When Good Friends Go Bad (28 page)

'Mrs Howard's address?'

'No.'

'That bloke's phone number?' Jen nodded at the man at the jukebox.

Meg ignored them. 'There's a farmers' market. First Sunday of each month. Tomorrow. Why don't we swing by? Rowan's mom loved that kind of stuff. I'll bet my entire collection of Clover albums she'll be there.'

'Well, darlings, I think I'll turn in now.' Georgina stood up, sleek and glamorous in an expensive-looking black silk negligee and wrap. 'Talk to you in the morning.'

'See ya,' Jen said. She'd returned to their room from the shower down the hall, washbag in hand, and found Georgina chatting to an almost-naked Meg, who was sitting at the mirror brushing her long red hair, only a tiny thong preserving her modesty.

Georgina looked stunning with her long slender legs and perfect flat stomach just showing through the flimsy material. Not as fine-boned as Meg, but still . . . marriage had obviously done a lot more for her than it had for Jen. No wonder she and Aiden were going strong while Ollie had fled for the hills.

Suddenly feeling as sexy as an old bog brush in her flannelette pyjamas, she hastened into bed.

'Shower hot?' Meg asked, subdued.

'Yes.'

'Good. My turn then.' She walked out, towel around her.

Georgina's mobile rang as she headed out the room and she glanced at the name that appeared. 'That's Aiden,' she said, turning slightly pink. 'Hi, darling, just a sec.' She waved the tips of her fingers. 'See you tomorrow, Jen. Farmers' market first thing.'

As the door closed, Jen noticed Georgina's laptop open on Meg's bed. Should she take it back to her? It was displaying a Yahoo account and involuntarily her eyes slid over the names, looking for Aiden Starkson. Perhaps he emailed Georgie daily, the way Ollie had done, whenever possible, when he was in Tanzania. But of course that was silly. They spent every day together, not only living but working together. And if he did, it wouldn't mean anything. It could be love letters or business documents. And she would never stoop so low as to read them and find out.

But the name she was searching for wasn't there.

The first entry on the inbox page was a message from I.G. Beidlebaum.

Why would Georgina . . . ? Jen looked again. Of course, it was Meg's account. Meg must have borrowed the laptop to check her messages. But Irwin Beidlebaum?

So she was still in contact with the guy?

Even though she'd said that whole thing was over years ago?

The curiosity was unbearable. The message had already been read.

She guessed that Meg would be another five minutes at least. Feeling wicked as an industrial spy, only without the mini camera, she double-clicked quickly on the heading Re: Test Results.

'Game over,' she read. 'I'm guessing it's no surprise to you. No more bullshit, doll, you've had a good run but every show has its final curtain. Prefer to keep it out of the press but either way you've had your last dime. Say hi to the kid.'

Now what was that all about? Irwin was paying Meg money? And what did he want to keep from the press? Could she be blackmailing him?

She heard a toilet flush, a door close, steps coming down the hall, and clicked to go back to Inbox.

Nothing happened. The screen had frozen, leaving Irwin's email up there for the world to see. The steps stopped, paused, moved on again. As the door handle jiggled, she hit the button repeatedly and this time the screen reverted to the inbox. Leaping into bed, in one smooth movement she pulled the blankets over her shoulders, face pressed into the pillow pretending to be asleep. Steps crossed the room, she heard Meg at the computer, shutting it down.

'Jen?' she whispered tentatively. 'Are you asleep?'

Desperate as she was to know the whole story, it would look too suspicious to pop her head up now, admit she was awake. Meg might guess. Realise she was the despicable sort of snoop you can't trust alone for a second. Meg sighed and the bedside light went off.

It was hard to sleep, her mind flitting from Meg and Irwin to Georgina and Aiden and, yes, even Ollie, thanks to that stupid truth game stirring everything up again. Her throat felt achy when she thought of him. She kept twisting and turning in the strange bed, banging the lumpy pillow and listening to the sound of Meg's deep breathing and Feo snoring at the foot of her bed.

Somehow seeing Georgina wearing that classy wrap and negligee on a common-or-garden girls' weekend had opened a window on to her relationship with Aiden that she'd have much preferred to have kept boarded up with thick wooden planks. Jen couldn't prevent herself from continual thoughts of Georgina as a secret sex fiend, Aiden relishing peeling off those layers of silk to get to that smooth olive skin.

Well, of course, she knew they slept together. But she'd done her best to barricade the topic from her mind. It was like that old cliché of your parents having sex –
ugh!

