Bad Friends (21 page)

I finished my own drink and picked up my bag. The handle was tangled round Alex’s portfolio; I shook the bag to release it until the case fell open on the faded velvet seat. Some glossy photos of an apartment complex in Chicago slid out, a batch of mathematical-type drawings that looked like lots of black lines to me with Alex’s little squiggles everywhere. A sketch, upside-down, that I peered at; that I thought for a funny moment might actually be me. And then, as I heard a rattle, another clank, Alex was behind me, pulling the portfolio roughly out of my hand, snatching up that sketch.

‘Ow! That hurt.’

It was too late, though, the set of keys tumbled out onto the table.

Keys that Alex had just told DI Fox he didn’t have in his possession any more; keys to my violated flat. Alex swiped them up as I stared at him, and then I grabbed Digby’s lead and ran.

‘You shouldn’t interfere with what’s not yours,’ Alex snarled behind me, and Digby barked in confusion, but I tugged him on.

My father’s car was waiting outside the shut-up fishmonger’s. I jumped in the passenger seat, and Digby, highly excited by all
the running, flung himself onto my knee. ‘Can you just drive, Dad?’

He frowned, adjusting his mirror; he could see Alex standing in the doorway.

‘Dad, go – please!’ I implored. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Maggie, really, the poor boy is –’

‘Dad!’ I shouted, and my bewildered father, shaking his head, pulled off.

‘I can’t keep up with you, Maggie. You’re starting to seriously worry me, you know.’ He indicated to turn left onto the main road. ‘We don’t want to head down this path again, do we?’

I watched, utterly miserable, as Alex’s tall frame dwindled, as we picked up pace; and then we turned the corner towards London Bridge – and he was gone.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I muttered. ‘I don’t mean to worry you, honestly. I’m fine.’

And it was only later I realised I’d left the shopping and my overnight bag under the pub table.

‘Bel’s been trying to ring you from Thailand,’ Sally said, plonking a steaming cappuccino in front of me early the next morning. ‘She says your mobile number’s dead. It’s thirty-eight degrees in Bangkok apparently, the jammy cow!’

‘My phone went down the drain,’ I said flatly, glancing at the guest-list for the
Dumped
show tomorrow that lay on my office desk, my stomach churning unpleasantly at the very thought of the travesty that would ensue. ‘Literally.’

‘Ah, poor phone,’ Sally said. Then she looked at me properly. ‘Goodness, Maggie, are you all right? You look bloody awful. What’s happened to your head?’

Whichever way I’d tried to rearrange my short mop, it just wouldn’t cover the by-now aubergine-coloured bruise resplendent on my forehead.

‘That looks really painful.’ Sally peered at it. ‘Perhaps you should go home.’

‘I can’t,’ I muttered, ‘home’s out of bounds for now.’

‘What? Why?’ she frowned.

‘I’ve had a break-in. I’m back in Greenwich, at my dad’s.’

‘Oh God, Maggie, I’m sorry. What did they take? You didn’t disturb them, did you?’

Charlie sauntered in, his grey hair looking particularly bouffant today. ‘Nice to see you found the time to drop in, Ms Warren.’

I smiled feebly. ‘Sorry.’

He was about to lay into me when he looked at me properly. ‘What the hell’s happened to your head?’

‘I fell. Can you get someone to sort me out a work mobile, please, Sal?’ I chucked the
Dumped
list back at her. ‘This all looks fine.’

‘Really?’ She wrinkled her snub nose at me. ‘I thought you might be worried that Kevin bloke is a bit old hat.’

I’m absolutely beyond caring, I nearly said. I managed to restrain myself in time. ‘Why?’

‘He’s done
Trisha
and
Jeremy Kyle
. Oh, and the orange man.’

‘Lucky old Kevin,’ Charlie said dryly. ‘Let me see.’ He held out a manicured hand for the guest-list.

Sally and I exchanged glances. Charlie never looked at lists – it ballsed things up every time he got involved.

‘On second thoughts, Sal, I’ll recheck it now.’

