The Best of Friends, Alex Day [feel good books to read .txt] 📗

and not scrounging; I just can’t get my head around applying for benefits. I don’t want to give myself time to think myself out of it, so I press call, and hurriedly try to think what they might ask me and what questions, if any, I should pose. I needn’t have worried, though, as the call goes straight to answerphone.

I leave a message and end the call. Just as I’ve done so, my phone rings, loud and strident in the hush of the club corridor. I jump and look at it in astonishment, thinking for one idiotic moment that they’re ringing back already.

But it’s not the job, it’s Charlotte.

‘Jamie won again,’ she says, as soon as I pick up. ‘How about you? Did you put my husband through his paces?’

I laugh and explain to her how the game ended, and then thank her for passing on the news about Jamie. Charlotte never seems in the least bit jealous that Jamie beats Toby hands down every time. She really is so good with children, so fair and supportive of all of them, whether they belong to her or not. Some might say she’s over-indulgent but as I’ve got to know her I’ve come to see that it’s just her way; she’s over the top about everything and child-rearing is no different. And the way she looked after Luke when he had his accident was amazing, so kind and caring. I wish I was always so magnanimous about other children doing better than mine; I know that I get a vicarious lift from the boys’ successes. I suppose the difference is that there’s nothing lacking in Charlotte’s life, nothing that she’s messed up on, so she is able to be generous. Nevertheless, I should make more effort to take a leaf out of her book.

‘When I see you next, you can dish the dirt on Dan’s playing and tell me how many points he shamelessly argued with you. And give me the inside information on his secret life at the club,’ Charlotte says, before adding a goodbye and ringing off.

Dan emerges from the changing room. He is gleaming from his shower and impossibly handsome, with his etched cheekbones and his still-wet hair standing in adorable boyish peaks on top of his head. He’s strapping his watch on his wrist – not the same one he was wearing at the party but another one that looks every bit as expensive.

‘My weakness,’ he explains, when he sees me looking at it. ‘Watches. I know it’s an indulgence, but … well, I’ve earned every penny I’ve got through hard work so I reason that it’s OK to spend it on things that make me happy.’

I nod. ‘Of course.’ I think of all Justin’s gadgets and gizmos. He would have given the same justification. But I’m not sure they really made him happy. And the thing is that, unlike Dan, he couldn’t really afford them; he just wanted everyone, including himself, to believe that he could.

We head for the exit but just before we get there, Dan ducks into the cafe. ‘I want to get some of Naomi’s new protein balls,’ he explains, as I trot along behind him. ‘Her cooking is the best, so I’m sure they’ll be excellent. And she’ll never let me hear the end of it if I don’t.’

I look around with interest, trying to get an idea of what it would be like to work here – and also secretly wondering what Charlotte would think to hear Dan use a superlative about the cooking skills of a woman who is not her. Naomi is busy with the lunchtime rush and her reaction to seeing Dan is a lot more restrained than earlier. As he pays, I consider her carefully. Bit of a joke or serious threat? Right now, I’m not sure I know which she is and it seems that Charlotte doesn’t, either. As well as all its other advantages, getting the job would be the ideal opportunity to find out.

I resolve to call again if I don’t hear back tomorrow.

Chapter 15

Charlotte

I’m worried.

I cover it as best I can, trying to act naturally, using my breathing techniques and mindfulness, and Dan’s never said anything. Neither has anyone else. So I can only assume my subterfuge is successful. But that doesn’t mean I’m not sick with fear on the inside.

Right now, nothing’s happened for a few days. And that’s what’s bothering me. No drop-down calls. No sign of the black car. Does that mean they’ve given up on me? Or they’re planning something bigger? The fear never leaves me; it buzzes inside my head like a gargantuan bluebottle or a swarm of bees. In quiet moments, I hear the frenzied cries of my children pleading, ‘Why did you do it, mummy? How could you let us down like this?’ And Dan adding, ‘What were you thinking?’

I’m on edge, constantly watching. Waiting. Knowing they’ll come back.

I’m walking from my bedroom, along the balconied corridor that curves round to where the stairs begin their majestic descent to the marble-floored hallway, when it catches my eye. My heart stops, my blood freezes, and I gasp involuntarily.

There’s no one else in the house. Agnes doesn’t work Tuesdays and even the au pair has taken herself off for the day, shopping in Winchester. I’m all alone.

And there’s somebody on my doorstep.

Paralysed, I couldn’t move even if I dared to. The black shadow passes in front of the decorative glass panes that surround the door. I didn’t imagine it. My heart is beating frantically, wildly. I can hardly breathe. There really is someone there, dressed in black – black coat, black hat. Hat? Who wears a hat at this time of year?

A person who doesn’t want to be recognised.

I clutch the balcony rail, craving reassurance from its cool solidity, needing something to hold on to. I can’t see the figure anymore; he’s either standing right in front of the door so he’s not visible through the