. And we’d best call the young chap in for his breakfast.’

  Emma had by now walked right up to the glass to see Theo revelling in the control he had managed to exercise over the dog – making her sit and fetch in turn, pointing his finger at her in an exaggerated gesture of chastisement. And then, as she watched him repeat the sequence, there was a familiar feeling of impatience deep inside her.

  She could see it written on her face, reflected in the glass, and so deliberately relaxed her features, softening her mouth. In truth, she was itching to get on with things in Tedbury, but after all that had happened in Manchester and in France, she knew she needed to take more care.

  To slow down.

  ‘I’m very glad I bumped into you this morning, Nathan.’ Emma turned suddenly, deliberately widening her eyes. ‘Yes. Very glad indeed.’

  CHAPTER 4

  BEFORE

  LIBRA

  Today you must leave it alone. Walk away from it. Be strong, be sensible and above all else, be less bothered. Practise the art of ‘not caring’. There’s your solution.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you today? I can hold off on the meeting?’ Mark’s voice was pulling me back into the room.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The appointment? You want me to come?’

  ‘No, no, Mark. There’s no need. It’s fine.’ I snapped the newspaper closed and felt the flush of embarrassment. I never read my horoscope . . .

  ‘You’re not just saying that?’

  ‘I’m not just saying that. Honestly.’ At least, I never used to read my horoscope.

  I pushed the paper away and poured us both more coffee.

  ‘But what about Ben – won’t it be awkward? With little ears?’

  ‘It’s OK. Emma’s offered to have him.’ I felt the smile inside. ‘He and Theo are getting on so well. It’s a real shame Theo’s that little bit younger and they won’t start school together. Actually, I was thinking of having Emma to dinner soon. You’ll like her. And I’d like to introduce her to a few more people. Help her settle in properly. You know what people here can be like.’

  ‘Of course. Whatever you think. Maybe we could invite Nathan – he’s taken quite a shine to her. And you’ll ring me after the appointment?’ Clicking his briefcase closed, he was slurping his coffee and trying not to let me see him check the time on the clock opposite. Our Monday routine. Him pretending he doesn’t need to hurry; me pretending I don’t mind.

  ‘I’m fine. You go or you’ll hit the traffic. I’m fine – really.’ Not fine at all . . .

  Be less bothered.

  I found a smile as he kissed the top of my head, and then sat very still as he left the kitchen, aware of the pulse in my neck as I listened for the familiar sequence of sounds. The slam of the boot, the start of the engine, the tyres on gravel then a pause as he checked the lane before pulling out. And then silence.

  Sometimes I could sit for a long time consumed by the quiet after he left. Just me and the house – Ben playing in his room upstairs. I remembered those awful days even further back, when I would sit, not just immobile but as if anaesthetised, watching Ben, a baby in his all-in-one padded blue-and-yellow suit, strapped into the car seat on the floor. Waiting.

  There was a bunch of plastic keys attached by Velcro to the bar of the seat – also a multicoloured spider made of towelling. Each pair of legs a different shade. Blue. Red. Yellow. Green. Ben would play with these toys while he waited, more patiently than I deserved. Waiting for what, I would think, staring at him back then.

  What are you waiting for?

  Today I put my hands together, as if praying, tapping my lips. ‘Come on, Ben. Get your rucksack. We’re going to Theo’s.’

  Technically, I thought, sitting in the waiting room staring at the amateur art for sale on the walls, we attend the wrong doctors. Tedbury, on the road between Modbury and Aveton Gifford, is supposed to fall under the Modbury practice, but I did not realise this when we first moved in and registered at a different clinic a few miles away. No one challenged me and I was grateful for the mistake now, not keen for everyone in the village to know our business. All these appointments.

  There were a dozen or so pictures around the walls today, some of them surprisingly good. A watercolour of a boat – quite striking. Sixty pounds but the frame was dreadful. I was wondering if it would be worth reframing, mentally walking around the house, imagining which wall it might suit, when a beep confirmed a new message on the flashing neon sign. My name in red lights. Dr Elder. Room Four.

  ‘So . . .’

  I sat down and began tracing a line on my trousers where the brown cord was completely flattened over the knee. A picture of Emma in her black-and-silver outfit popped into my head, and I glanced down at my worn fl
ip-flops and unpainted toenails.

  Dr Elder is nice. I like her. One of just two female doctors at the practice. Sometimes I have to wait more than a week to see her, but there is no way I can face any of the men. Not over this. Dr Elder is in her forties, with four children beaming from a leather burgundy frame on her desk: two girls with strawberry blonde hair, and younger twin boys with freckles marching across their noses and the top of their cheeks.

  I wondered how the hell she managed the job. Nanny? Au pair? Wondered if I should have done the same – gone back to work rather than expecting baby number two to turn up to order.

  Dr Elder was frowning as she glanced between a paper file on her desk and the screen. I felt my pulse in my ear. And then at last, ‘Well, the good news is everything’s fine.’ A beam finally as she turned towards me. ‘The blood test confirms you’re ovulating perfectly normally. And I see we spoke last time about your husband’s result. Also fine.’

  I felt my shoulders change shape and nodded. In truth, I would like to have delivered the relief Dr Elder clearly hoped for, but this did not come. Fact was, I knew already I was ovulating ‘normally’, having spent the price of a small car on tests from the chemist.

  ‘So why’s nothing happening?’

  And now the doctor tightened her lips. ‘Well, it’s as we discussed last time. Sometimes there’s no obvious explanation.’ She was glancing at the photograph on her desk. ‘Sometimes they just make us wait.’ I checked the photograph again myself. Neat steps in the head heights. No sign of waiting in Dr Elder’s world.