The Best Friend: a chilling psychological thriller Read online

  ‘You should see it during the day,’ Saul says. ‘Come for lunch, Jared. We’ll chat. See Molly on the front desk. She’ll schedule you in.’

  ‘Great,’ Jared says. ‘I look forward to it.’

  Saul says goodbye and leaves us to our evening. My husband’s face is flushed with excitement. Doors are opening for him without him having to do a thing.

  I catch Darcy’s eye. She’s seen me observing my husband. She’s noted his transparent excitement, too. I flush.

  She winks and grabs my arm. ‘You must try one of the margaritas. They’re delicious. I’ll order you one.’

  ‘Sounds tempting,’ I reply with an apologetic dip of my head, ‘but I’m driving tonight.’

  ‘Absolutely not! Leave your car and grab a cab later.’

  I turn to Jared and he nods with a smile. ‘The parking ticket’s good until eight tomorrow morning,’ he says. ‘I’ll cycle down in the morning. Pick it up before work.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ says Darcy. ‘Leave your car keys with reception and I’ll make sure one of the staff drops it back.’

  ‘I didn’t know they did that here,’ Jared replies.

  ‘They don’t, but they will for us.’ She winks at Jared and turns to the barman. ‘Four margaritas.’

  I catch Jared’s eye and he shrugs. It’s like we’ve stepped into a parallel universe. One where nothing is impossible.

  Several rounds later, we’re shown over to a table by the window. I go to sit next to Jared, but Darcy puts her hand on my arm. ‘Come sit by me. Give the boys a chance talk.’

  I do as she suggests and sit next to her. She’s now seated opposite my husband, and I’m opposite Mike.

  Thankfully, no one wants a starter so we browse the menu for main courses. The prices are insane. The cheapest thing on there is vegetarian pasta for twenty-five pounds. I’d prefer fish, but the prices are eye-watering. Mike opts for a steak at over fifty quid, and Darcy’s having lobster paella. Jared goes for the chicken and I try to ignore the cost and have the salmon, hoping I don’t choke on it. We definitely won’t be having dessert. And we’ll have to eat beans on toast for the rest of the month.

  ‘It’s really good of you to let Joe crash Tyler’s party,’ I say. ‘It sounds like it’s going to be an amazing day.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jared says. ‘Never mind about the kids – I’m excited to go.’

  We all laugh as the waitress pours champagne.

  Mike raises his glass. ‘To new friends.’

  ‘New friends,’ we chorus, clinking our glasses.

  Despite my horror at the expense of the place, the evening is wonderful. The food is superb and the conversation flows so easily, it’s like I almost belong in this glamorous place with these beautiful people. Like maybe what Jared said about us living this lifestyle might actually become a reality. I’m not sure I even want that. I’m happy with what we have, I really am. This evening, this place and all its glitter, it’s not real. It’s not what truly matters.

  The main courses are over and everyone else is clamouring for dessert, so – drunk on margaritas and champagne – I give in and order a passion fruit pavlova which melts on the tongue and tastes like manna from the gods. Mike and Jared are deep in conversation and I’m complimenting Darcy on her design blog. ‘Honestly, it’s beautifully laid out and the articles are brilliant. Informative and really witty.’

  ‘I should hang out with you more often,’ she says.

  ‘No, honestly. You could definitely have a career as a writer,’ I say.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Thank you!’ She gives my arm a squeeze. ‘God, I’m defeated,’ she says laying down her spoon, only having touched about a third of her sorbet. ‘So how about Jared? Looks like big things ahead for him – new agency and everything. Exciting for the both of you.’

  ‘Nerve-wracking, more like,’ I confide.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He has a great job already. Chucking it all in to set up on his own is quite a gamble.’ Saying the words out loud, I feel a lump of emotion in my throat. I really am quite drunk and probably shouldn’t be talking about this to Darcy.

  ‘Going for your dream is always a gamble,’ she says. ‘Jared has a spark. He’ll do it, I can tell.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘I’m always right,’ she deadpans.

