When Good Friends Go Bad (18 page)

'Cut myself.' She contorted her face and crooked her finger, trying not to drip blood on the wool rug. 'It's fine, honestly.' Could this day possibly get worse?

'Don't be silly. You need to wash that off and cover it up.'

Aiden grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, leading her through to the kitchen as if she were a foolish child.

'Run it under the tap,' he ordered. 'I'll find the first-aid kit.'

She watched the water in the sink turn red until suddenly he was there beside her again, opening a box, pulling out plasters.

'Now show me.' Gently, he took her hand, the wounded finger extended, and lowered his head towards it. For a second she had a sudden whirling vision of him sucking her finger, vampire-style. But he was unpeeling paper from the plaster, saying in a half-mocking way, 'Don't worry, this shouldn't hurt a bit,' cradling his hand in hers and carefully applying the plaster. It was maximum voltage – no – nuclear fusion, exploding bombs, B52 bombers. His proximity made her head spin, just as it had all those years ago. The world seemed to have shrunk to the touch of his fingers, the shampoo scent of his hair, the racing drumbeat of her heart.

Then she heard a key turn in the front door and with a lurch the room stopped spinning and bumped back down to earth.

Meg had finally showed up half an hour after Georgina with some involved story concerning Mace and Zeb and why she was so late.

'Right, any new leads on Rowan?' Jen said, trying to cut short the small talk. She was desperate to escape after her foolishness with Aiden.

'Hope he kept you amused,' Georgina had said, kissing first Jen on the cheek and then Aiden. Oh, she had no idea! Jen hoped her garbled story about her injury and broken glass distracted attention from the guilty beetroot stain of her cheeks.

Now they were having a council of war in the drawing room, papers scattered all over the coffee table. Aiden had showered and dressed in 'more suitable attire', at Georgina's command. The silver frame had been confessed to and graciously dismissed as trivial, and the elderly Miss Dandridge had brought and cleared a light lunch of soup and salad.

But even as she tried to focus on what they were discussing, Jen could still feel the touch of Aiden's warm fingers on her hand, throbbing more than the cut under its plaster. She didn't dare begin to look in his direction. Had he felt even a glimmer of the same sensation? Could the others see how oddly she was acting? It was the worst thing imaginable. She couldn't be still attracted to him. She just couldn't.

'I still believe the reunion's our best bet. Only four days to go. Kismet will bring her to us, I can feel it.' Meg pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Like the others, she was dressed in jeans. But unlike Georgina's own-brand pair, with GG elegantly embellished on the back pocket and a perfectly pressed crease running down the stylish wide-leg cut, Meg's were garishly embroidered flares. Somehow they just made her look so much more at ease, younger even, thought Jen.

'Right on,' Aiden playfully mimicked, stretching out his legs and raising his hands behind his head. 'Good old kismet wants us to party.'

'You're not going.' Georgina rushed in quickly, looking a little white around the lips. 'It's just us girls. We'll need to have our wits about us, not gallivant about for our own amusement.'

Aiden rubbed his mouth, mildly put out. 'Who said anything about gallivanting? I can add the male perspective.'

'Hey, you can leave the men to me,' Meg purred. 'I have my own ways of extracting information.'

'Right,' Aiden quipped. 'If they had a back room and a bed. Which I very much doubt.'

'Are you even listening?' Georgina's voice rose. 'I don't want you there, Aiden. It's going to be enough of an ordeal as it is.'

Aiden rolled his eyes, clearly displeased.

Jen's heart started its slow return to her chest. Aiden at the reunion. It hadn't occurred to her he'd want to come. Nor to Georgina apparently, who was looking sick at the prospect. Somehow Jen knew she didn't want her husband around when people started marvelling at how thin she was, recalling the fat child she'd been. Or puzzling over how she'd ended up with Jen's boyfriend, and thinking how civilised of the three to be out in public together. Nor did Georgina even want to be in the room where Aiden and Jen had once twined around each other at the Valentine's Day dance for fifth and sixth forms.

It was one thing to be civil, even to be united by a quest, but all of them together again at Ashport Comp? That would be entirely too incestuous.

'Well, whether he goes or not,' Jen said, trying to sound like she didn't care either way, 'what did we come up with?'

