Keep Your Friends Close: A gripping psychological thriller full of shocking twists you won’t see coming. June Taylor

       1

       Karin

      Red hair, red dress.

      Karin looked at the image of herself in the mirror. She liked the clash of red against red. A clashy confidence. It seemed appropriate today, her birthday. And not just any birthday; she had made it to twenty-two. At one point, she didn’t think she would.

      She wished her mother could see the woman she had grown into. Not just see, but know. The bundle of letters, tossed onto the bed earlier, reflected in the mirror. Still tied with the same string from five years ago. Her mother, Birgitta, had sent them all back, of course, and Karin wasn’t sure why she was still hanging onto them. For several reasons, she ought to get rid. There had been no birthday card this morning. She had known there wouldn’t be, there never was, but Karin had still searched through the pile of post to check. Birgitta had no idea where in the world Karin was and didn’t care. But the money had gone into her account, as promised. Karin had logged in at work to check. Always true to her word. That was the scariest thing of all about her mother.

      Someone at work had asked if Karin was okay. Wasn’t she feeling well? Had she received some bad news? She felt dizzy and the pain had come quickly after that. Scurrying down the corridor, avoiding her colleagues, she had burst into Will’s room and quickly shut the door. It shocked Will; he was busy painting the walls, but broke off from his task to sit with her. Because Will understood. He had read every word that she and Birgitta had ever written to each other, and Karin was grateful for this place of sanctuary.

      She could feel it coming on again now as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, the cycle repeating itself, and the sight of those letters only added to her distress. It was as if a sharpened icicle was being pushed into her head, boring a hole between the eyes. That’s how it always came, and she couldn’t stop it no matter what she did. Hands over her head to form a tight-fitting lid, as she was doing now; or elbows at right angles, squeezing against her ears to shut out the screams. Sometimes she scrunched up into a tight ball on the floor.

      All this so she can never forget.

      Even with her eyes closed she is still able to see his legs swinging. Side to side. A human pendulum. She runs down the garden and finds