by June Taylor
Of course. One thing you should know is that, for Chrissy, I’ll do anything. I’ll get Laura to arrange it.
See you Monday.
Juliet x’
She was already running fifteen minutes late, and Maria would not be pleased, but there was one more thing she had to do before she left.
‘Do I really deserve this?’ said Chrissy, accepting the plate of toast and Marmite.
‘Just wanted to spoil you, Mum.’
Chrissy propped herself against the pillow, her head on one side. ‘You’re turning into such a young woman, Eloise. Smart and beautiful.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Your dad would be so proud of you.’ She turned to his photo by her bedside. ‘I wish he was here to see you grow up.’
‘Me too. Hey, but listen. I can show you a picture of Juliet if you like. She has a website.’ Chrissy gave the duvet a sharp tug. ‘I don’t mean now. I’ve got to go to work.’
Their discussion was interrupted by a heavy pounding on the door, followed by an insistent ringing of the bell. Surely Juliet would not just appear on their doorstep without warning? Not after all that had been said. Was Chrissy having similar thoughts too? She was as white as her pillow.
‘I’m coming,’ shouted Eloise, twisting her ankle in her haste to see who it was.
It was the police.
‘Who is it?’ said Chrissy, coming out in her dressing gown. She froze when she saw the female officer standing there.
Afraid she might faint, the officer quickly stepped inside and helped Chrissy to sit down. Eloise was told to make her mother a hot drink. ‘I’m sorry to give you a scare,’ she said. ‘It was just to alert you about a break-in next door last night, and we wondered if you’d heard anything.’
They told her they hadn’t, that they were in most of the evening, apart from when Chrissy went out for a run, which seemed to fit in with the timing of the break-in.
Everyone got done once on the estate; it was known as ‘the housewarming’. And the next-door neighbours were fairly new, so it was to be expected really. That said, their own flat had never been broken into, not with Chrissy’s stringent security measures, and they had lived in it for more than ten years.
When the police officer had gone, Eloise phoned Maria to say that she would be in work a bit later. Maria was fine once she explained why.
‘I’ll be okay,’ said Chrissy. ‘It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all. You don’t need to stay.’
‘Yes I do,’ Eloise insisted. Her mother’s face had turned a peculiar shade of grey and she was still trembling. ‘I’ll put the kettle on shall I?’
Chrissy nodded and soon they were both settled in the living room with steaming mugs of tea.
‘So,’ began Eloise tentatively, ‘did Juliet meet you in that place for coffee?’
Chrissy gave a tut, rolling her eyes at her daughter’s persistence.
‘Did she? Gino’s, was it?’
‘Gianni’s.’
‘Or I can show you her website.’ Eloise ignored the stab of guilt she was feeling, pushing her mother like this in the state she was in. ‘Your choice, Mum.’
CHAPTER 6
Bristol: 1988
Sitting in Gianni’s on St Michael’s Hill, her fingers coiled round a mug of hot chocolate that she had been sipping for well over an hour, more cold now than hot, Chrissy was wondering whether she should be offended, or worried. There was no way of getting in touch with Juliet; she could be anywhere. She hadn’t shown up to the lecture either, on Nineteenth-Century Romanticism. This probably meant Juliet would ask for Chrissy’s notes again, and she couldn’t quite make up her mind what to do if she did.
She was just about to leave when a purple raincoat came into view. ‘Where’ve you been, Juliet? I’ve been worried sick about you.’
‘Am I that late? Sorry, I had stuff to do.’ She kissed Chrissy on both cheeks, holding her cigarette out of the way, then wafting at the smoke slowly creeping back into Chrissy’s face.
‘Have you got my notes?’ Chrissy asked, sternly.
‘Blimey, you don’t mess about, do you?’
With her cigarette balanced stylishly between her fingers Juliet rummaged in her bag, proudly holding up three sheets of paper. Chrissy snatched them out of her hands.
‘Don’t be mad at me,’ said Juliet, childishly pleading. When she saw it hadn’t dented Chrissy’s anger, she tried: ‘Let me buy you a coffee.’
