When Good Friends Go Bad (24 page)

Jen took another big gasp of breath as she jogged slowly along the top of the ridge. No amount of fresh air was going to beat this hangover, she thought, accepting defeat and resting against a fence. She was at the highest point for miles around, with views right down into central Huntsleigh, the wind whistling through the pines. Bending over to battle her nausea, she spotted someone approaching from one of the tiny tracks that led from the wood below. With a lurch of surprise she recognised Aiden, hair blowing wildly in the breeze, his coat flapping.

'Aiden?' The wind was whipping her own hair in her face, a problem she'd never had when it was shorter.

'So this is how you pass your time,' he said, smiling. 'Are you walking or running?'

'Slow jog till I feel sick, then walking. What are you doing here?'

'I decided to drop by and then I saw a Toyota in your drive and some bloke rummaging around in it. Didn't want to make any embarrassing house calls in case that was the legendary ex.'

'Well it was an ex, but teacher, not husband. It was Tom Dugan, our old English teacher. I drunkenly left my bag at the party and he was kind enough to call this morning to offer to drop it round.'

'Oh, lucky he had your number, eh?' He looked at her imploringly but she chose not to rise to it. 'Quite a habit of yours, leaving things behind.'

'How did you know I was here, though?'

'I followed you. I'm parked back there.' He gestured the way he'd come.

Her mind did a quick calculation. He must have sat outside her house while Tom came back from the car, drank his coffee, accepted her biscuits, chatted about old times and admired her wall lights. God. Was Aiden really waiting all that time
just to see her?

'OK,' Jen said slowly. Aiden didn't seem to want to offer any further reason for his visit, so she suggested he walk with her.

Aiden squinted down at her, matching his stride with hers.

'How's the hangover?'

'I only had a few glasses of wine. And some punch. So did Georgina send you to check up on me, then?' Silly, but she was actually disappointed. Seeing him magically appear like that had been the stuff of her fantasies for years. Would she ever get over those days of longing for just such an encounter? Only in none of those fantasies had he been a married man.

'No, actually. I came of my own accord, believe it or not. So who's this Dugan chap? Sounds like he's going out of his way to please you?' He arched a brow.

'He's just a . . . a friend, I guess. We had fun last night and he's nice. And it was nice of him to bring my bag round. It's what
friends
do. I get the impression he's actually a little lonely.'

'Wasn't lonely at the party, though, from what Georgina was saying about you two dancing all night.' He made it a statement, his dark eyes fixing on her face as she swept her hair out of her stinging eyes.

'I suppose he wasn't.' She tossed her head, inwardly pleased he was taking an interest, wanting to push his buttons a bit.

'I'm sorry, Jen. We weren't gossiping about you. We feel protective towards you, that's all. Don't want you taken advantage of.'

'Me, taken advantage of? Does Georgie think she's my mum now or what?'

'Her words, not mine. Georgina said that the four of you always looked out for each other. Has all these wonderful stories about you jumping into battle for her whenever she was threatened.' He shoved his gloveless hands in his coat pockets. 'Actually that's why I wanted to speak to you. She seemed upset last night. I couldn't understand half what she was babbling on about.' He paused, deep in thought, and Jen cursed herself for thinking Aiden had stalked her out of jealousy. 'Was she picked on a lot?' he said finally.

'We all were. Well, really just the usual playground taunts but Georgina probably got it most because of her size – you know how kids are.' She felt uncomfortable, almost disloyal, discussing his wife's old weight problem. 'And I think it all came flooding back at the reunion, she got very upset at one point. But after that she seemed to be having a good time. I thought she enjoyed herself.'

'Probably just the drink talking,' Aiden replied, stopping on the lee side of a giant elm. 'She was in a weird mood but that's not so unusual these days. If you're sure she's OK, I won't bother you again.'

'You're not bothering me.'

They fell awkwardly silent, so when Jen spotted Feo trotting on the path as it dipped ahead of them, and Anamaria's mauve ski hat with the pixie bobbles appearing over the rise of the hill, she was half relieved but equally panicked at the prospect of Anamaria meeting Aiden. There was no guessing what she'd say.

'Listen we . . . I . . . I ought to get back.' She pivoted on her heel, dragging him with her. 'I don't think we should be discussing Georgina like this. She wouldn't like it.'

