Bad Friends (11 page)

During that first meeting Alex eyed me like I was an irritating child. He slumped on the sofa in his father’s office, dirty old boots on the coffee table, half-asleep, apparently oblivious to me giving it my very best shot. When I saw his eyes were actually shut, I felt incredible relief. I was suddenly struck by the uneasy
feeling I was prostituting myself for my goal – but I shook it off as I got into my stride, increasingly passionate and enthused by my subject. Still, Malcolm refused to agree to anything; the most he’d promise was to consider appearing.

As I shook Malcolm’s hand, Alex opened his eyes and stretched broadly, shaking himself rather like a long shaggy dog would. He muttered something to his father as I headed out, and then he followed me, lounging opposite me in the lift. We didn’t speak as we travelled smoothly down, but when the lift spat us out, Alex ran his hand through those tufts again.

‘Good luck,’ he murmured as the doors to the street slid open, stepping back to let me go first.

Outside it was sharp and crisp, a blast of much-needed fresh air to my addled brain. ‘Thanks.’ I dug out my travelcard, just relieved the whole ordeal was over. I was buying a paper at the news-stand when I saw Alex lope across the road, a small scruffy dog at his heels now, and whistle loudly.

‘Oi, Ron!’

A bent old geezer in a filthy duffel coat and half a balaclava shuffled out of an alleyway beside Pret a Manger, clutching his stash of
Big Issues
and a quarter of a croissant.

‘You can go back now.’ Alex handed him a tenner. ‘Tell them Malcolm’s son said it was fine, okay?’ He clocked me as I collected my change. ‘Still here?’

I flushed angrily. ‘Not for much longer.’ I turned on my heel.

‘Hey,’ he called. I glanced over my shoulder. He was standing like an island in the midst of a stream of harried commuters. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a quick drink?’

‘A drink?’ I repeated stupidly. I looked at my watch: it was only just nine. ‘It’s much too early for a drink.’

‘Oh, live a little,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve been working all night. I need to unwind.’

‘I don’t think so, thanks,’ I said rather primly. I’d never skipped school, much less work. ‘I’ve got to get to the office.’

‘But this can be your office, can’t it?’ He walked towards me and I realised just how tall he was. His dog sniffed my shoes with enthusiasm. ‘Perhaps you can persuade me to be on your show.’

‘I don’t want you to be on my show.’

‘Charming.’

We stood on the pavement amid the flow from Farringdon Station, commuters with heads down, hurrying, scurrying to their burrows for the day, no time to glance up, no inclination. We contemplated one another for a moment – and for some reason my tummy rolled with apprehension.

‘And you don’t want to be on it either,’ I said eventually.

‘How do you know?’ Alex shrugged. ‘I might have very strong views on domestic violence.’

‘Have you?’

‘Maybe. They won’t be the same as my dad’s, though.’

‘No, well, I have to say that would be a relief.’

‘Yes, I expect it would.’ He zipped up his jacket and looked down at me. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t offer.’

I tried to read the expression in those sloping eyes that crinkled at the corners.

‘Last chance, Blue Eyes.’

My computer, my office, Charlie beckoned. ‘Nowhere will be serving at this time anyway.’ What was I on about? It was nine a.m. on a Monday morning and I had a show to produce with not a single guest booked yet. ‘I can’t. Really.’

‘You can if you want to.’ Alex smiled at me again. I was sure I was just a challenge he was setting himself. I bit my lip.

‘Come on, Maggie, don’t be a spoilsport. First round’s on Digby.’ He picked the dog up.

I took a final drag of my cigarette and chucked it away. Slowly, against my better judgement, I followed them.

In the early hours I woke shivering with cold, back on the sofa, my coat draped over me and a wineglass empty on the floor. Digby had been huddled at my feet, but he was gone now. He was gone – but there was someone else in the room, I sensed it.

I lay stock-still in darkness so inky I couldn’t make much out, my heart pounding so hard I thought it must be visible to the intruder. I tried desperately to gauge the distance to the stairs and the front door. How long would it take me to get down them, champion sprinter (now crippled) that I once was?

A soft footstep. Fear gripped me round the throat. Should I play dead or should I run? And where the hell was Digby? Oh God, where was he? A sob of terror escaped me as the footstep trod nearer.

‘What do you want?’ My voice sounded tiny in the darkness of the night. ‘My purse is in –’

There was a crash, followed by a laugh. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ a voice said. More than a little drunk.

