My Friend/His Sister Ch. 03

"Believe it or not, when she was little, we were actually really close," he smiled wistfully for a moment, "I was 'Kevie', she used to follow me around, hung on my every word, but once she started school, Linda got into her head and suddenly I was the stuttering, second-class citizen in the house I was born in."

"I sooooooo wish there was something I could do," said Kelly sipping again, "she COULD be a really nice girl, IF she wasn't convinced with the idea that the world revolves around her."

"I'd need to be convinced," said Kev, "she still hates me, you saw the look she gave me Laura, Jeez!"

"She's never been able to share Kev," said Kelly, "was never brought up to it, your Dad was there to provide her with things, you dared to be there already and to need the occasional thing buying for you mate."

"Gang," I said putting down my mug, "I sense..." I took a breath, "I sense an intervention coming on here."

"What?" said my two companions, Kev with a real look of surprise on his face.

"Look, we are literally the only three people in the world that can do this..."

"Linda?" said Kev.

"Nah," said Kelly, "Auntie Linda is part of the problem, and while we're trying to bring our mutual friend back down here to the planet earth to join the rest of us, Linda will tell her little princess to climb back up on the pedestal where she belongs and continue her life vicariously through her." Kerry finished her latte and clunked down the mug, "She can tell her friends how perfect her 24-year-old, career-singleton, almost-unemployable, angry, best-babysitter-in-the-world daughter is."

"Babysitter?" I said, "What about Mountebanks?"

"Tried to tell everyone how to do their jobs too many times," said Kelly munching a panini, "especially the boss, who cancelled her contract at the end of her extended six-month probationary period."

"Extended?"

"Yeah, Auntie Linda asked for my advice after she was sacked," said Kelly, "Sadly the owner was well within her rights, as she'd recorded Claire's poor performance and had given her plenty of time to improve." Kelly sucked some air in through her teeth, "sooooo Claire Anita is now a full-time babysitter for friends of the family, friends of friends, anyone really.

I think her Mum figured she'd become a fashion model like her, but she's just too short, too grumpy and won't be told what to do by designers or photographers anyway.

Her Mum had started to marry rich single men by this stage, but Claire's such a cow they never get to the second date."

"Then let's make notes guys," I said, "there must be SOMETHING we can do?"

We all promised to think about it, but any good thoughts about her rapidly disappeared about ten days later.

I was back in school and tearing apart of my old classroom and moving my bits and pieces in Sue's old room, flicking through some of her lesson plans and looking at the resource cupboard specifically for the infants.

"Laura?"

I turned, it was the Cathy the headteacher and looking at me a bit strangely.

"Hi... Cathy..." I said with some reservation.

"The school governors have received a rather worrying email Laura," she said, extremely embarrassed about the whole thing without a doubt, "it's making some quite unpleasant allegations about the company you keep. Kev to be specific..." she let his name hang in the air.

"It's from his sister isn't it," I said, "Don't tell me, it's from Claire Anita Goodall."

"It actually isn't," she said looking a bit shocked, "it's from..."

"Tell you what," I said, "look up the name of the person on Facebook and see if she's friends with someone called Claire Anita Goodall..." Cathy made to open her mouth, "Trust me Cathy, PLEASE."

Cathy narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and duly did so, calling me to her office some twenty minutes later.

"This Claire Anita Goodall?" she pointed to 'that' heavily posed bikini selfie.

"That's her."

"This is the girl that came in with the kids from that nursery, the one that you'd been at school with and said mean things about that amazing bridesmaid dress you showed us the pictures of."

"The very same. She's..." I paused, "She's my Kevan's half-sister and a prize psycho-bitch-queen-from-hell. Always has been."

The clicking continued and it became obvious that Claire and her friends accounts had none of the security protocols on, and all of their thoughts about Claire, her brother and her 'brother's bloody girlfriend' where there for anyone with an FB account to see.

I explained the goings-on when the Mountebanks kids and leaders had arrived, the bitchiness, the evening visit to my Mum's kitchen, then her FB-stalking me to Frankie and Benny's at the retail park the evening of Sue's maternity leave meal. The entire staff knew the story of how Kev and I had met, and I added how much she hated him for most of her growing up, then her bumping into us at the country park, then her Facebook post that she'd deleted on Cousin Kerry's advice.

