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

by June Taylor

  Chrissy helped her. Her clothes were ripped, her shorts already half off.

  ‘What are we going to do, Chrissy? What’s to do?’

  She noticed there were deep scratch marks down Juliet’s stomach and legs. On her arms the bruises were already showing where he had pinned her to the bed. It sickened her to see Juliet’s perfect skin disfigured in this way, his brutal imprint etched into it. It was bad enough seeing the scars she had inflicted on herself, although those were fading now. Juliet hadn’t noticed any of this for herself yet, or she appeared not to have. At least, over time, his marks would heal and disappear. Maybe Juliet was drugged sufficiently so that the mental scars would heal completely too.

  ‘Shower first, Ju. You’ll feel better then.’

  Juliet nodded, did as she was told and went into the bathroom.

  Chrissy became aware of someone in the mirror watching her: a young girl she barely recognized. She couldn’t bear to look, but couldn’t escape her. The mirror was smeary. Whoever cleaned it had done a terrible job; she would never have left it in that state. How could it only be a few days since they were cleaning hotel rooms in La Grande Motte?

  It seemed a lifetime ago.

  And there was no escaping him either. He was there when she looked in the mirror, and he was there when she turned back to the bed. There was still a trace of a smirk on his face.

  His pulse had been present when she had checked it before. Faint, but still a pulse. It wasn’t there now. She was certain of that. Hard to believe the amount of blood that had oozed out of him. Harder still to think that she had done this. The muscles in her legs locked as she removed her towel, standing over his body. She threw it over his face so she no longer had to look at it.

  That face.

  The sound of running water began to soothe her mind. It was Juliet taking a shower; she was not alone.

  There was work to be done.

  First she hunted in the wardrobe for a motel laundry bag, stuffing Juliet’s clothes into it as well as her own. The towels. She must remember the towels. Everything. Leave no trace; even the towel under his foot. It made her retch when she raised his leg to pull it out. She needed to wipe down surfaces too: door handles, drawers, TV remote, window frame, mirror. Everything. As soon as Juliet was done in the bathroom she would clean in there as well.

  Next she checked under the bed for any stray piece of jewellery that might give them away: an earring yanked off in the struggle. She needed to get dressed, pulling out some warm clothes from her rucksack. Long cotton trousers, long-sleeved T-shirt. Her grey sweatshirt was in dire need of a wash, the sort her mother would give it when she got home.

  Home.

  It was a long way off yet.

  She winced as she put on her trainers, her feet still sore from running barefoot across the car park to escape the trucker.

  The trucker.

  Might they even have been better off sticking with him? At least they knew what they were dealing with from the moment they stepped into his cab.

  ‘That feels better,’ said Juliet, making Chrissy’s heart leap. She was wrapped in a white towel, clutching it to her neck.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ Chrissy replied, chirpily. ‘You get yourself dressed and I’ll do some tidying up in the bathroom. You okay, Ju?’

  Juliet’s face twisted as she pointed to the body. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she wailed.

  ‘Hey. Don’t worry; we won’t hear another peep from him.’ She rubbed Juliet’s bare shoulders, trying to transfer some of the strength she had found in herself into her friend. She was used to Juliet being the one in charge.

  ‘Is he …?’

  ‘As a dodo.’

  Juliet whimpered.

  ‘Ju, you have to be strong. He would have raped you.’

  ‘I know. I know,’ she whispered, the terrifying reality finally hitting home.

  ‘He deserves all he’s got. And no one knows we’re here, remember. Don’t lose your head now, Ju. We can get out of this. We can be home this time tomorrow.’

  ‘Home,’ said Juliet, drifting.

  ‘Yes. Home. You get dressed. Pretend he’s not even here.’

  Juliet laughed crazily.

  Even now, Chrissy realized, Juliet must still be under the influence of whatever drug he had slipped into her. She had to put her hand over her mouth. ‘We have to be quiet, Ju’ she whispered.

  ‘As a mouse,’ Juliet giggled, pushing her hand away and noticing there was blood on Chrissy’s finger. ‘Oh, you poor kitten.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You cut yourself.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  It must have been from the glass. She ran it under the cold tap, mesmerized by the red swirls dancing round the plughole. When the water ran clear she plunged her face into it, numbing her cheeks, hoping, when she resurfaced, this would all be some weird dream. She stayed down too long and had to silence her coughing with the towel pressed to her mouth.

