When Good Friends Go Bad (31 page)

'You're late.' Ollie removed his jumper from the wooden chair next to him and handed her an A5 folded programme.

'Am I?' Jen said frostily, sitting down.

'I wasn't criticising,' Ollie hissed. 'Simply surprised. You're never late. Not for years.'

'Well, I am now.' Jen stuck her handbag on the floor, then stood up as the music teacher gesticulated to the audience to rise. No point in explaining she'd let Feo out for a wee to try and prevent the 'accidents' that were becoming a feature of his stay and the little bugger had refused to come back in, running halfway down the street before she could coax him close enough to nab his collar.

A hundred-odd chairs had been set out for the carol concert, separated by a gangway down the centre. This was the big event of the school year, all classes from Years Three to Six involved. Some parents, eyes to cameras or camcorders, were forfeiting their right to a seat for a record of their child's moment of glory. The third and fourth years were lined up against a wall, waiting to be summoned, each little head adorned with a pointy green elf hat.

The choir were already in place, the music master waving his baton as he gave last-minute instructions, the orchestra making a fearsome din as they tuned their instruments. Chloe should have been with them, Jen seethed, instead of grouped in a corner to the left of the stage with her non-musical friends.

'Welcome one and all.' The head teacher wore a Santa hat and snowman-adorned woolly jumper. 'Only thirteen days till Christmas, so I'm glad you've postponed your Friday night shopping for our evening of entertainment. The first carol of the night will be "O Come All Ye Faithful", so if you'd like to join in. After three now . . .'

'And your hair looks like it's been dragged through a hedge,' Ollie whispered as a chorus of voices belted forth.

'Oh shut up!' Jen snapped. She
had
in fact gone under a hedge, trying to reach for Feo, but there was no way she'd give Ollie the satisfaction of knowing that. 'I'm here, aren't I? I had to take a last-minute phone call.'

'. . . to Be-e-th-lehem,' the man next to her sang in a loud baritone.

'Must have been a rough one,' Ollie smirked and gave a devilish grin at the woman on his right. 'Nothing beats a good old afternoon nap, does it?'

Jen's blood boiled. Was he insinuating . . . ? 'Bog off!'

A mother in front turned round. Jen gave her a quick smile, then spotted Frances Hutton glancing across. She smiled at her too.

'Wonderful.' The conductor stepped up as the song ended. 'And now the steel drums will perform "Away in a Manger".' He lifted his baton high in the air. 'Take it away, Year Five.'

An odd Caribbean-sounding version of the carol began to resonate round the hall. Jen shifted in her chair, relieved not to have to talk, and instead reflected on the past days' events. What had possessed her to agree to dinner with Tom Dugan? Wasn't her life complicated enough?

He'd called twice, the first time on Sunday night when she'd returned home reeling from her encounter with Aiden, her lips still swollen from the pressure of his kisses. She'd fobbed him off, pretending a cold, but on Tuesday he'd phoned again, minutes after Georgina had phoned to invite her to a dinner party to celebrate winning some contract or other.

Unable to find an excuse, terrified at the idea of being together with Georgina and Aiden in their home, she'd rashly suggested Tom join her. She'd thought he might divert attention, a human smokescreen for the ordeal this dinner was likely to be. Aching to see Aiden again, she was anxious about how she'd react in front of Georgina. If people could read her face, she was sure they'd see guilt stamped all over it. Even if all they'd done was kiss. And talk.

'Dugan?' Aiden had said when she informed him that evening. He'd taken to calling and texting daily. And she knew she should stop him but it was only harmless, she told herself, old friends sharing their worries, providing moral support. 'You're bringing the bloody English teacher?' he'd groaned. 'Oh, won't this be luvverly!'

'Georgina wouldn't let me off the hook and I thought Tom might provide a distraction, take the focus off us.'

'Well, I guess if she does insist on this do of hers, the more people the better,' Aiden acknowledged, a touch sulkily.

'I don't fancy him, you know.' Now why did she have to go and say that? It would be better for all of them if Aiden did think she fancied Dugan, and gave up hope.

'No.' He was quiet a second. 'Hey, you know at the reunion, Georgina had been worried about you and Dugan getting so cosy. Well, did anything actually happen?'