"OK," said Cathy, "I can see that there's more to this than meets the eye," she took a deep breath, "don't worry Laura, I shan't be bothering the county safeguarding team with this, I won't even bother the ambulance service until I've checked all of this out fully." She raised up her laptop, "An email to Miss... Kayleigh-Louise Geden-Hill, assuming this IS her of course and how, having been a long-time resident of Carlisle, she knows that Mr Kevan Goodall is such a dangerous person. Seeing as how it appears she has lived, been educated and worked in Cumbria for her twenty-three years on the planet; a mere..." she swiped her touchscreen, "a mere three hundred miles away from him, and you of course."

I was reasonably comfortable about Cathy and her investigative skills and convinced of Kevan's innocence, while I totally knew that Claire Anita was capable of more than a little mischief making; BUT I also knew that lots of people had totally been convinced that many high-profile perverts were trustworthy.

I was back in school again that Friday to finish off some things, when Cathy came to my classroom and perched on the edge of my desk.

"I posted a witness statement form to Miss Geden-Hill, along with a diary sheet for when she might be available to go to her by the local police station for a recorded interview, seeing as this was such an important matter."

I looked at her quizzically,

"But... that sounds..."

"It's right out of a crime novel I read over Easter; within twenty minutes she'd withdrawn her complaint, and said that she wasn't sure that it was 'Kevan' -- it was probably 'Kevin' and she'd do some more checking up and get back in touch," she took another breath, "if she does get back in touch, I will have to report it Laura."

"Report it now Cathy," I said brightly, "I'd like nothing more than a slanderous police and social services report to be made, and for it to be proved to be complete bollocks, get that bloody woman off our backs for good."

"Shit sticks Laura," said Cathy with a hand to my shoulder, "don't worry, I have it and Miss Kayleigh-Louise Geden-Hill's responses and sudden backing down as soon as it got serious AND," she said giving my shoulder a squeeze, "I'll be watching like a hawk for anything else along those lines honey!"

"Thanks Cathy!" I said brightly, glad that without more than having met Kev a few times, employing me for two years and whatever my friends had said about him, she'd taken the whole matter on trust.

I asked about the original complaint, and it transpired that Claire's friend had told the school that Miss Hardy was under the influence of a dangerous character. She'd heard on very good authority that Kevan Goodall had been enamoured of a 13-year-old girl that used to visit his house while he was at college, and only him being sent away to university had stopped the contact.

"That thirteen-year-old girl?" I said to Cathy.

"Yeah?"

"It was me," I said. "When I used to go and visit Claire's house, Kev would be sat in the kitchen and we would smile at each other Cath, no more than that."

"Really?" she said with some surprise, "definitely you?"

"Definitely me, to my almost certain knowledge I was the only girl that wasn't his sister that ever visited his house."

She grinned and shook her head.

"Still, it's nice that you smiled at each other that evening when Sue's baby was born."

"Yeah!"

There were no more complaints to the school from Claire Anita or any of her friends that summer, although the ambulance department did have a complaint about Paramedic Goodall.

It the way of an emergency services they did have a record almost to the very minute of every job Kev had carried out for them in the seven years they'd employed him.

The person suggested that while they hadn't received any treatment from him, he'd been 'rather heavy handed with a patient, as a result of looking inappropriately at them and being told off for it'. The problem was he'd been on a course in Central London with two colleagues training for new equipment the service was bringing in.

The complainer suggested another day.

"He was working at a GP surgery taking blood tests and giving advice to support a salmonella outbreak," said the Human Resources Officer.

"It might have been the month before," said the complainer.

"Same day?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yeeeees..." groaned the complainer.

"You said that while he was treating someone, you were pretty sure he was looking at you and checking your figure with the sun shining through your dress?"

"Yeeeees..." groaned the complainer again.

"He worked a night shift, preeeeeetty hard for the sun to shine through your dress, but do try again..." There was a pause, "I'm really not suggesting that you're changing your story to suit the facts but so far nothing fits. If you'd like to do a bit more homework on what happened please do, I have to tell you that this discussion has been recorded and..."

The complainer put the phone down.

