My Best Friend's Murder Read online

  ‘So how was your day?’

  ‘Long and painful.’ A waiter is hovering at Ed’s shoulder. ‘Red or white?’ Ed asks me.

  ‘Either.’

  ‘We’ll have a bottle of the Chablis.’ Ed points at the menu. ‘And can we get some bread to go with it?’

  ‘I’m starving,’ he says when the waiter’s gone. ‘I didn’t even get the chance to leave the office at lunch today. Flat out. How was your day?’

  ‘Good. I finished all our wrapping. I’ve put the stuff for your family by your suitcase. I added some chocolates for your mum.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ed takes my hand across the table. ‘She’s going to need the sugar to deal with the nephews.’

  ‘I got an extra large box.’

  ‘Superstar. Next year you can give it to her in person.’

  I don’t want to reignite that discussion. ‘On another note, I think I might have found us a wedding venue.’

  ‘Really?’ Ed lets go of my hand to dive into the breadbasket.

  ‘Okay, so it’s in Surrey. I did look at London but everything seems to cost a fortune. I figured Surrey wasn’t that far for people to come.’ Ed looks a bit doubtful. ‘It’s this beautiful old stately home and they’ve got a chapel on site if we want. The grounds are gorgeous and you get the use of all the rooms in the hotel as part of the package.’

  ‘I guess it depends on how much you reckon your dad’s prepared to fork out,’ Ed jokes.

  He sees my face and winces. ‘I’m sorry, baby. Bad joke. He might surprise you though.’

  ‘Unlikely. You know he’s always complaining about how much things cost in Dubai. Anyway, this place is surprisingly reasonable. I’ve made us an appointment to go and see it the second weekend in January.’

  ‘You know January’s going to be pretty busy for me at work.’ Ed picks up the menu. ‘I’m not sure I’ll have that much time.’

  ‘We can fit it around your work,’ I know he’s a workaholic but I shouldn’t have to sell this. ‘It’ll only take a couple of hours.’

  ‘Sure.’ Ed starts flicking through the pages. ‘But let’s not become one of those couples who can’t talk about anything but their wedding. I’m knackered. Shall we skip starters and go straight for mains?’

  And he holds up his hand to order before I can answer.

  9.54 p.m.

  I wait until we get home to give Ed his Christmas present. I was going to do it at the restaurant, but he seemed distracted and I didn’t want to spoil the moment. I don’t like to blow my own trumpet but I’m sure he’s going to love it. Ed’s wallet was a gift from his dad before he died and it’s falling to pieces. For Christmas, I got him an exact replica and had his initials embossed on the front. I can’t wait to see his face. I wait until he’s in the bathroom, then I lay the distinctive Smythsons blue box on his pillow and lounge on the bed next to it. In short shorts and a camisole, it’s the best I can do seduction-wise on short notice. When he comes into the bedroom, wearing his pyjama bottoms, his face doesn’t disappoint.

  ‘What’s this?’ He comes to his side of the bed and picks it up.

  ‘Open it and see.’

  When he pulls the wallet out he can’t stop stroking the leather, twisting it around and examining it at every angle.

  ‘I noticed the one from your dad came from Smythson,’ I explain. ‘This should be an exact replica.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Ed sounds almost choked. ‘It’s perfect. We’ll have to get you a matching one.’

  ‘You know I can’t be trusted with something that nice. I lost my wallet twice last year,’ I remind him. ‘Why don’t you switch all your stuff to it now? Or I can do it for you.’

  I reach for his wallet but he moves it out of range.

  ‘I’ll do it in a minute. I need to thank you first.’

  He starts kissing my neck, burying his nose in my hair. ‘You smell so good.’ He slips the strap of my vest off my shoulders and starts kissing my neck.

  ‘Hey, what about my present?’ I joke. But he dips his head lower.

  ‘All good things come to those who wait.’ He slips his fingers under my shorts, down into my knickers, pushing the flimsy cotton away. His breath is warm on my face as he whispers in my ear: ‘I can stop if you want but…’

  I pull him on top of me. I want to feel close to him.

  ‘Who needs presents anyway?’

  10.33 p.m.

