Losing Juliet: A gripping psychological drama with twists you won’t see coming

by June Taylor

  ‘God no! Give me a bed and a shower. Think I’ve got fleas,’ said Juliet, scratching herself. ‘Must have caught them off you.’

  Chrissy was trying to find the correct page in the atlas, in no mood for banter. She spread it across her lap. ‘I know we’ve passed Poitiers because I saw signs for the turn-off. I think we’re somewhere here.’ She ran her finger up and down the A10 between Poitiers and Tours. Looking out of the window there was little else to go on. The car park’s perimeter was lined with mature-looking trees, which, although would give good shade during the day, only hemmed in the darkness at night. The reason they knew the trees existed in the first place was because they were lit up by the headlights when they had pulled in, but now were bulging, menacing outlines and gave the place a remoteness and sense of seclusion. Chrissy just hoped she was right in her theory that they were not too far from Tours.

  ‘No one around,’ said Juliet.

  ‘What if we just stay here when he gives us the signal? He’ll assume we’re sleeping in the car,’ Chrissy suggested.

  ‘You heard what he said: he’d be worried about us. And he’s right to be. What if that nutjob truck driver suddenly pulls in?’

  ‘Seems unlikely.’ Chrissy felt her scalp tightening at the thought of him.

  Juliet was the first to spot the light flashing on and off. ‘Allez, allez, allez.’

  ‘Hey shush, Ju. If we’re seen, we’re done for.’

  The light had gone off, but they knew which window to aim for and could see him as they got closer to it. The window was open for them. He leant down for their bags, hoisting them up one at a time like some dubious cargo that had to be disposed of quickly. Then he pointed to a small gap in the brickwork for Juliet to use as a footrest. Chrissy stood beneath her, ready to give her backside a helpful shove.

  Juliet giggled.

  ‘Ssh, les filles,’ he said in a loud whisper.

  Even as she was guiding Juliet’s foot to where he had indicated, the thought still crossed her mind that they should spend the night in the car. But once Juliet’s legs disappeared through the window, she knew it was too late to change their minds, and grew anxious when Juliet failed to show herself again. Moments later, Chrissy herself was being pulled over the ledge, hitting the floor with a thump. Juliet was standing over her, offering to help her up.

  The room was as described: two beds, one of which was single, presumably theirs. They would insist on that; it seemed only fair. The decor was not too offensive, pale lemon colour scheme. Juliet bounced onto their single bed and let out a grateful moan as she lay down on it. ‘Ça c’est le grand luxe.’

  Meanwhile Chrissy was dragging their rucksacks over, wiping sweat from her face. ‘Is it okay to use the bathroom, Monsieur?’ she asked in French.

  Loosening his tie, he seemed once again amused by her English politeness. ‘But of course. Make yourselves at home.’

  ‘You need to go as well, Ju,’ she said, grabbing her foot.

  ‘What? No, I don’t. I’m fine.’ Juliet looked at her blankly. It was a command not a question. ‘Actually I’m peeing my pants,’ she added.

  There was no lock on the bathroom door, Chrissy pointed out. ‘And we’ll sleep in our clothes tonight, Ju. Okay?’

  ‘Whatever you say. I wish you’d just relax.’

  ‘How can we after that shitty truck driver incident?’

  ‘That was hours ago. And we escaped that shitty truck driver because of this guy. Are you having a pee or what?’

  He was phoning through to the bar when they went back into the bedroom. Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door, which startled all three of them. They had to make sure they were out of sight before he answered.

  Juliet silently clapped her hands as he waved the bottle in front of their faces. He disappeared into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later with two full glasses of velvety Shiraz; one, a wineglass, the other a plastic toothbrush holder, which he gave to Chrissy.

  ‘Santé,’ he said, raising the bottle.

  ‘Oh here, have mine,’ said Chrissy, seeing he was without a glass. She didn’t feel much like drinking in any case.

