Walk Like You

by Linda Coles

  She composed a message for Dominic. Figuring if he dug deep enough, he’d see Tabitha had travelled to France and so there was no sense in deviating from that truth. Letting him know where she was would hopefully satisfy his angst. Surely he’d leave her to travel for a while. The text read:

  I’m fine, decided to go to France for a couple of days. Talk when I get back.

  It went with a whoosh, and she hoped it would do the trick. By keeping it vague, she hoped it would read like something Tabitha herself might send. No doubt Dominic would reply and maybe it would tell her more about their relationship, whatever that was. She didn’t have to wait long. The phone in her hands rang almost immediately – it was him. There was no way she could answer it, so she let it go to voicemail, again. The guy was obviously keen. When the message alert came through, she asked Siri to retrieve it. And listened. He didn’t sound pleased at her actions:

  “Well, I’m glad you’re all right Tabitha, but have you gone mad? Have you thought this through? What you’re doing is crazy stupid, not to mention bloody dangerous! And since you won’t pick up, I’m guessing you’re not going to return my call either!” There was a pause, and Susan heard him take a deep breath before he changed tack and spoke in a nearer normal way. He was obviously upset at the news of her departure. “Look, if you’re intent on doing this, I can’t do much about it. But send me text updates? Until you come back? Then we can perhaps sort something better out. Just ….. just stay safe. And watch your back.”

  And then he was gone. Susan sat open-mouthed at the man’s response, the content of his message, and his obvious exasperation and concern at the woman’s choosing to leave. It didn’t make any sense on the surface, though the initial tone of his message rang bells from her own life. The domineering opening, the “crazy stupid”, “have you gone mad?” They were all terms and words she herself was used to hearing and they sent tiny prickles up her spine that each dissolved and floated away.

  Like she was doing now. Floating away from a life she no longer wanted and the controlling husband she’d come to dislike immensely. Cackling laughter from the rowdy group of women turned her head in their direction once more. When had Susan Smith last thrown her head back and laughed so heartily? Had such fun? Had drinks with a friend?

  She couldn’t remember how long it had been.

  Chapter Ten

  Around ten million passengers passed through Calais Ferry Terminal each year, making it the busiest car ferry port on mainland Europe. Susan wished she had a car as she stood on the deck watching vehicles set out on their way. With the motorways right nearby, driving into France was an easy and cheap option for many. But, without a vehicle, Susan would follow the other passengers travelling by foot and jump on the shuttle bus to the heart of Calais town centre. Her plan then was to eat again, buy some toiletries, and find a cheap bed for the night. There would be time tomorrow to find a change of clothes or two from an outlet store nearby before she made her way south. With limited funds after she left Calais – the end of the trail for anyone looking – she had to make sure she’d enough supplies but was still be able to carry everything. And that she still had a reasonable amount of cash tucked away.

  She was almost the last passenger on the shuttle bus, save for a couple of stragglers that smelled as if they had spent half a lifetime propped up in a bar with a beer in hand. His and hers beer bellies complemented the look. They jumped on at the last moment.

  “Sorry, everyone,” the man yelled with laughter. “Got caught short!”

  “And when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,” added his companion, her raucous laughter and sour breath almost as bad as her partner’s. Susan tried not to wince as her eardrums caught the lion’s share of noise bellowed in her direction. All the couple needed was a large straw hat each and a stuffed donkey and the whole ‘Brits on holiday’ look would be complete. Susan held on to a vertical pole as the doors closed behind her and the bus lurched forward, causing the backpack of the young man in front of her to hit her flat in the face as he corrected his footing at the sudden movement. He glanced back over his shoulder.

  “Pardon.”

  Susan shook her head in a ‘no problem’ way, smiling slightly and winning a small one in return from the young man. He looked in his early twenties, no doubt taking some time out to see the world before life moved on without him. Dirty blond curls touched his T-shirt collar. They looked soft.

