Birds of a Feather Read online

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  First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2018 by HarperCollinsPublishers

  Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2018

  Cover design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2018.

  Cover illustration © Lindsey Spinks / The Artworks

  Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008225834

  Version 2018-04-09

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part Four : Birds of a Feather

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Keep Reading…

  Also by Cressida McLaughlin

  About the Publisher

  Part Four

  Birds of a Feather

  Chapter One

  The marsh harrier is a large bird of prey with a brown body and a pale head. It feeds on animals that live on or near marshes and drops unsuspectingly onto defenceless creatures from the air. Its courtship call is a kind of mewling wail.

  — Note from Abby’s notebook.

  Outside the window of Peacock Cottage, the sunshine blazed. Abby Field could hear the bubbling trill of a robin close by, the gentle tap of bees occasionally banging against the windowpane, but inside the house, everything was quiet.

  Jack Westcoat took a sip of coffee and let out a sigh that was like the slow deflating of a balloon.

  Abby didn’t know how it had come to this; sitting on the sofa in the quaint, secluded cottage with the man who, over the last few months, she had come to see as the brightest part of her life. He was her summer to the spring of working at Meadowsweet Nature Reserve, to the winter of a confusing, unhappy childhood, her parents’ turbulent relationship leaving a mark that she thought she would never be able to rub away. She hadn’t imagined she would open up to him, allow him into her life, but he had snuck in, their sparring matches the fireworks of early attraction, their walks – through the reserve, around the abandoned Swallowtail House – early dates, and finally, last night, she had given in to her feelings for him.

  And now this.

  The London event the previous evening was supposed to have been the beginning of a fresh start for Jack, a chance to banish the memory of the year before, where he’d very publicly attacked a fellow author, Eddie Markham, and had slunk away to the Suffolk countryside with his reputation in tatters. Jack had asked Abby to accompany him to the gala, and she’d barely had to think about it. She had socialized, watched in admiration as Jack had charmed everyone and denied Eddie the satisfaction of a repeat of the previous year, and then they had returned, tired but with an air of quiet relief; not quite triumph, but close. When he had asked the driver to take them both to Peacock Cottage rather than drop Abby at home, she hadn’t hesitated. She had wanted Jack for so long, and the reality was better than all her imaginings.

  But this morning Eddie Markham had turned up in Meadowgreen and tricked her. He’d grabbed her, a photographer waiting to take a photo of their false embrace. And now she was here, trying to understand why Jack hadn’t given his side of the story in the first place, and what this new development was likely to cost him, just when he’d started to put the guilt and regret behind him.

  ‘Eddie Markham was my best friend,’ Jack said, and the sound of his voice, low and deep, on the edge of breaking, made Abby’s breath catch.

  Raffle, her husky, lifted his head briefly from his front paws, and then went back to snoozing at their feet.

  ‘We met at school,’ Jack continued, ‘and were pretty much inseparable. My background was more privileged than his, and that didn’t matter to me, but as we grew older, it was clear that it did to him. I tried my hardest not to ever make a point of it, and I thought we had enough in common that Eddie could see past it, but whenever we got in trouble he’d make quips about my dad bailing me out, how I was untouchable. In fact, Dad came down hard on me without fail, adamant that I had to learn from my mistakes.’

  He glanced at Abby then away again, as if it was easier to pretend he was telling someone else. ‘As we got close to the end of school, Eddie started to behave outlandishly, splashing money that I didn’t think he had to go on expensive holidays, buying designer clothes, burning hundreds of pounds on nights out. And then we went to Oxford together, and things got worse.’

  He released Abby’s hand and took Shalimar from the coffee table, squeezing the tatty toy between his fingers.

  ‘Worse?’ she prompted softly.

  ‘He started taking drugs, disregarding everything except having a good time: wild nights out, turning up drunk or wasted to tutorials, insistent that I should join him, that this was the best time of our lives.’

  ‘And this was what the papers were referring to?’ Abby’s throat felt as if it was sealed shut.

  He nodded. ‘I was young, living away from home for the first time, and I suppose I was weak. But it was a few joints, too much alcohol and partying. I never took the harder drugs, never went to the extremes Eddie did, but I’m not proud of the way I behaved. And of course, it began affecting my studies. I told myself I was going along with him to protect him, to stop him self-destructing, that I was still fully in control.’

  ‘But you weren’t?’

