by June Taylor
‘London. I looked at your website.’
Juliet was clearly impressed. She put down her glass, planting it thoughtfully. ‘You know, you really should come and stay. You and Chrissy. I have a flat on the river … the River Thames?’
‘Yes, I realized that,’ Eloise replied, laughing. ‘I’m just in shock. My god, I’d love to.’
Juliet gave the waiter a signal to say that they had finished, and held off a moment until their plates were cleared before continuing. ‘There’s plenty of room. Just me rattling around in the place most of the time. And if you ever want work experience, please say. Whenever you want, just come.’
‘Your life sounds amazing,’ said Eloise, registering just how small hers seemed in comparison.
Juliet answered with a shrug, briefly turning her attention to the other diners in the restaurant. It had got busier, couples mostly, and one or two businessmen dining alone. She returned to Eloise and asked: ‘When do you finish school? Have you any plans for the summer?’
Eloise rolled her eyes. ‘None that ever get off the ground.’
So Juliet got it all then … the Inter-Rail trip, still nothing more than a wish list of cool places to go; the gap year that she worried about taking because she didn’t like leaving Chrissy on her own; the dilemma of Bournemouth Uni …
‘Nothing nearer to home than Bournemouth?’ Juliet queried.
‘Yes but—’
She gave her a look of sympathy. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Eloise.’
‘It’s been a bit difficult, you know, since my dad died,’ Eloise said tearfully. Juliet handed her a packet of tissues with the Ricci logo on them. Eloise smiled gratefully.
‘I’m here now, Eloise.’
She felt so relieved to have shared all of this at last with someone. Even if she was practically a stranger.
‘Thanks, Juliet.’
‘I only wish I’d come sooner. But I can fix all of that.’ She waved both her hands, as though wiping the slate clean. ‘Come to London, stay in my flat. Come to Italy, stay in Rome. You have the whole summer. We can talk about your gap year later.’
Juliet seemed to be waiting for an immediate answer.
‘Erm. Well, my mum doesn’t know about any gap year yet. Might be good not to—’
‘I won’t breathe a word,’ she said, putting her finger to her lips. ‘So what does your mum do?’
‘She teaches French. And English as a foreign language.’
‘In a high school?’
‘She works freelance. Like a tutor. I mean not like a tutor – she is a tutor. Language schools, private lessons mostly. She’s quite choosy, but always seems to be busy.’
‘Strange, I never found her website. Does she have some exotic French name she goes by?’
Eloise sat on her hands. ‘She doesn’t do the internet. Don’t ask me why.’
Juliet nodded, as if she understood, then asked for the bill.
***
The mood in the car was more subdued on the way home. They seemed to take a different route and a drunken rowdiness had spilled out into the streets. Juliet began brushing non-existent marks off her dress then reached into her bag for a packet of cigarettes. She offered one to Eloise, who declined, and then proceeded to light up two cigarettes, giving one to Anton through a flap in the screen.
‘Sorry. Disgusting habit,’ she said, opening the windows. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
Eloise shook her head. Then she noticed a tear rolling down Juliet’s cheek. There was something about Juliet which she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Eloise fished out the Ricci tissues from her pocket. ‘I didn’t use all of them,’ she said, trying to lighten things a little.
Juliet took one and dabbed her eyes. ‘You keep them,’ she said. ‘They’re just to promote the new collection.’
Eloise was used to her mother crying on her. Not so much now – after her dad died mostly – but she never expected she would have to console Juliet. Strong, successful, fun-loving Juliet. She had no idea what to say. Luckily Juliet seemed caught up in her own thoughts so she probably didn’t need to say anything.
After a while, she took a pill out of a silver tin, tipped her head back and swallowed it. ‘It’s screwed up her life,’ she said, tracing round the edges of the cat brooch. ‘You must hate me, Eloise.’
Hate?
Why should she hate her?