'I'm about cross-eyed from staring at a computer screen,' Meg said. 'Family-tree sites, Historical Manuscripts Commission, then I became rather caught up with the Beverley family of Tennessee. Real interesting heritage. You can trace the roots right back from—'

'But nothing on Rowan?' Georgina butted in.

'Nah.' She gave a deep sigh. 'I'll keep plugging at the census, but Mace is getting pissed at me for hogging his Dell. What about you, Jen?'

'I went on to the website for the National Statistics Office and ended up in a couple of tracing websites, but then you have start paying. I didn't know if it was worth it. Not with the reunion coming up. Then I started browsing the Scottish Record Office, the National Library of Scotland.'

'But why?' Meg looked deeply perplexed. 'She isn't Scottish.'

Jen shrugged. 'You know what the Internet's like. You get carried away.'

'You can say that again,' Georgina said. 'Between Google, Yahoo and all those people-search sites out there, it would take hours to sift through the rubbish. I got over two million hits for Rowan Howard and not one of them was useful. Somehow ended up watching a roller-skating poodle on YouTube. I even borrowed Meg's idea and had my assistant put a small ad in the Lost and Found section
of Ashport Life.'
She doodled circles on a notepad, while beside her Aiden looked like he was napping. 'But no joy.'

Meg snorted. 'She wasn't a dog, for Pete's sake.'

'No, but she is lost and I thought it might attract attention.'

'Hate to burst your bubble.' Aiden didn't bother opening his eyes, his voice deeply bored. 'But she probably isn't Rowan Howard any more. She's thirty-eight. Don't you reckon she might be married?'

'Shit,' Meg said.

'Well, you do something then, Aiden,' Georgina said, her voice shrill with frustration. 'If you're so clever. If we can't find Rowan Howard, how on earth can we find Rowan No-Name?'

He stretched his long legs in front of him and opened one eye. 'How would I know? This is your "girls" thing, remember?'

Clearly, he was still annoyed at being excluded from the reunion. Not that Jen could blame him. He'd been the first to be enthusiastic about the search, and now he was being elbowed away from their one real lead.

'What about your artist friend?' she asked. 'The one who studied with Rowan?'

'Absolutely nothing,' Georgina said before Aiden could draw breath. 'His old chum is an out-and-out waste of space, wouldn't you say, Aiden?' She didn't wait for a response. 'Aiden called him last week. Still in Ashport but gave up art to fry his brain with alcohol and drugs instead, by the sound of it. The lady who does my laundry has more wits and she's seventy-nine.'

'Seventy-nine!' Meg gasped. 'You have a seventy-nine-year-old woman do your washing?'

'And what's wrong with that?' Georgina sat up straighter. Jen sensed tempers ready to flare.

'It's totally bogus, that's what. You're exploiting a senior citizen.'

'If anyone's being exploited, it's me.' Georgina sounded posh and annoyed. 'Half Aiden's white shirts have turned a ghastly shade of pinky-grey. Besides, she loves doing it, and I pay her eleven pounds an hour.'

'Eleven pounds an hour!' Meg sounded even more shocked. 'That's like throwing money down the drain. Shit, I'd drive over from Ashport to do it for that kinda dough.'

'What, and put an elderly lady out of a job?' Georgina said haughtily. 'I see no reason why people should be treated like useless imbeciles just because they reach a certain age. Mr Worthington, our handyman, is seventy-eight and his wife who cooks for us is a sprightly sixty-five.'

'Don't forget old Max,' Aiden said, sleepily scratching the back of his neck. 'He's Georgina's personal driver.'

'Max is completely different,' Georgina countered edgily. 'He's only fifty-five, not old at all.'

'Don't you guys do anything for yourselves?' Meg looked appalled. 'Why don't you just drive to the office with Aiden?'

'Because,' Georgina said icily, 'Aiden and I don't always work the same hours. I do half my admin in the car and I certainly can't relax with Aiden at the wheel, driving an inch from the bumper in front of him, slamming his brakes on at the last minute. Max is invaluable, I don't know what I'd do without him.'

'Jeez,' Meg sounded disgusted. 'I sure wish I had your worries.'