  ‘Non, non. It’s for you. I will leave you to freshen up. Take a shower if you want. I’m going to the bar to get something to eat. Would you like me to bring you something back? It’s basic cuisine – hamburger-frites, something like that, but it’s okay.’

  They declined, reminding him that he had already bought them something earlier. They didn’t want to take advantage.

  ‘Fa-ti-guée!’ declared Juliet, collapsing onto the double bed and somehow managing to turn on the TV as she fell backwards. Her black hair had come loose and was spread across the duvet. She stretched out in a star shape, her long, tanned legs hanging over the end. ‘Jeez, I’d forgotten what a proper mattress feels like.’ She curled up into the duvet. ‘Wow, clean sheets. Bliss.’ Then she sat up, reached across for her wine that was on the chest of drawers next to the bed. She shook her empty glass at Chrissy in the hope of a refill.

  ‘Blimey. Go easy, Ju. We still need to stay sober. And for god’s sake, that’s not our bed. Get a grip, will you?’

  Juliet giggled. ‘That’s good stuff. Gone straight to my head. I’m so knackered. Aren’t you knackered, Chrissy?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m having a shower whilst the going’s good. No more wine for you, Ju, and get off his bloody bed. Don’t you dare fall asleep.’

  Chrissy removed her clothes, grimy and dusty from a long day on the road. In her head she was already under that cool jet of water.

  ***

  Juliet told Chrissy she must have slept for a while. At least, it felt like sleep but she had a splitting headache. She may have had some more wine, but couldn’t quite remember. At some point she possibly switched beds again. The TV was on, she remembered that clearly enough. When she tried to sit up, her head felt like it was filled with concrete, and then everything started to spin: the people on the TV, the carpet, the window, the lamps. Everything. The whole lemon-coloured room.

  She probably staggered back to the double bed to see if that helped. It’s not our bed, she kept telling herself. Chrissy will get mad. Same pale lemon sheets, same cheap soap powder smell. It’s for somebody else, though, not for us. She couldn’t quite remember who that somebody else was.

  If she closed her eyes everything was calm again.

  She wasn’t sure how long it was after that.

  There were voices, but possibly from the TV. A tremendous weight came down on her chest, which felt like it was about to cave in, and her head was still pounding. Opening her eyes only gave her room-spin again. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t spinning was the brown stain above her head on the ceiling. It helped if she fixed on that.

  She wanted the heaviness to stop, and for her clothes not to be pulled and torn. But she could do little about it.

  She tried to fight and scratch and scream but no sound would come out, no matter how hard she tried to cry out for help. She could barely move her limbs were so heavy. And he was heavy. It wasn’t a dream; she knew it wasn’t. She kept telling him to stop. She tried to put her hand over his mouth to prevent him from kissing her. Why was this handsome, older guy – the man who had rescued them from the shitty lorry driver – the man who had a wife and son and lived in Paris – why was he doing this?

  It made no sense.

  She focused on the brown stain on the ceiling above her head as he got rougher and angrier …

  Waiting.

  And hoping …

  … for Chrissy to come to her rescue.

  ***

  Chrissy realized she had been in the shower for too long. She never heard him come in; he must have slithered in like a snake. As soon as she realized, she had a terrible feeling.

  What if?

  Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around herself, securing it with wet, trembling fingers, asking herself: why had she not thought of it sooner. Why?

  She found him on top of Juliet
, pinning her down, tearing at her clothes. He was naked, apart from a towel round his waist. Chrissy launched herself at him, pulling on his shoulders trying to budge him, repulsed by the feel of his bare skin.

  He turned and glowered at her, pushing her away with such force that she fell over.

  She tried again but hit the floor with a smack that time and realized it was useless. Her nails gripped the carpet as she scanned the room. Pick up the phone? They weren’t meant to be here in the first place. Shout for help? Same problem. In those brief moments her eyes jumped from one desperate thing to another. The wine bottle on the chest of drawers was almost empty. The TV was still on, as if everything was normal. And, strangely, he had taken the time to fold his clothes into a neat pile on the pillow.

  That seemed like the ultimate insult.