***
It was a relief to be out of the car. For all its luxury it was starting to feel prison-like and stuffy. And Anton gave her the creeps. It was a clear summer’s evening, the air still warm. Even so, Eloise felt a chill up her spine and goose bumps down her arms.
‘I probably shouldn’t come up,’ said Juliet.
It seemed more of a question. And then it struck Eloise that she hadn’t informed Juliet that she had come out without her mother’s consent.
‘Why don’t I call her?’ she asked.
‘Oh god, no! Don’t do that. My mum hates phones.’
She considered it a moment. ‘Sod it. Let’s give it a try, Eloise.’ She grabbed Eloise by the hand and set off at a marching pace. ‘Life’s too short.’
The click-clack of their heels was almost in sync as they went up the metal stairway, heading towards the door.
‘Look, Juliet, my mum doesn’t kn—’
Too late. She heard the key turn in the lock, the rattle of the chain being released, and knew she had made a big mistake.
Thankfully, Chrissy had got dressed. She looked good in her jeans and long-sleeved top and hadn’t destroyed her hair and make-up. But she also looked furious.
‘I’m just returning your lovely daughter,’ said Juliet. ‘Thank you for allowing me to borrow her this evening. It was very special.’
‘Juliet … my mum didn’t know.’
‘Oh.’
Chrissy’s demeanour never altered as she held the door open. Juliet edged tentatively across the threshold, checking that Eloise was following.
Chrissy slid the chain back across and left them to stew in the silence.
‘Right,’ said Eloise, sensing that an apology would only ignite her anger. ‘We should have the champagne.’ She darted into the kitchen without waiting for a response and returned with the bottle from Juliet, clutching it with both hands. Her mother was clearly puzzled that it seemed to have come from their fridge. Eloise got in there first before she could comment. ‘God, this weighs a ton. Better not drink it all tonight, eh?’
She handed it to Juliet, who passed it to Chrissy, and whilst the two of them passed it back and forth between them as if it were a bomb, Eloise rummaged in the box of vinyl, blowing off the layer of dust. She wasn’t used to playing records and the arm of the needle was broken so she had to bring it down manually into the groove. It landed with a thump, followed by a series of crackles. Before long The Smiths were playing loudly through her dad’s old speakers.
The champagne cork exploded out of the bottle. Chrissy was making no effort to help Juliet, and Eloise gave her a disapproving look as she brushed past her into the kitchen. ‘These are all we’ve got, I’m afraid, Juliet,’ she said, producing three wineglasses. She knew the lack of flutes was the least of her worries.
The tiny bubbles rose to the top in playful anticipation, but no one seemed to want to propose a toast. Eloise didn’t think it was her place. Eventually Juliet stepped forwards and raised her glass. ‘To friendship and the future.’ She made it sound more like a question.
‘To friendship and the future,’ said Eloise, chinking her glass against Juliet’s. ‘And Cheese Eloise, Mum.’ Juliet looked bemused. ‘Oh, it’s just a daft thing me and my dad used to say.’ She felt foolish for saying it now, especially given her mother’s lack of response.
‘Well, cheers,’ said Juliet, holding her glass up to Chrissy before taking a sip.
Chrissy sank hers in one go.
‘Blimey. You were thirsty, Mum. Top up?’
‘No,’ she said, sitting down.
They took it as their cue to do the same.
Morrissey’s voice came through the crackly speakers, filling the awkward void. It was ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’. Eloise cringed at the lyrics, something about there being times when he could have murdered her. But Juliet tapped her glass in time to the music with her perfectly manicured fingernails, probably immune to the words, having heard them so many times.
Eloise tried to imitate the way she was sitting, perched on the edge of the chair with her legs tucked to one side.
‘I often put The Smiths on even now,’ said Juliet. ‘Takes me back. Happy days.’
‘Some were,’ said Chrissy. She seemed to be concentrating on the brooch, but then her eyes latched onto Juliet’s.
Juliet made out she needed to cough so she could look away.
