Keep your friends close, p.17
Keep Your Friends Close, page 17
Her eyes light up at the prospect of a bit of gossip and after looking around to make her think I’m checking to make sure we’re not overheard, I ply her with more details.
‘He’s so weird: doesn’t like her having friends or seeing anyone, not even me.’ I plaster a shocked look on my face. ‘And he’s peculiar about the people she works with. Her work colleagues, quite honestly, are all about a hundred years old and as dull as ditchwater, but he thinks she’s going to have an affair and leave him or something. I mean how ridiculous, being jealous of work colleagues? Although I get the feeling Carrie sort of likes it in a way because she thinks it means he loves her. I’ve tried to tell her it’s not a good thing and it’s most definitely not flattering, but she refuses to listen. I think she knows deep down that it’s not right because they’ve finished a few times over it, but he always persuades her to go back to him. He swears undying love and promises to change but it never works, does it? Because people don’t change; they are what they are.’
Tally frowns and blows air out through pursed lips. ‘She needs to get rid, as soon as, because he’ll only get worse. I’ve been with someone like that and I can tell you it was no fun. Before you know it, you don’t have any friends and they’re running your life and checking your phone. Is Carrie the one who comes to the openings with you sometimes? Mousy hair, bit old-fashioned looking?’
‘Yes, that’s her.’
Tally shakes her head. ‘No offence, Mia, but she’s a bit drab, isn’t she? I’m shocked that she’s gone for someone like that, because she looks the sensible type.’
‘I think that’s the trouble; she’s not really had a lot of luck with men and she’s mistaking possessiveness for love. She’s not interested in fashion or overly bothered what she wears but he even has a lot to say about that: doesn’t like her showing any leg or the slightest hint of sexiness. Wants her to dress like a librarian. She’s my best friend and I love her to bits, but I just can’t seem to get through to her. Sadly, she’s going to have to move in with him and learn the hard way. But on the upside, at least she’ll have her old room to come back to when she’s had enough of him.’
‘You’re a good friend, Mia; not many people would do that for her.’
I shrug. ‘We’ve known each other a long time and we’ve got each other’s backs; that’s just how it is.’
‘He must have something going for him to attract her in the first place, though, mustn’t he? What’s he like?’
I frown and look thoughtful.
‘A bit strange, although obviously I’ve never said that to Carrie. He’s quite good-looking in a brooding sort of way but not great at conversation. Carrie actually met him when were on a night out together. We were in a club and he hit on me first and when I didn’t want to know, moved onto Carrie.’
‘Noooo!’ Tally looks shocked, and also delighted, and I realise that I’m rather enjoying myself. ‘And it doesn’t bother her that she was second best?’ she probes.
I bite my lip and affect an uncomfortable look.
‘What? Do tell!’ Tally leans closer.
‘It’s weird, because she was there; she saw him attempting to chat me up. Obviously, I wasn’t in the slightest bit interested because I knew he was a bit odd, straight off the bat. You can just tell, can’t you? Something not quite right about him: a bit too intense. He asked me to dance and then wanted to buy me a drink and I said no to both and he didn’t like it one little bit. Got a bit stroppy and asked me “why not?” and then called me stuck-up. I walked off to the ladies in the end, to get away from him.’
‘And she saw all this?’
‘Yep. The whole thing. But when I got back from the loo, she was making out with him. And when she told me she was seeing him, she behaved as if I’d never seen him before in my life. Told me she knew him from uni and that they’d always had an attraction to each other but had never acted on it. But honestly, Tally, when he hit on me, he hadn’t even noticed her. Not so much as a first, let alone a second glance. She made out they locked eyes across the crowded club and just clicked, but the truth is, she was standing right next to me all night and he never even noticed her.’
Tally shakes her head in disbelief.