Abruptly Aiden jumped up, the springs of the sofa vibrating as he vacated his spot next to Jen.

'Am I the only one who thinks this is turning into a colossal waste of energy?' he said, pacing in bare feet. 'What the crap are we doing this for anyway? Some daft childhood promise. Sorry, Meg, but why the heck should my wife justify our lifestyle while none of the rules seem to apply to you? The whole thing's madness. If you're ill, shouldn't you be having chemotherapy instead of cavorting around the countryside?'

'Aiden!'

'Aiden, don't!' Jen and Georgina spoke almost simultaneously. Meg looked stricken, her face, framed by her long red hair, even paler and more pinched than usual.

'Well,' Aiden ran his hands through his dark waves so they stood up wild and untamed, 'it is cancer, isn't it? This lump?'

'Stop it this instant!' Georgina whirled on her husband as if he were a snarling dog she was facing down. 'You're being cruel and insensitive. Apologise to Nutmeg right this minute.'

'Sod that,' he said roughly. 'We're her friends and she could use some home truths. Meg,' he walked over and lightly touched her shoulder. 'I don't want to sound like a brute but if your life's on the line, I'd at least like to know you're seeing a doctor.' His voice had softened. He sounded genuinely concerned now, and Jen thought she saw tears about to well in Meg's eyes.

'Of course I am.' Meg chewed her index finger nervously. 'As a matter of fact I saw another one last week. They haven't called me with the results yet, though.'

'There. Happy?' Georgina asked Aiden. She pushed past him and put her arms around Meg, resting her cheek on top of Meg's head. 'Listen, if it's money you need . . .'

'Do you want to talk about it?' asked Jen gently.

'Not at the moment.' Meg shook her head. 'It's been a stressful week. Can we just focus on Rowan?'

'Fine by me.' Georgina returned to the sofa and picked up her pad. 'But I don't see where else we can look.'

Jen watched her add a pair of ears and a tail to a circle, sparking an idea.

'The cat!' Jen said excitedly. The others looked at her blankly. 'We haven't checked the art connection properly. Rowan was an amazing artist. We could contact galleries and art schools. And her style was so distinctive, all those swirling circles. Remember, the black cat? It was like her trademark.'

'Yes, she even put one on that bright red yacht on a stormy sea that she sold to the Sunshine Bistro.' Georgina leant forward, captivated. 'She was paid twenty pounds for that.'

'A fortune in those days,' added Meg. 'She could have sold dozens by now.'

'Let me fetch my laptop.' Georgina hurried out of the room and came back with a thin silver model. 'OK.' She opened the lid and brought it to life. 'Google. Rowan Howard. Famous artist.'

'If she's so famous, why haven't we heard of her?' Aiden muttered, clearly less enthused. 'We're in galleries often enough.'

'Ssshh.' Georgina flapped her hand at him. 'You're not helping.'

Disgruntled, he flopped into the armchair opposite Jen. Georgie wasn't very nice to him, she thought. You could never really know the true nature of another couple's relationship, but theirs did seem to involve a depressing amount of squabbling.

Meg had got up and was looking over Georgina's shoulder.

'What's that?' She pointed. 'eBay, photographer . . . Howard print sales.'

'Rowan Howard print sales?' Georgina double-clicked on it. 'No, just some silly poster place.
Ugh.'

'She might have gone to New York,' Jen said. 'Lots of artists do. We shouldn't just stick to the UK.'

'Or she could have drifted off to Denmark in a runaway hot-air balloon.' Aiden yawned. 'Basically, I don't want to be a downer here, but you're searching the entire world for a woman with no last name and no known career.'

'We need drinks,' Georgina said, not looking up. 'Aiden, will you fetch them?'

He slouched to his feet, as Jen glanced up. She couldn't read his expression but for just a second his dark eyes seemed to suck her in.

'Would do but I punched out my timecard when I left the office Friday evening. Enjoy the hunt. I'll send Miss Dandridge in for your drinks.'

And that was the last they saw of him that afternoon. Funny, Jen thought, how she'd wished for him to leave, couldn't wait for him to get out of there. And yet once he was gone she kept glancing at the door wondering if he'd come back, almost hoping he would.

'Mrs Stoneman?'