‘You get on now, Sally dear. Go and whip up some enthusiasm from young Blake,’ Charlie said silkily as she passed me back the list. He pulled up a trouser leg creased sharp enough to cut yourself on and settled on the edge of my desk. Sally backed out nervously, her chest flushed with anxiety.

‘Sorry,’ she mouthed at me.

As the door shut, I pretended very hard that I was reading the list, although the words kept swimming around like little black fish.

‘I get the feeling, Maggie darling, you’ve been avoiding me.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ I gave him a wan smile.

Charlie examined those perfect nails. ‘Not thinking of flying the coop, are we? A little bird told me you’ve been asking around.’

My mouth went dry. ‘Asking for what?’

‘
Dispatches
, no less. Very grown-up. Not really your thing, I would have said.’

How could he possibly know?

‘Could you really hack it, though, with your history? That’s what you need to ask yourself. Especially when you know I’d
miss you, don’t you?’ Charlie placed his forefinger under my chin and forced me to meet his eye. ‘Let me take you out to lunch and explain exactly how much.’

‘I’ve got so much to catch up with,’ I mumbled, my smile frozen now. ‘Another time would be great.’

‘Leave it, darling. It can wait. I’ll get Monica to book a table at Le Caprice.’ Charlie brushed one finger along my forehead, grazing my bruise so I gasped in pain. Then he tucked my hair behind my ear as if the tender gesture had been his sole intention.

‘I can’t, Charlie. The girls need me here today.’

Our eyes locked for a moment until Charlie stood. He made a big show of brushing his trousers down, retying his Ralph Lauren jumper round his shoulders as he battled to control his temper. He so hated being told no. Strolling to the door, Charlie turned with his fingers on the handle.

‘Remind me – what exactly’s been wrong with you
this
time?’

I refused to let him rile me. ‘I just had a bit of a bug,’ I said mildly.

‘Oh, a bug! A bug like in the summer?’

I gazed at him calmly. ‘No, not like in the summer, Charlie. Thanks for asking, though.’

‘Right.’ Charlie plucked the door open. ‘Well, have your bloody bugs on your own time, please.’ He slammed the door behind him.

After I’d rung Seb and left him a message with my new mobile number, I sat and stared at the painting of Pendarlin on the wall for what seemed like hours. I’d spent the whole sleepless night at my father’s debating whether to shop Alex to the police. Every day, memories of the last fight, of his actions before the crash, became clearer … I didn’t know how long I could fight them any more.

At lunchtime I declined an offer to go to the pub with the
girls, but after half an hour of reworking Renee’s sickly script listing all the ridiculous reasons for dumping your unsuspecting partner on live television, I began to eye the new bottle of Smirnoff on the filing cabinet. It was strictly for emergencies – but if this wasn’t one, I didn’t know what was.

As I unscrewed the top, a panicked-sounding Sally rang. ‘I think you’d better get over here now,’ she stammered. ‘We’re in the Windmill.’

The lifts were full of the lunchtime news team knocking off, so I sprinted down the fire-exit stairs, past the smokers, across the tiny park to the busy Cut, where I found Donna and Joseph Blake standing on the pavement outside the pub. He was practically crying as she berated him, waggling a finger at him, her other hand on her hip. Sally was trying valiantly to stop the row like the jolly prefect she was, and failing miserably.

‘But Maggie knew,’ I could hear Joseph imploring. ‘Maggie said it was okay.’

‘Yeah, well, I ain’t no soft-touch-Maggie,’ Donna spat at him as I panted up beside them, my foot aching now. ‘She’s out of control herself these days. And it weren’t Maggie’s bleeding book in the first place, was it?’ Then she realised it was me standing beside her.

‘Oh,’ she finished feebly.

‘What’s going on?’ I eyed the two of them like naughty children.

‘She found out.’ A red-faced Joseph was wavering between anger and tears. ‘You said it would be okay.’

‘I did not say that, Joseph, and you know it.’

‘You knew it was him, man, and you never told me,’ Donna accused me.

