Friend Indeed: a novella

By Katharine D'Souza

Jane’s got problems. And if she’s struggling, surely someone should help her.
After all, what are friends for?
Toxic friendships
Teenage promises
Turning fifty
It’s payback time for one friend in need.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katharine D'Souza
• Release date: Nov 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463491423

Katharine D'Souza

I've lived all my adult life in the south Birmingham suburbs although I grew up in a larger city further south. Given how long I've been here, it's perhaps unsurprising that my stories are set in Birmingham, but I hope the themes are universal. In addition to writing, I work part time at a university, used to be a flood forecaster but I'm sure you're here because of the books rather than to read my CV.I'm fond of reading, drinking tea or wine, and eating cake - so we must have a lot in common!Find out more at my website www.katharinedsouza.co.uk

Book preview

Friend Indeed

a novella

Katharine D’Souza

ISBN-13: 979 8 566 95097 6

Copyright © Katharine D’Souza 2020

The right of Katharine D’Souza to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means (including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods) without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations and certain non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead or to actual events is purely coincidental.

Friend Indeed

1

I hug the dress to me and consider my reflection, imagining Maya’s reaction. Not that she’d worry about my opinion. Not anymore.

There was a time we shopped together, dismissive as we rejected rack after rack of outfits, our vicious critique silencing the communal changing room at Miss Selfridge. God, communal changing rooms. One of many things which used to be normal. Normality has largely improved, but Maya will still judge me and likely find fault. The trouble is: people listen to her. Always have.

Smoothed against my body I can tell that the cut of the dress is OK but the fabric is wrong. The shine exposes its provenance from the cheap end of the high street. I knew that when I bought it, but this is an event impossible to be appropriately dressed for. Not lunchtime, not evening. Afternoon drinks, to celebrate her accomplishment. Twenty-five years in an industry she’d never have stood a chance in if it weren’t for me. Twenty-five years and she’s still respected in that world. Twenty-five years and she’s never shown her gratitude. Well, now’s her chance.

I fold the dress into my holdall. Cheap it may have been but I can’t afford it and intend to claim a refund later in the week. Even if I’m not best-dressed at this occasion, I’ll at least be better turned out than Sandra.

She’s never grasped the concept of style. I’d almost been tempted to tell her it was black tie to ensure she didn’t turn up in jogging bottoms, but I’ve seen photos of her at formal events. She must have a time machine to transport her back to the eighties to buy the same Disney princess-style dress in different colours. Richard must be on constant look out to make sure she doesn’t get too close to naked flames. Between the hairspray and the taffeta she’d go up like a distress flare.

She has to be at this event though. This needs all three of us and the date has been set since we turned sixteen. It was a pact: three people, three ambitions, three promises. It’s time to finish what we started and I, for one, will be dressed for success.

We’ll stay a couple of nights, to ‘make a holiday of it’ as Sandra says, although the business will take less than an hour, I imagine. Of course Sandra doesn’t know that. She thinks we’re having a reunion, has been talking about little else for weeks. She deserves a treat, I suppose.

I zip the bag shut with the evidence sealed safe inside a creased envelope cushioned between my clothes. It’s unlikely to be required. I remember the vows word for word and don’t doubt the others do too, whether they’ll admit to it or not. So far, Sandra hasn’t referred to the pact, only mused on it being our fiftieth birthday, our half-centuries - such a milestone.

She wanted to buy Maya a present. I assured her that wasn’t necessary. Presents from us are not expected at this party. Nor is our presence.

A car pulls up outside and I smile at myself in the mirror. I’ve waited half my life for this. I’m ready. I open the door and return my friend’s hug as I wish her a happy birthday.

‘I’m so excited, Jane,’ Sandra says. ‘Richard’ll tell you I barely slept a wink.’

Richard doesn’t need to speak. One glance at his face tells me everything. He’ll be glad of a couple of nights without her.

He takes my bag and loads it into the boot of the Lexus while I lock the door. He doesn’t like to leave his car unattended around here. I don’t like to tell him the locals more likely take him for another dealer rather than the easy target that he is. My job is not to undermine Richard’s ego.

I smile at him and settle into the back seat while he closes the door for me as though I’m a VIP or an invalid. Neither status applies. I zip my keys into my handbag knowing I can’t guarantee keeping them much longer.

Sandra chatters as Richard negotiates the roadworks on the way into Birmingham. I barely listen; we’ll have plenty of time for talking on the train and I savour the view from the low-slung leather seat - so different to what I’d normally observe from the bus. The glass is grey- rather than rose-tinted and it reveals a city I rarely see: the driver’s eye view of cars and their occupants, rear window stickers and pedestrians, rather than the buildings my eye is drawn to from the taller vantage point on the bus. Richard doesn’t often collect me in the car. I may have to encourage him to repeat the favour.

He pulls into the drop off bay at New Street station with a cheery, ‘Here you are then, girls!’

Girls? We’re about to turn fifty, although of course it’s something he’s already ticked off his ‘to do’ list. Get married: tick. Successful career: tick. Two children and a cockerpoo: tick. His half-century was celebrated with fine dining and finer wines. Apparently. I wasn’t invited.

His hand brushes my skin as he passes me my holdall, but he won’t catch my eye. Fine. Sandra’s my responsibility for the next two days then.

‘Will you be doing something with the boys while we’re away?’ I ask.

‘The boys?’ He continues to avoid looking at me.

‘Your sons?’

‘Oh, well, they’re packing for university. Seeing friends before they go, that sort of thing. Can’t imagine they’ll want to spend too much time with their dad.’

‘I don’t know,’ I reply, ‘if I were them I’d be buttering you up to get some cash out of you.’

And that does make him look at me. I keep my expression blank. Let him wonder if I might be teasing.

‘Come on,’ Sandra says. ‘Let’s get coffee and magazines.’ She pecks Richard’s cheek, tells him she’ll be back soon for her birthday celebration with him, and heads for the entrance.

Coffee and magazines. Her enthusiasm is infectious. As if we were teenagers again. As if we were back where this all began; back when anything was possible.

Day Zero

Monday the fourth of September, 1978 - the day I knew would change my life. I wanted it to, although for different reasons than my parents. They encouraged me through the eleven plus, so proud of their clever daughter. It was a joke among their friends - how I was smarter than the pair of them added together. They hoped I’d get into a brilliant career but, to me, grammar school was my passport to life,