The Best of Friends Alex Day (best short novels .TXT) 📖

– it was painstakingly explained to me by my solicitor on several occasions and, every time, I sat and listened and nodded and made out that I was following everything she was saying. But in reality, I wasn’t. Mainly, I couldn’t actually believe any of it really related to me. It was as if there was another Susannah somewhere, lingering in the wings, and it was she who would be brought to the dock to face the judge’s decision.

My parents oscillated between stony, pursed-lip silences, tirades of anger – ‘How on earth could you possibly do this to us? Do you know what you’ve done to our reputations?’ – and anguished hand-wringing about how much time I might have to do at Her Majesty’s pleasure and how often they would be allowed to visit.

I was impassive throughout. What I had done had occurred during a period of lunacy – diminished responsibility? – during which I couldn’t see anything straight, could only feel. Feel the pain of Charlie’s desertion, his lack of care or concern, his unceremonious dismissal of me and everything we had had together.

But, as my solicitor repeatedly told me, my actions had been premeditated. It had taken courage and planning and a type of low cunning that is apparently judged particularly harshly to buy the thermometers and the chocolates, to liberate the miscellaneous accessories from the work supplies cupboard.

On the other hand, it was also utterly incompetent. Laughably so. Who could have imagined that tampering with a box of chocolates would not be noticed? That the needle holes would be ignored?

Being a criminal is bad enough. Being a stupid one, worst of all.

But, I sometimes wanted to counter, the idiotic, simple-minded, tiny-brained, mini-skirted Josephine had not only picked up the chocolates from the doorstep, left by God only knows who, but she had taken them inside, opened them, and put one in her stupid, pouty mouth. So my work had fooled one person, albeit the thickest person on the planet.

I didn’t say it, though. Even I could see that this would not help my case.

Chapter 39

Charlotte

We get to the hospital.

Even before I’ve stopped outside A&E, I’ve got the window down and I’m screaming for help. An ambulance has just discharged a patient and there’s a paramedic waiting to close the doors. Seeing me hollering as if hell has boiled over, he runs over through the pelting rain. Within minutes, a whole team is there, assessing the situation, getting Dan onto a stretcher. I don’t care what anyone says about the NHS, these people are amazing. Inside the building, out of the wind and wet, equipment is wielded, lines inserted, urgent instructions issued and commands followed.

Only Dan is oblivious to all the activity, unconscious now, his inert body long and lean. Lifeless.

My hand moves to his cheek, still gently caressing. I cannot stop touching him. His eyes flicker open.

‘Sus,’ he says. ‘It was … it was … I slept with …’

He stops. Mustering all the life left in him, he utters one last word.

‘Susannah.’

Your name is like the blade of a knife slicing through my heart.

Dan’s confession. His deathbed confession? I can’t bear to think that is the case. Of course, he has no idea that I know already, that I have known for days.

In retrospect, I understand that your interest in my holiday in Corsica, in when I was going and how long I’d be staying, was never about me. It was about when Dan would be alone and open to your tender ministrations. I think of how you promised to ‘keep an eye on Naomi’, assuring me that you’d make sure she didn’t get her hands on Dan when in fact it’s your grubby mitts that have been all over him.

You’ve always been consumed by envy, have never been able to bear the sight of me and my family, with our money and status and position in the village, our beautiful home, our perfect life.

You’ve always wanted to destroy me. And I know what you’ve done in your efforts to achieve it.

Poison.

Our food, that you made out was to facilitate our reconciliation, was laden with poison. I suppose you must have wanted us both to go under. It’s difficult to think that you intended our children to be orphans, but, as they say, hell hath no fury …

They’re moving Dan’s trolley again, towards bright lights that shine like beacons. The operating theatre? The doors open wider and Dan is borne away from me by a uniformed phalanx of nurses, doctors, consultants, anaesthetists. In my befuddled state, I don’t know who or what they all are.

But I know what you are.

You are a bitch, a man stealer, a prize cow who thought she could take my precious husband right from under my nose. But you’re out of luck.

Dan’s not going to die, whatever’s happened to him – he’s far too strong. And when – not if – he overcomes this crisis, he has money to pay for any treatment, any medicine, whatever is needed. Surely his money will be enough?

At this thought, my legs give way beneath me and I’m on the floor, the tiles in front of my eyes not so white this close up, but spotted with colours of cream and beige and studded with particles of mud and dirt. As I’m scooped up by more of the uniforms, I swear one thing to myself. That I’m not going to die, either.

I need to survive so that I see you in prison.

Chapter 40

Susannah

Dan is in hospital, in intensive care.

The story goes around the village like wildfire, spreading from one gossip to another, changing and morphing with each retelling. He tried to commit suicide, Charlotte attacked him with a knife, he’s paralysed for life from the neck down, he’s made a miraculous and unexpected recovery, an intruder stabbed him, they had a car accident because of the terrible weather, he’ll definitely die, he’ll definitely survive, he’s on the mend, he’s six feet under