‘I haven’t really seen you since I found out,’ I told her quietly, holding out a placating hand to calm her. I’d forgotten all about her book. ‘That’s enough, everyone.’ The rest of the girls were gathering in a small intrigued circle around us. ‘Get back to the
office please.’ I flapped my hands at them like a flock of geese. Reluctantly they began to move off.

‘But they should know too,’ Donna said sullenly. ‘It’s their right.’

‘Donna!’ Sally’s tone was sharp. ‘Come on, you lot. Feeding time’s over.’ She herded them across the road like a sheepdog would.

I turned back to the stand-off. ‘I wanted to talk to you in private about this, Donna.’

I understood why she was upset – fiercely ambitious and competitive, she’d worked bloody hard to get this far. She’d had a tough life and she needed to succeed, just like I had once, when I’d sought something to fill the gaps. But shouting in the street was one step too far.

‘Why? Why can’t we get it all out in public?’ she jeered. ‘Or should we just go and have a
drink
, Maggie, and chat about it nicely?’

‘Donna –’

‘Just sack me, Maggie, seriously,’ Joseph Blake interrupted. ‘I don’t care. I want to leave anyway. I hate the bloody lot of you.’ He
was
crying now, tears streaming down his plump soft cheeks, his blond quiff descending as he sobbed.

Donna gazed at him, transfixed with horror as the workmen on the scaffolding above started to hoot and jeer.

‘Shut up,’ I snarled at them, but they just jeered some more.

‘You’ve never made me welcome,’ Joseph sobbed, ‘none of you – except Maggie, and you’re a fucking loser, Maggie, anyway.’ ‘Charming.’ I felt like he’d just slapped me in the face. ‘Why’s that then?’

‘Why do you pretend all the time? I know you must think about Sam. About how you messed up.’ He looked demented now.

My face went rigid; I took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to talk about Sam. Not to you. Not to anyone here.’

‘You’re seriously lucky my uncle didn’t find out.’

‘Come on, man.’ Donna held out her hand now, the crystals on her nails glinting. She took a step towards Joseph. ‘Calm down, yeah? Let’s go inside. We can work it out, I’m sure.’

‘Fuck off,’ he whispered vehemently, his voice barely audible above the traffic. ‘Seriously – fuck off. I don’t need any of you. You’re all fucking evil. Television’s fucking evil. I should have listened to my parents in the first place.’

‘Why, what did your parents say?’ Donna asked, fascinated.

‘They said that the reason my uncle’s such a foul man is cos television’s corrupted his soul.’

‘I suppose Philip Lyons is a bit of a devil,’ Donna grinned. ‘But a corrupted soul’s a bit harsh. Have your parents got God or something?’

‘Don’t mock my parents,’ Joseph hissed. ‘Seriously, don’t.’ For a second I thought he might actually hit Donna, but he didn’t. He just balled his fists, and then turned on his heel.

‘Steady on, mate.’ A burly Australian tourist moved quickly out of Blake’s path as the boy started to run with an odd lumbering gait. ‘Where’s the fire?’

My eyes met Donna’s; she looked deeply embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, a tinge of defiance still in her tone. ‘I wouldn’t have said anything now if I’d thought – I mean, I didn’t realise he’d take it quite so badly.’

‘No,’ I stared after him, ‘I didn’t either.’

Seb had been appalled when I’d told him what had happened at the flat. When I got back to my desk, wondering whether I should have gone after Joseph, there was a message on my answer-phone from him, leaving me an address in Notting Hill. ‘I’ll see you there at nine, babe,’ Seb said. ‘Don’t be late. I’m going to cheer you up.’

There was also a message from Charlie. ‘You missed a treat at Le Caprice. Steak tartare to die for. Now, you realise this show tomorrow’s a big one.’ His voice dripped with insincerity. He’d obviously regained his equilibrium along with lots of calories and units. ‘Don’t mess it up, Maggie, will you? Not this time. Just think of that lovely doco.’

I put the phone down hard.

I was about to go into a meeting to prep Renee for tomorrow’s programme when the locksmith finally returned my call. He could meet me at the flat in half an hour, he said, but that was his only slot.

