Bad Friends (14 page)

I didn’t trust myself to speak now, grinding out my cigarette in an ashtray so ornamental it couldn’t be meant for use.

‘Is it, this music –’ he looked contemplative, ‘is it the one that – when we went down to Pendarlin that first Christmas and –’

‘You’re really cruel sometimes, you know.’ I stood. At the door I turned to gaze at him for a moment, at his familiar craggy face, trying desperately to tune into the Alex I’d first known, the one who hadn’t succumbed to all his demons.

‘If it is you, Alex, doing these weird things,
please
stop. You’ve made your point and you’re really scaring me now.’

‘Maggie, I swear it isn’t.’ Alex walked towards me now. ‘But it all sounds horrible. A bit mad. I’m worried about you.’

‘That makes a first.’

‘I mean, if someone
is
after you, like you say –’

I flinched. ‘I didn’t say
after
me, did I?’ I hauled my bag onto my shoulder. ‘And that reminds me –
please
don’t send people like Costana round when I’m not expecting them, okay? I nearly had a heart-attack yesterday morning.’

‘I thought you’d be at work. And you’d better get used to it.’ He refused to look contrite. ‘Estate agents need access. I did tell you.’

‘You didn’t. And I just don’t want anyone I don’t know prowling around the flat, okay? Not at the moment.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ll make sure they warn you next time.’

Serena stuck her head round the door. ‘We’re about to eat, Allie darling,’ she purred. She was so thin I doubted a morsel ever passed her lips – unless it came back up again.

‘I’m just coming, beautiful.’

‘The croissants smell divine,’ she leered at him, all teeth and eyes. She was quite obviously starving.

‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ For a second they locked eyes. Serena surrendered first.

‘Don’t be long, darling.’ She blew him a kiss, entirely for my benefit, I was sure. As the door shut behind her, I couldn’t help myself.

‘God!’ I expostulated.

‘What?’

‘How can you, Alex? She’s so – so –’ Words failed me. ‘So very – not you.’

He looked at me steadily. ‘Needs must, Maggie, as you say.’

‘And what needs are those?’ I felt queasy again. Fingers on the door-handle, I said, ‘You know, I really thought you hated the idea of marriage.’

‘I do.’

‘So why, then –’

‘He was winding you up. You know what Dad’s like.’ Alex ran his hand back and forth through his short hair, back and forth it went. ‘I’ve got no intention of getting hitched any time soon.’

I felt a fresh rush of anger. ‘God! You bloody Baileys and your mind games.’

Rushing out of the room, I went flying over an overnight bag and a pair of workboots so big and dirty they could only belong to Alex. He followed me into the hall, tried to help me up from where I’d crumpled inelegantly. Malcolm wandered out, hands deep in his pockets.

‘Easy there, girl. Good trip?’

I smiled wanly as I clambered up.

‘You always was a klutz, I seem to remember. Nice to see you, anyway, Mag. Drop in any time.’

To stir up some sport
? ‘Thanks, Malcolm,’ I muttered, my hand on the latch now, desperate to get away.

‘We’ll send you an invite, won’t we, Alexander?’

I frowned. ‘To what?’

‘To the wedding.’

I looked at Alex, confused.

‘Jealous?’ Malcolm winked at me. I bit my lip. ‘I mean to
Tom’s
wedding, of course. To little Clarissa. Her of the child-bearing hips.’

Luckily Clarissa was out of earshot.

‘Pa!’ Alex snarled. ‘For fuck’s sake!’

‘Language, Alexander.’

‘You know what, Malcolm –’ I had the door open by now, freedom beckoning me into the freezing November morning. He looked so bloody pleased with himself, swollen and pigeon-chested with pride, the Englishman in his self-made castle. ‘It’s no wonder your family have such terrible problems. You’re such a complete shit.’

It wasn’t until I was sitting on the tube to work, sandwiched between a large group of hijabed Ethopian women who squawked across me uproariously, that the worm crawled back into my brain. I stared at the greasy youth opposite, who was listening to such loud thrash-metal I was surprised he didn’t have a nosebleed; I stared at his spray-painted boots.

Despite all his protestations, those other boots – Alex’s filthy Timberlands that I’d tripped over in Malcolm’s hall – had been splashed with something bright, something that in my haste to leave I hadn’t registered properly. Something suspiciously like red paint.

‘Bacon, egg, chips.’ In the café on The Cut, the skin around the waitress’s vermilion-painted mouth was crepey, the bright colour seeping vertically into the fan of fine lines above her top lip as she leaned over Sally to bang my plate down. I gazed miserably at the insipid-looking bacon that curled wetly up at me.

‘On second thoughts, I’m not that hungry. I might go and have a fag.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Sally pinched a soggy chip. ‘You need to eat. It’s good for shock.’

