“Today we are going to write a story about friendship, the good, the bad, the ugly. Are your characters siblings, neighbours, or perhaps roommates (maybe a mix of both.).”

Author’s note: For years, I’ve wanted to write a novel loosely based on the story of Goldilocks in which the central figure destroys the lives of three of her childhood friends. I quite often write the idea as a short story first to see if it works. For this version, I’ve gone with an American setting, but the characters and storyline might easily migrate their way back across The Pond at some stage.

Who’s Been Eating My Porridge?

I stare at the details on my phone. Yes, this is the right address. It’s been fourteen years since I left here, but the memories haven’t faded – and over the next few months, those girls are going to regret what they did to me.

*

It’s a beautiful spring morning as Jodie opens the door to greet the woman who’s called her about renting the room. Aurelia wafts into the room on a cloud of expensive perfume, sunlight catching her long, golden curls. Jodie could feel threatened by the sight of this goddess, but she’s clad reassuringly in faded jeans and a top that’s more K-Mart than Gucci, and besides, there’s a reassuring smile on her face, so Jodie smiles back too and leads her to the currently unused second bedroom.

            “I used to have a lodger,” she babbles nervously, “but she moved state a couple months ago and I haven’t got round to finding a replacement yet.” She pauses as a thought strikes her. “How did you know about this room? I haven’t advertised yet.”

            Aurelia regards her coolly. “You work for Watson’s, don’t you? I went to college with a girl who works there now and she mentioned it when I told her I was moving to this area.”

            It’s a half-truth: Lacey and I did meet at college and have kept in touch. I couldn’t believe it when she said she’d taken a job in my old home town, or that those three witches would still be living here. She knew all about what they did to me, of course, and she promised she’d keep me updated on what they were doing

            “Lacey Jenkins,” Aurelia says when Jodie looks at her quizzically.

            Jodie’s face lights up. “Oh, Lacey! We’ve started eating lunch together recently – she’s such a good listener.”

And it seems as if that’s the only reference Aurelia is going to need because minutes later, the two of them are sitting on Jodie’s back porch, sipping peppermint tea and sorting out a date for Aurelia to move in. Phase 1 has begun, and Jodie has no idea what’s in store for her.

*

The smell of fried chicken permeates the air, mingling with the chattering voices of Jodie and her three best friends. It’s strange how quickly Aurelia has become part of their coterie, despite being a newcomer to the town. Jodie, Helen and Meg grew up here and went through school together, drifting apart momentarily to attend their various colleges before returning to the place they loved and the friendship they’d forged, but Aurelia’s slotted in so well you might almost think she was one of the original set.

“Jodie, that was amazing,” Helen says, clearing her plate of every last delectable morsel. “No one makes chicken the way you do.”

“Make sure you’ve left room for dessert,” her friend warns. “Aurelia’s made chocolate fudge brownies and they’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

There’s a flurry of plates and a clinking of cutlery as Meg helps Jodie to carry the empty dishes into the kitchen, bringing back a tray of chocolatey goodness and a family sized tub of ice cream. Jodie digs her spoon into the gooey richness and savours the taste on her tongue before she turns to the others, eyes bright with excitement, and says, “I can’t hold it in any longer. There’s a vacancy for a PA at Watson’s, and I’ve decided to apply.”

Helen and Meg know how much this means to Jodie: she’s been a secretary now for a little over a year, but she’s always dreamed of bigger and better things.

“I was wondering…” – and here Jodie sounds a little hesitant – “if the three of you would look through my personal statement for the application form and let me know how it reads.”

An hour later, the four of them have analysed every sentence in detail, crossing out a word here, adding a phrase there. Jodie knows she can’t improve it any further, so she excuses herself for a few moments and begins copying her personal statement onto the official form.

“Isn’t it an online form?” Helen asks in surprise; but apparently, the company values handwritten applications.

“They probably hire a graphology expert to analyse what you’ve written,” Aurelia says jokingly.

Jodie looks worried at the suggestion and they all hurry to reassure her.

It’s getting late and Helen and Meg need to leave. It’s another twenty minutes after that when Jodie finally feels satisfied that she can’t see any errors with grammar or punctuation. She’s ready to put the form in an envelope, but she can’t find hers anywhere.

“I’ve got some in my room,” Aurelia tells her. “Fold it to the size you want and I’ll find one that fits.”

Jodie triple-folds and then Aurelia disappears with the form. She returns with a sealed envelope and tells Jodie to write the details on the front.

“I sealed it to stop you spending another hour re-reading and obsessing,” she says firmly. “Now, are you delivering this by hand or mailing it?”

Jodie pops the sealed envelope into the in-tray at reception the following morning, knowing that she’s done her best; but she’s not prepared for the shock a week later when Aurelia guiltily confesses to her that she applied as well – or the crushing devastation she feels when her lodger is offered the job.

You knew how much I wanted to be class president, but you ran for it anyway. This is what they call karma, Jodie Mitchell. I’m going to do to each one of you what you did to me.