Flopping from her back to her stomach, Jen felt sorry for Ollie all over again. It had been years since she'd gone to bed in anything more lust-inspiring than a T-shirt and knickers – and that was just her heat-of-the-summer gear. In winter she wore flannelette pyjamas, woolly socks, and sometimes even a sweatshirt on particularly cold nights when he insisted on cracking open the window for fresh air.

In the early days Ollie used to laugh, saying it was like watching a kid get dressed to play in a snowstorm, and what was the point when they'd only be taking it all off again right away. He was always warm, as opposed to Jen, who spent the winter huddling over radiators and donning heavy fleeces. It was one of the things she'd loved about him, his good-natured willingness to be used as a hot-water bottle for frozen feet – like having a wood-burning stove waiting for her when she'd jump shivering into bed.

Unwilling to follow that line of reflection, she turned her brain to the puzzle of Beidlebaum and Meg.
Re test results.
What did it mean? Did it have something to do with the cancer? Had Meg somehow persuaded Irwin to pay for her medical treatment? But then why would the press give a damn about that – except that they were always avid quest for celebrity titbits?
Hello!
had done a two-page spread on his wedding to the latest Mrs B, she'd flicked idly through it in the dentist's waiting room, and sometime ex-girlfriend, fling, whatever, Meg Lennox had certainly not been mentioned among the guests. No, she'd definitely made it sound as if Irwin was long gone from her life.

But this email told a different story.

Would she ever be able to read what was going on in that mind of Meg's? Ever be able to trust her, separate the kernels of truth from the chaff of deception? Aiden was right, Meg was up to something, keeping secrets.

She was amazed at how disappointed she felt. Everything with Meg was lies and double-dealing, her friendship as much an illusion as the other tales she spun. A funfair with a row of distorting mirrors – entertaining at first, but silly and tiresome the longer you stick around.

At eleven thirty she could stand it no longer. As she sat up, Feo wriggled to the top of the bed and started licking her face, making little insistent whines. She pulled a sweater over her pyjamas, socks, put on boots, jacket and grabbed his lead.

Downstairs a bell jangled, the front door clicked shut. She looked out of the landing window into the street below.

Under the lamp post decorated with fairy lights she saw a figure bundled up in coat and hat, collar up, click-clacking on heels down the street. A few steps from the B & B the figure glanced back and Jen caught a glimpse of its profile.

Georgina.

Hurrying down the stairs with Feo leading the way, she hastened to open the front door.

She was just in time to see Georgina turning the corner at the end of the road. Where on earth was she going so late? Jen speeded up, breaking into a run, dragging behind her the reluctant dog whose intent seemed to be to mark every lamp post. Jen was a sprinter, but Feo was a distinct handicap and Georgina had a head start. By the time she reached the corner Georgina had vanished into the night.

She slowed down as her steps took her past some kind of sleazy late-night venue. A man in a leather jacket was smoking by the door, watching her with a hard stare. It didn't look like the kind of place Georgina would frequent, a cocktail lounge with a neon silhouette of a bunny girl flashing a sign that said 'After Hours'. What else would be open this time of night? Georgina wasn't the clubbing sort, she'd been the first to suggest an early night. Could she not sleep? Was she meeting someone? Had she doubled back to get the car? All Jen knew was that she didn't like being out here alone at night.

It was all too much suddenly. First Meg, then Georgina. All these secrets. Maybe it would turn out to be nothing, but the truth was the only person you could really trust in this life was yourself. Adoring husbands suddenly told you they hated their lives and you. Best friends showed up married to your one true love. Nice middle-aged men turned out to be rapists. Kids walked into classrooms spraying bullets. Innocent victims were shot on the Underground or were murdered by their next-door neighbours. It was a truly terrible world. You only had to watch TV or read the newspapers to know that nothing was sacred and no one was safe.

The leather-jacketed man stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes cold and unfriendly. She turned on her heel and retreated, scared suddenly, almost expecting to feel a hand grab her arm, horribly aware of her half-dressed state. Now she really regretted her impulsive exit. The streets were empty. Feo would be no protection at all. Next time she'd lock him in the bathroom, where if he did mess at least she could clean it up. It wasn't worth exposing herself to danger, even if Totnes seemed so quaint and friendly in daylight.

She'd lost Georgina, anyway. Whatever she was up to, it was unlikely to involve this seedy club. True, you never knew what strange things people might do, but it was hard to believe the fastidious Georgina would be seen in such a dump.