‘I think that’s why he never comes to the flat if I’m there, because he tried to chat me up first even though they both pretend it never happened. I often wonder if he got with Carrie as some sort of warped revenge for me giving him the brush off.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. I almost feel sorry for your friend because you know it’s not going to end well for her.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I say sadly.
Or him. It’s not going to end well for either of them.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I stand on tiptoes and kiss Sebastian briefly on the lips. He pulls me closer and the chaste kiss begins to turn into something much more.
‘Anyone could walk in here,’ I whisper, as we come up for air.
‘I could lock the door,’ Sebastian murmurs in my ear.
‘No!’ I pull away with a laugh. ‘I have to go. Lots to do tonight.’
‘Oh, yes, the fun sponge is moving out.’
‘Sebastian.’ I frown. ‘You’re not to call her that.’
He shrugs and then laughs.
‘I’m just jealous that she gets to spend the evening with you tonight and I don’t.’
‘It’s just one night,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t exactly say no, could I?’
I’ve told Sebastian the same lie that I told Tally: that I’m helping Carrie pack her things ready to move.
‘I suppose not. On the plus side, at least we’ll be able to have some proper alone time at yours without her listening at the door.’
‘Sebastian! Don’t be so disgusting. She wouldn’t do that.’
He grins. ‘I was joking. I’m still getting over the shock that she actually has a boyfriend. I didn’t think she had it in her. Can’t imagine her kissing anyone, let alone having sex with them. I always assumed she’d die a virgin.’
‘Don’t be horrible,’ I say, pretending I care. He has no idea that I now hate Carrie as much as I used to love her, that hearing him say snide things about her pleases me. Go on, Sebastian: tell me exactly what you think of my soon-to-be ex-flatmate and don’t mince your words.
‘I’m only being honest. From a man’s viewpoint, she’s got nothing going for her: miserable and frumpy, with a massive, working-class chip on her shoulder. What’s to like?’
‘I thought you were getting on okay with her now.’
‘Only for your sake. Anyway, she likes me about as much as I like her.’
‘Well I’m just worried, that’s all. This boyfriend of hers is controlling and it’s not healthy. I wish she wasn’t moving in with him.’
‘I wouldn’t worry; it’s him you want to feel sorry for.’
‘I hope you’re right. Anyway, I’m going now or else we’ll never get it all done.’ I pull on my jacket and loop my handbag over my shoulder. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He rushes to open the door for me – ever the gentleman – and I head out of his office, through the gallery and out onto the street and start walking in the direction of home. I march along but once I’m around the corner and out of sight of the gallery, I take my mobile phone out of my bag and order a cab. I’m not going home yet; the cab is to take me to Marco’s flat because it struck me last night that he’s probably still living there. Neither he nor Carrie would be worried about me turning up because they think I truly believe that I killed Marco there. I’d hardly be likely to revisit the scene of my crime. If he’s moved, I’ll need to revise my plan and find out where he lives, but I think he’ll be there, because why would he go to the bother of moving somewhere else when he doesn’t need to?
The cab arrives and I jump in. During the fifteen-minute journey, I think about what I’m going to do when I arrive. Am I going to knock on the door and confront them? Realistically, to prove to myself that Marco is still there, that’s what I’m going to have to do. It’ll be letting them know that I know what they’ve been up to, but that doesn’t matter, because Carrie will be moving out of my flat tonight, with or without her belongings.
But I won’t be helping her to pack; I might launch all of her clothes and belongings out of the window, but I definitely won’t be helping her package them up all neat and tidy.
Far too quickly, we arrive in front of the ugly, seventies-built, grey, pebbledash apartment block where Marco lives. I tell the driver to pull up around the corner into the next street and after tutting at me and pulling a face, he does as I ask. Just for that, I don’t give him a tip. As he drives off, I stand on the pavement to decide what I’m going to do.
I’ll have to knock on his door; there’s no other way to find out if he’s still there. Carrie may even be in there with him instead of working late like she always pretends. I bet she never works late.