‘My mum’s told me all about the parties you used to go to,’ said Eloise, knowing what it was like to be gripped by one of her mother’s pale-blue stares. ‘They sounded brilliant.’ She felt like a piece of cling film stretched between them, being pulled tighter and tighter.
Juliet gave her a grateful smile. But Eloise wasn’t sure for how much longer she could keep this up. She topped up their champagne and could hear herself babbling. ‘Don’t worry, Mum, I only had the smallest glass at the restaurant. Which was amazing, by the way; we should go there sometime. You get more cutlery for your starter than we have in our cutlery drawer. The waitress thought I was Juliet’s daughter—’
If only she had some cling film to put over her own mouth. The silence came down between them again like a shutter.
The song changed to ‘Sheila Take a Bow’, hissing and crackling in the background.
‘It’s a shame they broke up, The Smiths, isn’t it?’ said Juliet.
‘They’d already split up by the time we met,’ Chrissy replied tersely.
‘Really? I don’t remember.’
Even though Juliet was still tapping her fingernails in time to the music, Eloise could tell it was a forced gesture, and a few moments later she was preparing to leave. Eloise was distraught. If she left now she may never come back.
‘I remember when you fell off the table dancing to this,’ said Chrissy.
Juliet was clearly taken aback, but settled herself again. ‘Do you?’ She beamed at Chrissy like a child desperate for praise.
‘We had to wrap your ankle in frozen peas and I had to push you home in a shopping trolley.’
There was a pause before anyone laughed. Eloise wasn’t sure which one of them laughed first, though it didn’t matter. Actually, perhaps Chrissy didn’t laugh, not really.
But almost.
‘I had those ridiculous wedge boots on, didn’t I?’ said Juliet. She dabbed at her smudged mascara, still laughing. Or crying. Eloise couldn’t tell. ‘You won’t believe it, Chrissy, but that bloody ankle still plays up. And when it does, I always think of … you.’ She tailed off at the end.
It brought the silence back again.
‘Tell me about your course,’ said Chrissy. Her tone was harsh but at least she was engaging a bit more. ‘I’m assuming it must have gone reasonably well for you to end up being Queen of the Ricci Empire.’
Juliet held up her hands. ‘I’ve so much to thank your mum for, Eloise. I don’t know how much she’s told you, but—’
‘She knows enough,’ said Chrissy. ‘At least for now.’
‘Until I read your letters, Juliet.’
Juliet nodded, taking a moment before she said anything else. ‘Well, I got that business bursary at the end of my degree. I was dying to tell you – obviously I couldn’t. So I decided to get out there and make a name for myself in the hope that one day you’d see how much you’d done for me. I set up the Juliet label, which did okay. And then, as you say, the Ricci Empire.’ She laughed quietly to herself. ‘But it wasn’t through ambition at all. None of it. Just the love of a good friend.’
Chrissy dropped her head, pressing her fingers into her temples.
‘Mum, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, glancing up again.
Eloise sensed it was time for her to leave. They would speak more freely without her, no matter how much she wanted to stay. She made some pretence of checking the time and stood up. ‘I know you two have loads to catch up on, and some of us have Double Geography in the morning. Thanks for a lovely evening, Juliet.’
Juliet waved, the same wave as before, her fingers playing an imaginary piano.
‘Goodnight, Mum.’ As she leant in to kiss her she was about to say something about reading the letters, and then didn’t bother.
But later, when she went hunting for them, she wished that she had.
Because there they were, in the bin. Nothing more than blackened remnants.
‘And. Motel. The. His. Friend forever. Shower. Glass. Juliet xxx’
All the words Juliet had so carefully written, and all the answers Eloise desperately needed, were lost forever. Juliet should know about this. She could hear the music still playing next door.
‘Where is she? Where’s Juliet?’
Chrissy was crouching over the record player. ‘She’s gone,’ she replied calmly.
‘What do you mean “gone”? Gone where?’
The needle dragged across the record, making a deep scratchy sound. It seemed like an accident, not that it mattered.