How do we know this? The complaint was reported to Kev's line manager who was also his union rep, and the full conversation was written up and shown to him, minus the name of the complainer.

Who was it?

I'd take a guess...

We went on our summer holiday and both got a tan. I think 'that nice Miss Hardy' looked hot in her various bikinis with my gorgeous fiancé in his shorts, his skin turning to the most delicious golden brown that I loved to massage the factor 30 into; our relationship improving and maturing as we got to know more about each other and getting closer and closer.

We never saw or heard from Claire for the rest of the summer, or into the autumn.

I managed to blag a Friday afternoon off, and we both headed off for our assigned stag and hen weekends and it was a scream and we dressed as planned. Holly's medic girlfriends in the tightest, bra-enhanced-cleavage-revealing tailored scrubs imaginable, sister-in-law Karen in a similarly tailored lab coat, her blonde hair pinned up high, lens-less black-framed glasses and a clipboard. I was no slouch either in a short, tight, black minidress, a short professorial gown, mortar board hat and a cane.

With cleavages on display we strutted through Times Square, getting our photos taken, me as chief bridesmaid keeping everyone together and Karen's clipboard actually holding our itinerary. We just became more popular as we entered each venue and opened our mouths and well-spoken English accents came out.

"Holy shit!" said the guy touting for business outside a restaurant we passed, "It's like Grey's anatomy meets sexy Downton Abbey!"

My black heels looked amazing but of course I knew I couldn't fucking walk far in them, so went with a flat black pump I bought in Fifth Avenue, Karen was so impressed she bought a pair too.

We flew home, slightly hungover but were very well taken care off after Holly's Emergency Doctor friends Nicki and Carolyn took care of someone in business class having an epileptic fit.

The chief stewardess had only to hear 'we're all NHS doctors' (they even pointed at me and Environment Agency scientist Karen) for the booze to flow and a 'hair of the dog' to just take the edge off our self-inflicted ills, and all the snacks we could eat.

We landed at LHR in great spirits and were shown off the aircraft first with the stewardess announcing the hero status of the nine pretty girls getting their bags down and waving their way out and along the jetway. I was checking we had all our carry-ons and was last off and heard the wolf-whistles after the cheers and applause, turning to wag a schoolteacher finger at the now-laughing passengers. That led to more cheers and I blushed, giving it a bit of a wiggle as I left to catch up with my friends.

Kev's weekend had been similarly enjoyable, and he'd bonded with the other medics and my brother John knew him well already. The biggest surprise was discovering that one of their number Keith, a thoracic specialist could actually play the bagpipes.

Son of a military doctor, he'd learned the pipes at the expensive boarding school he'd been sent too from the age of eleven, and became the toast of their first night's hostelry, when he picked up a display set and with only a few missed notes played 'Scotland the Brave' to the roars of the other guests, even getting applause from the bouncer who had been crossing the bar to take them off him, something he'd done once or twice a week for most of his career-more so when the festival was on.

Next it was 'Heilan Laddie', the foot stomping (so Kev told me) '79th's farewell' followed by the much slower 'Amazing Grace'.

"Black Bear Laddie!" shouted a selection of older, well-dressed Scots sat at the bar, as the beers and whiskies collected on the table Keith had been sat at, "Gie up on the chair sen!" they roared, and he did so.

He put down the pipes after the second encore and was resoundingly thanked, backslapped and hand shaken and invited back 'any time he wanted'.

Keith was good enough to hand around his many beers and glasses of whiskey to his comrades before leaving for the next pub.

"Only if there's no more fucking bagpipes," said a rathe sweaty Keith.

Saturday evening saw them all in kilts or trews, and to a large dinner with a bag piper, violinist, and some Scottish sword dancers.

Their dinner was excellent, and the booze flowed, and they were all late to bed.

Some savage had suggested clay pigeon shooting the next morning, surely just the thing for men with hangovers. I said to Kev, the next night when we crawled into bed together, didn't just ONE of those highly trained medical professionals have considered something a little quieter for a Sunday morning whiskey hangover?

We all stayed sober, until the next weekend and the last of the autumnal warmth held over for Stevie and Holly's wedding. The church looked amazing, the bride's creamy white dress looked amazing against the greeny-browny-reddy leaves, along with all of us bridesmaids in our green satin frocks.

