No Friends of Mine

NO FRIENDS OF MINE absolutely gripping suspense fiction Vanessa Garbin Published by THE BOOK FOLKS London, 2023 © Vanessa Garbin Polite note to the reader This book is written in Australian English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate. You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers. We hope you enjoy the book. Also by Vanessa Garbin WHAT WE DID LAST NIGHT THE LIES I TOLD HIM YOUR EVERY MOVE THE STEPS WE TAKE THEIR LITTLE SECRETS Details can be found at the back of this book. Contents Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 Epilogue More fiction by Vanessa Garbin Other titles of interest FREE BOOKS IN YOUR INBOX Prologue It’s dark down here. Darker than the night. I can no longer hear the keening shriek of the gulls or the howling wind as it sends frothy waves crashing against the shore. Every time I try to raise my head or attempt to shift my arms and legs, sand, wet and clumpy from the rainstorm, finds its way into my ears and my open mouth as I gasp and choke for breath. I’m not sure how long I’ve got. The old tarpaulin he wrapped me in and the rusty sheet of corrugated iron he rested on top of my body has allowed some limited breathing space. But it hurts to breathe, and I’ll probably run out of this damp earthy air soon. I felt every thud of sand he shovelled over my shallow grave only moments ago and I was stupid enough to think that after he stopped at one hundred and sixty-five shovelfuls – I counted – I’d be able to feel the vibrations of his footsteps as he left then simply burst out of my grave like the undead and make my escape. But of course, one hundred and sixty-five shovelfuls of sand, wet sand that is, is much heavier than I expected, and the person responsible for putting me underground has either tiptoed away from my body or is simply standing around my grave in silence because I can’t hear or feel their presence at all. Maybe I shouldn’t have played dead. Maybe I should have groaned aloud so that they could properly finish me off before they ordered him to bury me. Because I doubt anyone will find me in time, and if I’m going to die, I just want it over with as quickly as possible. As in, right now. Because lying here alone, bleeding from the head, with only my thoughts for company, is pure torture. It allows me to mull miserably over what went wrong. Regrets? Oh yes. I have about a million regrets. I regret not listening to my mum all those years ago when she told me not to get too close to ‘that blonde girl with untrustworthy eyes’ because Mum had a vibe about her. I should have trusted Mum’s vibe. I regret not being by Mum’s side the night she took her last breath. I regret not taking that trip with her to Broome after her first operation because I was paranoid my boyfriend, Lance, was going to cheat on me again while I was away. I regret not meeting up with that sweet, green-eyed guy who invited me out for coffee last year, while Lance and I were on a break, because who knows? I regret not taking the time to watch more sunrises and sunsets, to smell more roses or any flowers for that matter. I regret not taking that backpacking trip around Europe I’d always dreamed of doing. I regret not ordering that fancy $20 dessert the last time I ate out. I regret not quitting the waitressing job that I’ve grown to hate. I regret not doing something amazing with my life. At what point did I decide to just give up on all the hopes and dreams I’d held tightly to since childhood? Ten years ago, that’s when. Most of all, I regret returning to this cursed holiday house. Why, oh why did I come? I should have just ignored the WhatsApp invitation and blocked her number. How did she get my number anyway? I changed it after high school, after what happened. Oh well, I guess I’ll never know. Something tickles my ear, a thing with tiny legs, and inwardly I throw a fit. Outwardly though, I can barely wriggle in protest. Still, I must have managed to move a little because more cold, wet sand closes in around my ears and face. I squeeze my lids shut. There’s nothing to see down here anyway. At least whatever tickled my ear has been smothered in sand. I spit dirt out from my mouth and try to calm my racing heart without sucking all of the remaining oxygen into my lungs. It’s tricky. Now, where was I? Oh… that’s right. Regrets. If the weight of the earth wasn’t crushing me right now, and if I was standing upright instead of lying on my back, this is the moment I’d hang my head in shame. My biggest regret ever is doing what I did ten years ago on that moonlit beach. Because if it weren’t for that night, if I hadn’t finally confessed my love to him, people wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t be here, wrapped up like a poor man’s mummy… awaiting my last breath. My heart aches and my eyes prickle with tears as I desperately try to picture his face, his beautiful smile. I can’t believe it’s been ten years. Time has made it difficult to remember his features and without a photo in front of me, his image morphs into someone unrecognisable and fades into blackness. I’m all alone. All