  Chrissy hurled herself at his clothes, tossing them onto the floor. The belt in his trousers came loose in her hand. She shook it free.

  Suddenly she was standing behind him, jerking the belt taut in her fingers.

  Breathe Chrissy, breathe. Snap it round his neck then pull back hard.

  One quick movement.

  That’s all it would take.

  She moved in closer, caught her shin on the bed frame but was immune to the pain.

  As far as she could tell he was still trying to remove Juliet’s clothes. She had to act now before it was too late.

  Breathe Chrissy. Breathe.

  One, two, three.

  She gave the belt another tug.

  Next time, she told herself. But in that final second she froze every time.

  Something, an instinct, made him turn round.

  He seemed to find it amusing when he saw what she was trying to do, towering over her as he stood up. Chrissy backed off. The contours of his upper body were defined and solid. Feeling trapped as he came towards her, and angry because he was still laughing at her, she whipped the belt back behind her head, lashing it forwards so fast she heard it whistle by her ear.

  The buckle caught him in the eye. He reeled backwards.

  An old woman on the TV was laughing as he put his hands over his eye, blood seeping through his fingers. He staggered, still coming at her though, and there was nowhere left to go. Her legs bashed against the bed frame, causing her to stumble.

  She hit the floor hard.

  The broken stem of the wineglass was standing proud on the carpet. She hadn’t noticed it until now and had almost landed on it.

  He seemed to be struggling to see, which gave her a few seconds to think. The blood had entered the front chamber of his eye. It looked horrific.

  She seized the broken glass and stood up, holding the lethal spike out in front of her as she edged towards him.

  This time, no hesitation.

  The blood trickled down his stomach like a thickening raindrop on a windowpane. It wasn’t a deep slash, but enough to make him fall backwards. As he went down, his head burst open on the corner of the chest of drawers, and he landed on the bed with one arm across Juliet.

  ‘Mm. No,’ Juliet muttered. She had barely moved until now.

  Chrissy removed his arm from her neck, trying to ignore the bloody halo that was forming around his head, soaking into the sheet. Apart from the shallow rise and fall of his chest he was motionless, and she was able to concentrate on Juliet.

  Her clothes were ripped. He hadn’t quite succeeded in removing her shorts.

  Chrissy stroked her face. ‘Ju-Ju. It’s me. Chrissy.’

  Her head thrashed side to side, panicking that it was starting over again.

  ‘You’re okay now, Ju. You’re okay.’

  She managed to pull her up into a sitting position. A limp rag doll in her arms, Juliet began to weep down her shoulder with Chrissy rocking her back and forth.

  The wine bottle on the chest of drawers suddenly caught Chrissy’s eye.

  And then she knew.

  The bastard must have put something in their drink.

  ***

  She couldn’t bear it. Hearing it once was terrible enough, but Juliet wanted to keep going over and over what she thought had just happened to her, each time adding in another painful detail. The heaviness, the roughness, the spinning, the pushing, the shoving, the tearing, and the brown stain above her head on the ceiling. And just when Chrissy thought she might be returning to normal she would say something like: ‘Look, Chrissy. Someone’s shat on our ceiling.’ Then she would laugh, making it plain to see that she was still under the influence of whatever he had put into that wine.

  Juliet was incapable of holding her head up for more than a few seconds.

  ‘Come on, Ju. Please. I think we need to get out of here.’

  ‘Whoops,’ said Juliet as her chin flopped down onto her chest again, causing further amusement. During all of this, Juliet didn’t seem aware of her assailant lying next to her.

  Finally, she spotted him.

  ‘Monsieur,’ she said, prodding his arm. ‘Monsieur.’ When she didn’t get a response she looked at Chrissy. ‘I’m very cross with him, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ said Chrissy. ‘Me too.’

  Juliet nudged him again.

  ‘Wake up. Wake him up. I want a word. Tell him I want a word. A cross word.’ She giggled. ‘A crossword.’