‘I’ve already had a drink,’ said Chrissy, snapping together the metal rings of her binder.
Juliet put her hand to her forehead. ‘Stupid. I mean hot chocolate, don’t I?’ Waiting for a response, she twisted her hair around her fingers. She wore it down today, and the black went well against the purple raincoat. ‘Oh, but do you have to go already?’ she said when she saw Chrissy was still gathering up her things.
‘Already? Juliet, I’ve been here for over an hour.’
She considered asking what had been so important to keep her waiting for so long. At the same time, she didn’t want to feel insulted by the response, so she kept silent. Chrissy feared, somewhere in the back of her mind, there may be a part of Juliet’s life she didn’t want to have anything to do with. Thrusting her hands into her pockets she made for the door.
‘I’ll walk back to Clifton with you,’ said Juliet, quickly linking her arm through hers. ‘We can go shopping.’
Chrissy looked down at Juliet’s hand, contemplating whether to remove it or not. ‘I’m on a budget,’ she replied. Only that morning, in fact, when she had drawn a £5 note out of the hole-in-the-wall, she was shocked at how little was left of her grant money once the halls of residence had been paid. And when it was gone, it was gone.
Broke.
Judging by the cut of Juliet’s clothes, she was way out of her price range. Either her parents were rich or she made a lot of money by some other means.
‘Well, me too,’ said Juliet. ‘But people throw away some great stuff in Clifton.’ She gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Come on! Live a little.’
Chrissy found herself smiling. Juliet was hard to resist.
The sunshine was dazzling as they walked back along Tyndalls Park Road, yet despite an almost perfect blue sky there was still a wintry sting in the air. Chrissy pushed her chin down into her scarf and was glad when Juliet huddled into her. Crossing Queens Road into Clifton the wind suddenly whipped bundles of leaves into brown swirls, as if they were under some spell, and Chrissy quickened her pace.
‘Oxfam on Princess Victoria Street is pretty good,’ said Juliet, trying to keep up.
‘What exactly do you buy in second-hand shops, Juliet?’
Juliet stopped for a moment, giving Chrissy a quizzical look, then started walking again. ‘You full-grant students assume that if we’ve been to boarding school then we’re loaded. Don’t you? But just ’cos your parents have money doesn’t mean they give you any.’
‘You went to boarding school?’
‘Several. Hated them all.’
They had entered the Oxfam shop and Chrissy pulled her scarf up over her nose to try to diffuse the musty smell. Whenever she bought anything second-hand she couldn’t wait to get it home, stick it on a hot wash and spray it with perfume. It didn’t feel like hers until she’d washed it three or four times.
Juliet was busily sifting through the knitwear rail, the first one they came to, and Chrissy was horrified when she picked out a chunky mohair jumper, removed it from its hanger then stuffed it inside her coat.
‘Juliet!’ she said in an overly loud whisper, causing the woman at the till to peer over her glasses on the end of a long chain.
‘Money …’ said Juliet, strutting about the shop in a pompous manner, impersonating someone with a very large stomach. ‘… is for education. Not for the enjoyment of oneself.’
‘What are you doing?’ Chrissy couldn’t help laughing, despite not wanting to encourage her.
‘That,’ said Juliet, extracting the jumper, ‘
is my dad.’ She held it up so the woman could see her putting it back on the hanger. ‘He’s a fat, fucking idiot.’
Chrissy laughed again, more out of relief that Juliet was not shoplifting than anything else. Chrissy put the jumper back on the rail, giving the woman a look of apology. After that she stuck close to Juliet as they went through the rest of the rails. It was an education in itself watching her. Everything she pulled out she would look at from all angles, nip it in at the waist, turn up the sleeves, weighing up all the possibilities.
‘This would suit you,’ she said, fishing out a green dress. Chrissy pulled a face. ‘Trust me, Chrissy. I’m going to get it for you. What size are you? Twelve?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘It’s 50p. Won’t break the bank.’
‘I don’t even like it. Juliet!’
She was already heading for the till.
‘You will,’ she shouted back.