'That been bothering you?'

'No, well . . . yes, actually. It has.'

A warm tingle of pleasure curled around her spine and she'd kissed Feo, lying on the bed next to her, on his little black nose. 'Jealousy will get you everywhere, you know.' She couldn't help herself. It felt so good to flirt.

'Hope so,' Aiden growled sexily. 'Better go. I think someone's coming upstairs.'

'OK everybody.' The lights went up as teachers and parents led the youngest pupils up on the stage. 'Years Three and Four will now perform "Walking in the Air". Let's give them a lot of encouragement, shall we?'

Cameras flashed as the audience rose to dutifully clap, several people looking at their watches, losing interest now their own children's part was over.

A violin quartet played, followed by a group of Year Threes with recorders, a solo from a brave Year Six girl, then another sing-along-a-carol.

The first bars of 'Once in Royal David's City' struck up, Jen mouthing the words as her mind wandered.

Was she a bad person using Tom as a decoy? He was a nice man. If she wasn't so obsessed with Aiden she might be keen to know him better. And wasn't she being unfair to Georgina, too? Not much had happened with Aiden. Just that one moment of passion – a few kisses, that was all – but still she'd die if her friend found out. So why was she allowing this daily contact?

'Mary was that mother mild . . .' Ollie sang beside her.

What were they doing except fuelling the flames? Last night Jen had been bemoaning the fact that Chloe couldn't perform tonight when Aiden suddenly said, 'You know I love you, don't you, Titch?'

And boy, had that shut her up, because she was certain her heart was going to explode, right there in her chest.

'Who is God and Lord of all . . .'

And yet again this morning she woke to bone-crushing guilt. It was such a damn roller coaster. Just when Jen was doing her best to believe her own propaganda, convincing herself that Georgina really was a horrible self-centred witch who didn't deserve Aiden (and was only pretending to still like Jen because she suspected Aiden fancied her and there was that old adage that went 'Keep your friends close, your enemies closer'), she'd do something incredibly thoughtful. Like on Wednesday when a darling little card landed on Jen's doormat saying 'True Friends Don't Grow On Trees', with a sweet poem inside.

True friends? Jen had squirmed, wishing God would send a lightning bolt to punish her for her sins.

But then what if Georgina had sent her the card knowing it'd twist Jen's innards like spaghetti round a fork? What if she were suspicious and 'true friends' was meant as a dig – a very sly warning? And besides, if Jen couldn't persuade herself to dislike Georgie, how could she live with the guilt of falling in love with her husband?

Even though Jen had loved him first and best.

Only a few weeks ago, if Jen had been flattened by a car somewhere, she would at least have known her ticket would be marked 'Pearly Gates' and not 'Nether Regions of Hell'. She wasn't a wicked woman. She didn't steal, didn't swear (excessively), had even smiled sympathetically at the mother of a screaming baby on the plane to Greece a few years back. But now she wasn't so certain. She was morally inept. She coveted her best friend's husband.

And the worst thing? The more she spoke to Aiden the more energised she became, like a rechargeable battery. If a few hours passed without hearing from him she felt drained. She was a drug addict desperate for a fix. She loathed herself for it and yet she loathed the thought of not seeing him more.

Since their kiss she'd practically skipped to work with a silly smile plastered on her face. Even in the supermarket she wanted to prance down the aisles, kicking her heels with the joy of it all.

'How about another big hand for our talented students?' The head teacher was back at the microphone.

Jen couldn't help but glare at Ollie as the clapping faded and everyone rose to leave. After all Chloe's hard practice, it was like pouring salt on her daughter's injured arm to witness her non-performance tonight. But Chloe had insisted they both came, she couldn't let 'her' band down and besides, she'd added cutely, 'Miss said', knowing that would clinch the deal. Jen drummed into Chloe countless times, that what Miss said went.

'Mince pie, mulled wine?' Someone held out a glass as Chloe rushed to join them, and she and Ollie ambled into the corridor with all the other parents.

'Make it a double.' Jen took it from her and downed it in one.

Jen stood in front of Georgina and Aiden's front door, Tom Dugan at her side, hearing laughter from inside. Thank goodness Meg had arrived first. She was the best at filling awkward silences with her endless chatter, and Jen was betting her life there'd be a lot of such silences tonight. She'd been dreading the whole evening, and yet was strangely keyed up about it. Rather like when Chloe's birth was imminent, knowing it would involve pain, yet excited about the outcome.