She glanced behind her. Anamaria was drawing nearer, her fur-trimmed boots apparently sprouting wings. 'Quick, over here!'

She grabbed Aiden's arm, pulling him hastily down a steep narrow path.

'Hey!' he protested. 'Where's the fire?'

'It's . . . it's my boss!'

'Your boss?' Automatically Aiden's head swerved round. 'I thought you did voluntary work.'

'Yes, but with some very peculiar people.' Jen stepped over a log, rapidly increasing the distance between them and their pursuer.

'She's your boss?' Aiden whispered as he carefully studied the Spanish girl through a gap in a thicket. 'Cute, cute, cute.'

'As a viper.' Jen kicked a branch away. 'And wildly eccentric. Trying to dump her dog on everyone.'

They both watched through the thicket. Feo raced over to a rook, causing it to take flight. Anamaria had stayed on the main path. Perhaps she hadn't seen Jen.

'That scrawny thing's a dog?' Aiden asked. 'Looks like someone's hairpiece come to life.'

As they returned in Aiden's car, Jen was horrified to see Ollie's orange camper van in the driveway. Just what she needed. Worse, Ollie was outside, with a hammer in his hand, doing something to their front door.

'Oops,' Aiden said, seeing her can't-we-just-reverse-fast expression. 'Is that him?'

'Yes, but it doesn't matter, does it? We are divorced.'

'Yes, but he does have a bloody big hammer,' Aiden jested as he switched off the engine.

Stepping out the car, Jen's skin prickled under Ollie's gaze, her heart aching as she saw what he was putting up.

'Nice wreath,' Aiden said lightly as Ollie walked towards them. He wasn't wearing a jacket, of course. Only a regular cotton shirt when she and Aiden and anyone with a grain of sense were bundled under more layers than a polar explorer.

'Thanks.' Ollie's eyes were unusually cold for a man who made friends every time he poked his nose outdoors. It was obvious he knew who was on his doorstep, even if they'd never met before.

The two of them sized each other up like master swordsmen about to duel for a lady's honour, a slight smile creasing Aiden's well-formed lips, Ollie's face devoid of welcome. He was quite a bit shorter than Aiden, by about five inches, but still a muscular powerhouse compared to Aiden's lanky slender frame. Jen felt ridiculously proud that Aiden could see her ex-husband was handsome, clever and worth showing off, certainly no wimp or geek to be trifled with. Maybe she herself wasn't a veritable supermodel, but let it be noted her standards were high. (Take
that,
Mr 'Cute Cute Cute'.)

Politely Ollie held out his hand. 'Aiden Starkson, I assume?'

'You guessed it.' Aiden shook hands, smiling cheerfully.

'Reunion a success then, was it?' Ollie looked from one to the other.

'Great!' Her voice was too high. 'You're back early. I wasn't expecting you till this afternoon.'

'Obviously.' His tone was even, but Jen felt a sting of anger. How dare he assume whatever it was he was assuming. Why couldn't she have male friends?

'Well, I'd better get back to my wife.' Aiden bent to kiss Jen on the cheek.

'Yes, maybe you'd better.' Hostility crackled in the air as Ollie spoke. The back of Jen's neck grew hot as she prepared to crawl under a rock. And she'd thought it was bad in her teens when her dad would emerge to chat to her friends and embarrass her something rotten with his silly sayings.

'Was that really necessary?' she hissed as Aiden drove away.

'You mean our ill-timed intrusion?' Ollie's eyes were veiled. 'Sorry, but Chloe was anxious to get home, show you what she and Mum made us.' He gestured at the wreath. 'Extremely appropriate, I'd say.'

'So who was he?' enquired Anamaria as they sat down over a sandwich in the back room of the shop the next afternoon.

'Who was who?' Damn, she thought she'd got away with it. Anamaria had evidently been waiting to get Jen on her own.

'I saw you up on the heath. Both of you, disappearing off into the mists like big yetis.'

'Oh that, er, yes, well, that was Aiden.'

'Aiden, you say.' Her eyes stayed glued to the table where she'd set out another jigsaw puzzle. Jen thought it was a Constable painting, but she couldn't be entirely certain as it had come with no box. 'The one that is the husband of your best friend, yes?'