  There’s a pause, and then we break out into uncontrollable laughter. Jared and Mike look up from their conversation, grinning and shaking their heads at our behaviour. I’m not even sure what’s so funny, but I can’t seem to stop.

  ‘You’ll never believe the time,’ Mike says. ‘It’s twelve thirty already.’

  ‘Shut. Up,’ Darcy says. ‘How the hell can it be twelve thirty? It only feels like ten o’clock.’

  ‘Shall we get the bill?’ Mike asks. ‘Don’t want to be a party pooper but I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll get the bill,’ Jared says, without looking at me.

  I stop laughing. Has my husband just offered to pay for everyone’s dinner? We can barely afford our own.

  ‘No, no’ Mike says. ‘That’s okay, we’ll split it.’

  Thank god for that.

  ‘No, I insist,’ Jared says, before I can take Mike up on his offer to go halves. ‘Our son is gate crashing Tyler’s birthday party,’ my husband says. ‘The least we can do is buy dinner.’

  Joe’s original party was going to be a cheap and cheerful affair. I absolutely dread to think what tonight’s meal will cost – the steak, lobster, cocktails, champagne. But I can’t find a way to get out of it without embarrassing my husband. In fact, it’s already a done deal. Darcy and Mike are already thanking Jared.

  ‘That dress is gorgeous, by the way,’ Darcy says to me. ‘I meant to say earlier how cute you look tonight.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, now bitterly regretting its purchase.

  * * *

  ‘Four hundred and thirty quid,’ I hiss. ‘That’s just insane.’

  We’re halfway home and my earlier good mood has evaporated. I’ve pushed myself up against the cab door as far away from my husband as I can get, my fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. All I can think of is the mounting credit-card debt that Jared believes will one day magically vanish in a puff of smoke.

  ‘I didn’t know the bill would be that much,’ he says, squeezing my arm, trying to calm me down.

  I shrug him off, shaking my head. ‘Well, maybe you should have waited to see it, before offering to pay it.’

  ‘Louisa,’ he says, ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. You know, with them organising that big birthday party for the boys. It seemed only fair to―’

  ‘We could have had twenty kids’ birthday parties for the price of this evening’s dinner. And I didn’t even want a big party for Joe. I wanted a low-key kick about at the park, followed by pizza.’

  ‘That’s not my fault,’ he says.

  ‘No, but offering to pay the equivalent of half the national debt for dinner at a snooty restaurant is most definitely your fault.’

  He scowls, and slides away from me, across to the other side of the cab. I don’t want to have an argument, but I’m unable to swallow down my anger. I’m worried about how badly my husband wants to fit in with these people. I should never have agreed to this dinner date. This whole lifestyle is way out of our league and we shouldn’t have pretended otherwise.

  We sit in hostile silence as the taxi cruises alongside the harbour, the driver wisely choosing not to make conversation. I’m too angry to feel any embarrassment at what the guy must think of us; I’m sure he’s heard dozens of couples arguing in his cab before tonight.

  I glance to my right. Jared is angled away from me, his dark expression reflected back in the window. My stomach churns and twists. I hate it when we fight, but I don’t know how we’re going to get past this. He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. He doesn’t see the problem. We already have everyth
ing we need, yet it never seems to be enough.

  ‘Mike has offered me free office space for a year,’ he says, breaking the silence, turning back to face me. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything to you about it tonight because I know you’re not exactly thrilled about me setting up my own agency. That’s the real reason I offered to pay for dinner.’

  I don’t reply. I’m digesting the information.

  His eyes brighten. ‘Free office space is worth thousands, Louisa. It’s nothing compared with a paltry four hundred quid.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Yes, Jared. But, at this moment in time, we haven’t got four hundred quid. So hypothetical free office space isn’t going to help us pay the credit-card bill next month.’

  ‘You don’t get it,’ he says.

  ‘No,’ I reply. ‘You’re right. I don’t.’

  This time, the silence continues right up until the taxi driver drops us outside our front door.