Since the kiss on the ridge, six long days ago, she couldn't get Aiden out of her head. He'd invaded her thoughts, stolen her soul, captured her heart all over again. Not an hour went by without her imagining how it would be to make love with him, wake up next to him, spend the rest of their lives together. She hardly slept, barely ate. She wanted to speak his name to everybody she met – shop workers, dustbin men, bank cashiers. Well, everyone except Georgina, that is, or Meg. Ollie too, frankly.

Poor Tom, pressing the bell when she hesitated, had no idea what he was letting himself in for. He was such a gentleman, bringing her a small thoughtful gift of a rosemary bush shaped like a miniature tree, helping her on with her coat, opening her car door. The perfect escort and so delighted that she'd invited him.

Aiden answered the door. The minute she saw his handsome face, his incredible smile directed right at her, she was dust. Had he ever looked so good?

'Hi there.' His brooding eyes fixed on hers momentarily before they turned to Tom. 'And you must be Tom.' He shook hands politely. 'Come in, make yourself at home. Let me take your jacket . . . Jen.' Thank God Tom was looking around, not catching their shared lingering stare and Aiden's hand softly squeezing Jen's when she handed over the bottle of wine she'd brought, sending tingles racing round her body.

'Jennifer, lovely to see you. Don't you look nice!' Georgina came forward to greet them and brushed her cheek against Jen's. 'And Thomas – I don't have to call you Mr Dugan, do I? – so kind of you to join us.'

'All my pleasure.' Tom leant forward and kissed her on both cheeks, which made her blush. 'Congratulations on the Heal's deal! Jen told me about it on the way over.'

'Why, thank you. Heal's deal sounds so silly, doesn't it?'

Georgina was also looking unbelievably good tonight. Last seen by Jen she'd been harrassed and upset on the Totnes platform, but the news of her business success had evidently worked wonders. Her glossy hair was styled just so, a low-cut sapphire silk dress with spaghetti straps showed off her toned hourglass figure, its fabulous ruffled hem skimming her shapely calves. Next to her Jen felt a bit self-conscious in her Giordani togs, the kick-flare jeans and lace-sleeved blouse that Georgie had given her. But then again, it wasn't a competition, was it?

'Nutmeg's already here. I gave everyone the night off.' Georgina ushered them both down the hallway. 'So if you find the service wanting and dinner a disaster, it's entirely my fault.'

'Sorry we're a bit late,' Jen began. 'My babysitter let me down and I had to ring Ollie and . . .'

'No matter,' Georgina shushed her. 'Nothing burnt.' She escorted them both towards the drawing room. 'Champers for our guests, Aiden?' she prompted, taking charge as usual. 'We're having fizz to start, put us all in the mood.'

'Hey, Jen, Mr Dugan, sir.' Meg rose from her chair and saluted as Jen and Tom walked in. 'How are you two lovebirds?'

Jen immediately cringed but laughed to cover her embarrassment. 'If this is how she's going to be all evening, we should head home right now,' she mumbled apologetically to Tom as she took a seat on the sofa next to him.

'What a cosy foursome,' Meg said cheerfully, perching her small bottom on the arm next to Jen. 'Man, do I feel like a total gooseberry.'

They made small talk while nibbling on appetisers of bacon-wrapped dates, smoked salmon roll-ups and pâté spread on tiny crackers. Dugan answered Georgina's questions about his work, his life since leaving teaching. Georgina told them how Totnes had been the catalyst for a whole new surge of inspiration, how several looming disasters had been averted and put back on track and how she'd been designing like a maniac ever since.

'You two are my muses,' she said, hugging Jen and Meg. 'I feel like I've been given a whole new lease of life.'

She looked incredibly happy, full of smiles and affectionate touches for Aiden. Clearly one of them had bounced back from last Sunday's fight.

'Time to eat.' Georgina glanced at her delicate silver watch. 'Perhaps you'd like to lead the way through to the dining room, Nutmeg.'

'Your wish is my command.' She jumped up, but Aiden got there first.
'Entrez.'
He opened the door with a flourish.