A bear of a man, with shoulders broad enough to fill the entire door, a curly dark beard and wearing a navy raincoat with a tie-up belt, was standing on Jen's doorstep, battered leather briefcase in hand.

'Yes?'

'Mr Moreton. Atkins and Everett, Surveyors.'

'Oh good. Right on time,' she said, ushering him in.

He stepped into the hallway and immediately glanced up. His eagle eyes had spotted the hairline crack in the ceiling.

'Come through, come through.' Jen tried to divert him.

'Can I ask a few questions first?' He stubbornly stayed where he was, unzipped his case and withdrew a sheet of paper and biro. 'They're not strictly necessary but I like to get a sense of the bigger picture, particularly when the buyers have requested a full survey.'

'Sure, fire away.'

'How long have you lived here?'

'Three years.' Long years.

'Do you know when the house was built?'

His tone was very solemn. Maybe surveyors had to be like that, like driving examiners. If they said anything friendly, their comments could be misconstrued and the failed learner might complain they were put off by 'all the chit-chat and flirty smiles', and their failure was nothing whatsoever to do with skidding fifty feet when the instructor whacked the dashboard for the emergency stop.

'It was 1971, I think.' She nodded gravely, to show she understood where he was coming from. 'I can look it up.'

'No need.'

'Would you like some tea?'

'Maybe later. I'll just get on, if you don't mind.'

He disappeared up the stairs and Jen decided to keep herself busy rather than wait dumbly in the hall.

At one point she went into Chloe's bedroom with a basket of clean laundry under her arm, and had started putting her vests and pants away in her chest of drawers when she suddenly realised the surveyor was kneeling down on the floor next to her, holding a yellow and black torch-like thing against the wall, a look of deep concentration on his face.

'What's that?' she asked, quickly shutting the drawer.

'A moisture meter. Checking for damp.'

'Oh, right.'

For one so tall and imposing he was like a tiny mouse, pattering between rooms soundlessly.

She was watching him attempting to lift the carpet extremely carefully when the telephone rang.

'Jen, it's Helen.'

'Oh hi, Helen.' She felt a sudden rush of guilt. 'I'm so sorry I never called you back.' She had meant to. 'But things have been quite hectic really and I lost my mobile with all my numbers in it.' At least she couldn't find it this morning, that counted as lost, didn't it?

'Ollie said you went to Ashport?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I was a bit surprised, that's all. I thought you hated the place.' Her voice was hushed, thick with meaning. 'After . . . well . . . all your bad memories.'

'I went with some friends. Women I knew at school.'

'So . . . what was it like? Did your old home town look the same?'

'No. Worse actually. Everything just seemed grubbier and poorer.'
And Aiden wasn't there.
God, where did that thought come from?

Hard as it was to admit, returning to Ashport had triggered something secret and dangerous. Every street they'd walked down, every corner they'd turned, seemed to harbour ghosts of the couple they'd been. The little workmen's café that was one of their favourite haunts, the cinema where they'd kiss all through the film, paying no attention to the screen.

How often had she thought and dreamed about him since the trip to Ashport? Her full-blown crush was returning like malaria, the virus mutating to a more deadly form the second time around. Before Ashport, even. Perhaps all the way back to the Marlow Arms. She'd sensed the glimmer of an itch the day she'd first set foot in Georgina's house, had always known how horribly easy it would be to trigger the disease. So that now if she found herself hoping for the sound of her friend's husband's voice or a glimpse of his beautiful face, she had only herself to blame.

Don't be so dramatic, she scolded herself. It wasn't that serious. Nostalgia, that's all it was. She could have him back in her life for a short while in a nice safe role. Put the ghosts to rest. Let the novelty of his reappearance wear off and develop full immunity from the exposure.

'We're trying to trace a friend from school. Long story but . . . well . . . I suppose you could say she's sort of gone missing.'

'Gone missing? What, run away from home?'

'No, of course not. It's just . . .' It wasn't the time to explain the pact, not with the surveyor upstairs. '. . . a long story. So what's up?'