'I've barely seen her in the last twenty years.'

'Whatever.' She plonked the four blue corners of the puzzle on to a tray and began looking for edge pieces. 'The man that means nothing to you, but yet your face turns cherry whenever you speak about him.'

Jen put on a snooty voice. 'I've no idea what you're talking about.'

Saved by her mobile.

'So how was the reunion then?' Helen trilled, sounding remarkably happy considering that the last time they'd spoken she'd ended up slamming down the phone.

'Better than expected.' She turned her back on Anamaria. 'Helen, I so apologise about the other . . .'

'No matter.' One thing about Helen, she didn't hang on to grievances. Give her some time to cool down and she'd act like nothing had happened. 'What are you doing tonight? Fancy Malaysian?'

'Oh Helen, I can't. I need to spend some quality time with Chloe. I've not seen her all weekend.'

'I thought Ollie would be stepping up to the plate.'

'He had her Saturday. And she's going to his on Wednesday.'

Anamaria's head was bent examining the puzzle pieces, but Jen could practically see her ears flapping.

'Wednesday then? If you don't fancy the karaoke at that new wine bar I mentioned, we could grab a pizza, open some wine, watch a slushy film.'

'I can't do that either,' Jen gulped. She had a feeling this wasn't going to go well. Helen's resilience could only stretch so far.

'Oh?'

'It's, well, I'm really really sorry, Helen, but . . .' she flinched, hardly daring to say the words. 'I'm having friends round.'

'I'm
a friend,' Helen said pointedly.

'I know. But . . .'

'Don't tell me. Ex-classmates and I'm not invited.'

'It's not that . . .'

'Don't worry, I can take a hint.' Slam.

Damn, she thought too late, why hadn't she made something up? A parent—teacher conference. An evening class in Mandarin Chinese. Helen was just too used to her lack of social life, to Jen being available whenever she chose to call.

'Just a friend.' Jen saw Anamaria watching.

'You were telling me about your other
friend.
This Aiden.' The girl was relentless.

'His mum's died,' Jen said hopefully. It was true. Happened when he was a kid, but all the same.

'Why is he coming to visit you?'

'We bumped into each other.'

'Dios mio!
What a coincidence.'

'Georgina sent him.'

'And he dropped everything on a Sunday morning to
please
her?' Her tone was sarcastic, her expression disbelieving. 'He is a very good little boy, no? Or is it possible he still feels for you?'

'He has friendly feelings. More like a big brother.' Jen didn't need a mirror to realise she was puce again. 'He came to tell me she's broken a leg.' Bugger. Why did she say that? Anamaria was getting her all confused. Only when it might have helped with Helen had her inventiveness failed her.

'Who? His deceased mother? What, after the rigor mortis set in?' She added another jigsaw piece along the side. 'Liar, liar, pants on fire.'

'I'm not. Don't be silly.'

'Are you meeting him up there a lot?'

Jen swallowed. 'It's the first time.'

'Are you sure?' Her coal-black eyes turned to menacing slits.

'Sure I'm sure,' Jen said more forcefully. Searching for a change of subject, inspiration struck. 'Anamaria, I've been thinking. It's going to be lonely with Ollie gone and Chloe staying over with him, so how about I take Feo?
Only
until you get back, though.'

Anamaria's expression instantly changed from frowning to smiling.

'You will?
Estupendo!'
Anamaria hugged her, then noticing a customer waiting by the till, she went to the front of the shop.

Jen gulped.
Now what had she got herself into?

Monday evening. Chloe was on the phone to Ollie. So bizarre to think that he was only a mile away, his second night in Saul's house, yet Jen felt he'd never been so far from her – not even in Tanzania – and the distance seemed to be rapidly increasing.

Chloe was bubbling with excitement. 'We're getting a dog. Yes, a real one. Mum told me. No, I'm not sure what kind. Maybe a cuddly little puppy.'

'It isn't a puppy,' Jen said but it went unheard. 'And it definitely ain't cuddly.' She'd been having misgivings since the moment she'd suggested this to Anamaria. Probably she ought to have told Ollie first, but Chloe had been so full of stories of all, the things she and Daddy had done at Grandma's that somehow it had just slipped out. After all, she had to know sometime. Anamaria was leaving on Wednesday.