  Jack ran a hand over his jaw, the gesture now so familiar to Abby. ‘Not at all. And Eddie laid it at my door, said that I could have anything I wanted so why shouldn’t he be the same. It was warped, but I felt guilty. I wondered if, somehow, I had pushed him into it. I couldn’t see straight to a way out for him, but when my grades started to suffer, and with Eddie getting more and more reckless, I realized that I had to change. I didn’t enjoy being constantly high or hungover, and I didn’t want to be part of Eddie’s blinkered destructiveness. I told him that I wasn’t doing it anymore, hoping it would make him see sense too.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘At first, he left me behind, and a part of me was relieved. But then he got his act together, dragging up his grades and knocking on my door, wanting to reconcile. That became the pattern; he’d work hard for a while, and then get lured back into the drugs and start going downhill again.’

  ‘And you stayed friends with him all this time?’ Abby asked.

  ‘I realized, after that first time, that I couldn’t do anything else,’ Jack said. ‘I’d grown up with him. How could I live with myself if I left him to fall apart? I continued to go out with him – though it was more as a chaperone. I st
ayed away from the drugs, stood up for him when his dedication to the course was questioned. And then I had a wake-up call.’ He leaned forward and rubbed furiously at his cheeks.

  Abby took hold of his wrists and gently pulled his hands away. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Eddie spiked my drink with Ecstasy on a night out. He was already wired, I’d refused, as always, and so he took the decision out of my hands.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Abby’s stomach twisted. She tried to imagine the panic, the helplessness of something like that happening to her. For Jack, who was always – almost always – so in control, it must have been horrifying.

  ‘I’d started seeing a girl, Hannah, and when I got back to our flat I was a mess. I’d worked out what he’d done, but I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know how much he’d put in my drink, and Hannah ended up calling an ambulance. She was upset and scared, my parents were called and the college was notified. I was lucky not to lose my place.

  ‘After I’d stopped taking part in Eddie’s stupid games and tried to support him, he’d compromised my relationships, my future. I thought, if he can go that far, then what else can he do? I broke off all contact with him and threw myself into my studies. And, over time, I heard he’d improved. He got cleaned up, started studying again, managed to scrape through with a degree of his own.

  ‘A couple of years after I’d graduated, when I’d been writing for a while trying to get a novel finished, our old professor, Ernest Chisolm, contacted me. He said Eddie was writing a book and was desperate to rebuild bridges. I should have said no – to this day I wish I had – but I was curious. I also thought that what he’d done to me had been the catalyst for his own recovery and I felt, somehow, I owed it to him to hear him out.’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ Abby said, sliding her finger round the rim of her coffee cup.

  ‘Is it? I knew that getting back in touch with him was a bad idea, that however much he’d moved on, that self-destructive nature wasn’t too far from the surface. But I saw him, and there was a semblance of the old Eddie there. He drew me back in – he’s charming, clever, and very good at pulling the wool over people’s eyes. We weren’t as tightly bound as we’d been before, but our friendship was shakily resurrected. And then, just as we were both getting our careers off the ground, he was accused of plagiarism by Ernest Chisolm. He’d ripped off the work of our tutor, who had stayed in touch with him, helped him, long after graduation.’

  Abby inhaled. ‘Seriously? Your tutor’s work?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Eddie asked me to bail him out. He said he was innocent, that Ernest was making it up, bitter that Eddie’s book was being published when his wasn’t. He said Ernest was lying but that he could placate him, make it go away. However, there was also a journalist who had uncovered it, and it was someone I knew. I wanted time to compare their work, to see for myself and make a decision, but Eddie told me the story was going to print, that there was no time.

  ‘He was so close to the edge, high on drink and drugs again, worse than I’d ever seen him, and I knew this could tip him over. I agreed to pay off the journalist while he settled whatever he needed to with Ernest, as long as he never mentioned my involvement to anyone, got his life back on track and stayed away from me.’

  He looked at Abby, laughing when she was unable to hide her confusion.

  ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘I should never have agreed to it. But he was drowning, Abby. And I, all high and mighty with my book deal and good early reviews, thought I could pull him out of the depths. It was about helping an old friend but, looking back, I realize it was about my own arrogance, too. I wanted to show him that I was tired of all his shit, that I was stronger than he presumed, and I could get this journalist to listen to me. Look how that’s turned out.’

  ‘Jack.’ Abby scooted forwards and took his hands. His T-shirt was faded red, the neckline pulled slightly out of shape. She thought of him putting it hastily on as Eddie had knocked on the door of Peacock Cottage that morning, imagining it would be her, then the shock at seeing him standing there.

  ‘He took my help and disappeared,’ Jack continued, clearly needing to get to the end of the story. ‘I checked their work, discovered that – of course – he had stolen Ernest’s. He’d been lying, I’d helped him to get away with it, and lost the trust and friendship of my old tutor in the process. But I believed that, in doing what I’d done, I’d saved Eddie – perhaps even his life – and that in some respects it was a price worth paying.

