The Family Friend by C. MacDonald (love story novels in english txt) 📕

such good mates now, maybe you can find out why she lied about how she found us?’ Caz looks down at the rubbery fake woodchips below her feet. She bites her bottom lip, trying to disguise her irritation. She’s only about five foot two but she’s got such presence.

‘How many Instagram stories do you post every day? Five, ten? How many of those are in your front room? Half of them? How long have you lived there? A year? Eighteen months? That’s hundreds of pictures, hundreds of videos you’ve posted, that you have no way of looking back through, and you are certain, certain enough to make up some conspiracy about Amanda, the nicest person most of us have ever met?’ Erin’s breath shortens and she shifts Bobby from one arm to the other. ‘I’m not trying to be cruel, babe, I’m, I’m here for you, I am, I just can’t bear to see you put two and two together and make fifteen like this. I get that you’re angry, you’re right to be angry, I’m fucking furious on your behalf, and talk to her about the honey. Definitely. It’s not on. But, all this – all this paranoia, it’ll make you unwell.’ She puts a hand on Erin’s upper arm before moving off to help her daughter up to the top of the slide.

Bobby swipes at Erin’s shoulder and begins to groan up into a cry so she plonks herself down on the bench and, without even considering trying to breastfeed him, gets the bottle of premixed formula out of her baby bag and gives it to him. He pushes it away, probably not sweet enough for his newly tampered-with taste. She shoves the teat further into his mouth. She looks at the walkway above the beach that butts onto the play park. An old gentleman walking a dog that looks too strong for him smiles at her as he passes. Erin blinks, shakes her head to banish the constant feeling that she’s being watched. Caz keeps one eye on her as she catches Imogen at the bottom of the slide. She throws her a sympathetic smile, abject concern lingering in her eyes.

38

‘All right, pal, it’s Caz. You’re probably having a beer with Wolf from Gladiators or some such shite so don’t worry about calling me back, but listen, about earlier, you didn’t need me telling you that you’re being paranoid or whatever. I should’ve listened to you and I’m sorry but here, I’ve WhatsApped you a link to a photo. Was on Facebook wasting my life scrolling and I saw this photo of Claire Porter. She was in town taking a photo in front of that crap local museum no one goes in. Well, Lorna fucking Morgan is in the background with her kids. And it’s the day you thought she was in Maidstone, the day the photo was taken from the church group. Anyway, have a look. Thought I should let you know.’

39

Erin pushes the buggy along Wilkes Road. Bobby is covering himself in orange corn dust from one of those terrible Wotsit-looking carrot sticks that are meant to be healthy. Wilkes Road is Lorna’s road, two away from her house, and Erin’s not one hundred per cent sure what she’s doing here. Since the video was first posted on her Instagram she’s felt like she’s a character in a computer game, a simulation where she’s not fully in control of anything she’s doing. Perhaps she’ll just pass by the house, give Lorna a little glare through the kitchen window, the sort that, if it were her that was the troll, might be enough to say ‘I know what you’re doing’. And if it wasn’t her, could be explained as the smack-arsed expression of someone who’s had a long, hard morning.

But Lorna’s in her garden pruning perfect flower beds in the small front garden outside her prefab while the twins, presumably, sleep in the covered double buggy behind her. She looks up and gives Erin a wave of her secateurs.

‘How are you coping?’ Lorna says, voice full of hollow sympathy, eyes fixed on Bobby covered in radioactive carrot dust.

‘Saw the pictures then?’ Erin says, mouth barely open with her jaw tensed. Why would she ask a question like that? Does she want to know that her devious plan to dethrone Erin is having a harrowing affect?

‘Er, yes. Afraid I did. How awful.’

‘What, the person doing it or how I feel about my son?’ Erin bites the inside of her lip. She’s sure someone’s following her, someone knows where she is at all times, Lorna could have been in the locality on all the occasions. Why post something on Instagram saying you were somewhere else when you weren’t if not to cover yourself?

‘No, of course, the man doing this to you.’

‘A man is it?’ She wants to accuse Lorna, even though she’s still not convinced. Perhaps because she can’t confront Amanda about the honey, she feels a need to lash out, to get some answers, to find some clarity in her head that’s swimming like a pool of frogspawn.

‘Oh, I –’ Lorna looks round at her buggy, feeling the fire radiating from Erin. ‘I suppose I always thought Internet trolls were men. Sure, women can be just as horrible though.’ She shrugs a laugh out.

‘You tell me.’ Erin realises she’s doing an impression of the sort of a detective from the sort of shows she had auditions for when she first left drama school.

‘Have you got something you want to say?’ Lorna says, putting the secateurs on her garden wall and squaring her shoulders.

‘You don’t go to the church group any more.’

‘It’s very busy.’

‘Heard you were saying I’ve ruined it for you?’

‘Well –’ Lorna juts her chin out – ‘as it happens, it – I do feel like it’s been taken over.