  ‘So do you want your present now?’ Ed props himself up on his elbow. He seems to have cheered up since the restaurant.

  ‘You mean that wasn’t it?’

  ‘Ha ha.’ Ed gets up and goes over to the chair where his suit jacket is hanging. He fumbles in the breast pocket and pulls out a thin, white envelope. He hands it to me with a flourish. ‘There you go.’

  I look at the envelope. For our first Christmas together, he took me to Paris, but his current work schedule doesn’t allow much time for romance. Last year he got me the same perfume as his secretary. I know not to get my hopes up. It’s not his fault. I haven’t been into Christmas since my mum died anyway. I slice open the envelope with my fingernail and two tickets fall out.

  ‘Les Mis.’ Ed beams. ‘I remember you saying you’ve never seen it.’

  ‘They’re amazing.’ I give him a huge smile. It’s Phantom of the Opera that I’ve never seen but Ed looks so pleased with himself, I don’t want to burst his bubble. ‘I can’t wait. We could make a real thing of it. Do dinner first and have champagne at the interval.’

  ‘We can if you want.’ Ed’s expression suggests he’d rather do anything but. He’s not into musicals. ‘But I think you’d have more fun with a friend. You know I’m not really into musicals. I bet Izzy would love it.’

  ‘Or Jules.’ The childish part of my brain doesn’t want to include Izzy in anything until she starts returning my calls.

  ‘You don’t have to decide now.’ He yawns. ‘Do you mind if we turn the light out? I’m shattered.’

  ‘Don’t you want to switch your wallet over?’

  ‘I’ll do it in the morning. I need to get some shut-eye.’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to need your strength to deal with those Wildlie nephews of yours.’ I snuggle down, pleased with my Game of Thrones reference. While Ed’s a huge fan, it’s a bit violent for me.

  ‘It’s Wildlings, you dork.’ Ed flicks out the lamp on his bedside table and pulls me to him. ‘I wish you were coming with me. I’ll miss you.’

  ‘And I’ll miss you.’ I nestle against him. ‘But think how perfect it will be to have our first Christmas together as a married couple next year.’ I don’t add that even with Izzy’s froideur, the Waverlys’ is a more enticing prospect than sleeping in Ed’s old room while he bunks down with the nightmare nephews.

  ‘I’m very lucky to have you.’ Ed’s lips brush my ear as he tries to find me in the dark. Then he rolls over, taking half the covers with him. I lie there, watching the shadows flicker across the ceiling. Normally I find the gap between the light turning out and sleep encourages destructive thoughts, but tonight I feel comforted. Ed’s words have made up for his reluctance to talk about the wedding. Izzy says blokes are never interested in the details of a wedding anyway – all they want to do is turn up on the day. Even Rich didn’t show much interest beyond the booze and the band. There’s nothing to worry about. Ed will get to the wedding planning in his own time. And Izzy will be back to normal next time I see her. Nobody can stay angry at Christmas. Not even Izzy.

  Nine

  Tuesday 25 December

  11.39 a.m.

  I’m sitting in my car outside Izzy’s house like a stalker. I woke up stupidly early and after I’d taken Missy for a jog, I was left kicking my heels. I knew Ed wanted a lie-in and I didn’t want to ring and wake him up when he’s been working hard so I got in the car earlier than I needed to. It’s been so long since I was behind the wheel – Ed usually prefers to take his Audi – that I completely overestimated how short the driv
e would be.

  It feels funny to be without him. This is the longest we’ve been apart for months. I felt quite emotional when we said goodbye on Sunday night. Ed did, too. I could tell from the way he kept fluffing Missy’s ears and checking and rechecking he’d packed the boot properly. Maybe I should have agreed to go to Leeds with him. This year, Christmas has started to feel like something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

  I check the clock on the dashboard. I’m twenty minutes early. Normally I’d have no qualms about barrelling up early but Izzy specifically said not to come before twelve. I glance around to see Missy staring at me reproachfully from the back seat.