They carried on walking to the Suspension Bridge. As this stunning feat of Victorian engineering came into view, slung across the Avon Gorge with its iron chains draped effortlessly between the two towers, it began to rain. Lightly at first, soon getting heavier. Rather than run for shelter, Chrissy and Juliet stood on the bridge, spinning round in the downpour, arms outstretched like children, oblivious to the cars honking as they made their way across the bridge.
‘I’m soaked,’ said Chrissy, stumbling over to the barrier, laughing because her head was still in a spin.
Juliet didn’t respond. She was asking a passing tourist to take a photo of the two of them. They posed like models, pouting at the camera, then Chrissy turned to look at the view. Her eyes struggled to take it all in. The River Avon was a muddy brown colour 245 feet below. Trees clung to its steep banks like green, woolly sheep, and a road snaked around one side with toy-sized cars which looked to be stationary, although were probably moving quickly. On the other side of the bridge was Bristol, stretching out towards the Mendip Hills. Up ahead, the white, sandy terraces of Clifton. ‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘I love bridges,’ said Juliet, looping her fingers through the diamond-shaped holes of the barrier. Raising her arm had caused her coat sleeve to slip a little, enough to make the tiny scars on her skin visible. She put it down again quickly. ‘Golden Gate Bridge, you ever seen that?’ Chrissy shook her head. ‘What’s your favourite one in Paris? Mine’s Pont Neuf.’
‘I’ve never been to Paris,’ Chrissy replied.
‘What? You’re studying French and you’ve never been to Paris?’
She wanted to say that she had been to Brittany on a school trip, but Juliet cut in with: ‘We should go.’ Which prompted Chrissy to look at her watch.
‘No!’ said Juliet, laughing. ‘I mean we should go to France. You and me, this summer.’
‘Oh.’ Chrissy was still frantically trying to process the last ten seconds, including the marks on Juliet’s arm. ‘Okay … I mean yeah, why not?’
There was the whole year to get through first, but Chrissy felt the beginnings of excitement stir in her stomach.
***
Chrissy was happily enjoying everything that Juliet brought in her wake: the parties, the gigs, and all the interesting people she didn’t seem to meet anywhere else. The drug taking was a concern, but as long as Chrissy could stay clear of it herself, it was really none of her business.
‘It’s only the odd happy pill and a bit of weed,’ Juliet insisted. ‘And some white powder now and again. You should try some, do you good.’
To be fair, it was pretty harmless in the scheme of things, and plenty of other people were doing it. Even Dan, occasionally, when the mood took him.
‘How do you afford all of this?’ Chrissy had asked Juliet one evening, gesturing at the spliff they were sharing.
Juliet smiled and grabbed her arm.
‘Come on, I’ll show you if you like. Let’s go to my place.’
Chrissy was surprised. In all the weeks of knowing each other she had never gone to Juliet’s room; it was always the other way round.
Feeling slightly apprehensive, she followed her.
***
Chrissy thought she had stepped into Aladdin’s cave when she walked through the door.
‘My god, Ju. So this is what you get up to?’
She had a sewing machine set up on the desk and piles of clothes everywhere: on the bed, the floor, some in bin bags, some laid out, some cut to pieces, some hanging up. Even the curtain rail was loaded. It soon became clear that the bulk of Juliet’s time and a significant portion of her funds was spent on buying second-hand clothes and customizing them. She had a real eye for snapping up bargains and a rare talent for adding frills, collars, fishtails, pleats, belts, zips, buttons, chains and buckles.
‘You do all this?’ said Chrissy, turning full circle to take in the scale of it. ‘Where do you sleep? When do you sleep?’
‘I must admit, these help,’ she said, popping a pill out of a brown envelope.
Chrissy felt something constrict in her chest. Drugs at a party were one thing, but taking them on your own? She brushed her uneasiness aside, however, and moved about the room inspecting all the clothes in their various stages of transformation. She realized that Juliet was waiting for some kind of approval. ‘I’m speechless,’ Chrissy said. ‘Honestly, Ju, I don’t know what to say.’
She did, but it wasn’t related to the clothes. She said nothing.
