You know, he’s completely out of control. His grades are terrible, and he comes home late.
Lydia set two mugs of coffee on the table and slid a plate of biscuits toward her friend. Outside, a light October drizzle fell, but the flat was warm and cosy. Alice, as always, looked impeccable—neat hair, light makeup, an elegant dress. At fifty-eight, she knew how to take care of herself.
“Lydia, thank you so much for agreeing to help,” Alice said, picking up her mug with a grateful smile. “Honestly, I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Don’t be silly, Alice, we’ve been friends for years. Of course I’ll help,” Lydia replied, sitting across from her and giving her a concerned look. “Tell me everything properly. What’s going on with your Max?”
Alice sighed, rubbing her temples.
“You know, he’s completely out of control. His grades are terrible, he comes home late, and yesterday I found some pills in his pocket.”
“Oh my God,” Lydia gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Drugs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I was so scared. And 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 who’d lost his parents in a car crash and lived with his grandmother. He’d always been a polite, quiet boy, but lately he’d become sullen and withdrawn.
“What do you want to do?” Lydia asked.
“I need money for a private investigator,” Alice murmured, almost whispering. “I want to know who he’s hanging around with, where he’s going. Maybe he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd.”
“How much do you need?”
“Three thousand pounds. I know it’s a lot, but I’ll pay you back next month when my pension comes in.”
Without hesitation, Lydia stood and went to the cupboard where she kept her emergency savings. Alice had been her closest friend for over twenty years. They’d met at work when they were both married, raising kids, making plans. Life had taken them to different towns, but they’d stayed in touch—calling, visiting, writing.
When Lydia lost her husband, Alice had been the one to hold her up through the grief. And when tragedy struck Alice—her son and daughter-in-law dying in that crash, leaving little Max—Lydia had rushed to her side, helping with the funeral, the legal guardianship.
“Here,” Lydia said, handing her an envelope. “Don’t even think about paying me back. If you need more, just say the word.”
Alice 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 about life. Alice confessed how hard it was raising a grandson alone, especially a moody teenager. Lydia shared advice, drawing from her own experience with her son.
“How’s your Paul doing?” Alice asked. “Haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He’s fine. Lovely family, steady job. Just never calls—always too busy.”
“Typical. Kids 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 cleared the mugs, watered the plants on the windowsill, and settled in front of the telly. But she couldn’t focus on the film—all she could think about was Max. He’d been such a good boy. Polite, bright. Had he really gotten mixed up in drugs?
The next day, Lydia went to the GP for a check-up. In the waiting room, she ran into her neighbour, Valerie.
“Lydia! Haven’t seen you in ages. Everything alright?”
“Fine, thanks. My friend Alice visited yesterday—she’s having trouble with her grandson.”
“Oh, the one with the posh car?”
Lydia blinked. Alice *had* driven over, but she’d never mentioned owning a car.
“Maybe. How’d you know?”
“Saw her pulling away from your building. Fancy motor—must’ve cost a fortune.”
Lydia frowned. If Alice had a car like that, why borrow money? Then again, maybe someone had given her a lift.
A week later, Alice called with good news.
“Lydia, guess what? Max is fine! Those pills were just vitamins. He was too embarrassed to say he’d started at the gym, taking supplements.”
“Thank goodness,” Lydia sighed in relief. “What about the investigator?”
“Oh, I didn’t hire one. Max and I had a heart-to-heart. Turns out he’s got a crush on a girl in his year—that’s why he’s been acting strange. Teenagers, eh?”
Lydia smiled. Kids were complicated. At least it had all worked out.
“And I’ll pay you back next week, promise,” Alice added.
“No rush, whenever you can.”
They said goodbye, and Lydia hung up, relieved. It was nice when problems sorted themselves out.
But Alice didn’t pay her back—not next week, not next month. When Lydia gently reminded her, Alice made excuses.
“Lydia, I’m so sorry—unexpected expenses came up. Max needed a maths tutor, and it’s not cheap. Just a bit longer, please?”
Lydia didn’t push. Three thousand pounds was a lot, but not ruinous. And if Alice needed it for Max’s education, fair enough.
Winter passed quietly. Alice called less, always “too busy.” Said Max was doing well, even applying to uni.
In spring, Lydia visited her son in the next town over. Paul met her at the station, hugging her, asking after her health. He lived in a nice area, a big house with his wife and two kids.
“Mum, remember Alice? Your friend?” he asked over dinner.
“Of course. Why?”
“Saw her in town the other day. Coming out of some high-end shop, bags in hand. Dressed to the nines—looked loaded.”
Lydia studied him. “You’re sure it was her?”
“Positive. She visited us when I was in school. I almost waved, but she hopped into a car and zoomed off.”
“What kind of car?”
“Expensive. Like, *really* expensive.”
Lydia went quiet. So the car *was* Alice’s. And she shopped at luxury stores. Then why borrow money?
Back home, she dug deeper. A quick search showed Alice’s neighbourhood had sky-high property prices. Then she found Max’s social media.
What she saw stunned her. Max looked *fine*—designer clothes, flashy gadgets, photos from cafés and clubs. No sign of a troubled teen or financial struggle.
Then she found the photo that made her heart race. Alice and Max, grinning in front of a lavish flat. The caption: “With my favourite gran in our new place.”
*New place.* So they’d moved. And by the looks of it, into something pricey.
Lydia shut her laptop and sat in silence. The pieces fit together uncomfortably. Alice had lied about Max, lied about needing money, and now wasn’t paying her back.
But *why?* Just greed?
She called Alice and got straight to the point.
“Alice, hi. How’s Max?”
“Lydia! He’s great—got into uni, can you believe it?”
“That’s lovely. Listen, about the money—it’s been six months.”
A pause. “What money?”
“The three thousand you borrowed. For the investigator.”
“Oh, *that.* But darling, you *said* it was a gift. ‘Don’t even think about paying me back’—your exact words.”
Lydia was floored. She *had* said that—just politeness. Anyone would’ve known it was a loan.
“Alice, that was just a *phrase.* Of course I expected it back.”
“But you *said—*” Alice’s voice turned icy. “Honestly, Lydia, counting pennies? After all these years?”
“That’s *why* I want it back. Friends don’t do this.”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion. I’ve got Max’s tuition to cover. Be patient.”
She hung up. Lydia stared at her phone, stunned. Had her best friend just *stolen* from her?
A month later, a text lit up her screen—from a stranger named Helen, who claimed to be Alice’s neighbour.
*Hi Lydia. Got your number from Alice. She mentioned your ‘loan,’ and I thought you should know—she’s been doing this for years. Borrows money with sob stories about Max, then lives it up. You’re not the first.*
Lydia read it twice. So she *wasn’t* the only one.
Helen agreed to meet. Turned out Alice had scammed half the neighbourhood—lonely women, sad stories, never a penny repaid.
“The police?” Lydia asked.
“Who