‘I thought that was sweet tea? That’s what they always have in soap operas.’ I poked the rubbery egg with my fork; the yolk surprised me by exploding. ‘Oh, bollocks. I was saving that bit.’

‘Maggie.’

I actually jumped. Joseph slid into the seat opposite us, slightly out of breath. ‘The police are here, Maggie. They’re asking for you.’

‘Police?’ I scrunched my brow at him. ‘Here?’ I glanced around. The tattooed builder on the next table bit lustily into his egg sandwich and gave me a wink. ‘Where?’

‘At the office, I mean.’ Joseph was flustered.

I stared at him. ‘I didn’t call the police.’

‘No, but you should have done,’ Sally said tartly, pinching another chip. ‘Not very crispy, these.’

‘You didn’t, did you, Sal?’

‘What?’

‘Ring them.’

‘No, I didn’t. But I think it’s a bloody good idea you talk to them. Unless –’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you’re – well –’

‘What?’

‘You’re, you know. Imagining it.’ Sally couldn’t quite meet my eye.

‘Er – imagining foot-high letters on my door? Hardly.’

‘No, of course not.’ She looked relieved.

But I wanted to deal with things my way. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening today. Or any day, actually.

‘Maggie.’ Joseph’s colour was high. ‘I think you should come back.’

‘But I’m having lunch,’ I said forlornly, and ate a chip to prove it.

‘Maggie!’ Sally pushed me out of the booth. ‘Go on. I’ll get a doggie bag for you.’

Muttering, I scrabbled for my cigarettes and, dodging cyclists, followed Joseph across the busy road to work.

The small, wiry policeman waiting in my office stood politely as I came through the door. ‘Maggie Warren? DI Fox.’

‘Hello.’ I took his proffered hand. Then I looked at him again. ‘I – have we met before?’ I asked anxiously.

‘We have met, yes.’

My stomach clenched as I peered at his sandy face. ‘Really?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

Oh God. Not again. I bit my lip.

‘At the studio.’

‘Oh yes.’ It suddenly fell into place. The trauma show. ‘Of course.’

‘Your foot better now, then?’

‘Yes, thanks. Much better.’ I was so relieved I felt almost cheerful as I sat down at my desk. ‘So, how can I help you?’

‘That was my question actually.’ He took out a small pad and perused it briefly. I noticed the cuffs of his shirt were rather threadbare. ‘We had a call from a – a Sebastian Rae.’

I flushed, wishing my office were a little bigger, that I wasn’t so very near DI Fox. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Mr Rae seems to think you received some sort of threat this morning.’

‘Right.’ I supposed I was pleased Seb was so worried about me.

‘So?’

‘What?’

He was infinitely patient. ‘Tell me about it, please.’

‘Honestly, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just kids. You know. Graffiti.’ Or my jealous ex-boyfriend. I’d rung Alex as soon as I’d got off the tube, but I was still waiting to hear back about the paint on his boots. He was probably busy, sharing some divine croissants with Serena. I sniffed and adjusted the photo of Digby the girls had framed for me last Christmas.

‘And you’re sure that’s all it is?’ The policeman had very orange hair that he’d slicked back; it gleamed in lucozade-coloured pools under the nasty strip lighting. ‘No other incidents that have worried you or alerted you?’

‘Alerted me?’

‘Well, those words:
Meddling whore
…’ He was watching me very intently. I blanched. ‘They’re very specific, aren’t they?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Often in these kinds of cases – you know, vandalism on private property – often they’re caused by a dispute with neighbours. Have you had any sort of problems like that? No late-night parties or anything anyone’s objected to?’

‘Not that I know about.’ I shook my head. ‘We don’t really have many neighbours. I don’t really have many, I should say.
It’s mainly shops where I live, and businesses. I’ve never fallen out with anyone there.’

I swear his ears literally pricked up.

‘Who’s “we”?’

‘Sorry?’ I was losing the thread.

‘Who is the “we” you just referred to?’

‘I used to share the flat with my ex-boyfriend, Alex Bailey. We – we’re not together any more. And, actually, I’ve only just moved back. I was at my dad’s for a couple of months.’ I considered my neighbours for a moment. ‘There’s the Forlanis – they own the flat above the shop next door, but they’re in Verona most of the time. And there’s Melvin who runs the Fresca Deli, God knows what goes on in his place. He, er – he has a lot of boyfriends who come and go.’

‘So there’s no one you’ve had a row with at any time?’

‘God no. Everyone’s pretty friendly round us. You have to be, to cope with the crowds. The tourists, you know.’

‘And your ex, is it amicable?’

I tried to keep my face inscrutable. ‘Kind of.’ I could feel the heat suffusing my cheeks. ‘As amicable as I guess most splits are.’

‘Which, quite often, is not very.’

‘No. But it’s fine, really.’

