My Best Friend's Murder Read online

  ‘Maybe the offer was too good to turn down?’

  ‘Maybe. But they’ve been asking for years. They’d have kept asking.’

  ‘So why’s she gone back now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think she’s got this crazy idea we need more money.’

  He scrunches up his face and rubs his forehead. The gesture tugs on my heartstrings. With his dark hair flopping over his face, he looks like he did when we were teenagers. Being outside with him – alone – makes me think of that night. But what I missed out on, what was taken from me, isn’t what I should be thinking about now.

  I look across the garden and anchor myself firmly in the present. ‘Really?’

  By London standards, Izzy’s garden is huge – a large wedge of grass begins where the patio ends and the whole thing is edged by flowerbeds on both sides – as is the house that looms over it. It might not be as big as the mansion in Dulwich Village that her parents live in, but with a house like this, Izzy certainly doesn’t have to worry about money.

  ‘Maybe it’s an independence thing.’ He shrugs. ‘I’ve got my job and the writing. Perhaps she wants to have something of her own too. I thought the running was enough but… whatever makes her happy, I guess. And I want her to prioritize her family. I’m just worried she’ll take too much on and stress herself out.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Izzy,’ I nudge my shoulder against his. I’m so close I can smell the musk of aftershave on his skin. I force myself to step back. Literally and metaphorically. ‘She can handle this. She always lands on her feet.’

  ‘Thanks, Bec.’

  ‘Oi oi, what do we have here?’ The gravel crunches as Rob, my brother, stomps around the side of the house. I flick the butt into the bushes.

  ‘Robbo.’ Rich reaches forward to shake Rob’s hand.

  ‘Good to see you, Richie. And the blushing bride.’ He shakes his head at me. ‘Smoking like a chimney. You’re all class.’

  ‘Shut up.’ I hug him. Rob’s been funny about smoking ever since Mum’s cancer. He doesn’t get that I can have a cigarette at parties without being a smoker. ‘It was only one.’

  ‘Not interrupting a deep and meaningful, am I?’ Rob looks between us. ‘I can bugger off if I am.’

  ‘Nah, you’re all right,’ says Rich. ‘I should be getting back inside. Barman duties and all.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Rob takes a swig from the bottle of beer in his hand. ‘I would have thought with your missus going back to work, you could afford to put your feet up.’

  ‘So you’d think.’ Rich gives me a strained smile. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘I wasn’t really interrupting anything, was I?’ Rob asks after the flash of the security light confirms Rich has gone inside.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. This is my engagement party.’

  ‘There was a time when you had a bit of a thing for old Richie though.’

  ‘For about five minutes.’ I make a point of rolling my eyes. ‘Him falling in love with my best friend was kind of a turn off. Can we talk about something else? Like why you’re so late.’

  ‘I made it in time for the toasts. Sorry, Becster. You know what the life of a top personal trainer is like.’ He’s wearing a tight white top under a smart grey blazer and, when he flexes, his pecs stand to attention.

  ‘Ugh, your boobs are practically as big as mine.’

  ‘Bigger,’ Rob laughs. ‘I am sorry I was late, I’ve got a demanding new client. I’m a slave to her rhythm.’

  ‘Don’t tell me this is another one of your laydeez?’ I make a face. Rob has a stock of demanding client-based stories, all of which seem to involve middle-aged women hitting on him. He’s even had a few altercations with jealous husbands, not that it seems to put him off.

  ‘This one’s a bit different. She’s a bona-fide A-lister. Referral from a regular client. Already in cracking shape but needs to get ripped for some fantasy movie she’s shooting in London.’

  ‘No way. Who is it?’

  ‘If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya.’ His smile is Cheshire cat wide. I can’t remember the last time I saw him look this pleased with himself.

  ‘Come on. We all know you’re rubbish at keeping secrets.’ It comes out more harshly than intended.

  ‘What’s eating you? Shouldn’t you be in a good mood?’

  ‘I am in a good mood. I’m just cold.’ I rub my hands against my upper arms theatrically, noticing I’ve got goosepimples. It didn’t seem that cold when I was talking to Rich.

  ‘Take this.’ Rob shucks off his jacket. ‘Now tell me what’s actually wrong.’