  I look up at the house. The shutters are down and there are no signs of life. Still too early, but I open the door anyway. I can’t sit in the car forever. I put the bags of presents between my feet and wrap my coat around me. Even though the heater in my car’s broken, the air outside is a good few degrees cooler. It’s amazing how quiet the street is. I expect most people in this income bracket go away at this time of year – shopping in New York, ski chalets in Europe; that sort of thing – but it’s quiet year round. The occasional dog walker might skirt their way up to either of the commons that this road is sandwiched between, but that’s it. I guess that’s part of the price tag. I never see anybody nipping out to buy the papers or grab a pint of milk. I suppose they all use Ocado. Northcote Road is far too full of artisan bakeries and boutiques for something as commonplace as groceries. The nearest Waitrose is back towards Clapham Junction. Which gives me an idea. I don’t have to loiter outside Izzy’s house like a spurned lover. I could do some window-shopping. I turn from the house and march back down the slope towards Northcote Road, tugging Missy behind me.

  Some of the chichi boutiques have got their sale signs up already. I peer though the grates like a kid outside a sweet shop. It’s probably all out of my price range. But there’s a café across the street that looks like it might be open. I’m about to cross over to see if I can get a hot drink to warm me up when my phone rings. My dad. He’s already tried to call twice but I went for a quick run when I woke up and missed them both.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ I try to inject some warmth into my voice. I do love my dad but the distance between us isn’t just geographical. We had a relatively normal relationship until my mum died. He spent the first few months afterwards in an extended state of shock, barely able to wash and dress himself. Rob and I did everything for him. Eventually he got himself together enough to attend some sort of grief support group. The next thing you know, he’s ‘met’ one of the other grieving spouses. She had two young sons and he moved in with them and started playing happy families the minute I went to university. They call him ‘Dad’ now. The Dubai move came six months after that. I still haven’t visited. I don’t begrudge him his happiness but the timeline grates.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Becky. And what are you doing with yourself today?’

  Oh and he still calls me Becky, which I can’t stand. I let it go. Correcting him will only prolong the call.

  ‘Going to Izzy and Rich’s. Same as usual.’

  ‘Now that sounds grand. You must give them my best.’ Dad’s soft Irish burr is more pronounced on the phone. It makes me think of Christmases spent crammed around the kitchen table, the Pogues playing in the background and Mum laughing as Dad sang along. Back when we were a family.

  ‘I will. What are you doing today?’

  ‘Well Christmas is almost over here,’ he chuckles. ‘Judith and I have finished our lunch and we’re about to go for a swim. The boys are sleeping off their hangovers. We’ll be meeting friends by the pool and making sure we’re back in time for the Queen’s speech. And a little Jamesons to toast it with. Who knows what she’ll have to say for herself this year?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your brother?’

  ‘Not yet.’ I check my watch. Having been worried about being early, now I realize I am in danger of being late, which Izzy considers the height of rudeness. ‘Look, Dad, I should probably—’

  ‘I’d give him a call, Becky.’ There’s a roll of laughter in Dad’s voice. ‘If I’m not mistaken he’s with a lady this year.’

  ‘No way.’ In spite of myself, I’m intrigued. Normally Rob goes away with a bunch of single mates at Christmas but this year he was cagey about it. Spending Christmas with someone is a big deal. ‘Is he with her family?’

  ‘I didn’t get that impression, no. I think he’s in the countryside somewhere. Give him a call.’

  ‘I will. Look, Dad—’

  ‘I know I should let you go. But I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas, Becky. Do give that fella of yours my best too. Judith and I are both very excited to hear what plans you’ll be making for the wedding.’

  ‘I’ll let you know as soon as we have some. Merry Christmas, Dad.’

  I hang up the phone and start walking quickly, dragging Missy behind me. The bag of presents I’m carrying knocks against my knees as I pick up the pace. By the time I reach the front gate, I’m practically running. My hair, which I spent ages pinning back, is plastered to my face and I’m out of breath. I fumble with the latch.

  ‘Penny for ’em.’ Rich appears on the front step and I jump out of my skin.

  ‘God, you made me jump.’

  ‘I seem to be making a habit of that.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so—’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He drops the cords of fairy lights in his hands, bounds down the steps and grabs my bags in one hand. ‘Let me get these up the stairs for you.’

  ‘Thanks. I won’t get a ticket today, will I? Even parking inspectors take the day off on Christmas, right?’

