Too Close For Comfort (13 page)

I saw him relax, grateful for a distraction from a difficult conversation. His eyes danced. ‘Me neither. Let’s not.’

I stiffened, wrapped my free hand around my phone, deep in the recesses of my bag, as if it were Patrick himself, not the device we communicated via. ‘No. She wouldn’t like the idea
we’d met up to talk about her.’

We both knew that was only a partial explanation. Jim took another gulp of his lager, the bottle almost drained.

‘You’ll tell me if she starts saying anything important? If she needs a proper lawyer? She and Ged aren’t all that sophisticated about this stuff.’

‘Jim . . .’ I paused, waited until I knew I had his full attention. ‘Are you saying that because there’s more that’s worrying you? I know she’s
being weird about telling anyone what she thinks happened, but that may just be shock. The idea that Saffron’s teacher murdered her best friend is going to take time to sink in. The fact they
had a few lines of charlie is kind of irrelevant in the bigger scheme of things.’

Jim paused now, his eyes trawling the restaurant. He was weighing up what to say all over again, but this time I wouldn’t win the battle.

‘I don’t want to imply things about my sister that could be a load of bollocks. You’re here now; you’re the cleverest person I know. If there’s anything to work
out, you’ll do it.’

‘Stop it!’ I snapped. ‘Stop talking to me in riddles.’

Jim took his last sip of lager, signalled for the bill. ‘That’s not what I’m doing.’

‘If you want me to work something out, it would help if I had more to go on.’ I didn’t like the wheedling quality I could hear in my voice.

‘Let’s just keep talking, OK?’ That was the only thing I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do: I’d sworn this meeting would be a one-off. He stood up, whipped my
jacket off the back of my chair, held it up for me to shrug myself into. ‘Even if she’s not acting like it, you being here is the best thing that’s happened to her in a long
time.’

Jim held the restaurant door open for me, and we stepped out into the early evening. The evening was dusky now, the sun a rusty-red wound in the sky. He walked me to the cab rank, his refusal to
elaborate on what we’d discussed absolute.

If I wanted to know what Lysette was hiding, I’d have to find out for myself.

Lysette was perched on the side of her unmade bed, slipping her small, dainty foot into a red-soled Louboutin. It was black patent, skyscraper high – I couldn’t
take my eyes off it.

‘I’ve never seen you in those.’

‘They were in the sale.’ They didn’t look like they’d have made the sale. ‘Don’t tell Ged,’ she said, shoving the box deep under the bed. She stood up,
a black baby-doll dress falling into a flattering triangle, her legs elongated by the beautiful heels.

‘You look lovely,’ I said, hearing the relief reverberating in my voice. She didn’t look like anything was wrong, and however hard we try, it’s hard to remember that the
outside and the inside of people are two very different things. Jim’s words were ricocheting around my head too violently for me to fall for the seduction.

‘Yeah, well, it’s Kimberley’s. I didn’t want to turn up looking like trailer trash.’

I glanced at myself in the mirrored door of her wardrobe. I thought skinny jeans and a silk shirt would make me look chic without trying, but now I wondered if I’d pitched it wrong. I
checked myself. What did it matter? It was a bowl of pasta in someone’s kitchen. Lysette was looking at her reflection too; she grabbed her deep red lipstick. My eyes met hers in the glass as
she looped it around her mouth. I sat down on the bed.

‘Lys, are you alright? Sorry, stupid question. I just feel like we haven’t talked enough about what’s been going on –’ I hesitated. ‘I haven’t wanted to
trample in and upset you.’

She blotted her mouth with a tissue, eyes no longer meeting mine. ‘You haven’t.’

‘But it’s not like I’m not thinking about you every second. I know you thought from the beginning she hadn’t killed herself, but them confirming it . . .
You were just trying to get your head round it, and then they started questioning you.’

She turned to face me.

‘I’m not alright, Mia, no. I feel like my heart’s been ripped out.’

‘Is there anything more I can do?’ Her eyes held mine, pleading and guarded all at once. I took a risk. ‘Do you still think Peter didn’t do it?’

Her voice, when it came, was thin and indistinct. ‘I don’t know. I can’t . . .’ She paused again, like the words were expensive. ‘He wasn’t
like that.’

I felt a shiver. She’d been right about Sarah’s death, what was to say she wasn’t right about this?