  ‘Okay. Fine. Izzy’s going back to work.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I only found out when Ed announced it in his speech tonight.’

  There’s a beat while Rob considers this. Then he starts flicking through his phone. ‘So?’ He’s lost interest already.

  I consider telling him what Izzy did to the flowers but it sounds too crazy.

  ‘It feels a bit off that she didn’t tell me herself. And she asked Ed not to as well.’ I feel like I’m telling tales at school.

  ‘Look, I dunno. Maybe she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Though this is Izzy we’re talking about.’ He sneers and I regret mentioning it. Rob’s always been funny about Izzy. He’s the one who got my mum all het up about her too. I think it goes back to one bad date they went on when we were fourteen or so. He was so angry when she ended it that he punched a hole in his bedroom wall. I didn’t tell him at the time but I was relieved. I prefer to keep things separate.

  ‘Forget it,’ I say. ‘It’s probably just a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Probably. Now, do you want to hear about my new client or not?’

  ‘I thought you were sworn to secrecy?’

  ‘You’re sworn to secrecy if I tell you. You can’t even tell Mr Insurance.’

  I roll my eyes again. ‘You’re going to have to stop calling him that now we’re getting married. He’s not really into celebrity culture anyway. Go on then, tell me.’

  Rob looks over his shoulder to check the coast is clear.

  ‘We’re not in a John le Carré novel,’ I snigger. But the name he whispers wipes the smile off my face.

  ‘Sydney Scott. But she’s—’

  ‘Massive.’

  ‘Massive doesn’t even begin… She’s on a whole different level. She’s the only female to ever win an Oscar for best actress and best original screenplay. She’s Ben Affleck and Matt Damon rolled into one. And she’s a nice person too – she’s done loads of work with street kids in Asia – the UN gave her some award for it, before she had that nasty break-up with the guy from Prison Break who looks like Justin Bieber. I think he’s in prison or something now.’

  ‘Thanks for the bio,’ Rob cuts in smugly when I pause for breath. ‘She’s actually really cool. And when the news breaks that I’ve been training her, my career will go stratospheric. I might even get a book deal.’

  ‘You’ll have to give Flare first rights to your genius.’

  ‘Natch. I was talking to her about you as it goes. She said she might be looking to do some promotional interviews when it’s announced she’s doing the film. I bigged you up and she was quite keen to meet you.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Way.’

  ‘Oh my god, Rob, you’re the best.’ I imagine letting slip in the next editorial meeting that I’ve scored an interview with Sydney Scott. Normally I don’t even speak unless someone asks me a question.

  ‘All right, I’ll set up a meeting. I know they’re looking at a bunch of magazines though, so it’s no guarantee. But you can consider it an extra Christmas present if it works out. You still can’t tell anyone though.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Normally I’d be telling Izzy before Rob had even paused for breath. Tonight, I want to keep the news to myself.

  ‘Speaking of Christmas.’ I bat my eyelashes at Rob the way I used to when I was fifteen and we needed him to g
o to the off-licence for us. ‘I don’t know if you’ve bought my present yet?’

  ‘Do I look like the kind of guy who buys anything before Christmas Eve?’

  I smile. I knew he would say that. ‘Why don’t you swerve the hell that is shopping on Christmas Eve and shout me some free PT sessions instead?’

  ‘Why the sudden interest?’

  ‘Er, because I’m getting married. And –’ I pluck the material around my stomach ‘– doesn’t every bride want to look their best on their big day?’

  ‘Bec, you’ve got the kind of figure most women would kill for. But if you want to get fit the best thing to do is take up running. I’ll write you a programme then you need to do a park run or one of those 10ks Izzy’s always boasting about on Facebook.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I can’t imagine anything worse.

  ‘Isn’t there one on Boxing Day? She posted it the other week.’

  ‘You’re awfully clued up on what she’s doing.’ I arch my eyebrows.

  ‘You can’t help what you see on Facebook. It’s all in the algorithm. I’ll sign us both up. Now, can we get back to discussing my career as a celebrity training consultant? What shall I buy first – Ferrari or Porsche?’

  11.05 p.m.

