Bad Friends. Claire Seeber

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      I had a bad feeling about the envelope, an extreme feeling that pervaded my bones. I turned it over in my hands. I really didn’t want to open it. But it seemed I had no choice.

      ‘God, Fay.’ The photo I’d just extracted slipped from my clammy hand, spiralled down onto the tiled floor. Nausea mounted in me until I had to physically force it down. ‘What the hell is that?’

      ‘Oh Maggie,’ she peered at me, ‘you’re upset?’

      ‘Of course I’m bloody upset.’ I moved away from her. ‘Sorry, but I mean, what did you expect?’

      I thought she was going to cry; I couldn’t look at her. ‘Honestly, Fay. I just – I don’t get it. Why would you give me that?’

      She picked up the photo and proffered it again, with less certainty this time. I flinched.

      ‘Fay, for God’s sake!’

      But it was too late. I’d seen what it was: a photo of the crash’s aftermath. A tangle of mutilated metal, suitcases and bags littering the dark and shiny road. Someone’s shoes, a high-heeled pair of shoes right in the forefront, as if the owner had just slipped them off to dance barefoot in the rain. The edge of an ambulance, its fluorescent lights flashing. Two firemen walking out of shot, one behind the other, both with heads bowed. And there in the corner of the photo, unmistakable, jutting out as if in a horror film, a pair of stockinged feet, belonging to a body. A body under a blanket, but a body nonetheless.

      ‘I think you should go now.’ I slumped down at the table. ‘I really don’t want to look at that. I don’t understand why you brought it round. Where did you get it?’ I glanced up at her. ‘Is it some kind of joke? Some kind of sick joke?’

      ‘No, really, Maggie, it’s not.’ She held her coat tight around her now. ‘I’m sorry, you know? I just thought – my group that I’ve been meeting with, they said it would bring closure. It’s, like, dealing with the reality. Like that man said on the show.’

      ‘That man?’

      ‘That doctor. He gave me his book.’

      ‘Fernandez? That quack, you mean?’

      ‘Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t think you’d get upset.’

      I bit my tongue. She looked so genuinely downcast, so terribly young and naïve, that my heart softened a fraction. ‘Fay, it’s fine. It’s just – it’s not for me, okay? If it helps you, well, that’s – that’s great, I guess.’

      ‘It’s just – well, you helped me. So I wanted to help you.’ She gazed at me with those eyes.

      I tried not to squirm. ‘Well, thanks for the thought.’

      ‘That’s a nice little cottage.’ She pointed to the photo on the wall behind me. ‘Very pretty.’

      ‘Look, Fay –’

      ‘Where is it? Somewhere by the sea, I’ll bet.’

      ‘North Cornwall. It was my grandmother’s.’

      ‘The one in the home?’

      ‘Yes. She – I sort of own it now.’

      ‘Wow. Lucky you.’

      ‘Yes, I know.’

      ‘I think I’d better go now anyway. Troy’s waiting for me.’

      ‘That’s nice.’

      She put the picture carefully back in the envelope, smoothing the flap down. ‘Though we are – well, there are still problems, you know. With me and Troy. I’m not sure we can – what’s the word? – surmount them.’

      Dr Fernandez’s voice echoed through the room again. I smiled despite myself. ‘I’m sorry, Fay. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.’

      ‘Are you?’ She was suddenly enthused, stepping nearer to me now. ‘What do you think that is, Maggie? The right thing?’

      I thought of Alex.

      ‘Oh, Fay. I wish I knew, honestly.’

      ‘Please, just tell me what you think.’

      ‘I just think – you have to trust your instincts.’

      ‘Your instincts,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Yes, my instinct.’ She shoved the envelope back into her bag and headed towards the door. ‘You know what, Maggie, you’re quite right. I’ll let myself out, okay? See you soon,’ she called from the hall.

      ‘I really hope not,’ I muttered as the front door slammed. As I hunted for the Yellow Pages to track down the florist who’d sent the stinking lilies, I heard a car start up outside, and Digby barking in agreement. He never liked strangers on his patch.

       Chapter Five

      While I was still recuperating from the crash, Bel finally plucked up the courage to tell me Johnno wanted her and Hannah to move back to Australia with him after their wedding. I cried, though I tried not to let her know. She said it was temporary, just to try out ‘Down Under’ – but it was yet another final straw; the same one that broke the camel’s back, you know. Bel and I had been inseparable since her mad family had moved in next door to my quiet one when she was eight. We’d soon found a loose board in the back fence to clamber through and we lived in and out of each other’s houses. She became the sister I’d never had, her brothers like mine too. The idea of her not being around was truly painful.

      Eventually I pulled myself together and offered to help her sort things out, to look after her house when it was let, to mind Hannah while they packed up, that kind of thing. But Bel said that all she wanted, all her and Johnno wanted (such a very close couple now, inextricable), was for me to help sort the wedding and the goodbye party. For me to be there too. She knew I’d say I wouldn’t come to the party. I couldn’t. Of course Bel took no notice, deep down I guess she knew I’d be there – but the very thought made me feel a bit ill.

      I didn’t do parties any more. Not since Alex; not since the summer. But your best friend doesn’t get married and go across the world to live every day. And I’d hidden away as long as I dared, concealed behind my injuries, wallowing in my pain and misery, trying not to remember things best forgotten. Now Charlie had started to lose patience; he was on the phone almost daily. If I didn’t go back to work soon, I’d have no job to go to – whatever deal we’d made.

      The truth was, I had to start facing up to a whole load of things. How long could I stay in Greenwich, staring up at the ceiling of my father’s house, cocooned by his presence? What I really wanted to do was run away to Cornwall, take Digby and disappear to my haven at Pendarlin, but this was real life. I had to get on with living.

      I was staring glumly at the peaked and shiny mountains of perfection in Bel’s wedding-cake book and realising I’d probably bitten off more than all the dried fruit I could ever chew with my rash offer, when the phone rang. I thought it СКАЧАТЬ