We looked at one another steadily. Inside I didn’t feel very steady, though. DI Fox’s eyelashes were tipped with sand, I noticed.

‘Right.’ DI Fox stood up. ‘I should probably tell you, Maggie,’ he closed his pad, ‘I looked you up after Mr Rae rang. I wanted to see if you’d reported any other incidents. Which you haven’t, have you? But it means,’ he tucked the pad away neatly in an inner pocket, ‘it means I’ve read your file, love.’

My face turned to stone. ‘I see.’

‘I know you weren’t charged in the end. But you’re – everything okay now, is it, after the summer? You’re all right?’

It was almost dark outside though it was barely four o’clock.
I turned away from his gentle scrutiny, ostensibly to switch the overhead lights off and the desk-lamp on. ‘Absolutely fine, thank you.’ My voice was just about even.
Please go now
, I prayed.

‘I’m glad to hear it. Well, listen, here are my numbers.’ He pressed his card into my hand. ‘Please, don’t be scared to ring me if you have any need to. If you have any more – problems.’

Turning the card over in my fingers, I wondered which problems Fox meant; apparently I had a lot of them right now. ‘Okay. Thank you again.’

‘I mean it, Maggie.’

To my horror, tears sprang to my eyes for the second time that day. I forced myself to meet his eye. ‘I will, if I’m worried. But I’m fine, honestly.’

‘Good. Well, I’ll see myself out.’

For about half an hour after the policeman left I sat in the dim light of the desk-lamp and stared at the small painting of the cottage in Cornwall. Something really bad was brewing, I felt it in my belly. ‘
Something wicked this way comes
’ – Macbeth’s three witches stamped round the midnight cauldron that held my life, and for some reason they were summoning evil against me. Something wicked that threatened to suffocate me. I had to escape.

Bel was leaving on Friday, so I had to stick around till I’d dropped her at Heathrow. But if I could get to Pendarlin, I was sure I would be safe.

It was raining hard. The rain had started the very moment I’d left work, and of course I had no umbrella, and then outside the tube I’d slipped off the pavement into the river running through the gutter so my trainers were completely sodden, and then my phone rang as I opened Bel’s front gate and I dropped it as I fumbled to answer it. When I bent to retrieve it, water cascaded down my neck, then down my back, so by the time Bel opened her front door I was thoroughly soaked and equally irritated.

‘You left me a message.’ The voice on the phone was curt. ‘What
now
?’

My eyes stung as my waterproof mascara slid down my face. ‘Alex.’ I was curter. ‘About time.’

Bel pulled a face. ‘I’ll be in the bedroom,’ she whispered.

‘Sorry,’ he said, sounding less than contrite. ‘I’m pretty busy.’

I waited for him to qualify his busyness until I realised he wasn’t going to.

‘You had red paint all over your boots this morning.’ I rubbed at my panda eyes in the mirror. ‘Why?’

‘What? What boots?’

‘In the hall. At your dad’s.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Maggie.’

A girl laughed in the background and it was like a knife in my belly. ‘It
was
you, wasn’t it?’ I said sharply.

‘I’m getting really bored of this,’ Alex sighed wearily. ‘We’ve
been through it a million bloody times. I’ve told you, it’s nothing to do with me.’

I heard a drink being poured and suddenly I felt like screaming. I bit my lip painfully.

‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

‘No, Alex, wait.’

‘What?’

Hannah appeared in the hall in a pair of patent tap-shoes and a Snow White outfit two sizes too small. ‘Watch this, Auntie Maggie.’ Some very loud and unrhythmic tapping began.

‘So where were you last night, Alex?’ I gave Hannah a thumbs-up. ‘You never told me that.’

‘Last night? Let me think.’ That silly silvery laugh chimed in again, as if someone had once told the owner she sounded bell-like and she was pealing for her life. ‘Ah yes. Most conveniently, between the hours of twelve and three I was screwing Serena, at her place. Which is in Kensington, Maggie – i.e. on the other side of town from where we – where you – live.’

I recognised the serration in his voice, the invincible blade of alcohol that cut his words. He spoke very slowly, provocatively, in a stupid Sean Connery accent. ‘Postcoitally, I crashed out in her delectable arms.’

My grip on the phone tightened.
If you laugh again, you cow,
I will scream
. Hannah did some inelegant but extremely flamboyant turns up the hall.

‘How lovely for you,’ I muttered, and I thought of all the times Alex hadn’t made it to bed with me. ‘I’ll be up in a minute, baby,’ he’d promise, but when I got up for work the next morning he’d still be slumped on the floor, inert, surrounded by cans and, quite often, later on, porn.

‘I’m sure Serena will be more than happy to corroborate my story.’ His voice faded as he turned to speak to her. ‘Won’t you, sweetheart?’