*

The others are understandably sad for Jodie, but at least the job’s gone to another person in their friendship group. “You’ll be able to eat lunch together every day,” they say consolingly, but Jodie isn’t so sure she likes Aurelia anymore. Friends don’t steal other friends’ dream jobs.

Aurelia knows Jodie’s angrier than she’s letting on. “The atmosphere in her apartment is so uncomfortable at the moment,” she tells Helen as they meet up for coffee without the other two one lunchbreak. “I know she wanted the job herself, but it went to the best candidate and now she’s acting like I set out to hurt her on purpose.”

She can’t prove anything. When I replaced her application form with a blank piece of paper, I hid the evidence under my pillow and burned the form when she’d gone to work the next day.

“She does have a mean streak, I’ll give you that,” Helen concedes. “There was this girl in Middle School who spilled a drink on her…” What was her name? Gilda? No, Goldie. “– and Jodie was so mad at her that she made her life a misery for the next two years.” She gives an embarrassed laugh. “Actually, we all did. She moved out of town when she was thirteen and I’ve often wondered if it was because of what we did to her.”

Laughing about me behind my back. Not inviting me to any of the parties. Telling people I had lice. No one would have wanted to stick around after being treated like that.

“She had long golden hair,” Helen says conversationally, “like you. But once we started the headlice rumour, she had it all shaved off.”

“Speaking of hairstyles…” Aurelia pauses. “Do you still want me to do something with yours?”

Helen nods enthusiastically. “I still can’t believe that’s not your natural color. I can never get a home dye-job to look that good. And the salon around here charges such astronomical prices!”

“This weekend, then?” Aurelia keeps her voice casual, but she feels a bubble of satisfaction rising within her. Phase 2 is on track and Helen won’t know what’s hit her until it’s too late.

*

Helen wriggles excitedly on her hard, kitchen chair, a plastic cape around her neck as the acrid smell of ammonia fills the air. From time to time, she takes a quick peek at the image on front of the packaging, visualising herself floating into work on Monday morning with long, coppery locks cascading to her shoulders. Jodie’s a natural redhead and Meg’s part-Japanese heritage means that she’s inherited glossy black hair and almond shaped eyes, but Helen’s always felt like the plainer one, her mousey-brown color nowhere near as vibrant and exciting as that of her friends.

“We knew she didn’t really have headlice,” she says suddenly.

Aurelia’s fingers stiffen in the process of applying the color, but she recovers and lets Helen continue.

“Jodie was jealous of her,” Helen says now, blissfully unaware of the drama being played out on her scalp. “Goldie’s hair was longer than anyone else’s and it was a really pretty color – like yours, but natural. That’s why we started the story – because Jodie didn’t want anyone else being prettier than she was.”

I cried for weeks after my hair was cut off. I remember Jodie telling me I looked like a herring; and as for you, Helen… Karma’s about to teach you what it’s like to be called ‘Baldy’.

“I think that’s everything covered now,” she says as she stands back and surveys her handiwork. “You need to set a timer for twenty minutes and then shampoo it off. There’s color-protect conditioner in the box.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Helen says gratefully, sipping the camomile tea that Aurelia’s made for her.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay for the big reveal,” Aurelia tells her, picking up her things and preparing to leave, “only you know I’m moving my stuff out of Jodie’s today. Meg’s said I can lodge with her and Harry for the time being until I find a more permanent place.”

“The rent-money will come in handy for them both,” Helen agrees, beginning to feel a little sleepy. “it’s sad that you and Jodie aren’t talking anymore though – it makes it awkward for Meg and me when we want to get together.”

“I’ll let myself out,” Aurelia says, kissing Helen on the cheek. “You look nice and comfy where you are.” And the Lunesta tablet in your tea should make sure you stay that way for the next 6-8 hours. “Make sure you rinse it off in 20 minutes, though, otherwise your hair might be damaged.”

Helen yawns as the door clicks shut. Her eyes close; and within seconds, she is fast asleep.

*

Meg stares at Aurelia in horror. “She did what?”

“She fell asleep with hair dye on her head and she slept for 8 hours,” Aurelia whispers. “I told her to rinse it off after 20 minutes, but after 8 hours, it was breaking off in her hands wherever she touched it. There was nothing the stylist could do to save it.”

“She must be heartbroken,” Meg says. “She was so excited about getting that color.”

“I did warn her about the risks of using a box dye,” Aurelia says now, “but she seemed obsessed with the idea of saving money by letting me do it for her. And she’s just had to pay over $100 for a professional to cut it all off.”

Meg eyes Aurelia warily. There’s something a little odd about this tale, but she can’t quite work it out. Why would Helen fall asleep in the middle of the day, for one thing? And stay asleep for 8 hours?

“I feel awful,” Aurelia continues – “but I had no idea she’d do something like that.”