***
The clanking of cups and animated banter in Gianni’s was proving too much for Chrissy today. Juliet had even set the time herself, stating that she wouldn’t dream of being late, but by five past one Chrissy had had enough and decided to head back. They were four weeks into their course and Juliet had shown her face at only a couple of lectures. She had also skipped a tutorial and missed a deadline.
‘Ta-dah,’ said a voice behind her as Chrissy gathered up her things. When she turned round, Juliet was holding up a green dress that she vaguely recognized.
‘Oh my god,’ she said, instantly forgetting how annoyed she was.
‘Like it?’
‘Like it? I love it. Must have taken you ages.’
She had added an exaggerated scooped black collar, put buttons all the way down the front and made it flare out from the waist. Her trademark label was sewn into the neck: ‘JustSoJu’.
‘Look great with woolly tights and Docs,’ said Juliet.
‘But, I can’t—’
‘Yes, you can. Take it. It’s for all the help you’re giving me.’
‘No. Juliet.’
Shaking the dress temptingly, she added: ‘I washed it three times. Doesn’t smell of charity shops any more.’
She put it to Chrissy’s nose, forcing her to sniff it and break into a grin. ‘Well, I really do love it. Thanks.’ It was only then that she noticed the dark circles under Juliet’s eyes, how her face was slightly drawn and her skin lacklustre. ‘Are you okay, Ju? I mean is everything—?’
‘’Course it is,’ she snapped. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘I just thought—’
‘Why do you always worry so much?’ She rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to bite your head off; I was up late finishing the dress. I wanted to give it to you today.’ She linked her arm through Chrissy’s. ‘Shall we walk back to yours?’
***
The first thing Chrissy did on entering her room was to check that the radiator was working. She had shoved newspaper into the gaps around the window to try to stop the heat escaping.
Meanwhile Juliet was rooting through her box of records. ‘Are all these yours?’ she asked.
‘What? Oh, no, some are Dan’s.’
Juliet put on The Smiths and started dancing to keep warm, whilst Chrissy admired her new dress. ‘So, when do I get to meet this amazing Dan then?’ she shouted above the music. ‘Are you afraid he won’t like me or something?’
Chrissy tried not to let the excitement of seeing him again show on her f
ace. ‘I think he’s coming next weekend. ‘’Course he’ll like you, Ju. Who doesn’t?’
Juliet shrugged. She stopped dancing, inspecting the books on the shelf above Chrissy’s desk, running her fingers along the spines, starting with Camus and Sartre and ending up at the enormous French–English/English–French dictionary.
‘You bought them all, didn’t you?’ she remarked.
‘Well yeah. We were meant to.’ Chrissy tossed the dress down onto the bed and spun Juliet round to look at it. ‘Why are you even doing this course anyway? That’s what you should be doing, Ju. A degree in fashion, not French.’
Juliet slumped onto the bed, her eyes filling with tears. ‘My dad doesn’t believe in Mickey Mouse degrees,’ she said. ‘If I change courses he’ll stop giving me any money at all and then I’m stuffed. I’d never survive on my own.’ She took a tissue out of her pocket, dabbing at the mascara smudges. ‘Cowper Road’s okay for a crash pad now and then but they’d soon get sick of me if I had to stay there all the time.’ Chrissy thought it best to let her offload without interrupting. ‘And I can’t live at home either because I don’t even know where that is. Hong Kong, Singapore, Australia, Europe. Fuck knows. Any old place where my parents happen to be.’ She blew her nose. ‘I can speak four languages but what good is that if you never get to know anyone? They really should write a How to Fuck Up Your Kids manual.’
Chrissy stroked her arm, pleased that Juliet was opening up to her at last. She noticed some freshly made cuts on the milky-white skin above her wrist. ‘Oh, Ju. Why do you do this to yourself?’
‘Thanks for listening, I appreciate it,’ she said, wrenching her arm back. ‘I’m really worried about my essay though. The Proust one.’
‘What? So when’s that due in?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Chrissy let out a moan.
‘But not until the afternoon.’
‘Oh, well—’
‘I have started it.’
Chrissy sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Give.’