They'd been having such a great time too, she thought, as Feo, despite her urging, took his own sweet time sniffing and weeing on every interesting smell on the way back to the B & B. The trip to Ashport. The reunion. This jaunt down to Totnes, laughing and joking. It had felt just like old times. Like when the four of them were at school, watching each other's backs, defending each other to the hilt. But that was then and this was now. Why kid yourself those loyalties still held true when it was a dog-eat-dog world and the people closest to you were as likely as not just waiting to plunge in the dagger?

One thing was sure, though, both her friends were proving full of surprises tonight.

The strain of too many untold secrets seemed to taint the atmosphere as they wandered through the farmers' market. The jollity of the previous day had evaporated, like the sunshine from the grey overcast sky. Meg was moody, Georgina looked sallow and drawn and Jen, tired after her restless night, struggled to regain a balanced perspective and not walk around in a mammoth sulk. Things felt less sinister in daytime. She'd decided to wait for her friends to confide their secrets, even if she did feel like the only spy left out of a worldwide conspiracy.

Sampling goat's cheese on crackers and home-made cider, they strolled between the stalls selling grass-fed bison meat, organic jams and chutneys, baskets of Jerusalem artichokes, sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts, celeriac, winter squash, curly kale, dried-flower arrangements, varnished gourds and Advent wreaths.

'I'm not nearly ready for Christmas,' Georgina complained. Her eyes looked slightly red. She'd announced at breakfast she was coming down with flu, hardly touching the huge fry-up that the others put away.

'I love that crusty home-made bread.' Meg skipped past the naked organic hens to a plate of bread samples. 'Yum,' she said, chewing.

'How did everyone sleep?' Jen asked brightly, in possibly her third attempt to draw out Georgie. No point in probing Meg. She'd only give away that she'd peeked at her email, just as bad as reading a diary. And besides, would she believe a word Meg said?

'Like a log,' Georgina said. 'I was out the moment my head touched the pillow.'

'So-so,' said Meg, who as far as Jen could tell had snored all night long.

'Well I kept waking up.' Jen gave a sly glance at Georgina, who was intently studying some Norfolk pines in pots. 'Hearing doors opening and closing. Footsteps and weird noises.'

'The woo-woo ghostly kind?' asked Meg. 'Because I sensed a strange vibe . . .'

'Oh look,' said Georgina. 'A cooking demonstration.' And she walked away.

In the food area between the Fairtrade coffee and fresh roasting corn on the cob, a woman was demonstrating a recipe for curried squash soup. The smell of frying onions wafted in the air and a small group had gathered to watch.

About to follow Georgina, Jen felt Meg grab her jacket to stop her progress.

'She threw up last night,' Meg hissed. 'Did you hear her?'

'No. Are you sure it wasn't your ghost?' Jen knew she sounded chilly but she couldn't help it. School was supposed to be over but Meg was still telling tales. She broke free and walked over to join the crowd.

'. . . a wonderful winter recipe,' the demonstrator was saying. 'You can add meat to make it more substantial and it also freezes very well.'

A woman walked past with a poodle and Feo lunged at it, barking, making frantic vertical leaps. With an apologetic smile Jen picked up the annoying little canine, grateful he wasn't a Rottweiler.

'I never know what to do with squash,' Georgina told Jen as she arrived beside her, Meg close behind. 'My gardener grows those butternut things but I always end up throwing them out. They seem like such a mystery.'

'Loads of things are mysteries to me.' A gypsy selling lucky white heather approached her and Jen waved her away. 'Seems like everyone's hiding stuff or . . .'

'It's her!' Meg gave out a sudden whoop. 'I know it's her!'

'Who?' asked Jen.

'Over there. In the boots.' She waggled a finger at a woman in a long bottle-green coat and outsize wellingtons. 'Look. I'd recognise that walk and those slumped shoulders anywhere. Jesus, am I good or what? I told you she'd be here.' She began kissing her fingers, 'Thank you, angel guide. Thank you, spirits.'

'Go on then.' Georgina pushed Jen forward.

'Why me?' Jen dug in her heels. Now that they'd found Mrs Howard she felt anxious suddenly, not at all keen on being the one to approach her.

'She liked you best. Thought Meg was evil and that I treated Rowan like a slave. Quick. Run or you'll lose her.'

Mouth dry, Jen galloped along the line of market stalls, the others running behind her.

'Mrs Howard?' She tapped the woman on the shoulder.

Jesus, it was her. Meg was right. The frown lines between the brows and down the sides of her thin miserable-looking mouth had deepened to chiselled canyons, and much of her craggy face was obscured by a knitted hat, but it was definitely her.

'Yes?' The woman squinted at her suspiciously, watchful eyes flickering.