‘Why? What did you say to her?’
Chrissy blew on the stylus, her breath travelled through the speakers.
‘I can’t believe you, Mum. Why would you do that?’
‘Because I had to.’ The record player clicked when she turned it off. ‘For both our sakes.’ Then she disappeared into her room and closed the door. ‘And you had no business to see her behind my back, Eloise,’ she heard her shout.
Eloise burst into her mother’s room, a fireball of frustration.
‘And you had no right to burn those letters! Tell me why you did it.’
Chrissy was sitting on her bed, head in her hands. She looked up, her eyes falling on random objects so as to avoid Eloise.
‘I had to do it, Eloise. It was evidence.’
CHAPTER 16
France: summer, 1989
‘Je suis fatigué,’ he declared, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I am tired.’
They thought he meant to pull in for a comfort break, stretch his legs, that kind of thing. They had been driving for nearly three hours. So it unnerved them when he went on to say that maybe Paris was overambitious in view of the distance they still had to go. Could he propose setting off early again in the morning when he would be refreshed and safe behind the wheel?
‘I have a motel where I usually stop. It’s just off at the next junction.’
Chrissy saw her own turmoil reflected in Juliet as they looked to each other for guidance. All they could see outside was the blur of headlights and a never-ending black sky. Suddenly the rules had changed. They had no idea where they were and they had no money. How could they get a room? It threw up a whole host of other issues, besides who would pay for it.
After a brief and hushed discussion, in a coded Welsh accent, they came to their decision. ‘If you could drop us at the nearest campsite that would be great,’ said Chrissy. They could do a runner first thing in the morning, as Juliet had rather flippantly suggested earlier.
He tutted. ‘Non, non. It’s okay, I will get my usual room. It has two beds, and they know me here. You just let me check in and then I give you the signal.’
It sounded like he was suggesting they would have to sneak their way in. They, too, felt tired, but getting to Paris tonight, however late, was their agreed objective. This new plan seemed rather complicated.
‘Obviously it doesn’t look good for you to come through Reception with me. They will think the worst. French people make terrible assumptions.’
They smiled politely. It hadn’t occurred to them they would look like a pair of prostitutes. Of course they would have to sneak in; it was obvious now that he had said it.
‘No really, the campsite will be easier,’ said Chrissy. ‘We’ll get another lift in the morning. We can’t put you through all that.’
He tutted again. ‘Non, I insist. I cannot abandon you at this hour. What if the campsite is not open? I’d never forgive myself. Trust me, it will be very simple. The room is on the ground floor. So … I check in; I go to the room; I open the window and when you see the light go on and off again you run across the car park with your bags. Then, you climb in through the window and nobody will ever know you are there. We all get some rest. And allez, hop … in the morning we are on our way to Paris. Arrive by ten. Ça vous va? Okay?’
Although it still sounded rather complicated, it had been a long and turbulent day and the thought of erecting a tent in the dark was not an enticing prospect, especially as they still didn’t know how to put it up properly. How could they not, after all this time? Chrissy thought angrily to herself.
The motel was largely in darkness, apart from a dim light over the entranceway through which they watched him disappear.
‘At least we get to sleep in a proper bed tonight,’ said Juliet through an exaggerated yawn. ‘So where the fuck are we?’
It was a rectangular shoebox sort of a place, flat-roofed and soulless, and seemed pretty downmarket. But maybe that was what businessmen did who were clocking up the road miles and just needed to get their head down until morning. There were three other cars parked up for the night, all with a similar newness and flashiness.
‘I’m going to get my road atlas out of the boot,’ said Chrissy.
‘Do you really think that’s going to help?’
Chrissy stuck her head through the window. ‘Yes, Ju!’
The night was much warmer than she imagined it to be, but goose bumps still rippled over her bare arms and legs. She lifted both bags out of the boot, handed them to Juliet and sprung back into the car. ‘You know, I’d be more than happy kipping in here for the night. Wish we’d said that now.’