'Course I'm not fibbing. Mum, he wants to talk to you.' Chloe held out the phone.

'A dog, eh?' Ollie didn't sound nearly as excited as his daughter.

'Temporarily only. I'm helping out a friend.'

A sound resembling a cat being strangled permeated the air.

'Is that Chloe on the violin?' he asked.

'Yes, well, at least she's practising.'

'I thought we weren't going to do this,' Ollie said flatly, with just a hint of accusation.

'Do what?'

'You know. The divorced thing. Who can spoil Chloe the most, get the nicest Christmas present, best holiday. The tug-of-war syndrome.'

'We aren't. I wouldn't!'

'No?' He clearly didn't believe her. 'All these years we wanted a dog and you were against it. I'm gone five minutes and suddenly it's time to get Chloe a pet. You know, Jen, I'd never guess you'd stoop so low.'

She put the phone down feeling abused and misunderstood.

Bugger Ollie. That did it. Feo was definitely staying.

'Lace is in right now. Off-the-shoulder tops. Tiered ruffle dresses. Over-the-knee boots. And, oh yes, ripped jeans are coming back.' Chloe riffled through the Monsoon sales rack. Jen's eyes met the sales assistant's above Chloe's head. The girl, in her early twenties at the most, shrugged. 'What can I say,' she yawned. 'Kid's right.'

'How do you know all this?' Jen had just bought her daughter a new pair of trousers, a T-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt top. 'I can't get you out of jeans and hoodies.'

Chloe pushed out her lower lip like a pouting French actress. 'I stay in touch,' she said airily. 'Kelsey's sister likes fashion mags.'

It was Tuesday evening. The last splurge before the belt-tightening began in earnest. Jen had spent the morning at the charity shop, the afternoon looking through the papers, circling potential jobs. There were scarily few of them in Huntsleigh, and nothing that appealed. But could she afford to be picky when travelling up to London was out of the question for as long as Chloe finished school at three thirty? Why, oh why, hadn't she taken those evening classes after all, worked to get some more qualifications? Even a few computer courses would have helped.

Somehow, after picking up a small number of essentials for Chloe they'd been drawn to the '70% Off' sale sign across the street.

'Well I'm not buying anything off the shoulder,' Jen said decidedly. 'I already went through that once.'

'Oh I don't mean for mums.' Chloe burst her tiny bubble of confidence without even trying. 'But this colour would look good on you.' She held out a light green sweetheart-neck blouse, too summery for the season, which was undoubtedly why it was on the rack.

'Maybe, but are you sure it's my style?' Doubtfully Jen fingered the material. Lace sleeves, she noted. Did that make it trendy? 'I suppose I'll need work gear when I get a job.' She tried to forget the fact that most of her clothes were eminently suitable for any job that wasn't in high fashion or down a sewer.

'How about this?' She held up a white T-shirt. Chloe wrinkled her nose. 'Bo-o-ring.' She started yanking clothes from the rail as if Jen were some poor unfortunate fashion victim and Chloe a junior Trinny or Susannah blessed with a huge TV makeover budget.

'This is well nice. And this. And try this on. It's dead cheap, Mum. Seventy per cent off. Think of all the money you're saving.'

Money she ought not to be spending at all, she thought. She fingered the last item, a slinky satin dress of the kind she hadn't worn in years. She could almost hear Ollie wolf-whistle.

'Great for Christmas parties,' the assistant offered, more interested now.

'I doubt there'll be any this Christmas,' Jen said involuntarily, then could have bitten her tongue out, not wanting to inflict her pessimism on Chloe. She gave a heavy sigh.

'OK,' she said. 'Which way is the changing room?'

On Wednesday Chloe took her pyjamas and clean clothes to school for her first sleepover at Saul's. Jen was irrationally nervous about Meg and Georgina's imminent arrival.

After a mad cleaning frenzy she'd worried it might all be too immaculate, so scattered some magazines on to the coffee table before deciding they looked out of place and tidying them away again.

How sterile it looked. Why had she never noticed before? Georgina had managed a blend of style and comfort that appeared effortless, to the manor born – or hired a great interior decorator.