A faint memory stirs within Meg of a golden-haired girl daring her to pull Tommy Lundberg’s pants down in the playground when they were six. Meg had been in so much trouble with the principal, even though she’d sworn – what was her name? Yes, that was it: Goldie – had told her to do it. She could still hear the girl’s voice now: “I had no idea she’d do something like that, Miss Williams.”

She looks at Aurelia and shudders involuntarily.

*

Aurelia’s been living with Meg and Harry for two weeks now and it’s given her an insight into their relationship. Meg teaches high school and brings work home with her every evening. While Aurelia and Harry giggle over stupid shows on TV, Meg sits at the table, grading history papers, turning round every now and then to shush them when they get too noisy. When that happens, Aurelia rolls her eyes at Harry as if to say, ‘What a killjoy!’  and then Meg will stump off into the bedroom, banging the door behind her as she tries to ward off the uneasy feeling that her relationship is falling apart.

The other morning, she came out of the shower to find Harry and Aurelia laughing and joking over coffee and cinnamon rolls. Harry doesn’t normally eat breakfast, and her stomach had rolled tighter than one of the pastries as she watched her friend and her lover acting for all the world like a married couple.

Today, Harry leaves before Meg can remind him that she’s got parent-teacher meetings this evening. She meant to ask him if he wanted her to bring back dinner since she won’t be done till 7.30, but Aurelia assures her that she’ll cook for the three of them and so Meg thanks her, wondering now if she’s misjudged her lodger after all. She’ll text Harry anyway and tell him to expect her by 8. She hates it when they don’t have a proper goodbye in the mornings.

*

When Harry arrives home, at first, he thinks there’s been a power cut. Candles are burning on the dining table but the rest of the room is in semi-darkness. He’s slightly confused when he smells food – didn’t Meg say she’d be home late tonight? And then Aurelia walks out of the kitchen, looking like sunshine and smelling like Christmas, and he forgets all about Meg when he notices that the top buttons on Aurelia’s blouse have somehow come undone.

Aurelia’s poured him a large glass of red wine. He doesn’t normally drink on a week night, but his senses are already reeling from the sight and the scent of her and he takes a large gulp to steady his nerves. “I hope you’re hungry,” she says teasingly, “because I’ve made steak Diane.”

Meg made them both stop eating red meat some time ago. Every so often, he indulges in a sneaky burger when he’s out with workmates and then feels guilty afterwards. He knows he should say no to Aurelia, but the thought of that tender juiciness is too appealing.

“What about Meg?” he asks. “I think she’s expecting dinner when she gets back from the parent-teacher meeting.”

“You mean the school concert,” Aurelia corrects him.

Harry’s throat flutters as if something is suddenly trapped in his windpipe. “I’m sure she said it was a parent-teacher meeting,” he says uncertainly.

“Yes,” Aurelia says a little too quickly, “I’m sure I got it wrong.” But he can’t help but notice the uneasy expression on her face.

He grabs his wine and tries to drown his insecurity.

*

The bottle of wine stands empty. Aurelia turns to Harry, sitting beside her on the sofa, and grins flirtatiously. “Should we open another one?”

He ought to say no – his head’s already swimming with alcohol and angst and a surfeit of pheromones; but Meg is somewhere else and it looks like she lied to them both; and Aurelia’s fingers are lightly trailing up and down his bare arm, making him feel as confused as a teenager. She leans forward for his glass and he thinks he could fall into her cleavage and be safe from all the emotional turmoil; and then his eyes meet hers, and their lips mesh, and he somehow finds himself kissing Aurelia as if his life depends on it.

And that’s how Meg finds them when she opens the door and walks in a few minutes later.

*

For a moment, Meg feels as if she’s been punched in the stomach. Unable to move, to speak, to breathe, she watches her world collapse around her, pain twisting her gut until she thinks she’ll be sick.

The two of them break apart guiltily and Aurelia speaks first. “Meg… I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this.”

It’s as if Meg’s life is a snow-globe, turned upside down and shaken violently, and all she can do is watch the pieces settle.

“Get out,” she says as she finds her voice. “Both of you – get out. NOW!”

“Meg! Baby!”

Harry’s voice is desperate, but she stops her ears to his pleas. How could he do this to her? And why? The empty wine bottle offers some clue, but even so…

“I want you both to leave now,” she repeats.

She waits until they have gone before she lets the tears fall.

*

When we were eight, our teacher decided we would enter a float in the town’s annual carnival. That year, there was a fairy tale theme and the teacher chose me to be Goldilocks because of my hair. No prizes for guessing who the three bears were.

Maybe that’s what started the animosity – none of the others could forgive me for being the centre of attention; but what really hurt the most was the way Meg knew I liked Artie Beaumont and decided to steal him away from me. I’ll never forget the hurt I felt when she told Artie I’d badmouthed him to her and Helen and Jodie – or the smug expression on her face when he kissed her in the playground.

Revenge is sweet. Sometimes, you have to wait a while, but when it comes, it’s never too hot or too cold, always just right.