I postponed an irritated Renee and jumped in a black cab, trying to ignore the way my palms were sweating at the thought of going home. Outside the flat, I leaned against the wall drinking coffee and eating a brownie, watching the silent skinny locksmith slide the bolts in and out of the door-frame. The reflections in the cake-shop’s window played tricks on me as I gazed vacantly into the glass, until I almost thought I saw Alex inside,
buying me a hundred chocolate Florentines for our first anniversary, which Digby had unfortunately reached before me, and I actually smiled. Then I shook my head. I made myself think of meeting Seb tonight, and then I realised I had no clean clothes or even underwear to take with me.

‘Are you going to be here for a while?’ I asked the locksmith, licking my chocolatey fingers. ‘I’m just going to pop upstairs.’

He nodded silently. Taking a deep breath, I sidled past him and climbed the stairs. Someone had at least removed the rubbish from the overturned bin and the air had lost that foul and fetid smell from yesterday, but the flat still looked annihilated. Tears sprang to my eyes as I crunched over the pottery shards of my mother’s bowl and my fists clenched unconsciously. I needed to be quick.

I glanced down at the locksmith’s bald spot, and then, heart hammering, I began to climb up to the top storey. Halfway up, I thought I heard a noise.

‘Are you still there?’ I called down.

‘Yes, mate,’ the man answered. ‘I’m still here.’

I went into the bathroom and grabbed my sponge-bag and filled it up with what came first to hand. Then I went to the spare room, untouched by the intruder, and pulled down one of the overnight bags Gar had bought me for my twenty-first. I grabbed a couple of jumpers from the chest of drawers, and then I headed to my bedroom and pushed back the door –

I don’t think I’d ever screamed properly before. It was an unconscious instinctive reaction and afterwards my throat actually hurt, but right then all I could hear was the blood rushing through my head –

The locksmith ran up the stairs. ‘You all right there, love?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I stuttered eventually. ‘Can you just stay there a second please?’

Joseph Blake lay on the bed. Joseph Blake lay on
my
bed,
half-naked, my long green dress from Bel’s party wrapped around him, a bottle of vodka empty on the duvet beside him.

He’d opened his eyes when I screamed, and now he giggled as he sat up slowly. From his rubbery movements it was clear he was horribly drunk, his head waggling on his thin neck as he looked at me, his usually protuberant grey eyes rather squinty. He giggled again.

‘Hello, Maggie. You know,’ he spoke very precisely, his face draining of colour as he did, ‘you know, you really shouldn’t have ignored me the way you did. It’s a sin.’

Then he turned, almost in slow motion, and threw up on my pillow.

I didn’t know what to do, so I called the police and an ambulance, who came and removed him. Joseph was so drunk I couldn’t talk to him or ask him how he’d got there or why, and for the first time in weeks I found I actually craved the distraction of work. I wanted to get back to the office, to people. I saw an incoherent Joseph escorted into the back of the ambulance with a uniformed WPC for company, and then the locksmith finished up and gave me my new keys and I left, feeling utterly bewildered.

DI Fox called a few hours later.

‘We’ve arrested Blake,’ he said bluntly, and my stomach lurched.

‘Why?’ I asked numbly.

‘Maggie,’ the policeman sounded tired, ‘I thought you’d be pleased we’ve caught your stalker.’

‘My stalker?’ The words sounded so strange. Other people got stalked: famous, important people. Not me. ‘My stalker,’ I repeated.

‘Are you all right, mate?’ Fox asked.

‘I suppose so.’ I didn’t really know any more. ‘How did he get into the flat?’

‘He had a set of keys.’

‘Keys?’ All these bloody keys; I was haunted by them. I saw
them dancing down the hall in ever-multiplying sets – a technicolor
Nightmare of the Keys
.

‘He said you gave them to him.’

‘Well I didn’t.’

‘Right.’

‘I didn’t,’ I said indignantly. If one more person said I’d done something I knew I hadn’t –

‘No, well, I assumed as much, though he’s quite a convincing kid. Has he had access to your keys recently? Could he have had his own set cut?’

