Page 7 of Plot Twist

‘People do change. I don’t know what Drew did in the past, but I do know one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I wouldn’t exactly dress up as Big Bird these days.’

A loud noise that sounded like some sort of strangled laugh escaped my mouth.

‘Did she really hate me, Becca?’ he whispered softly.

I didn’t tell him that we’d cut a picture of Adam’s face out of the family album and put it on the dart board in his room when he’d left for university. Rae had cut holes out of his eyes and drawn a large penis on his head, with balls and everything.

‘Of course she didn’t hate you, Adam. You were her brother; you’re meant to want to punch your brother. I’m sure she loved you, deep down. Like, way deep sometimes.’

He smiled sadly.

‘Look, I know you’re upset but can you do me a favour? Whenever you think about her or have a funny memory or whatever, will you tell me about it? Even if it’s just something small. I’d just like to get to know her a bit better. Even if it is too late.’

The words hung between us. Adam was right; it was too late. Rae had kept a huge secret from me and now she was dead and it was all my fault. The heavy guilt tumbled around my gut.

Then the liquid started flowing. And not just tears either, the snot was coming out in full force as I gulped and hiccuped.

‘I’ve got to go,’ I said, the door slamming behind me.

5

I resisted the urge to get totally shifted and sing ‘All by Myself’ in my living room. Instead, I did what any self-respecting person would do. I spent hours scrolling on my phone to see if Rae had dropped any hints about the whole ultimate betrayal thing with he-who-shall-not-be-named. I checked all of her social sites, our WhatsApp feed, our private messages on social, everywhere. Right back to when Drew and I broke up.

My finger was sore from all the scrolling. Rae had said worse things about him than I ever did. She’d hated him, back then. How had it all changed?

Rae’s more recent messages mentioned going out for dinner here and meeting up for lunch there and staying over somewhere. The more I read, the more I realised she was the Master of Changing the Subject when it came to what (or who) she was actually doing. A couple of times I’d probed further and she’d shut me down fairly quickly with a funny memory, meme or update on some meaningless celebrity gossip.

Little Miss Relationship. She’d dodged that line of accusation too.

And I’d fallen for it every time– hook, line and sinker. Little did I know, they were both holed up in some boudoir drinking Champagne together, wondering how to break the news to me about their forbidden romance.

A message popped up on my screen.

How did it go today?

I’d never really felt the need to have any other friends, apart from Rae. I’d always had my leggy blonde cousin, Paula. I liked my colleagues, but they were very ‘teacher-y’. They seemed to have a habit of going on a few wild nights out, promising me a good time, but then swiftly finding the loves of their lives, getting married, having babies and never coming out again. I’d given up on the whole idea. New friends weren’t worth the hassle.

Then there was Riley O’Connell. She wasn’t a best friend, school friend or a colleague, but she was the closest thing I’d had to a rival best friend recently. Ever, actually. Rae had joked just last month that she was going to ‘bring that book bitch down’. I’d laughed because, of course, no one could compete with Rae. Plus, I’d never actually met Riley in person. She lived in Ireland and was a beta reader for my aspiring writing career. I’d quickly formed a huge professional crush on her after we met on a social media group for writers.

We’d first connected when a woman called Kate posted the opening paragraph of her book and asked for feedback. The comments flooded through. People had clearly never heard the term ‘if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all’.

One grumpy-looking man in particular was trying to bedazzle everyone with his linguistic jargon. He pointed out that her book sounded ‘far too much like a mindless chick lit’.

Then Riley jumped in.

Riley:I’m a mindless romance writer with a pretty decent advance for my debut novel. Just here to back up all the ‘mindless chick lit writers’, as you called it. Your concept sounds great, Kate. Keep working on it. I’d be happy to read it, if you’d like some feedback in a private setting rather than all this public bashing. Good luck.

Then the tide started to turn. I cheered out loud. Riley’s comment received thirty-six likes, including mine. Everyone chimed in with their support. In the end, the man apologised for being so blunt, reasoning that romance wasn’t really his thing anyway.

I couldn’t let it pass without firing over a quick private message:

Well done and thanks for intervening. You’re like a literary Robin Hood, robbing from the highfalutin snobs and supporting us dreamers.

I wasn’t really expecting a response, but a message popped up straight away: