Authors: Tamar Cohen
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Crime, #Police Procedural, #Thrillers, #Suspense, #Psychological
The Broken
About the Book
Best friends tell you everything; about their kitchen renovation; about their little girl’s new school. They tell you how they are leaving their partner for someone younger.
Best friends don’t tell lies. They don’t take up residence on your couch for weeks. They don’t call lawyers. They don’t make you choose sides.
Best friends don’t keep secrets about their past.
Best friends don’t always stay best friends.
Contents
The Broken
Tamar Cohen
For Colin, with love and thanks
Lucie, aged four
I am scrunched up as small as small can be in my special place. My knees are right under my chin so that when I put out my tongue I can lick the scab on my right knee from where I fell off the swing in the playground. Scabs help you get better. You mustn’t pick them. My heart is boom-booming in my chest and I have that sick feeling like when I needed to go toilet at school but didn’t want to say and ended up in a warm puddle with my face hot and everyone laughing. It’s not comfy sitting like this in my special place. My legs are hurting. Now I’m a big girl, nearly at big school, I don’t really fit in my special place any more, but I daren’t move. I must stay still as a statue. Sleeping Lions. It’s dark in my special place and I’m frightened, but I mustn’t make a sound. I must be quiet as a little mouse. Eek, eek, eek.
Or Mummy will find me.
1
‘I’m leaving her.’
No response. Josh was fiddling with his mobile phone, trying to get it to stop autocorrecting a text he was composing to Hannah, so he wasn’t really listening. He checked his texts assiduously these days before pressing Send, ever since coming back from a weekend at his parents’ and unintentionally informing his mother he was homosexual instead of home. The truth was he hated texting, and was the only person he knew who still laboriously typed ‘you’ instead of the ubiquitous ‘u’. And as for apostrophes – don’t get him started. ‘I thought you just said you were leaving Sash,’ he chuckled, still worrying away at the keyboard, his broad fingers as unwieldy as sausages.
‘I did. Look, would it kill you to pay a bit of attention?’ There was something hiding in Dan’s voice. A whine tucked away like a polyp under the surface of his normally cocky, over-egged Essex twang.
Josh looked up. ‘You’re joking, right? This is a joke.’
‘Do I look like I’m fucking joking?’
Dan didn’t in truth look like he was joking. His expression was strained and a little horrified.
‘You can’t.’ It was a feeble thing to say, but Josh was too shocked to think of anything else. Dan and Sasha had been together for years. Eight or nine. Nearly as long as him and Hannah. And then there was September. She was still only four. ‘What about the new kitchen?’
Dan and Sasha had only just finished moving the kitchen up to the top level of their art deco-style house so they could take advantage of those views out across the cricket and tennis clubs towards Ally Pally, spread out along the top of the distant hill. Josh and Hannah had been at the inaugural dinner party to celebrate the end of all the months of dust and builders just a couple of weeks before, and he and Dan had ended up doing tequila slammers on the new concrete worktops.
‘Sod the fucking kitchen. That was Sasha’s idea anyway. I was quite happy with the old kitchen.’
‘But why?’
Dan put down his pint and fixed Josh with his wide-set blue eyes – the ones Hannah had once declared, in a drunken moment, to be ‘far too sexy for a man’, which Josh had tried hard not to mind.
‘We’re just not good together any more,’ Dan said, shaking his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Sasha is brilliant. I love her to bits. I’m just not
in
love with her.’
He kept his eyes trained on Josh’s while the clichés spilled out of him, as if intensity was proof of sincerity. But Josh, who had accompanied Dan on two stag weekends as well as countless lads’ nights out, had seen him give this look too many times before in too many less-than-sincere circumstances for it to be one hundred per cent effective. He sat back in his uncomfortable wooden chair with the saggy leather cushion, in the pub they always insisted on going to on match days, purely because it was so unappealing that they were always guaranteed a seat. Suddenly his head buzzed with adrenaline.
‘You’ve met someone else.’
Dan’s eyes widened still further, his raised eyebrows disappearing into his floppy dishwater-blond hair.
‘What are you talking about? Look, mate, I know it’s a shock, but sometimes people just grow apart. It doesn’t mean there’s someone else.’
‘Cut the crap.’ Josh wasn’t angry – mostly because he didn’t believe Dan was remotely serious. But neither was he about to let him get away with feeding him some women’s magazine bullshit. ‘You wouldn’t leave Sasha and September unless there was someone else waiting in the wings. I know you.
Mate
,’ Josh trusted that anyone listening would realize he was using the word ironically, ‘you’re emotionally lazy.’
‘Emotionally lazy?’
Dan bristled as if gearing up to protest, but then seemed to think better of it and slumped back down again. ‘OK, you’re right. I have met someone.’ He glanced at Josh, checking how this had gone down. ‘But we haven’t done anything. What I mean is we haven’t slept together.’
Josh knew he was lying. ‘So who is she?’
His friend’s eyes suddenly brightened, and he almost fell over his words in his delight at being given licence to speak of this new beloved. ‘She’s incredible. Amazing. Honestly, you have no idea. I met her on a shoot. Yeah, yeah, she’s a model. Cliché, cliché. But she’s not like all the rest. She’s so smart and funny and down to earth.’
‘And, don’t tell me – “gorgeous”.’ Josh paused before the last word and traced exaggerated quote marks in the air with his fingers as he said it, to show he was being sardonic. But such subtleties were lost on Dan.
‘No. She looks like the back end of a bus,’ he grinned.