'I've just taken on this new client, Tabitha Titwell. What a name, eh? Drives me to distraction with her inane prattle while I'm trying to clear out her wardrobe. The colour of her venetian blinds, should she paint her walls natural taupe or bleached lichen. And the husband, God help me,' she took a momentary pause for breath. 'The builders found a load of paint pots when they were digging a hole to put in a new patio – said they couldn't lay foundations on all that rubbish so Mr Titwell grabbed a spade and has been spending hours rummaging around down there. All through my consultation he kept popping back in saying he's found another tin of paint. Found another two tins of paint. Any minute I'm expecting the whole house to subside into the foundations. They're off their rockers.'

'They do sound nuts,' Jen offered. 'Maybe he'll strike gold.'

'Gold my fanny!' Helen was in full flow. 'And she's got this most irritating habit of saying
"you said", "you said".
Tabitha "you said" Titwell I call her.'

The sound of flushing from the upstairs bathroom momentarily startled Jen, but then she heard the shower, followed by both taps in quick succession. Ah, he must be checking the plumbing system.

'I feel like tipping her into her bin bags along with her bloody clothes,' Helen continued. 'And she has this sister, Tammy, whose bone-idle husband apparently agreed that if his wife stripped the living-room wallpaper, he'd put new wallpaper up, so she went out, bought the wallpaper, stripped the walls and what do you think?'

'The wall collapsed?' Where was that surveyor? His creeping around was starting to creep
her
out. Should she be letting him wander around alone? What if he was a total pervert, at this minute rifling through her intimate things?

'He left the walls bare for, get this – ten years. Isn't that insane!'

'Surveyor's here,' Jen managed to slip in quietly.

'The what?'

'Surveyor.'

He tiptoed past the door.

'We got an offer on the house,' Jen whispered.

'When?'

'Er, a few days ago.'

'Oh. Well, that's great.'

Oh God, she'd upset her again. Should have rung her the moment she got the news, probably. Helen could be so sensitive.

'He's doing a full structural report.'

'Well don't leave him alone for a second,' Helen lectured. 'My friend had a surveyor round and after he left, she found a whole packet of digestive biscuits had disappeared. She was going to do a cheesecake as well.'

'With digestives?'

'Yes, you crumble them up for the base. With butter. Anyway, it's good news that the surveyor's there. Means your buyers mean business. Things could move fast. Have you found a new place yet? Or been to the employment agency? Better get yourself sorted pronto.' Helen's tone had lost all pretence at being hurt and was back on typical bossy form. Jen took a deep breath.

'I know. I will.' She was angry with herself for being so irritated. Of course she ought to be going for interviews. They'd agreed maintenance payments but Ollie wouldn't support her for ever, and she wouldn't want him to. And rather than jaunting to Ashport, a sensible person would have been scouring the estate agents for whatever miserable shack she'd be able to afford with half the proceeds from the sale of the house.

It was just – well, why was Helen's advice always so bleeding
obvious?
As if, without her input, Jen would sit at home in a moronic trance, dimly wondering at the commotion when the new owners moved in their furniture.

'I know you, Jen. You like to procrastinate. Can't turn your back on reality for ever.' Relenting, Helen changed the subject. 'So how about trying out this new wine bar tonight? They have these fantastic karaoke evenings on Wednesdays.'

'Wine bar? For karaoke tonight?' Jen's temples ached at the very thought.

'Full of talent. Both kinds. I'm going to start going every week.'

'Too short notice. I've nothing to wear.' That bit was true. After deciding most of her clothes were drearily surburban, her wardrobe contained almost nothing she felt good in. This morning she'd been so disgusted with the various items she'd tried on and quickly discarded that she'd ended up pulling on a big sloppy sweater of Ollie's over her oldest pair of jeans. It was time for a shopping trip. Oops, hold the horses, no it wasn't. She needed to conserve every penny. God, she wasn't used to this at all. Ollie had always been so generous. Not that she was a wild spender or anything, but it was ages since she'd had to worry about cash flow. 'And besides,' she hurried past the thought, 'the last thing I want to do is go to some pick-up joint. The divorce isn't even absolute.'

'Who said it was a pick-up joint?' Helen sounded indignant. 'It's a laugh, that's all. If you don't get out there, you'll never meet a man.'