  A few minutes later, the shuttle pulled up in the town centre of Calais. As everyone stepped off the bus and went their separate ways, Susan saw that the town was much bigger than she’d thought. Even though she could see from her spot on the pavement it wasn’t the small village she had somehow envisaged, its busyness made her feel welcome, a little safer even. Her job now was to get immediate supplies and a much-needed bed for the night.

  Tomorrow was another day.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was almost 8 pm by the time Adam entered the house, tired and weary from his aggravated and disrupted journey home from work.

  “Hi, I’m home,” he called, slamming the front door behind him.

  Chrissy had been watching TV in the lounge and had heard his car pull into the driveway. By the time Adam had entered the house she’d already fixed him a drink.

  “In here,” she called from the kitchen. “I bet you’re exhausted.”

  “Glad to be home,” he said. “I can’t say that was the best journey of my life. It won’t be long until it’s time to go to back out to work again.” He dropped his briefcase on the floor by the door. Even exhausted he looked like a GQ model. Chrissy planted a peck on his cheek and handed him a glass of red wine, which he took like a thirsty man in a desert.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No and I’m famished.” He slipped his jacket off and Chrissy flung it on to a nearby chair while Adam kicked each shoe off in turn and let them land somewhere away from his feet. He wiggled his toes as if to set them free. His socks were damp from sweat.

  “I don’t know whether to eat or have a shower first,” he said, wearily, with his eyes closed for a moment. “But tell me, what’s been going on in your world today?”

  “Nothing too exciting, although I do have a bit of news.”

  “Oh? What’s happened?”

  “Well, I’m not entirely sure yet, but do you remember a friend of Julie’s, Susan Smith? We met her and her husband at a dinner one night. Julie organised it and we all ate in the garden. She hired a marquee, do you remember?”

  “How could I forget that night? The rain soaked everything,” he said, almost smiling. In the end they’d had to abandon the evening and retire inside. He and Chrissy had called for a burger on the way home. “What about her?”

  “Julie seemed to think she was on the train that crashed this morning, going to Paris. And she’s tried calling and texting but there’s no answer. It doesn’t sound good, does it?”

  “No. Has she tried calling the hospitals? There must be a list generated by now.”

  “Not sure, but the thing is, if she’s not been admitted to hospital – you know, if she’s dead – there might not actually be a list yet.”

  “I see what you’re saying. No, I doubt there’s a list as yet, not for the dead. They’re not going to release names until they are a hundred per cent sure of who they are and that means formal identification or even autopsy, I’d bet.”

  “Could you imagine if they got it wrong?”

  “Well, I feel for Julie, really I do.” Adam said, standing, “But right now I’m going to have a quick shower then something to eat.” He moved off to head upstairs. “How well did she know her?”

  “I only know they occasionally went to the spa together. I don’t really know from there. I’ll give her a call in the morning and see if she’s heard anything, see how she is. She seemed upset earlier and apparently the woman’s husband is working away overseas somewhere so he might not even know she was on the train in the first place.”

 
; Adam yawned so wide his tonsil scar was almost visible.

  Chrissy could hear the tiredness in Adam’s voice and felt sorry for him. Picking up his wine and jacket, she kicked his two shoes to a spot by the table, out of harm’s way, and said, “You’ll feel better if you have a soak for a while. Perhaps a bath would be better?”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  Adam felt better after a soak in a hot, Radox bath, the remains of the red wine softening his tired nerve endings and relaxing his shoulders as if he’d had an hour-long massage. Wine did that, gave a rewarding smoothness to a hard day’s hustle. He slipped into his robe and headed back downstairs where Chrissy had put a plate of sandwiches together. She joined him at the small table, just the two of them, the boys still engrossed in whatever they were doing in their rooms. Probably Fortnite. She slid the plate in front of him and he took one.

  “You know,” he said, talking through a mouthful of bread. “As I lay in the bath, I wondered what it would be like if you didn’t come home one night, you know, like Julie’s friend. She might never come home. Because something’s wrong, isn’t it? Otherwise she’d be answering her phone.”