  My stomach is still churning. I thought it was anxiety and stress about our argument, but a twist of pain grinds in my gut, followed by a wave of nausea that suddenly sweeps up my back and over my scalp. This is more than just anxiety – I think I’m actually going to be sick. I take a deep breath and pray that I’m going to make it inside the house in time. I really don’t want to throw up in this man’s cab or on the pavement. Jared sorts out the taxi fare – to add to tonight’s mounting expenses – while I fumble for the house keys, stagger out of the vehicle, and lurch towards the front door.

  Luckily, we have a downstairs loo and I only just make it there in time before being violently sick into the toilet.

  I hear the front door bang shut followed by a tap on the loo door.

  ‘Louisa, are you okay?’

  As the toilet door opens, I throw up again. My stomach feels as though someone is screwing it up into a ball.

  Jared’s hand rests on my back. ‘Shall I get you some water?’

  ‘Yes please,’ I say, before heaving my guts up once more. Salmon and pavlova. Champagne and stomach acid.

  He returns moments later with a glass. I take it from him and use the water to rinse my mouth out. Not yet daring to swallow.

  ‘I didn’t think you were that drunk,’ Jared says.

  ‘I think it’s food poisoning,’ I gasp.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I nod. I can tell the different between being drunk and eating a piece of dodgy fish. I bite back any further comments. My husband is worried about me. We’ve argued enough tonight. And besides, I know I’m about to have a horribly uncomfortable night ahead.

  * * *

  I spent most of last night throwing up, and most of today lying on the sofa in my dressing gown. I was supposed to be writing my column today, but I can’t get myself motivated so I decide to drag some clothes on and go for a short walk around the block – perhaps a change of scenery will inspire me. Despite the persistent drizzle, this cool, fresh air is exactly what I need. I gulp down lungfuls of the stuff, trying to clear my head and soothe my tender body. Beth will be dropping Joe back home from school in about an hour so I can’t be out for too long. The back roads are quiet, just the wind in the trees and the infrequent hiss of a car cruising by on the rain-slick tarmac.

  I decide to head to the local park. I’ll walk once around the field and then head home again. I try not to think about last night. About the fight I had with Jared. He was so sweet to me while I was throwing up, so I can’t stay mad at him.

  A woman with two black Labradors strides past me towards the park. She’s wearing a sensible raincoat and wellingtons. The field will most likely be a quagmire. I should have worn boots rather than trainers. Never mind. I don’t care about a bit of mud. I push open the park gate and walk in. The concrete path is covered with wet leaves, and extends along one side of the field, but I ignore it and choose instead to walk on the other side, away from the dogs. I want to be alone.

  As my feet squelch through the grass, I gaze up at the trees flanking the park. At the horse chestnuts, oaks and sycamores swaying in the breeze, their soggy leaves swirling down around me, bright against the slate sky. Joe would love it out here in the rain.

  Up ahead, someone steps out of the woods. A man. He pauses, scratches his beard, looks right, and then left, in my direction. After a beat, he turns and begins walking purposefully towards me. I stop dead and my skin goes cold.

  It’s him again.

  Chapter Eight

  What should I do? Should I turn and run? Or should I carry on walking like nothing’s wrong? What if he means to do me harm? He’s walking towards me, but he’s not looking at me anymore, his head is down, his hands jammed into his pockets. I’m not taking any chances. The woman with the dogs is just a blur on the other side of the field. There’s no one else around. And I’m too weak to run or to even attempt to fight anybody off. I spin on my heel and head back the way I came.

  I’m tempted to throw a glance over my shoulder, but I daren’t. What if he’s running after me? What if he’s right behind me? My breath is loud and ragged. I can’t hear any footsteps other than the thud of my own heavy feet on the muddy field. I reach the park gate and fumble with the latch. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man is still a way behind me, walking at a steady pace. He doesn’t appear to be in pursuit. I push my way through the gate, letting it bang behind me, and continue along the pavement. My knee aches and my poor delicate stomach isn’t happy at my hurried pace, but I can’t pause to rest. I have to lose that guy.

  Could he have followed me? He came out of the woods so how would he have known I was headed to the park? Or is it all just a crazy coincidence? He could simply be a local guy who I just happen to keep bumping into. I know that’s wishful thinking. I’ve seen him too many times for it be a coincidence. The way he looks at me, and then quickly turns away again. He’s not subtle. I can’t tell Jared about him – he’ll go mental. Probably want to kill the guy. The police? Maybe. Probably. I’ll talk to Beth. She’ll know what to do.