'I don't want to meet a man. And if I do,' an image of Aiden sprang up and was quickly banished, 'then I'd prefer it to happen naturally, someone coming into the shop, maybe. Not tramping around wine bars in a low-cut blouse and heels, virtually flashing a sign that says "divorced and desperate".'

'Like me you mean?'

'Not like you. Don't be silly. You're not desperate.'

'Fine,' Helen gave a martyred sigh, thankfully not pursuing the offence, 'if you don't fancy a wine bar, what about a Chinese on Saturday, just the two of us? Before Ollie makes you chop up your joint credit cards.'

'Saturday? Oh I can't. I've got this reunion.'

'Reunion? What reunion?'

'Twenty-year school thing. We only just found out about it last week. We thought it would help us find Rowan. Our missing friend.'

'With these new friends of yours?' She sounded disapproving.

'Old
friends. Yes.'

'Next week then?'

'I don't know.' She felt a knot form in her stomach, her mind fogged by panic. What
was
she going to do about money? It felt wrong now to go carousing with Helen, spending Ollie's hard-earned income on Martinis and suchlike. 'I'll have to see.'

'Yeah, right. Don't put yourself out,' and she'd slammed down the phone before Jen could react.

Oh God, now she'd done it. Jen cursed herself, dialling the number to call her back.

But she practically jumped out of her skin before she could finish. Mr Moreton was standing right behind her.

'Mrs Stoneman?'

'Mr Moreton. I didn't hear you, erm, hear you come back downstairs.'

'Just to say, almost done. Spot of damp up in the small bedroom, right above the skirting board, and we may have to recommend a specialist to check the timbers, but on the whole everything looks hunky-dory.'

'Great.'

He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. 'Lovely house.'

'Thank you.'

'Much bigger from the inside than the out.'

'Sure is.'

'Deceptive. Like a Tardis.'

'What?'

'Dr Who's Tardis. The old police box.'

He looked down at her, like Shrek's not so green brother, if someone pasted a dark curly wig on Shrek's squashy hairless dome, and added a beard.

'Oh right.'

'And you have super soffits.'

'Well thank you.' She stood up and headed quickly for the hallway. He followed behind. Very close behind.

'Divorce situation, eh?'

'Yes.' So he'd been eavesdropping. The little mouse had big ears.

'Sad state of affairs, isn't it?' Suddenly he held his hand out. 'Name's Bill.'

'Jen.'

So now they were on first-name terms. She felt a touch anxious. Maybe he wasn't a surveyor. She hadn't checked his card. She could be chloroformed, kidnapped and thrown down into a cellar back at his house. And Ollie had gone to London for the day, to catch up on some paperwork at head office.

'Look, would you . . . Do you . . . You wouldn't like to go for a drink one evening . . . with me?' Sweat beaded under his nose and over his temples and he'd moved a step closer to her. His breath smelled like salami. Extremely old salami.

'Um, er, well, you see . . .'

Now, if she said no he might give her a bad structural report. And if she said yes? No, it was too repulsive to contemplate. Heads Mr Moreton wins, tails Jen loses.

'Um,' she repeated and opened the front door as a car pulled into the driveway. A silver Jaguar. And at the wheel was Aiden.

'You see, I have a boyfriend,' Jen beamed. She waved furiously as Aiden switched off the engine. 'Thanks for the offer though.'

Aiden came towards her and she put one arm round his waist and stretched up to peck his cheek. He rested his arm over her shoulders. Just like old times. She was tempted, for good measure, to nestle into his chest. It would be so wonderful to curl into his arms, have him tell her everything was going to be just fine. Easy to see why people waited for the safety net of a new romance before they jumped out of a dead relationship.

But Aiden was Georgina's and everything wouldn't be fine. There was no new romance, just the faded shadow of an old one. The irony of standing here like this, playing the happy couple, was only topped by the timing of his reappearance just as she was losing Ollie. Did someone up there really want her to suffer?

Mr Moreton half smiled, apparently not bothered at losing out on a date one way or the other, and climbed into his car.

'Have a nice day, Bill.' She waved as he reversed out of the drive, not even pausing to nod at her.

'Bye, Bill,' chuckled Aiden as they both watched the car disappear into the distance. He pulled out a joint and lit up, the smoke wafting on the breeze as Jen wondered if the neighbours would notice.