I thought about the missing Filofax, safely returned; about Donna’s book. ‘I suppose he must have done.’

‘Did you know he has a record for harassment?’

‘No.’ I was shocked. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. Some kid he went to university with. He wouldn’t leave her alone, apparently. She pressed charges but he was lucky; got off with a caution in the end. It’s hard to make these bloody cases stick sometimes.’

‘Right.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Did you ask him what – what exactly he was doing in the flat?’

‘He says he was waiting to talk to you.’

‘Oh God. Poor boy.’

‘I must say, Maggie, you’re taking this very well.’

‘Am I?’ I said slowly. ‘To be honest, DI Fox –’ I paused. I kept seeing my beautiful dress wrapped round Joseph’s plump white body, like a butterfly struggling out of its pupae. He really was repellent. ‘To be honest, I’m just relieved. Because if you’ve caught him, if it was him that broke in before and him who’s been hounding me, that means – it means it’s all over, doesn’t it?’

‘Yep, I’d say so. At least you might sleep peacefully tonight.’

‘I hope so, DI Fox. I really hope so.’

I put the phone down slowly as the truth of the situation began to sink in.

While I’d been having my overdue meeting with Renee, Bel had called again.

‘I’ve got terrible jetlag,’ she moaned on my office voicemail. ‘I can’t sleep at all. I remembered what I wanted to tell you, Mag. Why aren’t you answering any of your phones? Ring me on Johnno’s mobile in the morning. Your morning. Or is it my morning? Oh God, I don’t know. My brain’s scrambled – it’s so bloody hot. Hannah sends you a hug.’

Everything was squared up for the show tomorrow. I rang Susan to check on my grandmother. My father had been to see her while I was down in Cornwall and had promised me that she was as well as could be expected; Susan assured me now that Gar was doing fine. I’d be out to see her after work tomorrow, I said.

I put the phone down and stared at the picture of Pendarlin again. I thought of Joseph Blake, of how sad and empty his life must have been to do the things he’d done, and I shuddered as I thought of Fox’s words about the previous harassment. Poor, friendless boy. How desperate for attention he must have been.

Adrenaline had been pounding my body for so long that I felt truly exhausted, its remains trailing like smoke through my veins: I felt like I’d just run a marathon entirely uphill. I had to give myself some space to breathe now, to make the descent to normality. I’d have to physically force myself to turn a corner and put Alex and poor Joseph behind me.

Printing out the final script, I turned the computer off and got straight into a cab. I gave the street name Seb had left me, not caring if I was unfashionably early, just looking forward to seeing him. Just trying to look forward.

The anonymous address turned out to be a small private hotel called the Portobello Hotel, secreted away in the heart of Notting Hill in a street of grand houses not unlike Malcolm’s. The cab driver winked at me as I scrambled out next to two beautifully clipped bushes in giant wooden pots that flanked the entrance.

‘Planning a night of passion, then, darling?’

I blushed scarlet. ‘Um –’

‘You don’t wanna be getting up to any of them Johnny Depp tricks here. Cost you a fortune.’ He guffawed at his own joke, his belly vibrating as he laughed.

‘Pardon?’ I was confused.

‘This hotel, it’s where that Depp bloke bathed in champagne with old whatsername – you know – Cocaine Kate, or so the story goes.’

Lost for words, I over-tipped him and traipsed up the polished stone stairs. Beside the most tasteful Christmas tree I’d ever seen, all silver and turquoise ribbons and tiny flickering candles, a handsome receptionist with puppy-dog eyes welcomed me most graciously.

‘Can I take your bags?’ he asked smoothly, his eyes sliding over my bruised forehead and away again, and I blushed as I confessed I didn’t have a bag. Without batting an eyelid, he led me up to a small room, heated subtropically, the balcony door ajar so that the floor-length white curtains billowed gently in the winter breeze.

‘Please ring if you need anything at all.’ He indicated the telephone, before shutting the oak door softly behind him.