Jen looked around, thinking she'd seen hotel rooms with more personality. All their old Islington clutter, Chloe's first masterpieces, Jen's photos, the trinkets and souvenirs from the early years of their marriage lay packed in boxes in the attic or had gone to the charity shop.

She'd always believed this a triumph. Goodbye dust collectors, hello gleaming surfaces. But since she rarely had visitors, really why did it matter? And Ollie wasn't one of these neurotic husbands who objected to a little squalor. When she first moved in with him, they'd existed for a whole year without owning a Hoover.

Meg looked slightly shocked as she came through the door. 'Jesus! White carpet.' Georgina followed her in, smiling politely and nodding approvingly. Jen suspected this was entirely put on.

'It's cream.' Jen squirmed. 'It came with the house.'

'It's like I'm walking through a deep freeze.' Meg prowled around, inspecting her surroundings. 'Where's the colour, the muck, the reality, man?'

'I hope you left it at the door when you wiped your feet,' Jen retaliated, feeling childishly stung.

'White represents the energy of metal in the five-element system of feng shui,' Meg pronounced. 'This house is completely out of balance. You need to put in some reds and oranges, moderate it with fire.'

'Well, I think it's terrific. Very modern and so, so, uh . . . clean,' Georgina soothed.

'Great. Because it's just about sold.' The hell with feng shui, Jen thought.

'Well then, let's drink to Jen's new life.' Meg held up a bottle. 'I've brought wine.' She put it on the worktop and instantly recoiled. 'Crap, what's that? A giant guinea pig?'

Jen followed her gaze. Feo had emerged from the basket in which he'd been sulking since a tearful Anamaria had dropped him off that afternoon. In all her childhood longings for a pet – dog, cat, even a white mouse – never had she imagined a Feo. In size he was somewhere between a cairn and a chihuahua, with an air that suggested he fondly believed himself to be a Great Dane. His back was long, his legs mere stumps and his coarse shaggy coat might have been cute if it wasn't so sparse, failing to hide his bulging eyes. But here he was, strutting up, convinced that new visitors meant worship and food treats.

'That's Feo.' Jen still couldn't believe she'd let the creature in her house. Muddy paws aside, you only had to look at the mutt and a few hundred more dog hairs would launch themselves into orbit. 'I'm taking care of him for a friend.'

'Oh, isn't he, he's very . . . What an interesting name,' Georgina fudged.

'Means ugly.'

'Very appropriate,' she said smoothly.

And suddenly everyone was laughing and Jen's attack of nerves melted away.

Two hours later the remains of their takeaway lay alongside three almost empty wine bottles. Someone should really clear that mess, Jen thought fuzzily. But blowed if she could be arsed.

'So what shall we do now?' said Georgina, her unfocused eyes resting on Jen. Like the wine bottles the three women sat side by side on the floor, slouched against the beige sofa.

'Sleep,' said Jen, holding her head.

'You can sleep when you're dead. Hey, I know,' Meg turned to her, 'what about the truth game?'

'Truth game?' Georgina squeaked.

'People ask all sorts of personal questions and you have to answer with the total truth.'

'Oh, yeah.' Jen wiggled her toes in her socks. 'We played it once at the shipping agency I worked in. One of the partners told a filing clerk that he fancied her.'

'And?'

'She said he made her physically sick. She got laid off two weeks later.'

Georgina slapped her hand down hard on the armrest. 'Let's play it. You go first, Nutmeg.'

'Jennifer Bedlow,' Meg started. 'What truthfully happened between you and Dastardly Dugan the other night? Did he or did he not try to jump your bones? I saw you two come into the gym together and then start dancing all smoochie-smoo.'

Jen blew a raspberry. 'No, he was the perfect gentleman. My turn. Nutmeg Lennox, do you really have an angel sitting on your shoulder?'

'Not on my shoulder. But . . .' She jumped in hastily as the other two whooped. 'I do have an angel guide.'

'Does she know you're atheist?' Georgina sniggered from the other side of Jen.

'What does she do?' Jen was trying to maintain an expression of sincere interest on her face while ripples of mirth ran around inside her chest.

'It's a he.'

'Figures,' Georgina muttered, blowing a lock of hair from her face.

'Probably called Charlie,' whispered Jen in her ear. 'No wait, Charlie wasn't an angel, was he?'