  Chrissy put her finger to Juliet’s lips.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ whispered Juliet. ‘Sssh, les filles. Don’t make a sound. Okay, okay let’s play. Come on, Monsieur. Six across: the clue is cross words, four and three.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Hellooo,’ Juliet sang in his ear. She gave him another nudge.

  Still nothing.

  ‘You don’t know the answer? Okay, I’ll tell you. Four and three. Fuck. You.’

  She managed to stifle her giggles as she lay back down, curling up close to him, almost spooning him. Chrissy was repulsed, about to move her, when Juliet began tapping him on the shoulder. She gave his leg a firm kick, and asked: ‘Is he dead, Chrissy?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  From somewhere deep inside, he let out a long, drawn-out moan.

  Juliet sat up quickly. ‘Oh god, he said something then, Chrissy. What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied.

  But actually, she thought he had said: ‘No, fuck you.’

  CHAPTER 17

  Manchester: 2007

  Eloise could see the fear and anger still burning in Chrissy’s eyes. A sense of regret squeezed her heart for having pushed her mother this far. No wonder she had been so reluctant.

  For the first time, she wanted her to stop talking.

  But what had possessed them to get into that car and end up in a motel?

  Admittedly, in those circumstances – lost and alone at night in a foreign country, with no money, no credit card, without mobile phones or any internet to rely on, and a sex-crazed trucker still at large – she would probably have done the same. Eloise could understand their desperation. After all, this man had saved them. A respectable businessman. Husband. Father.

  She remembered her mother’s phrase, ‘blind trust’.

  ‘But you got away from him, Mum. You and Juliet: you lived to tell the tale.’

  In that moment she knew she could fix this. Now that it was out in the open, Chrissy could finally put this ordeal behind her.

  Eloise just had to say the right things.

  ‘What he tried to do to Juliet was the crime, Mum. Don’t you see that? Not what you did to him. You shouldn’t be punishing yourself all these years on. He will have gone to hospital, got his eye stitched up and his stomach, and then gone back to his wife with his tail between his legs.’

  ‘I expect so,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘And all these years have gone by, no one’s come after you. If he’d gone to the police they’d have caught you by now – with CCTV, DNA and all that stuff.’

  Chrissy was still in a trance. ‘The world wasn’t like that then. I told you: we didn’t even have digital cameras.’


  ‘Exactly. So then why are you worried? You’re not scared, are you; that he might try and find you? Is that it?’

  ‘What? Oh no, he’d never be able to.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  Eloise understood how hard it must be to let go of this terrible memory. She also understood that by removing Juliet from her life it would give her a better chance of doing that. But, clearly, it hadn’t worked. Nearly twenty years on, it really was time to forget. And time to welcome her old friend back into her life again.

  ‘So why did you burn the letters before I’d seen them? It would’ve been much easier if you’d just let me read them first. And Juliet wanted me to.’

  She drifted for so long that Eloise feared she had lost her. Still in a trance, eventually she spoke. ‘I keep telling you, Eloise, you need to hear this from me.’

  ‘But we can still see her again though, right?’

  Chrissy shook her head.

  ‘What, like never?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But why?’

  ***

  Manchester was shrouded in a light drizzle and there was more of a chill to the air than the past few days. Eloise had left college early. At this rate she would never get the grades for uni, be it near to home or as far away as possible, but if she allowed Juliet to slip from their lives forever that would surely be worse. Without Juliet, nothing would change. And no matter where she was or what she did, Eloise could never escape the guilt of leaving Chrissy on her own. She adored her mother, but she would always be trapped.

  Chrissy was due to finish at the Language Institute any time soon. She had tried to call her, going through to voicemail, so now she was scurrying through the Arndale, dodging kids in school uniforms, mothers with pushchairs, hoping to catch her on her way home. Eloise tried calling her again. If Chrissy saw it was Eloise, then she would answer. Anyone else, she would just ignore it.

  ‘Eloise. Are you okay, what’s wrong? You left a message. I haven’t listened to it yet. I was teaching; I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?’