Page 28 of The Best Friend
‘If you see him again, tell me,’ she says. ‘I know people who could dangle him off the top of the multi-story parking garage in town. I think he understood that I know those types of people.’
‘Do you?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘Know those types of people.’
She laughs. ‘Oh, Louisa, you’re so funny. Come on, let’s not let that weirdo ruin our day. We need to get back to planning our boys’ party.’
‘Okay.’ I nod, relieved to be returning to normality, although my heart is still pounding, my brain still whirring, unsettled by my stalker and by Darcy’s behaviour back there.
She pushes open the door toFlora’sand we walk back inside, the comforting aroma of baked bread and coffee enveloping us in its warmth.
‘So,’ Darcy says as we settle back in our seats like nothing just happened. ‘What did you and Jared think of the offices? Nice huh?’
‘They’re beautiful,’ I reply. ‘And that view…’ I’m trying to make small talk like everything’s normal, but I hear the tremor in my voice. Darcy doesn’t appear to have noticed, or maybe she’s too polite to mention it.
‘Yeah, I know, right,’ she says. ‘We bought the premises purely for that view. If the office space doesn’t yield what we want, they’ll make gorgeous flats.’
My stomach lurches at her words. What if they kick Jared out? I guess as long as he has a lease agreement, he’ll be fine.
‘Is Jared happy with it?’ she asks. ‘Will the space work for him?’
‘He’s over the moon. Thank you, Darcy. Honestly, you and Mike have really made a difference to our lives. We owe you.’
She smiles and blows on her coffee. ‘Nonsense. It’s all good business. Talking of owing people, I wanted to thankyou.’
I can’t think what I could have done. ‘Me?’ I reply.
‘Yeah, you’ll never guess what?’
I sip my lukewarm cappuccino, waiting for her to continue.
‘Your editor,’ she says, ‘Kathryn, she contacted me a couple of weeks ago. Turns out, she loved the guest post I wrote for you.’
I put my coffee cup back down on the table. I’m getting a bad feeling about where this conversation is heading.
‘We got chatting,’ Darcy continues, ‘and actually we got on like a house on fire. She’s so great, and… well… she asked me to write a weekly column for the paper. Nothing to do with yours – mine is more to do with style and fashion, but with a humorous angle. Isn’t that cool! You and I, we’ll be stable mates at the paper.’ Her bright hair swings forward, and she flicks it back over her shoulder.
My head swims with humiliation. I don’t have the strength to tell Darcy that I think she’s actually been offeredmycolumn. If I said the words out loud, I think I’d end up crying, and I can’t do that. Not here. Not in front of Darcy and all these people.
‘Congratulations,’ I say, swallowing down bile. ‘That’s amazing news. I told you your piece was great, didn’t I.’
‘You did,’ she says. ‘I can’t believe I’m a writer for an actual national newspaper. And it’s all because of you.’
I smile and nod, but my chest feels hollow and empty. Like I’ve lost a part of myself. Like I might be shrinking.
Twelve
I wake early. Before Jared. Even before the birthday boy himself. I could barely sleep last night, finally drifting off just before dawn. My heart wouldn’t stop racing, my brain churning around like a piece of chewing gum in someone’s mouth. So I give up trying to get back to sleep. Instead, easing back the covers and sliding out of bed. I throw on a tracksuit and tiptoe down the stairs, slipping my feet into trainers. The heating hasn’t come on yet. At least the chill air inside makes it easier to step out into the dank, grey morning.
I’m not normally the first up on a Sunday. I prefer to light a fire and curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea, rather than leave the house. But I can’t wait. I need to get to the corner shop. It’s drizzling, a fine mist turning my hair to frizz. I don’t have a hood so I step up my pace, my trainers hardly making a sound on the wet, leaf-strewn pavement. No one else is around. It’s just me.
After a brisk five-minute walk, the shop comes into view – a splash of tatty, garish colour in an otherwise grey street. The news stand on the pavement proclaims that a pensioner was attacked in her home and the perpetrator is still loose. A man is untying his Labrador from the bike railings outside. He nods good morning to me and I give him a brief smile in return.
Pushing open the wire-lined glass door, I enter the brightly lit shop. A bell jangles above me and the young woman behind the counter looks up and smiles. I mumble a croakygood morningand shift my gaze to the neatly stacked Sunday papers. Feeling slightly nauseous, I lift a copy of my paper. Only, it isn’tmypaper any more. Slotting the heavy weekend edition under my arm, I make my way to the back of the store – may as well pick up some more milk while I’m here. A family-sized bar of Dairy Milk calls out to me, so I grab it on my way back to the counter. Maybe a thick slab of chocolate will help dull the pain of reading Darcy’s new column.
The woman puts my purchases in a bag and I hand over a fiver. I probably shouldn’t even have bought the damn paper. And yet I can’t very well tell Darcy I haven’t read it. She’d think it was sour grapes. She’d be right, but I can’t let her know that. Maybe these things happen for a reason, I tell myself as the woman hands me my change. Maybe this disappointment will spur me to finish my novel and I’ll land a big, fat publishing deal.