  ‘I got on with my life, barely heard his name, didn’t see any more books after his first, ripped-off novel. Then he started to appear in the red tops, pictured falling drunkenly out of nightclubs, better known for being a troublemaking socialite than a writer. And then, last year, there was news of this new book.

  ‘Eddie’s publicity was never going to involve straightforward reviews or a launch event at Waterstones, but I hadn’t expected that interview, or the lies in it. The idea that I forced him to brush the plagiarism under the carpet, that he had wanted to come clean, that I bullied him, couldn’t be further from the truth. And, if you were wondering …’ He sighed again, squeezing her hand. ‘I did not sleep with the journalist. I knew her, which was the reason Eddie had asked for my help in the first place, so I was more likely to be able to persuade her. Though the substantial sum she asked for was probably the defining factor.’

  ‘I wasn’t wondering,’ Abby said. ‘I didn’t believe that for a second. But what did he say to you – at the awards?’

  Jack took his hand away and drank his coffee, even though it had long since gone cold. ‘He said that I shouldn’t be too disheartened that my relationship with Natasha had ended, that there were probably some journalists waiting in the wings to ease my pain, as long as I paid them well enough.’

  Abby closed her eyes.

  ‘I know, it’s pathetic, but on top of the interview he’d given … I’d been called in by my publishers, asked to explain myself, was close to losing my contract. And he’d begged me to help him hide the plagiarism claim. At the time, I’d put everything on the line – my career, my reputation, my relationship with my former professor – and then, years later, he revealed it himself anyway, twisting my involvement. And so, when he appeared, seemingly without a care in the world and said that to me – I lost it. It was stupid and reckless. I regret it as much as any other part of this whole, sorry business.’ He stood up and walked to the window, pushing it wide open.

  Sounds of spring invaded the room, a relief after the darkness of his story. It was horrible, all of it. Their friendship starting out so innocently, Eddie beginning to crumble under the pressure of trying to prove himself, the way he’d held on to Jack and blamed him equally, creating something toxic and destructive between them. And yet, she still didn’t understand.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell your side of the story? Why didn’t you explain to a newspaper, or someone you trusted, what really happened all those years ago?’

  Jack turned and leaned against the windowsill. ‘Because I didn’t want to stoop to his level. I didn’t want to bring what would essentially be a playground spat out into the open.’

  ‘A playground spat? Jack, he spiked your drink! He stole someone’s work, got you to cover for him, then fed all those lies about you to the paper.’

  ‘But I chose to keep our friendship intact,’ Jack said. ‘I let him back in, and maybe I was partly to blame from the start. Maybe I caused this. His disregard for other people, the drugs, the need to steal Ernest’s work to secure his own future.’

  ‘How could you be responsible for what Eddie did, for the way he lived his life? Jack …’ She pushed herself up and walked over to him. ‘From what you’ve told me, you have given him too many chances. You tried to rescue him when, the truth is, he doesn’t want to be rescued. The man I met today was cruel. He has caused this pain, and implicated you, deliberately. He’s jealous of you, and he can’t bear to see you do well. You have to stop protecting him.’


  ‘I will. I have. After what he did to you—’

  ‘He didn’t hurt me,’ she said quickly.

  ‘But he did,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t brush it away.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, blinking rapidly, and Abby suddenly saw how vulnerable he was, as if the boy who had first smiled at Eddie Markham in a classroom all those years ago had returned, only to discover that Eddie had never really been his friend at all.

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he whispered. ‘You’re everything, Abby.’

  He kissed her and she pressed herself against him, the spring breeze caressing her through the window as she tried to believe his words, that he wasn’t just reaching out for something positive in the midst of fresh despair.

  ‘I have to call Leo,’ he said eventually. ‘I have to tell him what’s happened.’

  ‘Of course. Do you want me to go?’

  He shook his head. ‘Stay with me?’

  She made more coffee, listening to the cadence of his deep voice through the thin walls of the cottage. The back garden was a riot of spring flowers, of tulips and lupins, a white rose bush, the stems drooping under the weight of its blooms. Bees buzzed, early cabbage whites flittered happily in the still air, and she heard the trill of a warbler in the woodland beyond. Everything outside was peaceful and beautiful, carrying on in a way that made her envious.

  When she returned to the living room, Jack was slumped on the sofa, staring at his phone.

  ‘What did Leo say?’ Abby asked.

  Jack didn’t reply immediately. He looked at her apprehensively, and despite the warmth of the day, she felt chilled.

  ‘What?’ Abby whispered.

  ‘He’s pissed off,’ Jack said. ‘Understandably.’

  ‘With Eddie?’

  ‘And with me. He thinks I should have seen it coming, that I should have protected you, and he’s right. I should have—’