  I use catching up with Rob as an excuse to stay outside for most of the party. He ferries me drinks from inside and a few people pop out – mainly for illicit cigarettes. At one point there are so many glowing ends dancing through the air, they look like fireflies. Rich doesn’t come back though.

  Just after eleven, Rob insists we go back inside.

  ‘It’s all right for you – wearing my jacket – but I’m freezing my nuts off. And you are supposed to put in a bit of an appearance at your own party.’ He crosses the gravel and pulls open the bi-fold doors before I can argue. The kitchen’s empty apart from a few sulky teenagers loading the dishwasher under Izzy’s supervision. At the click of the door, she comes rushing over.

  ‘There you are. Hello, Rob.’

  ‘Izzy.’ Rob waves his hand in a mock-salute, which Izzy ignores. She’s too busy pursing her lips, which I know is to do with the smell of cigarettes. ‘Have you been smoking, Bec?’

  ‘I think there’s a bonfire a few houses down.’ I automatically trot out the excuse I used as a teenager even though right now I don’t really care what Izzy thinks of me.

  ‘Next you’ll be telling us you were holding it for a friend.’ Rob smirks. ‘I’m going upstairs. I’ll leave you to it. Laters.’

  ‘Bec, you’d better come with me before you see Ed. I hope you haven’t left any butts outside for Tilly to find.’

  Izzy marches me down the corridor to the downstairs bathroom. She locks the door behind us and immediately starts burrowing in the cupboard under the sink.

  ‘What are you like?’ She moves a set of crisply folded monogrammed hand towels onto the tiles beside her and carries on looking. ‘Lucky for you, I know I’ve got some old perfume back here somewhere.’

  I scrutinize the back of her head. Now that we’re alone, I’ve got no excuse not to confront her. I steel myself.

  ‘Why did you tell Ed not to tell me you were going back to work?’

  She bangs her head on the bottom of the basin. ‘What do you mean?’

  I fight my natural instinct to ask if she’s okay. I don’t want to get side-tracked. ‘When I asked him why he hadn’t told me, he said you’d asked him not to.’

  There’s a clink then Izzy emerges, holding two different perfume bottles. ‘I didn’t ask him not to tell you. I simply told him his focus should be on the engagement party and my news could wait until afterwards.’

  ‘Really?’ I look at her. There’s a pink mark on her forehead where it connected with the basin but other than that her whole face is perfectly smooth and guileless. I wonder if I’m being a total lunatic.

  ‘I promise. Why would I tell him not to tell you? I would have told you myself but the last couple of weeks have been crazy. Tilly’s had that horrible cold and trying to pull this party together at such short notice has been a massive strain. If you think about it, we haven’t really had a chance to sit down together.’

  She’s right. She’s cancelled our last two catch-ups.

  ‘I was waiting until after the party because I wanted tonight to be about you. I had no idea Ed was going to mention the job. I was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m keeping things from you.’

  Izzy’s eyes mist up and I feel a wave of guilt in spite of myself. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She sniffs and dabs at her eye make-up with the pad of her thumb. ‘I just wanted tonight to be perfect.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it is perfect.’

  She looks so put out there’s no way I can ask about the flowers now.

  ‘You’ve got a new menu,’ I say, to buy time. Izzy and Rich have the menus from all the Michelin-star restaurants they go to framed and displayed in their loo. I considered doing the same thing in our bathroom but the Pizza Express menu doesn’t have the same kind of visual appeal.

  ‘Yeah, Rich had a client lunch at Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley last week and I tagged along. The pudding was to die for.’ Izzy brightens. ‘Now, which perfume do you want? Issey Miyake or this old Number Seven that Jenny gave me yonks ago.’

  ‘Number Seven.’ I hold out my wrists. ‘Issey Miyake’s yours.’

  Izzy sprays my wrists then dumps both bottles at the side of the sink. She starts examining her face in the mirror.

  I bite my lip. I don’t want to upset her again but I know the image of the flowers in the bin will keep nagging at me if I don’t mention it. ‘Izzy?’

  ‘Yup.’ She’s pouting at herself.