'Get you, Mr Hosty Mosty.' Meg cheekily tweaked the back of his hair as she walked past him. 'Oh man oh man!' Jen heard her suddenly shriek.

Following behind her, Jen also stopped in shock. The dining room was decked out in its absolute finery: table covered with a crisp linen cloth, crystal glasses, fancy napkins folded into star shapes, an exquisite hand-painted bowl with scented candles floating around inside. Everything was so welcoming, the blazing log fire, the Victorian polished-brass chandelier hanging low over the table, sultry jazz playing in the background.

What an effort Georgina had made, Jen thought with dismay. It was so sweet and considerate. All of a sudden the picture she had been trying to build up over the past few days of the bossy, domineering Georgina, neglectful of her husband, rude to people she considered inferior, a veritable slavemaster to her elderly (and overpaid) staff, shattered before her eyes. Crucified by her own deception, it took every effort not to turn on her heel, run out the door and flee the scene of her crime.

'Hey, you've really gone to town, Georgie,' she gulped, attempting to stop her mouth forming a rictus. 'You shouldn't have done.'

'Actually, it was fun.' Georgina's face flushed with pleasure. 'And, well, you know, if I can't put on a show for my
very best
friends, what can I do?'

'So you really want to quit searching for Rowan?' Meg savoured her roast tomato soup, its delicate flavours not quite enough to compensate for her disappointment.

'I didn't say that exactly,' Georgina protested. 'But unless her mother passes on the message . . .'

'But was her mum telling the truth?' Meg broke in. She knew the woman was lying. Trouble was, no one else seemed convinced.

'Look, I know you have your pact,' Jen said gently. 'But, well, I don't know what else we can do. It's been fun meeting up again and everything, but . . .' She stared at her plate, looking uncomfortable.

'Hate to say this,' Aiden added his two cents, 'but maybe it's just not meant to be.' Meg caught his cynical smile at Jen as he passed her the pepper mill, Jen's cheeks reddening.

'I tend to agree with Aiden,' Georgina said sadly. 'I really do think every avenue's been explored.'

'If I can help in any way, Meg,' Tom joined in, 'Jen can give you my number.' He rested his arm along the back of Jen's chair. 'Though I don't know what use I could be.'

Meg scrutinised him. He'd been one of the cooler teachers at Ashport, easy-going, better-looking than most and young too, which was really all it took to make him a sex symbol to overheated adolescent girls. But as Jen's new boyfriend? Was he responsible for her glowing cheeks and her distinctly girlish manner tonight?

Probably not. She'd noticed how distracted Jen seemed when Tom talked to her, the way she leaned forward to avoid that encroaching arm, finally scooting her chair towards the table so he had to move it. Why didn't she just put up a sign saying 'Not with him'? No, all Jen's sparks were flying in a completely opposite direction.

'I don't know what use you'd be either,' Meg said flatly.

'Doesn't mean we can't keep hoping,' Jen said quickly.

'Miracles do happen,' said Tom.

'They sure do,' Aiden said as he plunged a corkscrew into another bottle. 'Just when you least expect them.'

'Like angels,' Meg said. She observed Jen and Aiden trading glances again, secretive smirks. OK, now what was
that?
Some private joke? Implying she was living in la-la land? Or something else? Well, the hell with them.

'Although if Rowan's mother was telling the truth, I certainly can't find the time to visit Shanghai.' Georgina's laugh struck Meg as weird. What was up with everyone tonight?

'And we single parents sure ain't got the bucks,' Meg remarked. The lavish surroundings tonight only made the reality of her own situation hit harder. 'Talking of which, Jen, has your ex sorted out your alimony yet?'

Jen hesitated. 'Not exact figures as such . . .'

'Oh no, it has to be set in stone.' Georgina, opposite her, wagged her finger sternly. 'Your affairs are your affairs of course, but . . .'

And that was it, Georgina was off, giving her the benefit of her worldly advice, lecturing Jen on money matters, recommending firms of financial advisers, while Aiden and Tom joined in with ideas of their own.

'I know, I know.' Jen put her head in her hands. 'My friend Helen's always nagging me about how I'm ignoring all this stuff.'