Josh struggled then to hide the wave of blind fury that swept over him out of nowhere. Anger was appropriate, wasn’t it, in view of his friendship with Sasha? He refused to acknowledge, even to himself, that the anger might be overlaid with something else. Something acidic and powerful. It wasn’t jealousy. Most assuredly, absolutely not. Why should he feel jealous of Dan when he was about to lob a live grenade into the heart of his family? ‘Listen, Dan.’ He put on the voice he used when he was talking to his pupils – reasonable, calm, but firm. ‘Everyone needs an ego boost from time to time. What are you – thirty-five? Thirty-six?’
‘Oi, steady on! Just because you’re staring forty in the face doesn’t mean the rest of us are fucking ancient as well. Actually, I’m only thirty-four.’
‘Whatever.’ Josh was thirty-eight. It was hardly ancient. He was fairly sure he was younger than Robbie Williams, for instance. ‘Listen, Dan, most blokes our age’ – he enjoyed Dan’s momentary scowl at that – ‘who’ve been with the same woman for a long time get itchy feet. Do you think I’ve never thought about how it would be to be with someone else apart from Hannah?’ Briefly he wondered whether that was true.
Had
he ever seriously considered being with someone else? Really? ‘But the thing is, I know it wouldn’t be worth it. I’d be jeopardizing everything that’s important to me for what? For a brief thrill?’
Dan had started shaking his head when Josh was only halfway through this speech. ‘Look, I loved Sasha. That’s why I married her. But she’s not laid back like Hannah. She is totally neurotic – you know that. Understandable given what happened to her as a child, but fucking wearying to live with 24/7. Stuff goes on at home that you wouldn’t believe. She’s always testing me, do you know what I mean? She’ll say something really hurtful just to try to get me to lose my temper, and then it’s all “See, you can never trust anyone. All the people in my life who were supposed to care about me let me down.” Last week we were having a drink at our neighbours’ house and suddenly Sasha announces she has a headache and gets up and leaves, telling me to stay and she’ll be fine. Then when I get home she launches into me for not going with her to make sure she’s OK. It’s exhausting!’ Dan’s tone had taken on a shrill, self-justifying note. He looked up and caught Josh’s raised eyebrow. ‘OK, you’re right,’ he said in a strange, strangled voice suddenly quite unlike his own. ‘I know you’re right. I’d do anything rather than hurt Sasha. But what can I say, man? I’ve fallen in love. I realize now I was never really in love with Sasha. I wanted to look after her, but with Sienna I’ve found an equal. Someone who can be a real life partner. I feel alive!’
‘
Sienna
?’
Dan shrugged. ‘Yeah, yeah. But you can’t blame her for her name.’
Josh found it hard to unstretch his eyes from their
Are you fucking kidding me?
expression. Of course. She would be called Sienna. Dan couldn’t possibly have fallen for a Cathy or Melanie or Ruth. ‘And how old exactly is
Sienna
?’ His voice came out more sneering than he’d intended.
Dan pushed himself back from the table, dislodging the folded-up cardboard beer mat that had been wedged under one of the legs to stop it wobbling, and glanced around the pub. His guileless face, still cherubic even in his mid-thirties in that pretty-boy style that usually – Josh believed – puffs out to seed by fifty, betrayed, as ever, every emotion going on inside him just as surely as if he had subtitles running in a permanent loop along his forehead.
Josh was quietly satisfied now to recognize embarrassment in his friend’s expression (not surprising) and shame (well, good). But there was something else as well, something Dan was trying very hard to hide. Triumph. That was it. On some level, Dan was
pleased
with himself.
‘Don’t laugh, OK, but she’s twenty-four.’
‘
Twenty-four!
For fuck’s sake, you’re a walking, talking cliché.’
‘I know, I know. But she’s really mature for her age. She has an old soul.’
‘Yeah, don’t tell me, you were lovers in a past life.’
Dan allowed himself a quick smirk before his face crumpled again, the even, pleasant features folding in on themselves like dough. ‘Oh God, I feel awful about everything. How am I going to tell Sash? And September?’
For a second Josh almost felt sorry for him. He couldn’t imagine turning his back on his own wife and child, packing up his things and moving out of his family home. Just the thought of it made his heart race uncomfortably. Not waking up with Hannah’s long, thick red hair tickling his face, or Lily’s little hand on his arm, shaking him awake. ‘
Come on, Daddy, you big old sleepyhead poo-poo head
.’ Not taking Toby the dachshund around the block before work, his breath coming out cloudy in the cold air, crossing paths with Janey from two doors down with her dribbling chocolate Labrador. Now
there
was a proper dog. Josh had been mortified when Hannah had first brought Toby home, a sausage on legs, a furry worm, all floppy ears and big mournful eyes. ‘Just as long as you don’t expect me to be seen with that thing in public,’ he’d warned. Now, predictably, he doted on Toby, even more than Hannah and Lily did. Just because something started as a compromise didn’t mean you couldn’t end up loving it just the same.
He still couldn’t believe Dan was serious about leaving it all behind – the familiar hot-water bottle of domesticity. Sure, he and Sasha bickered a lot, but it didn’t mean anything. The next minute they’d be all over each other, often nauseatingly so. It wasn’t perfect, but they were happy, surely? They were all happy.
Josh started to think about what all this could potentially mean for him and Hannah. Dan and Sasha had been their best friends since they all met when the girls were newborns. They socialized together, they helped each other out with babysitting. Dan and Josh had their Saturday football, Hannah and Sasha went to art galleries or their Thursday evening bookclub (which seemed to him to be largely an excuse to drink wine and complain about their husbands). The little girls were inseparable.