I feel a moment of unease. My ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend have been poisoning me; is it really wise to confront them? No one knows that I’m here; I could disappear and there would be no clue as to where I’d gone. Carrie on her own wouldn’t be a problem but two of them is a different thing entirely; I’d be outnumbered.
Or am I being melodramatic?
I walk along the street and get to the corner, still undecided as to whether I’m going to confront them or not, when I stop dead in my tracks and slowly back up.
Carrie and Marco have just come out of the building entrance and are walking slowly down the path to the pavement, deep in conversation. I knew that Marco was alive but actually seeing him is still a shock. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself as the scale of the betrayal sinks in. I wish I hadn’t come here now because if they turn, or even glance in this direction, they’ll see me immediately. I look wildly around; there is nowhere to hide. Terraced houses line both sides of the street, their front doors opening straight out onto the pavement. There are no convenient back alleys or gardens I can hide in.
Nowhere.
I could squat behind a parked car but if they choose to walk down this street, they’ll see me. I feel real fear as it dawns on me that I’ve put myself in a dangerous position. The relief is immense as I watch them turn in the opposite direction when they reach the pavement. How stupid was I to think I’d confront them both? I could have been playing right into their hands. Because if they’re prepared to drug me, what else are they capable of? I pull out my phone to call a cab but also to do something else.
I need a locksmith.
Because Carrie is moving out tonight.
And I’m making sure she can never get back in.
24
It’s amazing how quickly a locksmith will turn up if you pay them enough.
I’d hardly got home before Jim buzzed through from reception to say that there was a man to see me. It was Kez, the locksmith, and as he deftly replaced my lock with a brand spanking new one, he regaled me with some very witty stories of customers who had accidentally locked themselves out. I think they were embellished for effect but they were very funny and as I laughed, I felt almost light-hearted. Carrie will be leaving tonight and she won’t be coming back; I’ll be rid of my backstabbing ex-best friend forever. When Kez had finished, he gave me the shiny new keys – three of them – but didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave. He was clearly hoping for the offer of a cup of tea and whereas normally I would oblige, I wanted him gone just in case Carrie decided to come home early, unlikely though it was. I had to drop a couple of massive hints that my boyfriend was picking me up at any moment before he reluctantly packed up his tools and bid me goodbye. I gave him a very healthy tip on top of the extortionate fee, so I think that helped him forgive me for not making him a drink.
But now he’s gone and I can’t settle. I regret getting rid of him so quickly because at least he was a distraction. How long is Carrie going to be? She’ll definitely be home at some point, but the question is, when? She never stays out all night as that would be a little hard to pass off as working late, but on occasion, she’s come home as late as ten o’clock and still spun the yarn that she was working, so it could be a long wait. It’s now eight thirty and despite not wanting to help her pack up her belongings, I go into the kitchen and rummage around in the cupboard underneath the sink and feel elated when I find a roll of dustbin bags. I take them into her room, shake one open and lay it on the carpet. I’m sure she has a suitcase somewhere so I’ll leave the wardrobe to her, but the smaller stuff can go into bin bags. I walk over to the dressing table and pull open the top drawer to see underwear neatly laid out. I give the drawer a sharp tug and it comes completely out of the runners in my hands. I carry it over to the bin bag, upend it and tip the entire contents into the bag.
It’s incredibly satisfying; so satisfying that I repeat the process with each drawer, filling a new bin bag each time. As I’m about to upend the final drawer into a bag, several sheets of paper tumble out of the mixture of odd socks and washed-out t-shirts. It’s a bank statement. I pick it up, sit down on the bed and study it to discover another lie; she’s always told me that her job is poorly paid and her salary won’t improve until she’s worked her way up the hierarchy.
Another lie.
