“You see, he’s become quite unmanageable. His grades are slipping, and he comes home late,” sighed Lydia as she set two cups of coffee on the table and pushed a plate of biscuits toward her friend. Outside, an October drizzle fell, and the flat was warm and cosy. Alice, as always, looked impeccable—her hair neatly styled, light makeup, an elegant dress. At fifty-eight, she knew how to take care of herself.
“Lydia, thank you ever so much for agreeing to help,” Alice said, picking up her cup with a grateful smile. “Truthfully, I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Oh, Alice, don’t be silly. We’ve been friends for ages. Of course I’ll help,” Lydia replied, sitting across from her and studying her friend’s face. “Now, tell me everything properly. What’s happened with your Max?”
Alice rubbed her temples and sighed.
“You see, he’s become quite unmanageable. His grades are slipping, he comes home late, and yesterday I found some pills in his pocket.”
“Good heavens,” Lydia pressed a hand to her chest. “Drugs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I was terrified. But he won’t explain—just snaps at me. Says it’s none of my business.”
Lydia shook her head. She knew Max well—Alice’s grandson, a seventeen-year-old lad who’d lost his parents and lived with his grandmother. He’d once been a well-behaved boy, but lately, he’d turned sullen and withdrawn.
“What do you propose?” Lydia asked.
“I need money for a private investigator,” Alice murmured, almost whispering. “I want to know who he’s spending time with, where he goes. He might’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand pounds. I know it’s a lot, but I’ll pay you back next month, as soon as my pension comes in.”
Without hesitation, Lydia rose and went to the cupboard where she kept her savings. Alice had been her dearest friend for over twenty years. They’d met at work, back when they were both married, raising children, making plans. Life had taken them to different towns, but they’d never lost touch—letters, phone calls, visits.
When Lydia was widowed, Alice had been the one to hold her through the grief. And when tragedy struck Alice—her son and daughter-in-law killed in a car crash, leaving little Max behind—Lydia had rushed to her side, helping with the funeral arrangements and guardianship papers.
“Here,” Lydia handed Alice an envelope. “And don’t worry about paying me back. If you need more, just say the word.”
Alice took the envelope and hugged her tightly.
“You’re the best,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
They sat at the kitchen table for hours, sipping coffee and talking. Alice spoke of how hard it was to raise a grandson alone, especially a teenager. Lydia offered advice, sharing stories of raising her own son, Paul.
“How is Paul?” Alice asked. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Oh, he’s doing well. Lovely family, steady job. Just too busy to call often.”
“Ah. They all grow up and scatter, don’t they?”
Alice didn’t leave until evening. Lydia walked her to the lift, said goodbye, and watched the doors close behind her.
The flat fell quiet. Lydia washed the cups, watered the potted plants on the sill, and settled in front of the telly. But her mind wandered—Max had been a good lad, kind and clever. Could he really be mixed up in something dangerous?
The next day, Lydia went to the surgery for a check-up. In the waiting room, her neighbour, Margaret, greeted her.
“Lydia, hello! Long time no see. How are you?”
“Oh, well enough. A friend visited yesterday—trouble with her grandson.”
“Which friend? The one with the posh car?”
Lydia frowned. Alice had arrived in a car, but she’d never mentioned owning one.
“Possibly. How do you know?”
“Saw her pulling away from your building. Lovely car—must’ve cost a pretty penny.”
Lydia’s frown deepened. If Alice had such a car, why borrow money? But perhaps it wasn’t hers. Maybe someone had given her a lift.
A week later, Alice called with good news.
“Lydia, you’ll never guess—Max is fine! Those pills were just vitamins. He was embarrassed to admit he’d joined the gym and started taking supplements.”
“Thank goodness,” Lydia exhaled. “And the investigator?”
“Oh, I never hired one. Max and I had a proper talk, and he confessed—he’d fallen for a girl in his year. You know how boys are at that age.”
Lydia smiled. Teenagers were a mystery, but thank heavens it had all turned out well.
“I’ll pay you back next week, I promise,” Alice added.
“No rush, whenever you can.”
They said their goodbyes, and Lydia hung up, relieved.
But the money never came back—not in a week, not in a month. When Lydia gently reminded her, Alice grew evasive.
“Lydia, I’m so sorry—unexpected expenses cropped up. Max needs a maths tutor, and it’s not cheap. Just a little longer, please?”
Lydia didn’t press. Three thousand pounds was a lot, but not ruinous. If Alice needed it for Max’s schooling, then so be it.
Winter passed. Alice called rarely, always busy. Max was improving, she said—better grades, even applying to university.
In spring, Lydia visited Paul in the next town over. He met her at the station, hugged her, asked after her health. He lived in a nice neighbourhood, a spacious flat with his wife and two children.
“Mum, remember Alice?” he asked over dinner. “Your friend.”
“Of course. Why?”
“Saw her in town last week. Coming out of some expensive shop, loaded with bags. Dressed like royalty, she was.”
Lydia studied him. “You’re sure it was her?”
“Positive. She visited us when I was in school, remember? I nearly said hello, but she hopped into a car and sped off.”
“What sort of car?”
“Fancy one. Looked pricey.”
Lydia fell silent. So the car was Alice’s after all. And if she shopped so lavishly, why had she borrowed money?
Back home, she dug deeper. A quick search revealed Alice’s neighbourhood was among the most expensive in town. Then she found Max’s social media—photos of him in designer clothes, flashy gadgets, nights out. No sign of hardship.
Her stomach dropped. There, among the pictures, was Alice and Max in a lavish flat. The caption: “With my darling gran in our new home.”
New home. So they’d moved—into something far beyond Lydia’s means.
She closed the laptop and sat in silence. The truth was ugly: Alice had lied about Max, lied about her finances, taken the money with no intention of returning it.
But why? Greed?
She called Alice directly.
“Alice, hello. How’s Max?”
“Lydia, darling! All’s well—he got into university, can you believe it?”
“Lovely. Listen, about the money—it’s been six months.”
A pause. “What money?”
“The three thousand pounds you borrowed for the investigator.”
“Oh, that. But Lydia, you said it was a gift. No need to pay you back—those were your exact words.”
Lydia was stunned. She had said that—but it was politeness, not a waiver. Any decent person would’ve repaid the debt.
“Alice, that was a figure of speech. Of course I expected it back.”
“But you said—” Alice’s voice turned icy. “Honestly, I never took you for the penny-pinching sort. We’re friends.”
“Friends pay their debts.”
“Lydia, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Money’s tight—Max’s tuition and all. Be patient.”
She hung up. Lydia stared at the phone, heart pounding. Had her best friend just swindled her?
A month later, a stranger texted:
“Lydia, this is Ellen—Alice’s neighbour. She mentioned you lent her money. I thought you should know—she’s been borrowing from people for years, spinning sob stories. Lives like a queen while others foot the bill.”
Lydia read it twice. She wasn’t the only one.
Ellen agreed to meet. Alice, she explained, targeted single women, wormed her way into their trust, then borrowed under false pretences. Always promising repayment, never delivering.
“The police?” Lydia asked.
“Who reports it? Too embarrassed. They just write it off as a lesson learned.”
Lydia thanked her and left. Now she knew—Alice had played her. And others too.
The betrayal stung worse than the money. A friendship, built on lies.
She told Paul when he next visited.
“Mum, I never liked