  ‘This is going to sound weird but did you by any chance chuck away the flowers I bought you? Only, I thought I saw them in the bin and I was wondering—’

  In the mirror Izzy’s face freezes.

  ‘You saw that?’

  ‘I saw it.’

  Izzy puts down the lipstick she’s been applying. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

  ‘Embarrassed?’ I try and keep my voice light even though I had to go to three different flower stalls to get the roses. And they cost a fortune. ‘Why are you embarrassed?’

  ‘I was embarrassed for you, hon. They were absolutely covered in bugs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s why I chucked them. I’d never throw perfectly good flowers away. Especially since this house is in desperate need of brightening up. I was so caught up with decorating today I forgot to go to the flower market. But when I went to pick yours off the table, I spotted a mite at the edge of the paper. When I looked closer the flowers were riddled with them. You should go back to the florist and complain. It’s not on. They looked expensive too.’

  ‘They were.’ My anger recedes, leaving a tidemark of humiliation in its wake.

  ‘You didn’t think I threw them away for the sake of it, did you?’ Izzy’s eyes bore into me.

  I look away. ‘I didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘You and your suspicious mind,’ Izzy giggles. ‘Do you remember when you were convinced your dad was having an affair with his boss because she kept giving him lifts home from work? Or when you thought your mum was… anyway, your little mind must have been going overtime on this one. Like a hamster on a wheel.’ She dabs an invisible mark at the corner of her mouth. ‘They were so gorgeous too. I love roses. It’s been a long time since I had any. Now come on, you don’t smell like an ashtray any more, we better get back out there. My parents are dying to see you.’

  She flicks the bathroom lock and sashays into the hall leaving me no choice but to follow.

  ‘You haven’t seen Rich this evening, have you?’ she says casually as I close the door behind us. ‘He’s been AWOL since about eight o’clock.’

  ‘Not much.’ I hesitate. I’ve got a feeling if she knows Rich has been outside smoking with me, she won’t like it.
But the mention of Rich tugs something in the back of my mind. If the flowers were crawling with bugs, why didn’t Rich notice them?

  ‘He’s probably holed up in his study trying to cram a few more words in,’ Izzy carries on, oblivious. ‘He’s so caught up in that book some days he barely exists in the real world. The other day I caught him pouring Tilly’s maple syrup on his cornflakes he was so distracted.’

  Too distracted to notice flowers full of bugs? Rich won’t even travel by bus because of the dirt on the seats. Bugs are the kind of thing he’d notice. But why would Izzy lie? By her own admission, the house is bereft of flowers. Long-stemmed roses would have made a nice centrepiece for their hall table. And she’s my best friend. She’s right about Rich, he has been distracted lately. He couldn’t even finish his sentences outside. And he’s a bloke. Why would he be peering at a bunch of flowers anyway?

  ‘Sounds delightful.’

  Izzy laughs and I file my doubts away. I let her take me by the arm and march me back towards the kitchen, our heels clicking against the wood in unison.

  Six

  11.22 p.m.

  I push open the door to the sitting room and breathe in the smell of cloves. The fire’s roaring and it seems much warmer in here than the rest of the house. Rich and Rob are propped against the fireplace chatting while Ed sits in the armchair by the bay window, checking his emails. I feel a swell of affection. Only he would be working at a party. In the corner a couple of his co-workers are having a drunken debate about whether it would be quicker to call a cab or Uber home. The party’s definitely thinned out. Even Jenny and David Waverly are shrugging their coats on.

  ‘I’m glad we got to see you before we left!’ Jenny says as she comes over, David in her wake. Staring at him is like looking at a snapshot of future-Rich. They’ve got the same wide rugby shoulders and mop of dark hair without a speck of grey. David even used to work at Rich’s bank before he retired. He got him the place on the graduate scheme. And he never lets him forget it. Jenny is prattling. I think she might be a little drunk. Or maybe I am. It seems like every sentence that comes out of her mouth should end with an exclamation mark.

  ‘Such a pleasure, as always! I had some photos I wanted to show you! There isn’t time now! Never mind! I was talking to Robert about having the pair of you over for lunch with the boys when Henry’s next back. And Richard and Charles, of course. Something of a childhood reunion! Wouldn’t that be fun?’