As the conversation continued, Meg half listened, veering between boredom and feeling irate. Smug complacent yuppies, talking stocks and shares, property portfolios, unit trusts, while back in the Old Bear trailer park, Meg scrabbled to afford food and gas for her crummy old station wagon.

Did they have a clue? Even old Dugan had to chip in with the way the moratorium on mortgages was hurting the rental market. Had they ever experienced the panic of having to take a feverish child to the emergency room in the middle of the night, knowing what was left on your combined credit cards wouldn't cover the cost of treatment?

Had they, in their cushy National Health system, any idea how one small incident – something like Jen's daughter breaking her arm – could wipe out every dime of your hard-earned savings, leaving nothing to pay rent or bills? For the unlucky, sometimes all it took was a grim diagnosis or being smashed into by an uninsured motorist to go from prosperous middle class to homeless, jobless and bankrupt.

Welfare was a joke. For those, like Meg, with no insurance at all and no fall-back position now that Irwin had bailed . . . She shivered, feeling the cold wind of poverty whistling at her back.

'Buy-to-let investments have really gone down the pan . . .' Tom was saying.

'The Times
says that the property market . . .' joined in Aiden.

Buy-to-let investments. Property market.
Meg could feel the red-hot rage of frustration bubbling up inside her. How could she enrol Zeb in the public-school system? The one in her lousy neighbourhood was virtually a crack den, full of gangs and violence. And Zeb was a talented kid. If Irwin had showed a real interest instead of being a suspicious begrudging cheapskate, he'd have seen what a joy he was to be around.

She thought of Zeb tonight, most likely going over homework again with Mace so he could get to college, not that they had money for that. He'd have to rely on student loans and work to pay his way.

Whatever, it was time for them both to go home. Zeb was desperate to catch up with his friends before Christmas. But nothing was fixed yet.

If only that dumb-ass Irwin hadn't found himself a cheap little gold-digger and derailed the money train. His payments hadn't filled the fridge with champagne exactly, but they had kept the wolf from the door.

Georgina was laughing at a story Tom was telling about an incident in the Ashport Comp staffroom, Aiden was gazing into space, his mind undoubtedly elsewhere, and Jen was staring at Aiden, her plate of food almost completely untouched. So that was the way the wind was blowing. Complicated. Just as she was wondering if she could really drop a wrecking ball into their lives, it looked as though they might be ready to drop one into hers.

An hour later, the main meal had been served, a few glasses of wine had aided the flow of conversation and Jen was watching Aiden handing Tom the sauce boat.

'No, really,' Aiden laughed at some glib comment of Meg's that Jen had already forgotten because it didn't matter, because all she wanted to do was look at him and smile.

Jen loved the way he laughed, the way he ate, the way he held his cutlery, the way he sipped from his crystal glass, the way he turned his head, lifted his chin, scratched his nose, even his tiny flash of ill humour. She adored being in his company and a few times during the evening when they'd all been chattering about something, she'd glanced over at him, his eyes had locked with hers and her whole body had come out in goose pimples so large she was sure someone would notice.

She tried concentrating on the conversation, knowing she was out of control, high as a kite, insane with lust, but she couldn't help it. She loved him. She loved Aiden, he was her destiny. She wanted to bellow it from the rooftops, swing through trees like a capuchin monkey scratching at an armpit and screeching his name. Aiden, Aiden, Aiden.

So this was what life was all about. This was real joy. Aiden Kenton lovely luscious Starkson. She was so rejuvenated and happy at rediscovering the love of her life she didn't care what the future held, she simply wanted to bask in these feelings for as long as possible.

A memory popped into her head of an interview she had once watched on TV, some celebrity theorising that if people showed their true emotions then four out of eight people at a dinner party would be sobbing into their soup. Jen looked at the group round Georgina's fancy table enjoying their braised lamb with flageolet beans, a Delia recipe apparently. There was Meg, adventurous, free-spirited, yet behind the veneer harbouring secret dramas she wasn't prepared to confide; and Georgina, two places down, with her flash new contract but not realising what a misery she was making of her husband's life; Tom, pleasant, polite but perhaps a little lonely, if his persistence in asking her out were anything to go by, eyeing everyone as if he were sensing hidden undercurrents and trying to work out the dynamics of them all.