“You know, he’s completely out of control. His grades are slipping, and he comes home late,” sighed Margaret.
Elizabeth set two cups of coffee on the table and pushed a plate of biscuits toward her friend. Outside, a light October drizzle fell, but the flat was warm and cosy. Margaret, as always, looked impeccable—neat hair, subtle makeup, an elegant dress. At fifty-eight, she knew how to take care of herself.
“Lizzie, thank you so much for helping,” Margaret said, picking up her cup with a grateful smile. “Honestly, I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Don’t be silly, Maggie. We’ve been friends for decades—of course I’ll help,” Elizabeth replied, sitting across from her. “Tell me everything properly. What’s happened with Oliver?”
Margaret rubbed her temples and exhaled.
“You know, he’s completely out of control. His grades are slipping, he comes home late, and yesterday I found some pills in his pocket.”
“Good heavens,” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her chest. “Drugs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I was so scared. He won’t explain, just snaps at me. Says it’s none of my business.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She knew Oliver well—Margaret’s grandson, a seventeen-year-old left in her care after his parents’ deaths. He’d always been a quiet boy, but lately he’d turned sullen and withdrawn.
“What do you plan to do?” Elizabeth asked.
“I need money for a private investigator,” Margaret said softly. “To find out who he’s mixing with, where he goes. He might be in with a bad crowd.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand pounds. I know it’s a lot, but I’ll pay you back next month when my pension comes in.”
Without hesitation, Elizabeth stood and went to the cupboard where she kept her savings. Margaret had been her closest friend for over twenty years. They’d met at work when both were still married, raising children, dreaming of the future. Life had taken them to different cities, but they’d stayed in touch—letters, calls, visits.
When Elizabeth was widowed, it was Margaret who held her up. And when tragedy struck Margaret—her son and daughter-in-law killed in a car crash, leaving young Oliver behind—Elizabeth had rushed to her side, helping with the funeral, the legal guardianship.
“Here,” Elizabeth handed her friend an envelope. “Don’t worry about paying me back. If you need more, just say the word.”
Margaret took it 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, drinking coffee and talking. Margaret shared how hard it was raising a teenager alone, especially one going through such a difficult phase. Elizabeth offered advice, drawing from her own experiences raising her son.
“How’s your William doing?” Margaret asked. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He’s fine. Lovely family, steady job. Just too busy to call often.”
“Ah, well. Children grow up and drift away.”
Margaret didn’t leave until evening. Elizabeth walked her to the lift, waved goodbye, and watched the doors close.
The flat fell quiet. Elizabeth tidied up, watered the plants by the window, and sat down to watch telly. But her mind kept wandering back to Oliver. He’d been such a polite, bright boy. Could he really be mixed up in something dangerous?
The next day, Elizabeth went to the clinic for a check-up. In the waiting room, her neighbour, Barbara, greeted her.
“Lizzie, hello! Long time no see. Everything alright?”
“Fine, thanks. My friend Margaret visited yesterday—she’s having trouble with her grandson.”
“Oh, which friend? The one with the posh car?”
Elizabeth blinked. Margaret *had* arrived in a car, but she’d never mentioned owning one.
“Maybe. How’d you know?”
“I saw her drive off from your building. Fancy motor—must’ve cost a fortune.”
Elizabeth frowned. If Margaret had a car like that, why borrow money? Then again, maybe someone had given her a lift.
A week later, Margaret called with good news.
“Lizzie, you won’t believe it—Oliver’s fine! Those pills were just vitamins. He was embarrassed to admit he’d started going to the gym and taking supplements.”
“Thank goodness,” Elizabeth sighed in relief. “And the investigator?”
“Oh, I never hired one. Oliver and I had a proper heart-to-heart. Turns out he’s got a crush on a girl in his year—that’s why he’s been acting odd. Teenagers, eh?”
Elizabeth smiled. Well, that was a relief.
“I’ll pay you back next week, promise,” Margaret added.
“No rush, whenever you can.”
But the money never came—not in a week, not in a month. When Elizabeth gently reminded her, Margaret made excuses.
“Lizzie, I’m so sorry—unexpected bills came up. Oliver needed a maths tutor, and it’s not cheap. Just a bit longer, please?”
Elizabeth let it go. Three thousand pounds wasn’t nothing, but she could manage. If it was for Oliver’s education, fair enough.
Winter passed. Margaret called less, always busy. Oliver was doing well, she said—good grades, even applying to university.
In spring, Elizabeth visited her son in Manchester. William met her at the station, hugged her, asked after her health. He lived in a nice area, a big house with his wife and two kids.
“Mum, remember Margaret? Your old friend?” he asked over dinner.
“Of course. Why?”
“Saw her in town last week. Coming out of some high-end shop, loaded with bags. Dressed to the nines—looked like she’d won the lottery.”
Elizabeth stared.
“You’re sure it was her?”
“Definitely. She came round ours when I was a kid. I nearly said hello, but she hopped into a car and sped off.”
“What kind of car?”
“Really flash one. Not cheap.”
Elizabeth fell silent. So the car *was* Margaret’s. And she shopped at expensive places. Then why borrow money?
Back home, she dug deeper. A quick online search showed Margaret’s neighbourhood was affluent. Then she found Oliver’s social media—photos of him in designer clothes, out at trendy cafés, no sign of hardship.
One picture made her stomach drop: Margaret and Oliver in a lavish flat. The caption read, “With my lovely gran in our new place.”
*New place.* So they’d moved—and clearly into something pricey.
Elizabeth closed her laptop, heart racing. The pieces fit: Margaret had lied about Oliver, lied about needing money, taken the cash with no intention of returning it.
But why? Greed?
She called Margaret directly.
“Maggie, hello. How’s Oliver?”
“Lizzie! He got into uni—can you believe it? On a full scholarship!”
“Brilliant. Listen, about that money—it’s been six months.”
Silence. Then—
“What money?”
“The three thousand you borrowed for the investigator.”
“Oh, that! But darling, you *said* it was a gift. ‘Don’t worry about paying me back’—your exact words.”
Elizabeth froze. She *had* said that—politely, assuming Margaret would repay her.
“Maggie, that was just manners. Of course I expected it back.”
“But you *said*—” Margaret’s voice turned icy. “Honestly, Lizzie, I didn’t peg you as the petty type. We’re *friends*.”
“Exactly. Friends don’t take advantage.”
“Good lord, you’re blowing this out of proportion. I’ve got Oliver’s tuition to cover. Be patient.”
The line went dead. Elizabeth sat stunned. Had her best friend just scammed her?
A month later, a stranger texted:
*Hi Elizabeth, this is Sarah—Margaret’s neighbour. She mentioned how you lent her money, and I thought you should know. She’s been doing this for years—borrowing under false pretences. Always a sob story: sick grandson, medical bills, tuition. Meanwhile, she lives lavishly. You’re not the first.*
Elizabeth met Sarah, who confirmed it: Margaret had a pattern. Preying on kind, trusting women.
The betrayal cut deep—not the money, but the loss of trust.
Elizabeth decided to let it go. Three thousand pounds was a costly lesson, but not life-ruining.
Margaret never called again. Occasionally, Elizabeth saw her online—still elegant, still smiling. Oliver, now at uni, seemed blissfully unaware.
She told William the whole story during his next visit.
“Mum, I never liked her,” he admitted. “Remember when I was a teen? She’d always grill me about your finances.”
Elizabeth sighed. Now it made sense.
A year later, a solicitor called: Margaret was under investigation for fraud. Elizabeth’s name was on the victim list.
She gave a statement. The trial dragged on, but in the end, Margaret got a suspended