  “I guess so,” said Chrissy, “but when Julie calls and tells you her friend is sort of missing, you want to be the positive one, give her a modicum of hope, don’t you? Even though deep down you’re wondering what’s going on yourself. Anyway, what would you think if I didn’t come home one day?”

  “How sad it would be. How our lives would change so dramatically and unexpectedly overnight. It would take a lot of emotion to deal with that, particularly helping the boys deal with it at the same time, almost putting my own grief on hold.” Both of them sat in silence as Adam’s words were digested. Then Adam spoke again, breaking into their thoughts. “I can’t imagine trying to find another life partner again either. Could you imagine dating now? At our age? With modern-day ways of finding love? Could you imagine joining the masses on Tinder, for example? Swiping this way and that?”

  “So, what, you’ve killed me off and already you’re worrying about where you’re going to get your next lay from?” she said, laughing.

  “No, course not,” he said. “I’m just saying, that’s all. I guess my brain jumped ahead a bit, but the time would come when you would have to start dating again. Neither of us would stay single forever, we’re both still young. I just couldn’t imagine doing it, that’s all.” He bit into another sandwich while she answered.

  “But you’re right, if you didn’t come home one night I couldn’t begin to comprehend how I would cope, what I would do and how I’d get through it.” She leaned in and gave Adam a peck on the soft side of his neck, nuzzling in with affection, and was tempted to swipe a piece of his sandwich. “So don’t be going anywhere because I love you, Adam Livingstone,” she said, pulling him closer.

  And with a mouthful of chicken-salad sandwich Adam said, “Ditto, Mrs Livingstone.”

  Chapter Twelve

  There was little chance of Julie getting any sleep. She’d lain in bed for over an hour, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning, and counting sheep. But nothing worked, not counting backwards, not reciting the alphabet, not counting woolly animals, nothing. Richard had rather grumpily suggested that she get up, make herself something to drink and try again later. “Go and read a book downstairs,” he’d said, “or just go in the other room so I can get some sleep. I’ve got work tomorrow.” Like she hadn’t? Julie knew something was terribly wrong, she just didn’t know the severity of it, and so she decided that first thing in the morning she’d call the hospitals. Surely somebody would know whether Susan Smith had been admitted? But what if she was on a different list, a mortuary list? Did they even have one yet? How long did that kind of thing take? Oh God, then she’d have to tell Marcus.

  Not a task she would relish.

  Julie threw the quilt back, grabbed her Kindle from the side of the bed and, pulling on her robe, padded back downstairs, figuring she may as well try and read herself to sleep in the conservatory. She was not doing any good tossing and turning where she lay. Finally, sometime during the early hours, she’d slipped off into a fitful sleep.

  As dawn broke, pale-pink sky filtered through the trees outside decorating the room with its delicate pattern. Julie was exhausted having dozed on and off. She knew her eyes would be puffy; they felt sore already, full of grit though without a visit from the sandman. She pushed the Angora blanket off and wandered from her makeshift bed into the kitchen, quietly, so as not to wake Richard. It too had a pink hue from the reflection of the sky streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. Everything appeared watermelon pink, a bad sign on the weather front but pretty to look at. Today it was going to rain: ‘red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning’ as the saying went. She put water in the coffee-machine tank and ground fresh beans to make her first latte of the day. But as soon as she’d pressed the grinder button she knew it had been the wrong thing to do. The noise reverberated around the kitchen and probably the front bedroom upstairs. Where Richard was sleeping. But Julie needed coffee, she needed something to get her going, because she could sense already it was going to be a heavy day. Creaking above told her Richard was indeed awake and he wouldn’t be pleased at the disturbance. In the hope of pacifying him, she took him her own coffee. An apology for breaking into his sleep. She met Richard on the stairs, the mug in her hand a peace offering.

  “It’s a bit late now,” said Richard, rather grumpy and somewhat sleepy.

