Keep Your Friends Close: A gripping psychological thriller full of shocking twists you won’t see coming
kind, but she had Will as her protector and he kept her safe.
Whether her mother had realized it or not – more likely an oversight on her part – she had still been paying for Karin’s phone contract back then. However, unless Karin could get into a hostel to charge it up, it had been of limited use and she’d had to guard it with her life. Staring out of the car window at the passing trees, Aaron by her side at the wheel, she could, even now, remember the excitement of seeing all those messages appearing, and how quickly it would turn to guilt.
Always Louie:
Where have you gone? Please come back, let’s talk.
Never anything from her mother.
Karin had carried the bundle of letters stuffed into the waistband of her knickers. She knew it was risky hanging onto them, because they could do real damage in the wrong hands, but without them she had nothing.
She was no one.
Despite having Will, trusted friend and loyal companion, those days on the streets were the loneliest of all. She often wondered, had Birgitta been aware of her living rough, might she have given her the lump sum sooner, instead of making her wait until she turned twenty-two? Unlikely though, knowing her mother. Because the deal was that if Karin didn’t finish her schooling and go to university, the money would be stopped, with no more until today. What little Karin had left from her hotel earnings, she had given to Louie, leaving herself with just enough for the train fare to Leeds, plus a small amount besides until she found her feet again. But Karin had got drunk on the train on the way over, and then she was robbed.
Karin was pretty sure it wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference if she had known. Birgitta was a Swedish torpedo. That’s what her dad used to call her. He said that no one could ever stop her or change her direction. He certainly couldn’t, and Karin couldn’t either. Even as a child, Karin wondered why her parents were together; her dad was always hovering and quivering in the background. Without doubt, this sharp-pointed focus was the reason for her mother’s success as a world-class designer, but it torpedoed through everything else. Everyone else.
Karin knew it had been a mistake to start looking at those letters before setting off this evening. She had managed to ignore them until today, despite clinging to them all this time. Her own letters were wound up in that bundle too, of course. It was the bereavement counsellor’s suggestion that they write to each other after her dad died. On paper, and with stamps. So they could think about what they wanted to say to each other, before sending. Safer that way. Better than any text or email fired off in the heat of the moment. Karin had still managed to fire off, even so. And then one day all the letters were returned to her in a bulging jiffy bag, along with the words:
‘Karin,
I suggest you read back over these. I hope you have a good life, but I no longer want to be a part of it, nor you a part of mine.
Mamma (no longer).
Remember, if you come anywhere near me again, try to contact me in any way, I shall go straight to the police. Your accusation has ruined my life.
scribbled on a Svendsen business card.
Karin could recall sitting on her bed in her room at school, putting the letters in date order. ‘From Karin’. ‘From Mamma’. The word ‘love’ never came into it. Then she had tied them up and hidden them away. Since then only two people had read them.
First Louie. And then Will.
No one else ever would. Not even Mel.
Definitely not Aaron.
Throw them away, Karin.
She had bought the box when she moved in with Mel, using the date of her dad’s death as the security code. Another option would have been to use the date of her stepdad’s death, as a sort of prompt for why she shouldn’t look inside, but she decided the box alone was enough of a reminder. One of the letters was missing; she had set fire to it at school. It went up in an orange angry fireball. At a time when Karin most needed her mother’s support, she got nothing but criticism and a whole heap of deceit.
Karin didn’t blame herself for what happened. She might be sorry, but it wasn’t all her fault.
‘You okay?’
She felt Aaron’s hand on her thigh. It pulled her back to the present and she managed a thin smile. Sweat was beading on her forehead. She lowered the window for a blast of 30-mile-an-hour air. It was enough to cool her. Aaron gave her a look; he preferred the air-con. But his expression also said that he was making allowances for her birthday.
Then he seemed worried. ‘Is it a headache coming on, Karin? Do you want me to pull over?’
‘No. No, I’m fine,’ she replied, smiling at his kindness. ‘Just hot, that’s all.’
They slowed for the next set of traffic lights. Aaron began to get agitated as they waited, his hands turning white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Karin wasn’t sure why, at first, until she realized that three young lads in their souped-up Ford Focus were making gestures at him. Intent on getting a reaction, they began shouting: ‘Come on, old fella. Give it some metal. Wouldn’t mind a ride of your daughter.’
‘Idiots,’ said Karin as their car sped away with a blast of exhaust. She could sense a part of Aaron wanted to take them on, checking his mirrors for a way through, but she managed to distract him by putting on his ‘Music To Drive For’ compilation, fast-forwarding through Travis and Coldplay. Karin patted him on the leg, because this was worse than not using the air-con, but it forced another smile out of him. It had taken her a long while to feel brave enough to do this kind of thing. Desperate to be his contemporary and not some alien from another generation, initially she felt obliged to like whatever he liked. Now that she knew him better she could relax and be herself, most of the time.
‘So where are we going?’ she asked as they approached signs for both the M62 and M1 up ahead. Aaron wouldn’t say, but when they turned onto the M621 she thought she might have an idea. ‘So is it Manchester? Chester? Oh God, if it’s the Lakes I didn’t pack any outdoorsy stuff.’
‘It’s not the Lakes,’ he said, grinning.
‘You tease-ball. I hate you.’
Aaron smiled. ‘You’ll love it,’ he said.
He was always so keen to please and surprise. But what she liked most about him was that he didn’t make her feel like she was on a runaway train, about to crash. This was a proper romance, not a teenage train wreck. Karin began to contemplate him with an intensity neither one of them would have felt comfortable with had Aaron not been driving. Either that or he was pretending not to notice. Aaron was sweet like that.
What if Mel was right about this weekend? At this precise moment she was feeling somewhere between terrified and ecstatic at the prospect of someone asking to marry her. Not just anyone. Aaron. Marriage was not something she expected would ever happen to her. Not something she had even considered for herself, something other people did. And Mel was right about it being sudden. Whirlwind. Wasn’t that the term? They had only been together a few months. So did she really need to make that final commitment yet? Karin was in no doubt that she loved Aaron, but weren’t they doing fine as they were? She had only just got her life back together.
Having abandoned her education, Karin was now doing far better than she ever imagined, with a level of responsibility she probably ought to have a string of qualifications for. The pay was poor in the charity sector, but the cause was certainly worth fighting for, and for the first time, she felt valued and needed. That wasn’t even about money. It was about hard work and a self-belief she had never had in all the years of being crushed by her mother, feeling, always, the inadequacy of her existence; the burden of living in Birgitta’s frozen shadow. It was a cruel irony that the one inferior product her mother had designed should be the one she gave birth to. Karin was never allowed to forget that, but now the real