The Family Friend, C. MacDonald [ereader for android TXT] 📗

about shouting at him, calling him names. She definitely gives the impression that there’s a volatility in their marriage. And Anna’s got a temper. She often calls out people who are being nasty to her online, by name, talks about how influencers need to fight back, so Erin’s sure she’d be OK with it, perhaps she’s even done something similar to Tristan before.

‘I – I don’t know what happened,’ Erin says and Anna leans in, scenting something illicit, eyes sparkling with anticipation. ‘I’ve not been sleeping much, there’s this fucking twat on Insta messing with my head, and Bobby’s refusing to breastfeed now –’ Anna’s left eye starts to squint again. ‘Anyway, Raf and I, we had this argument. He saw me, losing it with Bobby.’ Anna raises both eyebrows so her tanned forehead creases. ‘Anyway, I just totally lost control and- I threw something at him.’

‘What did you throw at him?’ Anna cocks her head, a sideways smile but her eyes look more alert.

‘I threw a pasta bake at him.’

‘What, like a bowl of pasta?’

‘A dish, an oven dish, like the whole thing.’

‘Shit.’

‘Um, yeh, it was hot as well, straight out of the oven.’ Anna Mai pulls her arms off the table and into her lap, edges to the other side of the booth. Erin nods, nervous now.

‘Why would you do that?’ she asks, all her former lightness dispersed.

‘I was so, I was so angry. I thought he was having me followed.’

‘What the fuck! He was having you followed?’

‘No,’ Erin says, ‘no he wasn’t. I got it wrong.’

Anna shakes her head, blinks a few times and looks over towards the bar. There’s someone there that catches her attention, or that she pretends to know. Because then she stands up.

‘Lucy Caldwell’s at the bar.’ Lucy Caldwell (93k followers), a foodie influencer. ‘I’m really not sure why you wanted to tell me that.’

‘You asked me what’s wrong.’

‘What do you expect me to say? Well done? You tried to burn your fiancé for what seems like basically no reason. You need to go and talk to someone but I really, really can’t help with this.’

‘Anna –’ Erin’s stood now. She can’t believe her apparent friend’s leapt so quickly to judge her. ‘I’m not – It’s like the guy who said he wanted to rape you – it, all this horrible shit from people on the Internet, it fucks you up.’

‘I’ve never thrown, like plates, anything at people because of it, Erin. That’s what people do in films, not in real life.’ She collects her bag, her jacket, the coat she’s wedged into the side of the booth. She’s trying to shuffle herself out of the booth when she stops. ‘Is he going to leave you?’

‘He understands how much pressure I’m under,’ Erin says, ‘forgave me straight away.’ She lies to Anna because she wants her to feel guilty for her reaction. If Raf can forgive her, she should be able to be less judgemental. Anna makes a face that tells her how lucky she thinks Erin is, implying that she wouldn’t tolerate someone hitting her. Erin feels her stomach crumple. She genuinely thought Anna would understand, would make her feel better. Perhaps she doesn’t deserve that.

‘I’m going for a smoke.’ Anna gives her a grin as she goes but it feels plastered on. Erin sinks back down onto the banquette, drains her Tom Collins and slides Anna’s vodka tonic over to her side of the table.

‘I can’t believe you’re Xavi,’ Erin says, waving a cigarette in the chill night air a little too close to Xavi, making him duck out the way to avoid it igniting his beard. He’s a couple of inches taller than Erin, and wears an elaborate jacket, black with a golden drum-major front panel that he’s somehow pulling off. He had swerved the Phibe event but one of Grace’s assistants had invited him to join the after-party. Erin’s drunk now. Pete, one of the CEOs of Phibe, had been plying her with mescal and, although she’s still compos mentis, her tongue feels thick and she leans heavily on the wide sill of the old pub window. She and Xavi are now on their second cigarette.

‘What did you think Xavi would be like?’ His English is perfect but he still has the slight sibilance and casual consonants of his native tongue.

‘Fat.’

‘Right.’

‘Bald.’

‘OK.’

‘Old.’

Xavi laughs, whipping his thick shoulder-length hair behind him. He knows Erin’s flirting with him, he’s flirted with her, but he also knows she has a child, he knows she has a partner, so it’s the purest form of flirtation, untainted by the potential of having to act on it.

‘Sorry to disappoint,’ he says, finishing his beer, and clinking it on the floor behind him. ‘Listen,’ he says, turning in towards her, eyes full of sincerity, ‘I feel bad that we have not found out who he is, the person taking these photos.’ Erin waves him away, forget it. ‘But have you thought about the names?’

‘What d’you mean?’ She blinks to try and focus her eyes. She doesn’t want to have a serious conversation now. She wants to finish her cigarette, get in an Uber and go back to the hotel before she drinks more and does something stupid.

‘Ali-crow, leister-worc.’

‘OMG, they’re fake!’

‘Yeh.’ He chuckles at her ribbing sarcasm, sucks hard on his cigarette like it was a shisha pipe. ‘Well, anyway, couple of days ago I googled Ali-crow, just to see if anything came up. Nothing.’ Erin grips the edge of the sill, the cigarette’s making her feel sick so she holds it down to her side and lets the chilly 1 a.m. air smoke the rest of it. Across the street, she thinks she can see someone moving around behind a van. ‘There was another name, someone that made a weird comment on one of your posts, “Crowlypoly” and one also called “Leisacrowd”. All using the same sort of letters. Which could have been a coincidence, but it seemed weird. So I kept googling and I found