  “Why don’t you drink it in bed, you don’t have to get up just yet. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

  Richard accepted the coffee mug, grunted and turned back to their room. Wispy greying hairs on the top of his head floated around like tiny apparitions. He favoured a comb-over, but his hair wasn’t currently combed. Julie headed back down and ground more beans to make another mug for herself then went back to the conservatory to watch the world wake up around her.

  It was still too early to call the hospitals. She grabbed her iPhone and entered Hong Kong in the clock app to see how the time differed from London. They were seven hours ahead. It was coming up to 5 am, which meant 12 pm in Hong Kong. She’d make the call now – maybe Marcus had heard something, maybe all this worry was for nothing. She found his contact details and waited for the call to connect. Knowing Marcus was a busy man she wasn’t sure he’d even pick up. Some time ago Susan had given her Marcus’s number and although Julie couldn’t quite recall why she was grateful for it now. Maybe it had been at that weird dinner party. On the fourth ring it went to voicemail. He must be in a meeting, Julie surmised. She couldn’t leave a message, or could she? Undecided, at the sound of Marcus’s recorded greeting ending she garbled a few words asking him to give her a call as soon as he could and hung up. Her own mug of coffee finished, she was about to head upstairs for a shower when her phone vibrated in her hand. Looking down she could see it was Marcus – he must be screening his calls. She stared at it for a moment and then allowed herself to answer.

  “Hello Marcus,” she said.

  “Hello? Yes, this is Marcus. Who is this, please?” he asked questioningly.

  “Marcus, it’s Julie Stokes here. I’m a friend of Susan’s.”

  “Yes Julie, what can I do for you, is everything all right?”

  “Well, I don’t want to worry you Marcus, I don’t quite know what’s going on,” she said, fumbling for words.

  “What do you mean? Is Susan okay?”

  “Have you heard from Susan at all?” Julie said, gathering strength and trying to sound as if she were in control, knew what was going on even.

  “No, I haven’t. Should I have? Look, what’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, Marcus,” she said. “I don’t want to worry you, but I can’t get hold of her. And it’s not like her. Only she was going on a trip yesterday, taking herself off shopping to Paris. Only there was a train crash.” Julie gulped the last words out, her strength fading.

 
Neither of them said a word while it registered with Marcus what Julie was trying to say.

  “What was Susan doing on the train to Paris? Shopping, you say?” His tone seemed to deepen somehow, and Julie caught the tingle it sent across her shoulders. It was icy cold.

  Marcus thought back to checking the tracking app: she’d been near Ashford, a town on the Paris route.

  “She said she was going to take off for a couple of days. Only the train that crashed was the London to Paris one and I’m rather worried.” Julie couldn’t hold it any longer and began to cry as Marcus waited patiently until she’d calmed down.

  Taking charge, he said, “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can find out. And if you hear anything let me know. I’ll make some calls from this end.” He sounded all business, like he was conducting a deal not wondering where Susan was, the woman he’d married.

  “Marcus, I’m so terribly worried,” said Julie. “Please keep in touch. You’ve got my number and I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  But Marcus had already gone – the line was dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Had Julie known the process of what happens after a disaster she wouldn’t have needed to wait for the hospitals, because in reality they couldn’t help, not yet. There was a disaster victim identification process to be followed and they’d given her the emergency number to call for further information. So Julie had contacted the emergency team and basically been told the same thing, and that it was going to take time. It was a huge disaster, and since she was a friend, and not a relative, they wouldn’t be able to divulge information to her anyway. But what she had been asked to do was provide a description of her friend to help the forensics team and others who were part of the identification process. That would give them prior knowledge of someone they were searching for. Having found out what the procedure was to be, Julie had then called Marcus back and left a message on his voicemail. Maybe he’d have better luck since he was related, though neither of them knew what Susan was wearing when she left for the train that morning. Marcus would have access to a toothbrush for any DNA comparison. Julie doubted that Susan would have fingerprints on file for comparison and identification. It was going to take days before they’d finally know anything and, as each hour passed with not a call nor a whisper from Susan, it looked increasingly unlikely that she’d see her friend again.