In a Dark, Dark Wood(16)

But I didn’t need to.

I knew who it was.

Clare.

‘Lee?’ she said, as if in disbelief. The light was full in her eyes, and she blinked and shielded them from the torch beam. ‘My God, is it really you? I didn’t … What are you doing here?’





6


FOR A MINUTE I didn’t understand. Had there been some horrible mistake? Was it possible she hadn’t invited me at all, and this was all Flo’s stupid idea?

‘It— I’m— y-your hen,’ I stammered. ‘Didn’t you—?’

‘I know that, silly!’ She laughed, a nervous gust of white breath in the cold air. ‘I meant, what are you doing out here? Are you training for an Arctic expedition or something?’

‘Having a run,’ I said, trying to make it sound like the most normal thing in the world. ‘It’s not that c-cold. Just a bit nippy.’ But I was cold now, standing still, and I ruined the last words by shivering convulsively.

‘Get in, I’ll give you a lift up to the house.’ She leaned across and opened the passenger door.

‘I’m … my trainers, they’re pretty gross—’

‘Don’t worry. It’s a hire car. Get in already, before we both freeze!’

I squelched round to the passenger side and got in, feeling the heat of the car strike through my cold, sweat-soaked thermals. The mud had penetrated my trainers. My toes were squishing inside the lining in a way that made me shudder.

Clare put the car back into gear and hushed ‘Single Ladies’ with a click of the mute button. The silence was suddenly deafening.

‘So …’ She looked at me sideways in the mirror. She was just as beautiful as ever. I’d been crazy to think ten years could have made a difference to Clare. Her beauty was bone-deep. Even in the dim light of the car, muffled up in an old hoodie and a giant snood-like scarf, she looked startling. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an adorably messy knot that spilled down over her shoulders. Her nails were painted scarlet, but chipped – not try-hard, no one could accuse Clare of that. Pitch-perfect, more like.

‘So,’ I echoed back. I had always felt like the poor relation in comparison to Clare. Ten years had changed nothing, I realised.

‘Long time no see.’ She was shaking her head, her fingertips tapping on the wheel. ‘But God, I mean … it’s good to see you, Lee, you know?’

I said nothing.

I wanted to tell her I was not that person any more – I was Nora now, not Lee.

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault, the reason I hadn’t kept in touch was nothing to do with her – that it was me. Only … that wasn’t completely true.

Most of all, I wanted to ask her why I was here.

But I didn’t. I didn’t say anything. I just sat, staring up at the house as we wound closer.

‘It’s really good to see you,’ she said again. ‘So, you’re a writer now – is that right?’

‘Yes,’ I said. The words seemed strange and false in my mouth, as if I were lying, or telling stories about someone else, a distant relative perhaps. ‘Yes, I’m a writer. I write crime fiction.’

‘I heard. I saw a piece in the paper. I’m so— I’m really pleased for you. That’s amazing, you know? You should be very proud.’

I shrugged. ‘It’s just a job.’ The words came out stiff and bitter – I didn’t mean them like that. I know I’m lucky. And I worked hard to get here. I should be proud. I am proud.

‘What about you?’ I managed.

‘I’m in PR. I work for the Royal Theatre Company.’

PR. That figured, and I smiled, a genuine smile this time. Clare was always amazing at spinning a story, even at twelve. Even at five.

‘I’m … I’m very happy,’ she said softly. ‘And listen, I’m sorry we lost touch – seeing you … we had some good times, didn’t we?’ She glanced at me in the ghostly green light from the dashboard. ‘Remember having our first fag together?’ She gave a laugh. ‘First kiss … first joint … first time sneaking into an eighteen film …’

‘First time getting chucked out,’ I retorted, and then wished I hadn’t sounded so snide. Why? Why was being I so defensive?

But Clare only laughed. ‘Ha, what a humiliation! We thought we were being so clever – getting Rick to buy the tickets and sneaking through to the loos. I didn’t think they’d check at the screen door as well.’

‘Rick! I’d forgotten him. What’s he up to these days?’

‘God knows! Probably in prison. For underage sex, if there’s any justice.’

Rick had been Clare’s boyfriend for a year when we were fourteen or fifteen, a greasy long-haired twenty-two-year-old with a motorbike and a gold tooth. I’d never liked him – even at fourteen I’d found it bizarre and disgusting that Clare would want to sleep with a bloke that age, despite the fact that he could get into clubs and buy alcohol.

‘Ugh, he was such a creep,’ I said, before I thought better of it. I bit my tongue, but Clare only laughed.

‘Totally! I can’t believe I couldn’t see it at the time. I thought I was so sophisticated having sex with an older guy! Now it seems like … like one step away from paedophilia.’ She gave a snort and then an exclamation as the car bounced off a pothole. ‘Oops! Sorry.’