She’s very well paid; she earns more than twice as much as me. She’s lived here rent free for years and made me afraid to even mention money, and all the time she’s been earning a very healthy salary. I rip the statement into pieces, toss it into the bag and tip the rest of the contents after it. I get up and go into the bathroom, open the doors of the wall cabinet and study the contents for a moment before sweeping everything off the shelves and straight into a bag. A few bottles clatter a bit and I think there might be a few breakages as they tumbled in but I’m not worried. The plastic bag will contain any drips and pieces of glass. I tie the top into a knot and just to make sure none of it drips out of the bag onto my carpet, I walk into the bedroom and put the entire bag inside the bin bag containing her underwear. I wrap all of her underwear around it, giving it a good press in the process. There: her hideous, sensible knickers and bras will mop up any drips. I’m enjoying myself so much that it doesn’t register at first that someone is pounding on the front door. Quite loudly, too.
I toss the underwear bag into the pile with the others, saunter out into the hallway and listen for a moment. The pounding is louder out here and someone is shouting, too. Carrie is loudly calling my name and asking me if I’m okay. I smile as I walk to the front door; she thinks I’m having one of my episodes again and is pretending to be concerned. I pull open the front door.
‘Sorry,’ I say, with a smile. ‘I couldn’t hear you.’
‘Are you okay?’ There’s concern on her face: fake, obviously. ‘What’s wrong with the door?’
She steps inside and I close the door behind her.
‘I had a new lock fitted.’
‘A new lock? Why?’
‘To keep you out.’
‘What?’ She stares at me in confusion, her eyes wide.
‘To keep you out. You’re moving out tonight and I had the locks changed to stop you from ever getting back in.’
‘Are you feeling okay, Mia?’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘Shall we go and sit down and talk about things? You know you’ve been a bit all over the place lately and getting the wrong idea sometimes.’
I slowly look down at her hand and then up at her face.
‘Take your fucking hand off me, Carrie.’
Her mouth drops open in shock; I rarely swear and never at her.
She opens her mouth to speak but I hold my hand up to prevent her.
‘I’ve started packing your stuff up for you in bin bags and I haven’t been very careful so, if you don’t want everything ruined, I suggest you go and do the rest yourself.’
Her mouth gapes and she looks a bit like a fish but I can see the tiniest flicker of comprehension dawning.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I know what you’ve been doing to me. I know that Marco isn’t dead. I know you tricked me out of twenty-five thousand pounds. I know everything, Carrie. You’re leaving tonight and never coming back and I never want to see you again.’ I turn my back to her and march off to her bedroom, pick up another bin bag, open it and give it a shake and look around to see what else I can put in it. Carrie appears in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at the bags lying around the room.
‘What are you doing? You can’t do that; that’s my stuff.’ She crosses to the bags, unties one and looks inside.
‘I can do what I like; this is my apartment.’
‘You bitch.’ She glares at me.
Even though I know what she’s done, I’m still shocked at the venom in her voice.
‘That’s a bit rich, coming from someone who’s tricked me into believing I murdered my boyfriend and then proceeded to poison me.’
‘I can’t help it if you’re thick, can I?’ She laughs nastily. ‘I mean, honestly, you thought I got someone off the dark web to dispose of Marco’s body? Come on. Who’d believe something as far-fetched as that unless they’re totally stupid? I almost felt pity for you then for being so completely gullible. Almost, but not quite; mostly, I found it hilarious, as did Marco.’ All pretence has gone now; the true Carrie revealed for the first time ever. I’m shocked at the speed with which she’s dropped the pretence that she was my friend; I thought it would take much longer.
‘And you never even twigged about Owen,’ she goes on. ‘Even when he came round here and spelt it out for you. I mean, the only reason he had to go was because he’d seen Marco coming here, after he was supposedly dead. We couldn’t risk him saying something to you, because you always had to talk to him, didn’t you? To prove what a great person you are even though you’re filthy rich. Even with blatant reg flags practically wagging in your face, you still never suspected. It was all there in front of you and you only had to put two and two together, but you’re so dumb, you still couldn’t work it out.’