‘But if he didn’t do it – well, someone did.’

Lysette’s eyes flashed. I’d gone too far.

‘I can’t cope with any more questions.’ She looked down at her perilous heels. ‘It’s enough for me to put one foot in front of the other.’

‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said, hastily apologetic. ‘I just want to help. Be your friend.’

She quickly swivelled herself back towards the mirror, baring her teeth to check for lipstick.

‘Thanks, Mia.’ She grabbed a clutch bag from her dressing table, signalled to the door. ‘And I’m sorry if I – if I was a bit – you know –
tired and emotional
at the funeral. I . . .’ She smiled at me, petered out, the apology I’d so desperately wanted at the time there in her eyes.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m here.’

I don’t know why I thought it was down to me.

*

‘You were ages at the police station.’

The cab had one of those smelly, tree-shaped air fresheners attached to the rear-view mirror. I focused on it, toying with the idea of simply telling her I’d seen Jim. The words died in my
throat.

‘You know what it’s like,’ I said. ‘They kept me hanging about for hours.’

Was it a white lie? No, it was definitely grey. Back when we were teens, she’d hated the fact that me and Jim started our ultimately disastrous relationship behind her back. I didn’t
want to disturb that ancient burial ground.

‘He’s a smooth operator, that main guy, isn’t he?’

‘Krall?’ I said. ‘Yeah.’

‘I think he reckons he’s solved it already,’ she said softly, her eyes trained out of the window, lost in the inky blackness.

The cab driver’s gaze flicked towards the rear-view mirror, his eyes trained on her. I gave Lysette a warning look.

‘Saffron’s reading’s really coming on, isn’t it?’ I said, hoping fervently we were almost there. The dark country lanes seemed endless to me.

*

Kimberley’s house was even more impressive close up. As the cab driver got out to ring the intercom, I cast a sideways glance at Lysette, wondering how it felt to come
from her modest rented cottage to something as palatial as this. With my friends in London, the gaps never felt so gaping: unless I befriended the Beckhams, everyone was getting by, mortgaged to
the hilt. I wasn’t sure I could handle a scenario like this.

‘Well, this is a shithole!’ I said, linking my arm through hers as we walked up the drive.

‘I know,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘We should’ve eaten before we came. I hate McDonald’s.’

We leaned into each other, laughing far harder than our stupidity merited, stumbling our way to the door like a four-legged animal. It was already open, but it wasn’t Kimberley who stood
there. The girl looked like a teenager, a cap of dark curly hair framing a pretty, timid face, a white shirt worn over a pair of black trousers, like she was approximating a waitress uniform but
wanted to leave some doubt.

‘Hello. The ladies are having drinks on the back lawn,’ she said, her English halting.

‘Thank you,’ said Lysette, formally. Why had that precious warmth drained away so instantaneously?

‘Hi, I’m Mia!’ I said, overcompensating. I stuck out a hand. ‘Lovely to meet you. What’s your name?’

‘Oh, I am Lori,’ said the girl, quick and nervous. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’

‘Where are you from?’ I asked, as we followed her down a wide hallway.

‘Romania,’ she said.

‘Lori’s only been here a few weeks,’ said Lysette, still uncharacteristically chilly – she was usually the last person to treat someone serving us that way.

We passed a huge sitting room, a state of the art TV blaring out something with dinosaurs. A couple of small boys were sprawled on the sofas, cans and crisps strewn across the floor. The long
hallway opened up into a predictably stylish kitchen, all chrome and granite, with appliances that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The back wall was glass,
sliding doors opening into a garden so large and landscaped that it could have passed for a park. The three women were standing on the patio, drinks in hand. It was odd: as I first contemplated
them, they felt more like an art installation than a gang of friends, each of them sculpted and still.

‘There you are!’ cried Kimberley, breaking away to come towards us. She cast a look in Lori’s direction. ‘I was starting to think you’d lost them!’

It was a balmy evening, and she’d decided on a silky green jumpsuit, the neckline tapering into a low V, revealing the curve of her small, shapely breasts. A silver dagger hung between
them, automatically drawing the eye downwards. I quickly moved my eyes back to her face, leaned in to kiss her and say my hellos.

‘Thanks so much for inviting me,’ I said, still taken aback by the opulence of my surroundings. She could see me gawping as she embraced Lysette.