A fury more pure than any I remembered seized me now. The voice banged into something else in the darkness – something that fell with a clatter – and swore softly. I threw my coat off and stood to snap on the lamp. Alex swayed gently in the shaft of light that fell towards him now, the dog clutched like a baby in his arms, the key bowl upended, keys all over the floor.

‘You’re drunk, Alex.’

‘I’m not.’ He swayed again. ‘Not very.’

‘What the hell are you doing here? You absolutely terrified me.’

‘I came to get my stuff, like you said.’

‘What are you talking about?’ My brain was scrambling. ‘What time is it?’

He dropped Digby onto the sofa, and I felt him summoning something. ‘Actually, I was wondering – would you mind –’ He blinked sleepy and unfocused eyes at me. ‘Can I stay here tonight?’ he muttered eventually.

‘What?’ I snapped, rubbing sleep from mine.

‘Please, Mag. I’ll go in the morning, I promise; I won’t make a fuss.’

Speechless, half-dressed for the freezing autumn night, I stood and stared at him.

‘
Please
let me stay. I don’t want to be on my own,’ he pleaded pitifully. But he
would
make a fuss; and I was exhausted by it, by my love for him. It had lacerated me for too long.

‘Alex, please.’ I turned away. I hardened the heart which he’d shattered so long ago. ‘You’re doing my head in. You’ve had loads of time to see me. Why now, in the middle of the night?’ There was too much alcohol under the bridge anyway, a veritable flood of the stuff. ‘I’ll ring you a cab.’

‘Maggie –’

‘Alex –’ I summoned every ounce of willpower I possessed, clenching my fists unconsciously. ‘Alex, please, just go.’

He looked at me then, and I looked straight back. I realised what had been scrawled across his face when I’d switched the light on. It had been hope – and it had gone now. Now his eyes just looked dead.

I had a sudden glimmer of what I’d tried so hard to forget, that terrible night in June. I grew more resolute.

We stared at each other for a minute and then, on a sudden
whim, I reached up and for one short indulgent moment I pressed my palm against Alex’s face. He smelled of beer and the chill November air.

‘Your hands are cold,’ he murmured, ‘they’re always cold,’ and for a moment he closed his eyes. But I pulled back, setting the chair that he’d knocked over on its legs, and walked upstairs without looking back.

‘Let yourself out, Alex,’ I said over my shoulder, and called Digby to heel. I felt like I was acting in someone else’s play, watching myself go through the motions of telling the man I’d loved more than anyone else in the world to leave me be.

Upstairs, I lay down on the bed that we used to share, pretended I was very calm, and held my breath as I waited for him to go.

A few minutes later the front door slammed, and I began to breathe again. I didn’t cry; I was still too angry for tears. I lit a cigarette instead. After a minute I got up, zombie-like, and went to the window very slowly, like I was sleepwalking. I watched Alex as he opened the door of a silver car I didn’t recognise, probably one of Malcolm’s. I knew it was pointless trying to stop him driving in his state; I’d learned the hard way that it was impossible to ever stop Alex doing exactly what he wanted. In a pool of light under the lamppost, he stopped at the car door –then he ran back across the street. My heart missed a beat. It wasn’t over; of course it wasn’t. It couldn’t really be over, I’d known that all along … He disappeared from sight, and I held my breath again …

Then I heard something thud through the letterbox. And I knew without even going to check what Alex had just posted: his keys to the flat. He got in the car and slammed the door shut, then he drove off. He hadn’t looked up once.

I lay down again. I couldn’t deny that I’d been hoping that when he turned around he was about to come running up those silly steel stairs and be the funny, decisive Alex I’d first met two
years ago. Before he’d got too drunk to even make it to the bedroom.

But really I knew that if that had happened, it would only have prolonged the madness.

The purr of my mobile woke me but by the time I’d scrabbled to find it, the ringing had stopped. My head was pounding as hard as my heart had last night; my hair was stuck all sweaty to my cheek; my mouth felt like I’d just licked an ashtray clean. Digby was running in ever-decreasing circles at the foot of the bed, whining frantically, desperate to be let out. Through one bleary eye I checked the time on the phone’s display. I’d overslept again.

