BooksBarbecue
Back Bad Friends
Chapters (59)
  1. Bad Friends
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. AFTER: DECEMBER
  6. BEFORE: JUNE
  7. Chapter One
  8. Chapter Two
  9. Chapter Three
  10. Chapter Four
  11. Chapter Five
  12. Chapter Six
  13. Chapter Seven
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-One
  28. Chapter Twenty-Two
  29. Chapter Twenty-Three
  30. Chapter Twenty-Four
  31. Chapter Twenty-Five
  32. Chapter Twenty-Six
  33. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-One
  38. Chapter Thirty-Two
  39. Chapter Thirty-Three
  40. Chapter Thirty-Four
  41. Chapter Thirty-Five
  42. Chapter Thirty-Six
  43. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  44. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  45. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  46. Chapter Forty
  47. Chapter Forty-One
  48. Chapter Forty-Two
  49. Chapter Forty-Three
  50. Chapter Forty-Four
  51. Chapter Forty-Five
  52. Chapter Forty-Six
  53. Chapter Forty-Seven
  54. Chapter Forty-Eight
  55. A CONVERSATION WITH CLAIRE SEEBER
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  57. About the Author
  58. By the same author:
  59. About the Publisher

‘After I drop Bel off tomorrow evening, I’m going straight on to Cornwall.’ I raised my head from the leather headrest to peer at him. ‘You could come too, if you like.’

Before he could answer, I nodded off, and when we arrived at mine, Seb half-carried me upstairs and I passed out straight away.

So I missed the message on my answer-phone. The message about the stranger lurking by my door.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

In and out of troubled drunken sleep, I slipped between horrid dreams where Joseph tried to kiss me all covered in blood while Seb watched us intently, except he looked like Charlie, his hooded eyes malevolent. And then I dreamed of Alex, laughing at the kitchen table, hollows for eyes, the night I’d come back early from filming in Cardiff and found him bare-chested and snorting grams of cocaine with his old college mate Riff, not long after our first Christmas together.

Somewhere deep down, perhaps there’d always been a tiny germ of doubt, of fear, about a man like Alex who could happily drink all day – but I’d surrendered without much struggle to something that felt so right. To something I’d never felt before – something I think I’d been waiting for since my mother had gone.

Alex never brought me flowers, or took me to fancy places. He wasn’t king of lavish gestures (though he did quite like the cake-shop downstairs), he was just him – shambolic, master of silly voices; every opinion held hard and argued for. But God, I knew he loved me. He’d hold me in his arms and stare at me, those sleepy eyes unblinking, and I’d gaze back. We were like children, discovering something new and mesmerising, something we couldn’t get enough of. For a while we almost did become one, clinging to each other like you would a life-raft; like we’d found the way home. Slowly Alex lured me in – he was looking for a companion to join him in his decadence, although I didn’t realise it at first.

A month after we’d met, I took Alex to Pendarlin for the best week of my life. Bursting with happiness, with love and joy, I felt invincible, giant-like in my delight. I sat in the window-seat upstairs one day, basking in the warmth of the spring sun soaking through the old glass, and I realised I was almost euphoric. I watched Alex and his faithful friend cross the pea-green lawn with firewood, Alex waving up at me and Digby barking happily amid crowds of creamy yellow daffodils – and I ran down the higgledy-piggledy stairs and flung myself at my boyfriend just like his beloved dog did. I hadn’t known it was possible to feel like this.