  The roads are getting busier. The school traffic heavy because of the awful weather. Surely he wouldn’t try anything on a busy street. I must be quite safe by now. I stop and turn. He’s not behind me. Perhaps I was mistaken and it wasn’t even him. No. I know it was him. He had the same sandy beard, the same fisherman’s hat. I would know that man anywhere.

  I slow down and give an involuntary shudder. My legs have turned to jelly. It was a mistake to come out this afternoon. I should have stayed at home on the sofa. My body trembles and a clammy trickle of sweat slides down my back. I need to get home.

  I’m so shaken up, it takes three attempts to fit my key in the lock. I’m constantly whipping my head from side to side, checking the man is nowhere in sight. Does he know where I live? Has he been watching the house? Now I really do sound paranoid. I push open the door and stumble into the hallway, slamming the door behind me. I kick off my muddy trainers, hang up my coat and pad into the front room. The heavy clouds have darkened the skies, but I don’t switch on the light. Instead, I creep over to the window and swivel the cord to close the venetian blinds. I leave them open just enough to peek through and see what’s happening outside on the rain-drenched street.

  My heart thumps. A couple of cars go by. A woman with a flowery umbrella strides past the window. I peer up the road, but no one is there. I stare down the road. My heart stops for a millisecond when I see a man in a hat. I exhale. It’s not him. This man is older, stooped, walking slowly. I can’t see anyone else. No longer drizzling, the rain now falls in sheets. I close the blinds properly and leave the room, turning on the hall light. I should get out of these damp clothes and dry my hair. Beth and Joe will be here soon.

  I’m suddenly fighting fatigue. Last night is catching up with me. My empty stomach gurgles, but I dare not eat anything. I tramp up the stairs as a car door slams outside. I pause on the landing. The doorbell rings. I’m still shaking. If that’s Beth with Joe, I need to pull myself together. I can’t let Joe see me like this
. I trudge back down the stairs. For a second, I think that it might be my “stalker” at the door. I needn’t have worried – I can hear my sister out there talking to Joe.

  I open the door and the wind catches it, slamming it backwards against the wall. Joe hurls himself at me, flinging his skinny arms around my body.

  ‘Is he okay?’ I mouth at my sister.

  She shakes her head and makes a sad face.

  ‘You coming in?’ I ask.

  ‘I won’t, thanks. Megan’s in the car. How are you? Feeling any better?’

  ‘Much better, thanks.’ I want to tell her about the man with the beard, but now isn’t the time. She’s obviously in a hurry and there’s something up with Joe. ‘What’s happened?’ I ask, glancing down at the top of my son’s head.

  ‘Something to do with invitations,’ she says. ‘I’m not sure. He mentioned it and then clammed up.’

  I heave a sigh and give Beth a smile. ‘Okay, well, thanks so much for picking him up.’

  ‘No probs. Glad you’re feeling better.’ She leaves the shelter of the porch and dashes back to her car.

  I wave to Megan through the car window and blow her a kiss, before closing the front door and peeling Joe off my body. ‘How was last night? Did you enjoy your sleepover with Tyler?’

  ‘Mm. I s’pose.’

  ‘Want something to eat?’ I ask.

  He shrugs.

  Things really are serious if even the thought of food won’t bring him round. ‘Want to tell me what happened today?’

  Another shrug.

  ‘Let’s take your wet coat off.’ I peel off his rucksack and coat and dump them on the hall floor. Then, I take his damp hand and lead him into the kitchen, turning on the light. ‘Okay, Mr Joe Bo, I’m going to prepare my special hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. Do you know anyone who might be interested?’

  He murmurs something unintelligible.

  ‘Hm? You say something? Know anyone who might enjoy some delicious hot chocolate?’

  ‘Me,’ he says in such a sad voice it breaks my heart.

  ‘Okay, so sit yourself down and I’ll start making it, okay?’