The groom and all of his supporters were looking gorgeous, especially my one. We went through the ceremony, and I gladly took his arm as we progressed out of the church for the photographs. I looked around to see if there was any sign of my eventual half-sister-in-law.

Stevie and Holly had been kind enough to invite Phil to the evening party, seeing as he was technically an old friend of our family, and I had a bit of suspicion that Claire might have turned up, just to be a pain in the arse if nothing else.

But she didn't.

The first we heard from her was when Phil came to stay with us a week before Christmas and receiving a phone call from Claire Anita the day before Christmas eve from the retirement complex, after being refused a key to let herself in to his flat.

She rang and demanded he come back so she had somewhere to stay over the holiday period.

"I told you in June that I was spending Christmas with Kevan and Laura. SIX MONTHS AGO Claire! What's up with your Mum's place?"

"Oh..." she burbled, "you know what Mum's like, she's bound to have some new bloody bloke staying there!"

"Has she?"

"Has she what?" shouted Claire stupidly.

"Does your Mum have a new man staying there?"

"Oooooh... I don't know!" she snapped, "how am I supposed to keep up with her constant..."

"Claire?" he stopped her short, "Get on the train and GO HOME! I'm staying with Kev and Laura over Christmas LIKE I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU FOR MONTHS! I'm NOT turning all that around and coming home just because you had a falling out with your mother, like you do once or twice a week!"

"Awwwwwww Daaaaaddy!" she whined.

He disconnected the phone.

"Pain in the arse child!" he snapped to our living room, "she hasn't contacted me since October, and thinks I'm just going to jump in my car and just drive back. Cheeky bitch!"

We had a wonderful Christmas, improved by Phil meeting my parents again on Boxing Day and Mum hugging him as she had his son those months before. He took my Dad, Kev and my brothers John and Steve to the pub at lunchtime for a 'men only' thing, all returning in time and with red cheeks for Mum's excellent lunch.

The fun continued, with Kev and Phil leading with some games, followed by a high tea, surrounded by my brothers and their lovely wives and my gorgeous nephew Peter, getting cuter by the day.

Late in January I had a Messenger message from Claire, asking if we could meet and have a coffee, and 'sort out a few misunderstandings.'

I said so long as it didn't involve her ripping into my fiancé, her brother, as I was in no way happy for that to happen.

After work that evening, in the same coffee shop that Kev, Kelly and I had met in that summer, I sat down and waited for Claire to arrive, nervously sipping my latte and thinking about the intervention that never happened that the three of us had discussed that afternoon, months before.

And there she was, Claire Anita Goodall.

But there was a difference there now.

She was late; of course she was late, this was CLAIRE ANITA, but she looked... different. She was still dressed in her designer best, but I wasn't convinced it was her 'best' best.

Mum Linda had always made the effort with both her and her daughter's presentation, to Linda it was 'everything'.

On that late afternoon though, Claire looked what my father would have referred to as 'a touch ragged at the edges', in no way was she her usual immaculate self, and I guessed she hadn't spent twenty minutes checking herself out in the hallway mirror like she always had.

She looked like she had just walked out the door.

"Claire?" I said, asking after my slightly off-looking friend, "Latte?"

"I'll..." the look on her face was strange, "I'll get one in a minute."

There was something about her face, something different. I took another sip of my latte and looked across at her.

Freckles, I could see her freckles.

I hadn't seen those since year nine when we were fourteen-year-olds. In Year Ten we were allowed to start wearing some make-up and she'd worn it on every occasion we'd met since. Some of us wore some lippy, some eyeliner or eye shadow, but Claire had worn the fucking lot. I still struggle with the concept of a teenager having to wear concealer but her Mum had insisted that freckles looked cute on six-year-olds, but not after that.

The clothes, the lack of cosmetics. Something was rotten in the state of Claire Anita.

I stood up and headed for the counter,

"A regular skinny latte with a shot of caramel for my friend please," I said to the barista with a smile, flashing my card across the reader. "My treat," I said picking up the mug and carrying it across to our table. I looked down and saw she was wearing Converse trainers.

Trainers!

Claire Anita wearing trainers...