After Alex had gone I’d found I couldn’t sleep so eventually I’d opened a bottle of wine to calm me down. I’d forgotten to set the alarm, and I’d left the heating on, desperate to get warm again after the chill that Alex had left, a chill that pervaded through my bones to my heart. Now I felt like I’d just slept in a sauna; I was sweaty and horribly headachey.

Another Monday morning yawned in front of me, another week, another month of nothing to look forward to except a lonely Christmas. I stumbled into the shower and set the temperature as cold as I could bear it, but it just made me feel grumpy. Goose-pimpled and shivering, I was towelling my hair dry when I thought I heard a door creak downstairs.

‘Digby?’ I croaked. But I could hear him barking at the pigeons on the roof-terrace. Dragging on my jeans I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. A shadow fell across the oak floorboards below me.

‘Alex?’ I whispered. But it wasn’t him; I could see that straight away as the top of a man’s head came into view. A shorter, fat man, with a balding crown, holding a bunch of lilies. An icy sweat broke across my top lip. Desperately I sought a weapon – the nearest thing to hand was an Art Deco ashtray on the landing that had belonged to Gar. I picked it up and crept down a few stairs. The lilies were so pungent I could smell them from here. Suddenly the top of the ashtray detached itself and clattered down the stairs. The man looked up, startled.

‘Ooh, you scared me! I thought everyone was out.’ He held his heart with a rather camp hand. ‘Sorry – you must be Ms Warren?’ Collecting himself, he extended that pudgy hand towards me, the lilies clamped beneath the other shiny-suited arm.

‘And you are?’ Half-dressed, still clutching the ashtray stand, I felt a little ridiculous now.

‘Stefano Costana of Costana and Mortimer. I’ve got a card somewhere.’

I frowned. ‘Costana and Mortimer?’

‘Estate agents, Borough High Street. Mr Bailey asked me to pop round for a valuation. He gave me a set of keys.’ He patted his pocket cheerily. ‘Said you’d be at work, said he’d told you.’

‘Oh.’ I tried to recall yesterday’s conversation. ‘Well, he didn’t.’

‘Oh dear. I didn’t mean to scare you. I tell you, if you’d seen some of the things I’ve stumbled across –’ He trailed off, catching the look on my face. ‘Right, then. I’ll – I can come back another time.’

I shook my head miserably. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll just finish getting dressed.’ Digby was hurling himself against the terrace doors. ‘Sorry – you couldn’t just let the dog in, could you?’

Stefano Costana looked nervous. ‘Is he – you know? Dangerous?’

‘Hardly.’ I laughed. ‘Just a bit overenthusiastic.’

‘Found these on your doorstep, by the way.’ The estate agent
looked around for somewhere to put the bouquet. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they? I do love a lily. So regal.’

‘Oh, right.’ My heart sank. ‘So they’re not yours?’

‘No, no.’ He plopped them cheerfully onto the kitchen table. ‘You obviously have an admirer, Ms Warren. Very nice.’

‘It’s not, though, actually.’ I trailed wearily up the stairs to finish dressing. ‘It’s not very nice at all.’

I didn’t bother to check the card. I already knew what the message would say. The same as the last bunch had. ‘
In Loving
Memory of Maggie
.’

By the time I reached the office, two strong cups of coffee later, I was feeling revived enough to have punched Alex’s previously deleted number into my mobile with some considerable aggression. He didn’t answer, so I left a short sharp message about keys and estate agents and how being grossly inconsiderate was his absolute forte. I was pretty sure he hadn’t told me about the appointment.

I’d shoved the lilies into the wheelie-bin outside the flat as I left and tried to forget about them, determined that today I’d explain to Charlie why I couldn’t work for him any more, whatever his threats. It was time to take charge.

But in the foyer I couldn’t find my pass anywhere, and the new security guard refused to let me through. I rang up to the office to get someone to fetch me, and then I upended my bag on the floor. I was fumbling through the debris of a few months when I heard my name.

‘Maggie, isn’t it?’

I peered up at the owner of the shoes hovering beside the pile of bus tickets, old ChapSticks, newspaper cuttings and bar bills that detailed my recent life.

‘Sebastian Rae.’ He was smiling down at me, that small scar very white above his lip, his dark hair tousled over his dark eyes. ‘We met at Bel’s party. Need a hand?’

‘Of course. I mean – no, sorry, I’m fine. Thanks.’ I pushed my own hair off my face, wishing desperately that I’d bothered to put make-up on this morning or had actually dried the stylish new cut which was no doubt sticking out at odd angles by now. ‘How come – what are you doing here?’