'I'm Jennifer, Rowan's old school friend.' There was a long moment's pause, during which first Meg and then Georgina caught up. 'Jenny? Oh yes, I remember you.' If anything her face became more disapproving. 'Your skirt was like a handkerchief.'

'Kids, eh.' Jen shrugged and smiled as if she'd complimented her.

Mrs Howard looked her up and down, and then did the same to the two women behind her. 'Well then, I'll be off.' She matched her actions to her words.

'Mrs Howard,' this time Georgina leapt in, 'wait. It's me, Georgina. Georgina Carrington. So splendid to see you again!' She threw her arms around Mrs Howard as if she was welcoming a long-lost child. Startled, Rowan's mother froze, her whole body rigid against Georgina's merciless squeezing.

'Georgina? Miss High and Mighty?' Her eyes glowered. 'You made my girl timid. Lording it over her with your hoity-toity English ways.'

Georgina's arms fell away, thrown by the hostile response. 'I – I didn't mean to,' she stammered.

'Rowan wasn't timid.' Meg, who'd been hanging back behind Jen, stepped forward now. 'Just a little shy. We'd love to see her again, Mrs H.'

The Welsh woman scowled, glaring from one to another.

'Look,' Jen pleaded, 'we were wondering if you could tell us how to contact Rowan. Does she live around here?'

Mrs Howard pulled her coat together with one hand, basket over her arm, and regarded them all with a hunted expression.

'No, no she doesn't.'

'Then where is she?' Meg asked with her best coaxing smile. 'Thing is, we need to know. It's a matter of life and death.'

At that Mrs Howard stared at her, eyes widening, head shaking. 'I've got to go.'

'No, really,' Georgina gave a withering look at Meg, 'it's nothing sinister. But we, well, we had a reunion at the school and the three of us without Rowan – why, it's like eggs without bacon.'

Not the best simile, Jen thought. Mrs Howard had been vegan.

'She's gone.' The old lady's tone changed, becoming harsh and forceful.

'Where?'

'Moved. To China, near Peking.'

'Beijing now,' corrected Georgina.

'Could we have the address?' said Meg. 'Not that we're likely to visit any time soon, but we could write.'

'I don't know.'

'What? You don't know her address?' Georgina looked confused.

'Well of course I know her address.' Mrs Howard sounded as icy as the Totnes streets. 'But she doesn't want me giving it out to all and sundry. Besides she's moving again, now, as we speak. Trying Shanghai.'

'What does she do? Workwise?' Jen had to ask.

'She's er . . . um . . . a physiotherapist.'

'A physio, wow. How superb!' gushed Georgina.

'What about her paintings?' Meg asked, slightly bewildered.

'She gave that up ages ago. Childish nonsense. No money in it. No, she's a physio all right. Looks into people's minds and tries to cure phobias.'

'You mean a
psychotherapist?'
Jen said.

'Uh huh. She had to learn hypnotism and all sorts. Look, away with you.' She flapped her fingerless gloves at them, shooing them off. 'I can't be doing with this. I've two cats at home needing fed.'

'Mrs Howard,' Jen grabbed her arm, 'You don't understand. We
need
her address. We really do.'

'I haven't got it. Not on me,' she said sharply, shrugging her off. 'I've got to go.'

'But . . . please, stop. If you . . .' Suddenly Jen was frantic. This was their last chance. They might never bump into Mrs Howard again.

'Now listen,' Georgina held out one of her business cards, 'if you hear from her any time soon, please, give her my details. It has my work address, email and here,' she scribbled something on the back. 'My mobile. Please ask her to call.'

'Yes. All right. All right.' Mrs Howard stuck it in her coat pocket. 'I have to run.' She scowled down at her feet in their wellingtons and muttered unconvincingly, 'Lovely to see you again.'

'That's that then,' Georgina said as they trudged back to their bed and breakfast.

'Told you,' Meg said. 'She
hates
us.'

'You might be right,' Jen agreed. 'She couldn't get away fast enough.'

'China,' Georgina groaned. 'I'll never have time to visit.'

'And I'll never have the dough,' added Meg.

Jen was quiet, thinking a little trip to Shanghai might clear out some cobwebs. If she could save up the cash, that is – ugh, her mind closed once again to the money thing.

'It's me she hates the most,' Georgina groaned. 'Calling me Miss High and Mighty. I'm not high and mighty, am I?'

Jen and Meg swapped quick glances.

'I saw that . . . what?'

'Just,' began Meg, 'sometimes you come across, well . . . a little, er . . .' She looked across at Jen for help.

'Judgemental,' said Jen diplomatically.

'Or patronising.'