  Rich bends down to pat Missy with his free hand. ‘You’ll be fine. I don’t like your chances with Izzy, though. Once she finds out you’re not going to get stuck into the cooking sherry with her, you’re going to be in big trouble.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ I look at the tangle of wires on the floor and try to ignore the warning.

  ‘Fairy lights are out, bows are in, apparently.’ He gestures at a stack of red velvet bows piled neatly next to the bay trees. ‘I should have done it earlier but I got waylaid. Go right in. Izzy’s in the kitchen and she’s dying to see you. Thank God Missy can distract Tilly. She’s been asking if she can open her presents since five a.m.’

  ‘She’s so sweet.’ I pick up the presents and hurry down the hall, taking the steps to the basement two at a time. In the kitchen, Izzy’s got the vintage Roberts radio I gave them as a wedding gift up loud and her back to me. Her hips are swaying as she slips a tray of sausage rolls into the oven and she’s wearing a striped apron over her bright red Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress. She looks like a stylish, modern Mrs Claus. The grey Jaeger jumper dress I’m wearing suddenly seems shapeless and dull by comparison, though I was pleased with it when I put it on this morning. I hover. I feel first-date nervous, which is ridiculous. This is my best friend. I take a step forward.

  It’s like Izzy can sense my presence. ‘Bec, at last!’ She unties the apron, tosses it on the breakfast bar and comes over to greet me with her arms outstretched. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of saying twelve.’ She hugs me tight. ‘I’ve been missing you all morning. Let’s get you a drink.’

  Relief floods through my body. I feel light-headed, like I’ve been starved of oxygen. Then Missy’s claws click down the stairs behind me.

  Izzy snaps her smile shut. ‘I see you’ve brought Missy.’

  ‘I promise she won’t be any trouble.’ I pick up Missy’s lead apologetically. Bringing her wasn’t a problem last year.

  ‘Will you give her feet a wipe? So that she doesn’t track dirt across the floors.’ Izzy turns her back and stomps back to the breakfast bar.

  ‘Me do it.’ Tilly appears from behind the Christmas tree. She runs over to the breakfast bar, leaving a trail of presents strewn in her wake. She grabs a drying-up cloth with a hand-painted Union Jack on
it. ‘I can use this.’

  ‘That’s for cleaning the things we eat from. And it’s “I’ll do it”, not “me do it”.’ Izzy whips the drying-up cloth out of her hand. ‘If you really want to, you can use kitchen towel. There’s some on the table.’

  ‘That should keep her busy.’ Izzy watches Tilly unspool the entire roll. ‘She’s driving me mad. The only way to stop her sniffing round the presents is to read to her. If I have to open one more Julia Donaldson book today, I’ll scream. Now, can I get you a drink?’

  ‘You better let me know where to put these first.’ I hold up the bags of presents, trying to delay the moment I have to tell Izzy I decided to drive. ‘A few little bits. And the chocolates of course. They’re at the top.’

  ‘Just plonk the chocs where you can find a space.’ Izzy sweeps a hand over the work surface.

  The chocolates I bought are Charbonnel et Walker – the same brand I bought Ed’s mum – and they cost an arm and a leg. Izzy doesn’t look at them. ‘You can shove the rest under the tree. We went a bit overboard this year, but there should be some space at the back.’

  In addition to dwarfing the plastic number Ed and I stuffed into the corner of our sitting room, their tree is infinitely better decorated. I look for the types of squashed salt-dough shapes Rob and I used to bring home from school. There aren’t any. I edge around the huge pile of presents heaped around the front and start unpacking my bags.

  ‘Presents!’ Tilly appears and starts fingering the packages as I unload them. ‘Can I open them? I’ve been good.’

  ‘I think you’ll have to wait until Mummy says it’s time.’

  ‘Mummy says not before lunch.’ Tilly’s voice quivers at the injustice.

  ‘Why don’t you show me where I should put them instead? There’s so many here already, I don’t want to get it wrong.’

  ‘Put them by mine part.’ Tilly points towards the back and I crawl around, pine needles catching my sheer tights and laddering them as I go. Tilly touches a branch of tree straining under the weight of the ornaments adorning it.