When Good Friends Go Bad (14 page)

Meg and Georgina broke into spontaneous laughter, and after a second Jen laughed too. The atmosphere seemed suddenly more relaxed.

'That is so
you,
Jen,' Meg said, mopping up tea that had spilled over her saucer. 'You always had the oddest logic.'

'Oh no, shagging around is so much better than being unreasonable!' Georgina smiled indulgently. 'So who is this imaginary lover?'

'I don't have to name him actually,' Jen adopted a fake prim tone. 'I see no reason to sully his reputation since he doesn't exist.'

'That's no fun. Mmm. Let's see, who can we come up with for Jen's illicit squeeze?' Meg ran her tongue over her teeth as she thought. 'I know, he's called Leonard Leopald, his friends know him as Lenny. He has a pencil-thin moustache and he's . . .'

'A zoo-keeper!' Georgina broke in. 'Special care of the gorillas.'

Meg threw her an appreciative look. 'Yeah and on full moons he likes to throw back his head, thump his chest and howl. Ow-woooo!'

'And he has a thick bushy mane like a lion.' Georgina's bony shoulders shook.

'And short hairy bandy legs,' Meg sniggered.

'And you don't consider shagging
him
would be unreasonable?' Jen said, deadpan.

They fell about in whoops of laughter. When they finally caught their breath again, Georgina said, 'So why
are
you getting divorced?'

Jen shrugged with feigned indifference. 'Didn't work out. I don't really feel like going into it, either. Anyway,' their concerned expressions demanded a little elaboration, 'the absolute should be through fairly soon and since the respondent – me – won't object, it all looks cut and dried.'

'You might be accused of committing fraud,' Georgina ventured.

'By who?' Jen said, fiddling with the butterfly back of her pearl stud, which was pinching a little. 'Who would know or care besides Ollie and me? It's not like we need documented proof and have to hire a private eye to catch me and my so-called lover boy in the act.'

'I still think it should have been Ollie,' Georgina said. 'What about
your
reputation?'

'What reputation?' Jen laughed. 'Shit, maybe I'm ready to put it about a bit.'

There was a loud explosion that made them all jump – another rocket had gone off, close to the house this time.

As if on cue, Aiden walked in.

There were signs of more than one unauthorised firework celebration early the next morning as Jen did her usual two-mile run. The overnight rain still dripped from the trees and soaked the carpet of chilli-red leaves on the ground.

Jen found herself wishing she was back in her warm cosy bed, wrapping the duvet over her head and sleeping till noon.

There were blackened strings of squibs by the lake and fizzled-out bottle rockets in the wet rough grass. On the edge of the thicket she spotted another crazy soul braving the elements, a small dog yapping beside her. Anamaria. She wasn't exactly swinging her hips, rumba rumba, but her walk definitely had a dance-step rhythm. On another day Jen might have veered away to avoid breaking her pace with unscheduled chit-chat, but the going was impossible anyway, with her feet soaked and running shoes caked with mud. She still hesitated in approaching her colleague, however.

Since Chloe was born, her shyness and unwillingness to spontaneously socialise had grown, rather than the reverse. She had a horror of unwittingly inserting herself where she might not be wanted – she'd seen Helen do that often enough. At the school gates the other mothers had already formed their cliques the year before she and Chloe arrived. And although Ollie would sometimes bully her into inviting people over for supper, as soon as he left for work she would gratefully sink back into her reclusive state. Knowing no one really wanted that awkward extra person at their dinner parties, especially one who was married, she always declined invitations made in Ollie's absence. She had a strong idea anyway she probably wouldn't be asked to supper by many of their old friends now they were divorcing.

Her head throbbed. She'd stayed far too late at Georgina's and by the time she'd bolted to the big bonfire party on the common, Ollie and Chloe were nowhere to be seen. Her heart had jumped in panic as she'd searched the crowd, dialling Ollie's mobile repeatedly, as she envisioned screams and fire engines and awful accidents. But his phone went straight to voicemail and fortunately none of the bystanders recounted any horror stories of a little girl who was burnt to a crisp or lost her entire hand and had to be rushed to hospital. So there was nothing to do but go home and wait.

She later learned Chloe had got cold and Mrs Hutton, a schoolfriend's mother – a young, attractive,
divorced
mother – had invited the two of them back for hot chocolate. Chloe was bubbling with the fun of it all when they finally made it back, but the look Ollie gave Jen spoke volumes, all written in fire and brimstone. She hadn't dared say, 'Well, you could have called.'

'Hola,'
Anamaria greeted her as Jen caught up. 'How are things?'

'Could be better. Is this the dog you found?'

'Yes.' Anamaria bent to pet the peculiar beast, of which terrier was the only discernible strain. 'I call him Feo because he is so ugly. Look!' She wiped the wet rough fringe back from his bulging eyes and lifted up his top lip to show his yellow Dracula teeth and blood-red tongue.

'No one's claimed him then? Are you going to take him to the pound?'

'I will keep him, yes? He's very sweet.' She looked down at him affectionately.