'Or snobby. I know you're not really,' Jen rushed to reassure her, 'I mean sometimes it's just the way you talk, your accent and everything, but then there are things you say that sound just like your mum.' She declined from mentioning her earlier van-driver comment.

'Patronising, judgemental, snobby.' Georgina looked miserable. 'No, go on, don't hold back. Hit me.'

'OK,' Meg took her at her word. 'Just yesterday, you called those people bohos, then in the bed and breakfast you sneered at the avocado suite.'

'I thought it was hideous too.' Jen felt she had to defend her a little.

To their utmost horror, Georgina suddenly put her hands to her face and turned away, shoulders shaking.

'Georgina, don't.' Jen put her arm around her. 'We only said that because you asked.'

'So if I asked you to shoot me, would you do it?' Georgina extracted a tissue from her sleeve and wiped her nose.

'Er, no,' said Jen.

'Yes,' said Meg, 'say you were dying of some incurable disease.'

She managed a weak smile. 'Well, that's reassuring. Oh don't mind me. It's not either of you. It's just . . . I'm not at my best today.' She forced a jolly tone. 'Quite an eccentric, Rowan's mother, don't you think?'

Jen snorted derisively. 'Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I'll bet if you looked up "eccentric" in the dictionary, there'd be a picture of Ma Howard and her broomstick.'

'Not to mention she was lying through her teeth,' Meg chipped in.

'How could you tell?' Jen stopped in her tracks.

'Because one, Rowan told me her mum was highly allergic to cats.' She was interrupted by the ringing of a mobile phone.

'Excuse me.' Georgina pulled it out of her handbag and flipped it open. 'Aiden?' they heard her say.

'And two,' Meg continued, as Georgina walked a short distance away, phone to her ear, 'never try to bullshit a bull-shitter. I can spot when someone's lying from three hundred miles away. I swear, if Rowan
was
buried in some unmarked grave, I'd notch Ma Howard as the prime suspect!'

'Why on earth do you think she married him?' Meg asked Jen as they watched Georgina's train pull away from Totnes railway station. Het up and frazzled, she was hell-bent for London to sort out some office crisis, refusing their suggestion that all three drive back early. 'Don't cut your trip short too,' she'd insisted. 'The train's twice as fast.' So they'd packed, checked out of the B & B and Georgie was on a train home.

'What do you mean?'

'Georgina and Aiden, dude. They seem such an odd couple. She's got class, talent – and money now. And Aiden, well . . .' She didn't finish the sentence. 'They seem like totally ill-matched.'

'Why does anyone marry anyone?' Jen said repressively. It was no more than she'd asked herself a dozen times, but she didn't like Meg's implied criticism that Aiden, gorgeous, sexy, kind, talented Aiden somehow didn't measure up. 'Why did you marry the bull rider? Why did I marry Ollie?'

'Well, tequila slammers did it for me. And pregnancy aside, we all know what you saw in Ollie.' She gave a lascivious grin. 'Besides, they're still together. My marriage only lasted five minutes and now you and Ollie are divorced, over, done, end of story.'

'I know, I know.' She was aware that she sounded irritated, but she didn't care for how Meg was saying it, in a sort of jokey casual way. She certainly didn't consider the failure of her marriage to be one big funny hilarious joke. Not yet and maybe not ever.

They made their way back to the car park, Meg sliding into the driver's seat.

'So where now?' Meg asked.

'Home,' Jen decided. 'We're packed. Everything's in the boot and we've done all we can here. I don't really care to hang around shopping, do you?'

'No, I'm good.' Meg clipped up her seat belt and returned to her subject. 'Not to mention all Starkey ever cared about was music and writing. And sex,' she looked to Jen for confirmation. 'Am I right? And suddenly he's shacked up with Miss Prissy Drawers, acting like Georgina's flunkey, and she's running the whole show. So I'm guessing there has to be
a ton
of money involved. How much do you think that business is worth? Do they own it together?'

'I've no idea,' Jen said huffily, as the engine purred into life. 'And stop talking about Starkey as if he's some kind of gigolo. What's he ever done to you?'

'Nothing.' Meg pulled out, horn blaring, without indicating. 'But why are you so damn quick to defend him? He acted like an asshole to you.'

'He was young.'

'Sure, but he still dumped you without even bothering to explain. And married one of your closest friends.'

'Georgie hadn't seen me for years.' Jen drew a face on the steamed-up window. It was ironic that by defending Aiden she was forced to defend Georgina as well. 'I don't know if you can call that close friends.' Still, she couldn't help thinking that if anyone should have been sensitive to the situation, it was Georgina. You didn't expect the same level of delicacy from men.