‘I just had a casting upstairs, with Granada. New detective series. Sure I can’t help?’

‘No, really, thanks.’ Shoving everything back into the bag, a solitary tampon rolled along the marble floor towards Sebastian’s foot. I scrambled to retrieve it, blushing as red as the Royal Mail van pulling up outside. ‘Just lost my pass, you know. I seem to lose everything these days!’ I stood up. ‘How did it go?’

He looked puzzled.

‘The audition.’

‘Oh, fine, I think. It’s always hard to tell. The ones you think went brilliantly are never the ones you get.’

‘It must be so hard. I can’t think of anything worse.’

‘You get used to it. And you…?’

‘What?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I work here.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Yeah, I’m – I work on
Renee Reveals
.’ I found I was actually ashamed to admit it, but he looked vaguely impressed.

‘Aha! The deadly Renee!’

‘Deadly? You got that right. Have you seen it?’ I was surprised.

‘I watched the show every day for a week once a long time ago when I was going up for a part as a talk-show compere. A Spike Jonze film – a kind of post-modern take on the evils of television. It’s kind of addictive, isn’t it? Your show, I mean.’

‘Is it?’ I said miserably.

‘Don’t look so sad.’ He smiled at me again. I flushed once more as he checked his watch. ‘God, is that the time? I’d better get going. It was nice seeing you.’ He held out his hand, then
changed his mind, kissing me on the cheek at the exact moment Joseph Blake stepped out of the lift.

‘Maggie!’ Joseph’s voice was high-pitched and querulous. I turned, a little irritated.

‘Yeah, all right, Joseph, thanks. I’m just coming.’

‘So, take care, won’t you?’ Seb headed toward the doors and I swung my bag onto my shoulder. Joseph was beside me now, holding something in his hand.

‘Maggie –’ he started to say as Seb turned back.

‘Look, Maggie, I don’t suppose you –’ His shirt was very white against his tanned skin, unbuttoned to exactly the right point, his dark eyes bright. He really was stunning. ‘Do you fancy dinner one night?’

I smiled shyly, surprised. ‘Oh!’ Oh God – a date. I took a deep breath before I could think any more. ‘Yes, thank you. That’d be nice.’

Seb gave me a card. ‘Here’s my number. Give me a call when you’re free.’

I was always free these days. ‘I will. Thanks, Seb.’

And then he was gone, outside, whistling for a taxi. I turned to Joseph, who looked even more sullen than usual.

‘Let’s go, shall we?’ I said, glancing down. Joseph was clutching a shiny white oblong: my missing pass. The pass I was sure I’d pocketed last thing on Friday.

Joseph swore blind that he’d just found my security pass on my desk
after
I’d rung from downstairs – but I had an uneasy feeling. In fact, I felt constantly uneasy about Joseph these days. The truth was that things just weren’t working out – there was only so long I could keep him on, doing a not very good job. The girls were still frosty with him; he’d made little effort to fit in despite our best efforts. Worst of all, his research was slapdash and poor, his work not up to standard in an industry where people were queuing round the block for jobs.

‘They still don’t trust Joseph,’ Sally said that afternoon, handing me the guest-list for tomorrow’s show like the efficient head-girl that she was, ‘though I’m not exactly sure why. Goodness, what’s this?’

She picked up a cutting on the children of war-torn Congo: a picture of a little boy covered in weeping sores, a grave-faced girl a little older standing behind him holding a machete, stared out at us.

‘Poor little mite.’ Sally looked appalled, her jolly face falling.

‘It’s leprosy. It’s just – it’s something I discussed with Charlie once. You haven’t seen my Filofax, have you, Sal? I can’t think where I’ve put it. God, everything keeps disappearing at the moment.’

‘No, sorry. Speak of the devil –
mein
Führer is back.’

Charlie strolled across the office with Double-decker’s MD, Philip Lyons, and that dreadful snooty researcher Daisy whom I’d met when I was on the trauma show.

‘Poor little sods.’ Sally sifted through my pile of cuttings. ‘Can’t see Renee agreeing to any of this, though.’ She unearthed one that screamed ‘
BABY MARKET
’, an investigation into foreign adoption in Britain. ‘Far too worthy.’

‘It’s nothing to do with bloody Renee. God, Sal, we all know if she had her way she’d spend the entire season doing DNA tests and breaking some poor bugger’s heart every day. Let’s just get on with your list, shall we?’

But I was distracted by Charlie’s arrival. I’d spent the morning planning how best to deliver my ultimatum to him, so I was relieved to see that both men looked – unsurprisingly – well-oiled. The time was probably as ripe as any. My stomach rolled nervously as the smug pair stopped outside Charlie’s office, Lyons’s bald head gleaming under the lights, his frill of hair setting off the shine beautifully. They shared a joke with Donna, who was by now flashing her most wicked smile, thrusting her pert chest out just a little further than necessary, giving Daisy a run for her money.

‘What’s that girl doing here?’

‘Daisy? Lyons is placing her in the LA office. Can’t think why, can you?’ Sally raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘She’s almost as bad as Joseph.’

I flicked through her list. ‘Blimey, not this bloody footballer
again
. Honestly, Sal, does he really not have anything better to do than appear on our crappy show?’

‘Apparently not. It is about ageing lotharios, though. So what shall we do about him?’

‘The footballer?’

She laughed. ‘No, silly. Joseph.’

I stared disconsolately out of the window. ‘I don’t understand why Charlie keeps Joseph on. It’s just prolonging everybody’s agony.’ I sighed hard. ‘I suppose I’d better talk to Charlie again about him.’ I passed back the guest-list. ‘And listen, don’t book this guy again for at least a month or two, okay? It’s lazy. He’s just too – obvious. I don’t want anyone else from Man U either. Try to get Calum Best instead.’

Sally looked excited, her splendid bosom almost heaving with anticipation. ‘You don’t think – Joseph and Charlie –’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Charlie might be a letch,’ I watched Donna throw her head back and laugh throatily as my phone began to ring, ‘but he’s definitely not into boys. Not unless I’m losing my instinct as well as my marbles.’ I eyed the phone warily. ‘Can you get that please, Sal?’

‘Sure.’ Sally’s dimples deepened. ‘Trying to impress someone?’

‘Hardly,’ I muttered, keeping one eye on Charlie.

‘Oh, right,’ she said knowingly. ‘
Avoiding
someone?’ Her hand hovered over the receiver with great nonchalance. ‘Alex, perhaps?’

‘It won’t be Alex.’

Perhaps I
was
losing my marbles, though, I thought. I certainly felt pretty odd at the moment, cornered by life and circumstance. My phone was still ringing at all hours in the last few weeks – at home, at work, the mobile going day and night. Too often
there was silence on the other end: too often to be a coincidence. It was starting to seriously scare me.

‘I’ll just see if she’s here.’ Sally clapped her hand over the mouthpiece dramatically. ‘Someone called Seb,’ she stage-whispered. ‘Nice voice.’

I felt my skin go hot as I flapped my hands at her, shaking my head fervently.

‘I’m so sorry, Seb, she’s in a meeting. Can I take a message? Okay, sure. I expect she’d love to. Eight o’clock. Bye.’ She hung up with a triumphant look. ‘Now let me see. He said it was nice to see you this morning. And, more importantly, he said he’s got two tickets for a screening of
Love All
at the BAFTA cinema tonight, the one on Piccadilly. He’d love you to come, he said. How exciting – a film star!’

I frowned. ‘I can’t go tonight. I’m cooking dinner for Bel.’

‘Bel’ll understand, won’t she?’

‘She might, but she’s leaving next week.’

‘So?’

‘So I want to spend as much time as possible with her. God knows when I’ll see her again.’

‘How very honourable, Maggie – and how very dull.’

‘It’s not dull to put your mates before men.’ I was indignant. ‘Is it?’

‘No comment. And what exactly were you up to this morning with the lovely Seb anyway, you saucy minx?’ Sally’s round face was beaming with complicity.

‘Sally, for God’s sake! I just bumped into him downstairs. It’s hardly Cathy and Heathcliff. I don’t even know him.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You know what, Maggie, it may be none of my business, but you can’t keep hankering after Alex forever you know.’

‘Hankering?’ I felt my brows knit. ‘That’s hardly fair.’

The MD was taking his leave with Daisy now, clapping Charlie
on the back with great effusion, the two men looking not so much like the cats that had got the cream as the cats who’d gorged themselves until they were fit to burst. I sprang up from my desk just as my phone rang again. Sally swept up the receiver.