'They're a lot of work,' Jen cautioned. 'Your place will be full of dirt and dog hair.' She realised she didn't even know where Anamaria lived. House? Flat? Married? Single? 'And what will you do with him if you want to go away somewhere? Would you put him in kennels?'

Anamaria shrugged and said nothing.
I sound old,
Jen thought. A neurotic no-fun-at-all housewife. When did that happen? She used to be fun. Could slam schnapps shots with the best of them. Last one off the dance floor. Thought nothing of clubbing till dawn or taking off with Ollie and Chloe for an impromptu camping trip. When did it all change?

The vibrant energetic girl beside her chatted away, telling her about her nine brothers and sisters, all their antics growing up in Barcelona. She had on a wax jacket, her hair wet, ripped jeans as always and thick-soled black boots. God, wouldn't it be great to be twenty-something again? So alive. Living in a foreign country, all that energy and optimism.

But now Anamaria was telling her about a fight with her boyfriend.

'I burnt all his underpants outside on the barbecue,' she said. 'Put them in a big – how you say? Heap? And put a match to them! And I told him you don't ever come back.'

'But why?' Jen asked.

'Why burn his pants?' She tossed her head indignantly. 'Because it made me feel good.'

'No, I meant what did he do?'

'Do?' She looked mystified. 'I told you. He was out all night, he did not come home until six in the morning. Hip, hip, Feo. Come.'

'Oh.' Jen must have missed part of the conversation. 'Well, then good on you.'

Anamaria bent to pat Feo, who chose that moment to pause and cock his leg on a tree.

'Yes, but is a problem,' she said. 'I live in his house. And now I have a dog. No one will rent to me. You are married, yes?'

'Not for much longer.' Anamaria's openness about her relationship suddenly made Jen want to confide in her. 'He's all tetchy this morning because I was out with old schoolmates and missed a fireworks do.'

Anamaria grunted expressively. 'I hated school. The building, the nuns,
todo, todo, todo.
I used to wait for the younger kids coming home. Steal their sweets.'

'Popular, then?'

'I didn't want to be popular, I wanted to cause trouble. So what are they like? These old friends.'

'Well,' Jen thought for a moment. 'Georgina's extremely successful. And famous. Her company's called Giordani – have you heard of it?'

Anamaria pursed her voluptuous mouth. 'No.'

'Oh, well, anyway, she lives in the most amazing house. A mansion almost.'
And she's married to my old boyfriend.
No, she couldn't say that. It sounded so infantile. 'And she used to be fat but now she's rail-thin and I suppose glamorous, although between you and me, she looked better with a few more pounds on her.'

They both stepped off the path to allow a red-cheeked small boy to whizz by on a bike with rickety stabilisers. 'And Meg . . .' Where to start? 'She's American. She used to like to cause trouble too. You know,
loco
– queues of boyfriends, do anything for a dare. Only these days she wears this big gemstone round her neck, claims to be a "healer" and carries an amethyst and pendulum in what's supposedly her medicine pouch.'

'A healer?' Anamaria frowned. 'What is healer?'

'Faith healer, I suppose.' Jen held her hands stiffly perpendicular to her temples as if giving herself a blessing, feeling mildly silly.

'Ah,
curandero.'

When Meg told them about her new 'profession' the day before, at first they'd thought she was pulling their legs. But she'd described her skills and beliefs with such passion it was hard to remain sceptical.

'Cosmic energy or something like reiki, I think. She says an angel talks to her. Only Meg's the one who needs healing. She's sick.'

'Sick? How sick?' Anamaria was fascinated. Maybe Jen wasn't so dull after all. This was as good as a soap opera.

'Didn't say exactly. But I think, maybe,
dying.'

Only she hadn't said that, had she? Or anything specific. She'd talked about how much she missed them, explained how she'd abandoned drama school just weeks after they all last met and then ended up in Las Vegas where anyone could find work.

'That's when I hooked up with my now ex-husband. Champion bull rider,' she related cheerfully. 'He'd just taken second place at the Wrangler National Finals rodeo. I simply flipped over that sweaty cowboy look and that giant silver belt buckle. Smitten by that first Stetson-cocked nod. We went out partying together on the Strip. Ended up in the Wee Kirk o' the Heather wedding chapel to be married by Elvis that very same night.'

'That night?' Georgina exclaimed.

Meg shrugged her thin shoulders. 'Natch, we were both ripped out of our skulls.'

'Your life sounds like a romantic comedy,' Jen marvelled.

'Or a tragedy,' Aiden muttered in a low wry voice, breaking his awkward silence for the first time since he'd walked in.

He didn't look at Jen but she was horribly aware of his presence, the words spoken outside the Marlow Arms ten years ago still hanging invisibly in the air. He'd said little but the necessary greetings, sitting on the arm of the sofa next to Georgina, effectively placing his wife between them.

'Any kids?' Jen tried to concentrate on Meg. Ever since Aiden had showed up, gorgeously casual in his 501 jeans and Armani sweater, she'd felt like an impostor in front of the one person who knew the true Jen. He was probably in danger of busting a gut from internal laughter, pegging her as an insecure fraud. How she wished she could rip the pearls off her neck, stuff them in her bag.