‘Oh, I’m quite sure she will,’ I said tightly. Hannah began a
complex tapping-backwards routine that resulted in her flying over a packing-crate and landing on the cat, who squealed indignantly as loud tears ensued. ‘Ow!’

I rushed to the little girl’s side.

‘Who’s that?’ Alex stopped showing off.

‘It’s Hannah.’ I put my arms around her as best I could. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Is she okay?’ He sounded worried and my heart softened a little. ‘Send her my love, won’t you? And tell her to mind out for those boomerangs.’

‘I will,’ I mumbled ungraciously.

‘And Maggie –’

‘Yes?’ I savoured the child’s solid warmth as she sniffled softly against my chest.

‘I might be a bastard, but I’m not a stalker.’

There was a long pause. I squeezed Hannah tighter, burying my face in her silky hair until she began to wriggle.

‘Be careful out there, Maggie,’ he said quietly, and rang off.

‘What’s going on? Are you off the phone from that idiot? I’m still waiting to hear what you’ve been up to, Maggie, you minx.’ Bel appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair tied up Mrs Mop-style, packing-tape in hand, and clocked her dishevelled daughter. ‘Gawd. I’m only upstairs five minutes, Han, and you’re in the flipping wars again. Come and show me what you want to take on the plane.’ She held out a hand to the little girl.

Reluctantly, I released Hannah, following her upstairs slowly. I was still tempted to believe Alex. But then, believing him had always been my downfall.

I didn’t tell Bel everything about Seb. She was my oldest friend; we’d shared every secret since I was eight, and a new man was definitely a subject usually up for debate – but for some reason I kept silent now. Perhaps I was a little ashamed by my rash actions and the fact I hadn’t heard from Seb yet. Perhaps I
knew I wasn’t ready: I wasn’t at all sure it was time to get involved with someone new; I didn’t want Bel to emphasise my doubts. Or perhaps we were simply distracted by Hannah’s whinging.

‘You’re not going halfway round the world dressed as Snow White, so don’t even bother, okay?’ Bel snapped when Hannah threw her tracksuit trousers down the stairs in a fit of pique. ‘Sorry, Mag. It’s so hard to concentrate right now.’

‘S’okay,’ I said, and topped up my wine. ‘I’m knackered anyway. I need to go home and look for the key to Pendarlin. I can’t find it anywhere.’ I peered out of the window, through the old magnolia tree in the front garden, looking for the cab I’d called. It was still pouring outside and the street was empty apart from a man unloading shopping from his car and making a dash for his front door. ‘I keep losing everything at the moment. My memory’s still terrible.’

‘You’re not being very forthcoming about this bloke, Mag,’ Bel chided me as I turned back into the room. ‘I want all the juicy details.’

I pretended I hadn’t heard her, pulling the curtain back again. It was so dark and wet and the branches were flailing around so energetically in the wind that I couldn’t make out if my cab was there or not. I kept imaging Alex lying in Serena’s arms. I was suddenly exhausted, desperate to be home, alone.

‘What are you looking at?’ asked Bel. ‘Right, bed for you, young lady.’ She pushed Hannah gently towards the bedroom door.

‘My cab.’ I squinted down at the street. ‘I wish it’d hurry up.’

‘But Mum –’

‘But Mum nothing.’

I spotted what must be the cab driving slowly down the road.

‘Johnno,’ Bel shouted downstairs, ‘go and tell Maggie’s car she’s coming, can you?’ She pushed a suitcase shut with her foot. ‘Go on, Hannah, before I get
really
annoyed.’

Dropping the curtain, I went down the stairs. Johnno had left
the door ajar and the wind rattled the safety-chain. Shivering, I shoved my feet into my sodden trainers again. ‘Yuk.’

Bel carried a black bin-liner down and shoved it in the cupboard under the stairs. ‘God, it’s freezing. Why’s he left the bloody door open?’

‘Er – so he can get back in? It’s like something from
Halloween
out there.’

Bel went to the door now. ‘Johnno?’ she called. ‘Hurry up.’

But the pathway was empty, the gate banging in the wind.

‘God, where is he?’ she muttered, peering into the rain. I picked up my bag and stood behind her, waiting. A sense of unease pervaded me slowly. Something didn’t fit.

A huge gust of wind savaged the old tree so it bent its branches to the ground in supplication, and Bel and I unconsciously huddled together in the doorway. A small hand suddenly snaked in between us and we both jumped.

‘Hannah,’ Bel snapped, ‘get up the stairs NOW.’

And then Johnno burst through the door, soaking, his hair all stuck up in clumps.

‘God, it’s foul out there.’ Grabbing a fleece off the peg, he towelled his head. ‘I don’t know what that bloke was playing at but as soon as I came out, he screeched off. He’s gone, I’m afraid, Maggie.’

When I rang the cab company they said there was still a thirty-minute wait because of the rain. They hadn’t sent anyone yet.