Friendship betrayal and revenge: An excerpt from Sarah Smith’s debut, ‘12 Steps to a Long and Fulfilling Death’

“I’m not even buried yet.”

Stacey was trying to get her head around this ‘new normal’, whereby she was deceased but still present, still a witness to the goings-on around her, still living with her fiancé Liam. She cast her mind back to all the supernatural movies she’d seen – Ghost, The Sixth Sense, Ghostbusters – the consensus being the spirits who were hanging around had unfinished business. They were still earthbound because a) they weren’t ready to depart, b) were too in love with their husband or wife, c) wanted to wreak revenge, or d) needed justice.

Stacey wasn’t sure which of these categories she fell into, given she wasn’t exactly sure how she had died. She tried to remember what she was doing driving along Mulholland two nights ago but drew a blank. That was a surprising revelation. She would’ve thought the dead had a much better grasp on their memories than the living. But no, it seemed spirits – if that’s what she was now – could be just as hazy as the corporeal.

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Did she love Liam? She certainly had at some point, before their relationship had become fractious, burdened by money concerns and petty jealousies. When she first laid eyes on him at Kip Dooley’s coming-out barbecue, she’d thought he was out of her league with his chiselled good looks and matching abs (not that he was topless, just that his physique was making an imprint on his plain white t-shirt), and she’d never expected they’d strike up a conversation, let alone hit it off.

But after an initial enquiry about how she knew Kip – she’d helped him style his West Hollywood condo ‘Mexican chic’ – they’d soon found themselves cocooned in a corner of the Venice Beach backyard, laughing about Trumpian politics, arguing about the best route to Long Beach, and making a date to go to dinner.

Stacey had been wary about diving in too soon after the Rick disaster, but Liam turned out to be nothing like her ex. He wasn’t a game player. He was, well, straight. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said. And if that was to become somewhat predictable over time, initially it was as refreshing as a summer breeze on a sultry LA afternoon with the aroma of chipolatas in the air.

Stacey was recalling this when she heard a car pull up outside. She turned to Liam, who had emerged from the bedroom in his boxer shorts. ‘Please, whoever it is, don’t let them in. I really couldn’t cope with any more visitors. There’s a lot to process.’

Liam was at the door before the doorbell even chimed; Stacey had forgotten that one of the downsides of not existing was that no one could hear you speak. The visitor was Tamara, her friend.

‘I’m so sorry, Liam, but I can’t find my phone. I think I must have left it here last night. Would you mind if I had a quick look?’
Liam opened the door wider. ‘Of course.’
Tamara entered and made a cursory search of the coffee table and under the armchair. No phone.
Liam offered to call it. He picked up his phone and pressed her number, which was in his contacts in case he couldn’t get hold of Stacey.
Tamara’s phone rang. The sound was coming from the leather couch, stuffed down beside the cushion.
Tamara retrieved it. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
Liam nodded. ‘Not a problem.’

Phone in hand, Tamara made no movement towards the front door. What did she want? Stacey wondered. But then she noticed Tamara was staring at Liam. What was that look? Benevolence? Sympathy? Stacey had seen Tamara use that look before, for lost kittens or celebrities in rehab. And now she was directing it at Liam.

‘I want you to know I’m here if you need me.’
‘Sure. Thanks. Appreciate it.’
‘If you want to talk about what happened . . .’
‘I don’t know what happened.’
‘No, of course not. I meant, you know, with Rick and everything.’
Rick? Stacey thought. What’s Rick got to do with it?
As if reading her mind, Liam asked the same thing.

‘I’m not saying he had anything to do with it, but . . .’ Tamara trailed off with a shrug.
‘But what?’
Tamara shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
Stacey could see Liam’s patience was running thin.
And then Tamara did something inexplicable. She threw her arms around Liam’s neck and kissed him on the lips.
Stacey reeled. So did Liam. He clearly wasn’t expecting it.
He pushed Tamara away. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m sorry . . . I – I just wanted to comfort you. You seemed so sad.’
‘I’m not even buried yet, Tammy!’ Stacey snapped. (Tamara hated her name being shortened. Some self-help guru had told her it inhibited her potential.)

Stacey was pleased to see that Liam was clearly not ready for Tamara’s comforting. ‘I, er, appreciate that you care, but . . .’
Tamara waved it away. ‘No need to explain. I just want you to know I’m only a phone call away if you need me. We’re both going through the same thing.’
And then, as if to prove it, Tamara started crying. ‘I just can’t believe it’s really happened.’
Stacey could see Liam didn’t know how to respond, but eventually he put his muscular arms around Tamara.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tamara said. ‘Here’s me trying to console you and now I’m the blubbering mess.’

Stacey swirled around Tamara and Liam, looping around them in circles, flitting between them in tightening figure eights. Tamara had kissed her fiancé! Stacey thought indignantly. Of course, you should never trust a cheater, she reminded herself. Tamara had already had an affair with one married man; why not make it two?

‘But we’re friends,’ Stacey cried. ‘Friends don’t cheat with friends’ fiancés.’ Stacey had no qualms about sharing clothes, recipes, even contact lists (a valuable commodity in Hollywood), but fiancés – even recently widowed ones – were off limits.

This is an edited extract from 12 Steps to a Long and Fulfilling Death by Sarah Smith, Ultimo Press, RRP $34.99. Available to order at Booktopia.