'He sends me messages from the other side,' Meg added.

'Other side of what? The psycho ward?' Jen had to force herself not to glance at Georgina when she muttered this or she knew they'd both be lost.

'The spirit world, where else?' Meg closed her eyes for a second.

'And how many spirits are usually involved?' asked Georgina.

'How did you meet her, I mean him?' Jen rushed in.

'I studied reiki.' Meg turned her head so that her nose was inches from Jen's. 'Energy healing. And massage. And one day I was working on a friend and there was this glow by the ceiling.'

'It's called a light bulb,' Georgina whispered in Jen's opposite ear. Jen, struggling to contain herself, let out an unintentional snort.

'No, it fucking wasn't.' Meg had heard. 'It was my angel.' She feigned outrage.

'Weren't you scared?' Jen bit her cheek.

'Nah,' Meg said dismissively. 'I have this indescribable feeling of serenity when he appears. Isn't it someone else's turn?'

'No. It's interesting. Does he speak?' Jen waved her glass at Georgina, who topped it up.

'Yes, but only I can hear him. In my head. He sends me messages for people.'

'And have you any messages from us?' Jen squinted at the lampshade above her head, squeezing her lids tighter to see if she could turn the glow into an angel.

'From you?' Meg said, confused. 'But you're both alive.'

'Oh, you have to be dead?' Jen couldn't help it. The laughter she'd been holding back erupted.

'You bet your sweet ass you do.' Meg grabbed a cushion from the sofa and started bashing them as Jen and Georgina fell about helplessly. 'And he says you're a pair of lowlife bozos who can go to hell.'

'Very angelic,' Georgina hooted, dodging another blow from Meg.

'Right, you next.' Meg picked up her glass again and leaned over Jen to look at Georgina. 'Georgina Giordani Carrington,' she slurred, 'who made the first move – you or Starkey?'

Georgina and Jen both froze. Jen felt her sweat prickle under her armpits, her mouth suddenly dry. She couldn't look at Georgina but she could feel the horrible tension emanating from both of them. Luckily the phone rang, giving Jen an excuse to leap for it.

'Hello? Oh hello there, Tom.' Mistake. Big mistake.

Meg and Georgina broke into deafening cheers and catcalls, rolling up their sleeves and kissing their arms with loud slurping noises.

'Sorry? Oh that. It's the TV. Some nature show. About shrieking gannets.' Furiously she flapped her hand for silence.

'Hope I'm not catching you at a bad time,' Tom said cheerfully, as the din abated. 'Just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the other evening.'

'Me too.' She was scarlet to her roots under two pairs of avidly curious eyes.

'Maybe we can do it again sometime?'

'Maybe. Uh,' she glanced at the eavesdroppers, 'this isn't the best time for me to talk. I've got friends for dinner.'

'Talking of friends, I was wondering if you're still searching for Rowan Howard?'

'Uh, yes.' She gave a significant look at Meg and Georgina.

'Well, it's a long shot but it occurred to me you could try contacting Gwyneth Minksheaf. If you haven't already, that is?'

'Gwyneth Minksheaf?' The hairs on Jen's arms rose one by one.

'Yes, she and Rowan were soloists in the school choir – always chit-chatting. And I seem to remember the two mothers were close, too. Both being from Wales.'

'That's a great idea. I can't believe we forgot about her. Thank you, Tom.' Saying goodbye, she hung up. 'Ladies, we have a lead. Tom's just remembered Rowan was in choir with Gwyneth Minksheaf.'

'Gwyneth Minksheaf?' Georgina looked bewildered.

'We used to call her Blodwyn,' Meg reminded her. 'Blodwyn Mineshaft – a total dweeb.'

Jen groaned. 'I spent years trying to erase the girl from my mind.'

Now Georgina looked even more bewildered.

'In second year,' Meg explained, 'Jen telephoned Kevin Matthews, faking a terrible Welsh accent, and said, "Hello Kevin, boyo. It's Gwyneth here. I really love you." '

'I've always felt bad about that,' Jen confessed.

'Doesn't sound so awful,' said Georgina.

'No,' Jen agreed, 'but Meg egged me on. I ended up saying I'd strip naked for him on his birthday.'