‘Let’s get you some drinks,’ she said, turning to Lori, who was standing nervously on the fringes of our circle. ‘Off you go,’ she told her, and I smiled thanks at
her retreating back, moving my attention to Helena and Alex.

‘Hello again,’ said Alex, sticking out a stiff hand, like she was a reluctant Royal, forced to walk down a line-up of plebs. I could tell she’d also felt compelled to make an
effort, but the overall effect was very different from the polish of the other women. Her dark, messy hair was pulled up into a bun, streaks of grey visible. She wore a shapeless blue dress which
skimmed the ground, and had painted her mouth in an orangey-pink colour that was bleeding from her lips. ‘I only just heard you were staying on.’

Helena leaned in and kissed me. ‘Nice to see you again, Mia,’ she said, warm and guarded all at once.

We were on the far side of the wooden decking, the view perfect. The lawn went on for miles, a white summerhouse planted next to a pretty little pond, frogs serenading us with joyful croaks. I
knew better than to think wealth equalled happiness but it was hard to imagine being unhappy in such beautiful surroundings. I remembered with a jolt why we were here.

‘I’m so sorry – what’s come out since we met – it’s just awful.’

Helena smiled painfully, whilst Alex’s face refused to register my sympathy.

‘I gather you’re staying on to help people to pick up the pieces,’ she said briskly.

‘I wouldn’t go that far . . .’ I started, just as Lori appeared at my elbow with a glass of champagne. It jarred somehow – champagne in the wake of what
had happened?

‘Just bring out the bottle,’ trilled Kimberley. ‘You need to remember to keep the guests topped up.’

I couldn’t help sneaking a look at Lysette, observing the fact her first mouthful was more of a gulp than a sip.
Told you so
, said Jim in my head – the last
thing I needed was Jim in my head.

‘I’m just going to be here as someone for people to talk to for the next couple of weeks,’ I continued. Alex looked deeply unimpressed. ‘I’m not part of the
investigation.’

‘Are the police paying you?’ she fired back.

‘Well yes, but . . .’

‘She’s being modest!’ said Kimberley, smiling at me as if I was a small child who’d failed to announce my triumph in a finger-painting competition. ‘Ian said you
were a great help to him on Monday.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Oh . . .’ said Kimberley, cocking her lovely head. ‘Did you not think it was a success?’

‘It’s . . .’ They were all staring at me now, even Lysette, the lush view providing an unsuitably tranquil backdrop to the awkwardness. ‘It’s not
really a case of success or failure. It’s just about providing a safe space.’

I sounded pompous even to my own ears. Helena shuddered.

‘Safe isn’t a word I’m using much right now.’

Alex’s small, intense eyes swivelled towards her, then moved away.

‘What gourmet triumph have you magicked up for us this time, Kimberley?’ said Lysette. It was an odd segue, and there was a slight edge to the way she asked it. Lysette herself felt
unsafe to me right now, an unexploded bomb. I slipped another question in its place.

‘Is Nigel not here?’

‘My better half!’ laughed Kimberley. ‘Were you looking forward to meeting him properly?’

‘No, I just . . .’

‘He’s in New York, I’m afraid. Just us girls.’

Silence reigned. Why were they subjecting themselves to this? Or was it me – was my presence the reason no one was being real?

‘This is so weird, isn’t it?’ said Helena, almost as if she’d read my thoughts. She looked around the group. ‘I still just can’t believe it. I keep doing
normal things – going to the toilet, or making a cup of tea – and then remembering again. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?’

Lysette crossed the grass, put her arms around her in a tight hug.

‘No!’ she said, heartfelt. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

Alex watched them, grief etched into her pinched face. I could sense words that wanted to explode out of her, but she wouldn’t let the dam burst. I felt like a complete imposter there,
intruding on their raw grief. I looked towards the kitchen, spying a harried-looking Lori racing between hob and oven.

‘Why don’t I go and give her a hand?’ I said to Kimberley, already pulling away.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said sharply, ‘you’re my guest.’ She looked at the huddle that Lysette and Helena were making, clapped her elegant hands high above
her in the cooling air. ‘We all want to honour Sarah, that’s why we’re here, but we can do it over dinner. It’ll be ruined if we don’t go inside.’