The room was presided over by the most amazing antique four-poster bed, adorned with fat-cheeked cherubs flying across the painted top, gold trumpets in chubby hands, dimpled naked bottoms twinkling across the azure sky. In awe I slipped my trainers off and climbed two wooden steps to throw myself onto a mattress so enormous I almost bounced. I lay there for a moment feeling like the Princess and the Pea, and contemplated the life of a cherub. Quite nice, apparently, judging by their cheeky grins as they wafted through the fluffy clouds above me.

When I felt myself drifting off I reached for the phone and tried Johnno’s mobile, but it was switched off, so I rang room service instead and ordered some sandwiches and a bottle of
champagne. Remembering Kate Moss and Johnny Depp I jumped off the bed, padding into a bathroom dwarfed by the most enormous tub. You’d have needed your own vineyard to fill that up with alcohol, so I settled for old-fashioned hot water instead.

The clock said Seb would be at least half an hour. I put some Beethoven on the stereo and sank into the steaming bath, glass of champagne by my side, floating into a doze of exhausted relief.

I came-to thinking I’d heard the bedroom door open. I sat up quickly as the old wooden floorboards creaked beneath the thick plush carpet, the violins soaring through my half-dream. For a moment, I thought someone was creeping slowly across the room, but when I peered nervously through the half-ajar door, I saw only that great bed. Lost in a world of Beethoven and his tortured dark soul, I was obviously imagining things. I’d have to learn not to be so very jumpy. Lowering myself back down into the bubbles, I floated off again.

When the hands went over my eyes, I panicked. Thrashing like a dolphin in a fishing-net, I tried to scream – only this time my voice just wouldn’t come.

‘Get off!’ I panted, trying to get a grip on the hands over my eyes, my hands all slippery with the expensive soap. My flailing arm caught the full glass on the bath’s edge, sending it smashing to the marble tiles, champagne fizzing everywhere. ‘Please,’ I pleaded croakily, ‘please, Joseph, please let me go.’

As suddenly as those hands had been placed there, they were gone again. I slipped down, half-submerged, choking, fighting for my breath, and then, gathering my strength, I sprang up in the bath, sending water slopping out of the side, and turned, utterly vulnerable in my nudity, to face –

Seb.

He was grinning at me. He was actually grinning.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ I howled, leaping out of the bath and grabbing a huge white towel to cover myself with. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I’m really sorry, Maggie.’ He held his hands up in supplication. ‘I was just being silly.’

‘Silly?’ I stared at him, nonplussed.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you, babe.’ His smile was fading.

‘Well you bloody well did scare me. God, Seb. You terrified me.’ My heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode. ‘I thought you were trying to drown me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was just messing around.’

I pushed past him into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed for a minute. My skin was all red from the hot water; I felt dizzy and disoriented from the heat of the room, unsure what had really just happened.

‘Maggie,’ he followed me, looking contrite, ‘I’m sorry, I should have thought. It was just a joke, honestly.’

‘Was it? Or were you trying to drown me?’ I stared at him. I suddenly felt completely exposed. How well did I really know this man? I looked around for my clothes.

‘Drown you?’ He began to look annoyed as I slipped my bra on. ‘Are you kidding, babe? This isn’t bloody Lynda la Plante. Why the hell would I want to do that?’

I stared at him. It did sound ridiculous now he said it. ‘Well, all right, not drown me, exactly –’

‘Well, what exactly?’ His dark eyes were full of something I couldn’t read. He looked confused. My anger began to dissipate.

‘Maybe – just hurt me then,’ I suggested, milder now.

‘For Christ’s sake! Are you joking?’

‘Do you see me laughing?’

‘Maggie,’ he took a tentative step towards me, ‘Maggie, I am sorry, really, but –’

‘What?’

‘I’m a bit worried about you, actually.’

‘Why?’

‘You just seem so – jumpy, all the time. And what’s happened to your poor head?’

‘Nothing.’ I flinched away from him. ‘I’m jumpy for good reason, don’t you think?’ Locating my trousers, I sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. But Seb didn’t answer, suddenly looking uncertain. It was my turn to laugh, only I didn’t find it the least bit funny. ‘What, you think I’m imagining all this?’