BooksBarbecue
Back Bad Friends Save as PDF
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

Stubbornly I told Bel to get out, she was no friend of mine, although deep down of course I knew she was, my very best friend, the only one brave enough to actually challenge me.

And despite sticking up for Alex, it was all spoiled, and although I knew I was complicit because I’d kissed Sam, I knew too that I would never have done it if things had been right between us. And although Alex tried to explain his loss of control as stress from work and having to stay up all night to get things done, and he swore he’d knock both the booze and the cocaine on the head – really soon – my trust in him was shattered. I felt sorry for him about Malcolm, I did, really – but hey, at least both his parents were alive and literally kicking. And I couldn’t forget because when I looked in the mirror I saw those marks around my neck. I suggested we have a week off the booze while we talked things through – but he point-blank refused.

In the cold light of a Cornish summer’s day I realised I couldn’t forget that violence; I couldn’t forgive the drinking any more.

One evening as we got into bed, Alex tried to kiss me but I pushed him away; I felt I didn’t know him any more. We lay side by sleepless side. The next night he moved into the spare room.

That last afternoon we drove from Pendarlin to the small hamlet of Port Quin down on the coast, Debussy’s Clair de Lune playing on the car radio, and I thought it had never sounded so sad. I dropped a pound in the honesty box, and then we walked up onto the headland and sat in the sun among the bracken and the pink-tipped heather, but we didn’t speak. Digby sniffed around joyously in search of rabbit-holes, and I stared out at the brilliant sky, at the tiny fishing boats and the buoys bobbing in the turquoise sea, and I knew that although I loved this man, Bel was right, he was so damaged I couldn’t save him on my own; I couldn’t bring him back.

And then Digby caught some kind of field-mouse. He was so proud, but it made me want to cry as its tiny feet flapped from the dog’s salivating mouth. I let Alex deal with the corpse.