To My Best Friends

‘Hiding, probably,’ Mona said. ‘Who can blame him? House full of total strangers feeding their faces at his expense. Anyway,’ she added, ‘it’s not as if it matters. It’s Lizzie’s shed now.’

Lizzie didn’t look convinced. ‘I know that, but does David? Does David know any of it?’

‘Look,’ Jo said, turning back to the house. Every window in the Victorian terrace was ablaze and the kitchen was crammed with people. ‘It looks odd, doesn’t it? Wrong, somehow?’

The others followed her gaze.

‘It’s not that the house is full – ’ Lizzie said – ‘it was always full – it’s those people. Who are they? Does anyone know?’

‘Someone must,’ said Mona. ‘David probably.’

‘Come on,’ Jo said, ‘you must recognise some of them? The girls from Capsule Wardrobe, some suppliers, a few clients. David’s mum and dad, his brother and his wife . . .’

‘There was an awful lot of family at the church for someone who didn’t have any,’ Lizzie said.

Jo shrugged. ‘David’s, I suppose, like the wedding. And there are some old friends of Nicci’s from the drama group at uni.’

‘I can’t believe none of Nicci’s family bothered to show up,’ Lizzie persisted. ‘You’d think some would have wanted to pay their respects.’

‘You don’t know they didn’t,’ Jo said. ‘There were plenty of strange faces in that church. Not inconceivable one or two of them belonged to Nicci.’

‘You pair of romantics,’ said Mona. ‘Nicci didn’t have family, you know that. She was always saying so: “You’re my family. You, David and the girls. You’re the only family I need.”’

‘That doesn’t mean she didn’t have one. No one comes from nowhere,’ said Lizzie. ‘Much as they might want to.’

‘She fell out with her mum, we know that,’ Jo went on as if Lizzie hadn’t spoken. ‘I remember her talking about it one night – when we were pissed, of course. You must remember?’ Jo grinned. ‘Whisky night.’

‘Not sure I remember much from whisky night.’ Lizzie grimaced.

Jo never forgot anything. It amazed Lizzie, and annoyed her slightly. Jo and Nicci always could riff off events, jokes and incidents she barely remembered at all. Most of her time at university was a blur. A blur then, and a blur now.

‘Think that was the only time she mentioned it. And you know how she always spent every holiday at uni, working in Sainsbury’s, when the rest of us went home. Said someone had to look after our house. Like we were going to fall for that.’

‘We did, though, didn’t we?’ Lizzie said.

‘Her dad left when she was a baby, didn’t he?’ Mona said, tucking her hands under her arms in a bid to keep warm. The fine wool suit looked good but it wasn’t much use against the damp chill that hung in the air.

‘So Nicci said that night. You know how she was: all ears where our problems were concerned, but always playing her own cards close to her chest.’

Having wiped the muddy key on her hem, Lizzie pushed it into the lock, turned it but found the door wouldn’t open.

‘Come on,’ said Mona. ‘My toes are going to drop off if you don’t let us in soon.’

Lizzie looked puzzled. Turning the key back the other way, she felt it click and reached for the shed’s door handle. The shed had been unlocked all along.

‘Here we go,’ she said, pushing open the door, and stopped . . .

Lizzie could hear breathing. There was someone in there. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, the toes of a scuffed pair of shoes came into view. Church’s brogues.

‘D-David,’ she asked, ‘is that you?’ Her mind raced through their conversation. Had they said anything he shouldn’t have overheard?

‘Yes,’ said a familiar voice, and she felt her shoulders sag. ‘It’s me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump, I just had to . . . you know . . . get away for a bit. I couldn’t think where else to go. Every room in the house is . . . and Nicci always . . .’ David stopped, unable to go on. After a careful breath, he said, ‘She came down here when she wanted peace, you know. Said it was the only place she could think. Away from the house, with the sounds of the garden.’

‘And the A3 in the distance,’ Mona said wryly.

David flipped a switch and Nicci’s shed came into focus. It was larger than Lizzie expected. The light came from two small lamps. They were the kind of lights her gran might have had: dark wood sculpted base, lampshades of faded chintz. Lizzie wouldn’t have given them houseroom. Typically, here they looked somehow stylish. The one nearest David sat on an old sideboard, which doubled as a worktop, a kettle, glazed brown teapot and assorted mugs, plus a couple of boxes of herbal tea, piled haphazardly on its surface. In the far corner was an old-school Victorian sink. It appeared to be plumbed in.

One of the mugs Lizzie recognised: she’d bought them all ‘I

NY’ mugs back from her honeymoon. The chair David sat in was from his and Nicci’s first flat. A battered old thing that had been more holes than leather when they’d bought it for a tenner in a junk shop. Nicci had restored it.

‘I always wondered what happened to that chair,’ Lizzie said. ‘And those cushions . . .’

‘What did she need a kettle for?’ Mona said. ‘I know it’s a big garden, but it’s not that big.’

‘Mona,’ Jo said crossly. ‘What?’

‘Think about it.’

An awkward silence fell. Lizzie and Jo were thinking the same thing: a couple of hundred feet is a long way when you’ve had chemo.

‘Like I said,’ David got to his feet, ‘Nicci used to spend time down here thinking. Until the last few weeks. Then the state of the garden made her feel too guilty. She hadn’t been well enough to put it to bed for winter, and she felt bad about that. Said it wore its neglect like unloved clothes.’

Yes, Lizzie thought, that sounded like Nicci.

David looked wrung out. Anyone who hadn’t known him with a purple Mohican would have thought the same hair-dresser had cut his short brown hair in the same style since he was a toddler. His brown eyes were bloodshot, his face puffy. His mouth, usually ready with a quiet smile, was set in a tense line, as if one wobble would bring his composure crashing down.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lizzie said. ‘We didn’t realise . . . I mean, if we’d known you were here we wouldn’t have intruded.’

‘OK,’ he said, brushing off his trousers, even though there was nothing on them. ‘I should get back anyway. After all, it’s my party . . .’

‘And I’ll cry if I want to,’ the women finished for him.

‘David,’ Lizzie said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I know,’ he said, his voice almost inaudible. ‘But not as sorry as I am.’

‘He knows,’ Mona said, when David had shut the shed door firmly behind him. ‘About the letters. He knows.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Lizzie asked. ‘He’d say something, wouldn’t he? If he did.’

‘We know,’ Jo pointed out. ‘And we haven’t.’

‘Of course he knows,’ Mona said. ‘When has it ever been that awkward with David? He’s known us as long as he’s known Nicci. It’s never been awkward. If you’d asked me a couple of weeks ago I’d have said I was closer to him than my brothers, by a mile. Dan certainly is. I’ve seen a lot more of David in the last fifteen years than I have of them.’ She grinned. ‘Hell, when we lived in that dive in Hove he probably saw us naked almost as often as Nicci.’

A memory of David walking in on her in the bathroom came to Mona and her grin slipped as fast as it had arrived. His appraising glance, before embarrassment hit them both. Nicci’s forty-eight hours of coolness, David’s mumbled apology in Nicci’s presence, and the wariness with which she watched David and Mona for a few weeks after that. It was unnecessary. Even if Mona would have, David wouldn’t.

‘Damn it,’ she said. ‘He knows.’