'A boy. Zeb.' Meg's whole face softened. 'Nine years old. He's the best. Makes all the rest of the bullshit worthwhile.'

'Chloe's nine too. Ollie's and my daughter.' She thought about the night she'd found out. It was even harder to look at Aiden.

And then Georgina had said, 'How lovely.' But it came out weird, her voice all high and bright, as if she were taking part in a Noël Coward play. 'Didn't have any myself but good to keep the world populated.' She plucked at an imaginary piece of fluff on her trousers and Aiden placed his hand, gold band gleaming, on her shoulder.

'But . . .' Jen protested then stopped, confused. Even obsessive tidying-up couldn't eradicate all traces of Chloe. There was always a toy that had slid unnoticed under a chair or a fingerprint on the wall.

'I lost it,' Georgina broke in briskly. 'Happens, you know.' Irritably she shrugged off Aiden's hand. 'You were saying, Nutmeg?'

There was a small pause as Meg blinked, then made her surprising announcement.

'Rowan and I had a pact. When we were in the last year of school, we swore in blood that if anything happened to either of us, we'd take care of each other's kids. I want you to help me find her.'

Shocked, everyone reacted at once.

'You're joking, right?' Jen.

'But that's the most nonsensical . . .' Georgina.

'It's a wind-up, isn't it, Meg?' Aiden said, grinning lazily as he slid off his perch to stand above them all, legs astride, hands on hips. 'You got the wrong day. This is Guy Fawkes Night, not April Fool's.'

'I'm real serious. Rowan totally meant it and so did I.' She said it with finality. The sort of finality of someone making deathbed plans. It stunned them all.

'You're not saying you're . . .' Georgina couldn't voice the last word.

'But why Rowan? What about the bull rider? Shouldn't Zeb be with his dad?' Jen was equally shocked.

'The bull rider's history. We were divorced after a couple of months. I couldn't stand that whole rodeo circuit and he was a mean drunk. A few too many kicks in the head along with the thirty broken bones. The dude existed on painkillers and rye whisky. Man, he was
so
not cut out to be a daddy even if he had given a shit. And Rowan and I had a deal. We swore that we'd never let our kids have the sort of life we had, or worse, end up in an orphanage.'

'An orphanage?' Horrified, Georgina looked as if she were regretting every reproachful word that she'd ever uttered to Meg. 'You weren't orphans!'

'What sort of life? You had the coolest parents in the world,' Aiden objected at the same time as Jen said, 'At sixteen? Why would you even think of that?' And for the first time since he'd walked in they really looked at each other and just as quickly looked back at Meg.

Meg's eyes went to Aiden and Jen in turn.

'You don't have a clue.' Unconsciously her fingers found the turquoise pendant dangling from her neck. 'Herb and Clover weren't noted for their parenting skills. Did you know they used to forget me and accidentally leave me places? No kidding, when I still in diapers at least twice they left me at a truck stop and drove off, each of them thinking the other one had put the car seat in the car . . . that is, if they even bothered with a car seat.' Her mouth quirked wryly. 'Mace was only four or five but if he hadn't yelled blue murder, they'd have ended up in Memphis or Chicago before they noticed I was gone.'

'That's terrible,' Jen said.

'Oh come on,' Aiden scoffed, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall to watch everyone's reactions with bemusement. 'You're exaggerating.'

Meg looked pissed off.

'No, Starkey, I'm not. Think we had a healthy nurturing environment? An orphanage might have been better. I got chocolate chip cookies laced with hash in my Christmas stocking when I was only twelve. Mace and I had to fend for ourselves for days on end when he wasn't even ten yet, because they were out cold or off at some weekend drugfest. Oh yeah, they were heaps of fun.' She leaned forward, her face pinched and intense. 'Herb's shacked up in Phuket with an eighteen-year-old stripper called Imee and Clover's in Acapulco scrabbling to sell timeshares.' Her gimlet stare pierced through him. 'Would you want them taking care of your kid?'

'What about Mace?' interrupted Georgina, shifting in her seat to block Aiden's view of Jen. Jen noticed she wasn't the only one attempting to ignore Aiden, his wife was doing a much better job. Georgina had rebuffed every one of his affectionate touches and now she'd turned her back to him. Perhaps they'd had a fight. Or maybe she just wasn't very loving.

Meg snorted. 'Remember Mace in high school? Blissed out on Ecstasy or acid, doing everything from sniffing glue and household cleaners to swigging Night Nurse. You wouldn't recognise him today. A tax adviser. And his soon-to-be second wife – Evil Plastic Woman I call her – hates my guts.'

Classic Meg, Jen thought, watching her get up restlessly and walk to the window, where she played with the trim of Georgina's floor-length drapes. How often had Meg whispered to them in some steamy café, 'Everybody's looking at us. They
hate
us because we're having so much fun.' Or 'Look at those guys, they
love
us! They think we're
hot.'
It was always love or hate, no notion that the four friends might go unnoticed by most people, no sense of a middle ground when it came to emotion.