  Come on, Chrissy. Stay strong.

  After a few deep breaths she seemed to get her focus back and set to work properly in the bathroom, wiping down surfaces, gathering up the things they had used. Some of it could be flushed down the toilet. The rest had to go with them. Quite what they would do with it on the outside, she wasn’t sure; she just knew it was better than leaving it behind to incriminate them.

  Incriminate her.

  She tipped the last trickle of wine down the sink, rinsing away the drops. It had crossed her mind to leave the bottle behind as some kind of evidence – get rid of their fingerprints, smudge on some fresh ones of his. But that would mean having to touch him again. And who was to say it wasn’t the other way around? That they had slipped something into his wine and drugged him? She tried to dismiss that thought as she rinsed out the plastic tumbler, wrapping it in the towel along with the broken glass. She had found another piece under the bed.

  The radio alarm on the bedside table said 2 a.m.

  ‘Okay, Ju. Either we stay here and get a couple of hours’ sleep—’

  ‘What? With that? You can, I’m not.’

  ‘If we go now we have to sleep outdoors. I mean, we can do that but we’d have to stay out of sight. No tent. It’s pretty cold.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ asked Juliet, seeing her rifling through his jacket, which he had put over the back of the chair.

  ‘Taking some money.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because we’re getting the train into Paris so we can get the first coach back to the UK. We’re out of here, Ju. No more lifts.’

  ‘But it’s stealing,’ she said, and Chrissy let out a sputter. Juliet laughed. ‘I guess, after what we’ve just done, stealing a few hundred francs from a dead man’s wallet doesn’t really matter, does it?’

  ‘After what I’ve just done you mean, Ju.’

  There was a clear outline now where the blood from his stomach had seeped into the sheets. The towel over his face had turned red, sinking in like a shroud.

  ‘Maybe we should call the police,’ said Juliet.

  Chrissy was quick to explain the reasons why they couldn’t. She had been through each and every scenario. Two young English girls in a businessman’s motel room: what were they doing there if it wasn’t for sex? No one was going to believe them. He hadn’t forced them to come here and there was no evidence they had been attacked, apart from a few scratches and bruises on Juliet, which, in the scheme of things, didn’t amount to a whole lot. It would not look good, no matter how they tried to explain it. Telling the truth on this occasion would only lead to more trouble. If they wanted to see their families again, go back to university with their lives intact, then calling the police was definitely not the right way to go about it.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ said Juliet. ‘And it’s my fault.’

  ‘No, Ju. It’s not your fault. He’s to blame, not you. Anyway, I’m the one who did it.’

  Juliet shook her head. She darted to the window and began to c
limb through it. Chrissy grabbed her firmly by the wrist. A cold blast of night air hit Juliet in the face and she came back in.

  ‘How long do you think we’ve got before anyone will notice something’s up?’ she asked. Her voice was on edge. But Chrissy seemed to have all the answers, even the impossible ones.

  ‘If we put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door then I guess till morning.’

  ‘What if someone comes in? I mean by mistake. They’ll all have master keys. Like we did. What then?’

  Juliet was shivering. Chrissy held onto her shoulders, told her it was going to be okay. She promised she would get them out of this. ‘Look, if we sleep for two or three hours,’ she said, ‘we can leave about five, five thirty.’

  Juliet flopped onto the bed: the single bed that had looked so inviting when they first arrived. Their bed. Chrissy had said so. Many times. She watched Chrissy hook the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign over the door handle, impressed that she remembered to cover her fingers with her sweatshirt. They couldn’t afford any slip-ups, after all.

  Chrissy sat on the chair over by the desk. No way was she was going to risk going to sleep; envious, though, when Juliet went out like a baby. For the first hour her mind wandered. The numbers on the radio alarm glowed a luminous red, and each minute that passed felt like a hammer blow to the head, triggering flashes of the day’s events. If only Dan was here. She had never wanted him so badly. Watching the gentle rise and fall of Juliet’s body made her want to sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy. She mustn’t let go. As a distraction she tried to think of the two of them back in Bristol, what it would be like. How it was before.

  Before.

  Wondering what it would be like after. There would be an after. She would make sure of that. But how quickly had they gone from being two happy-go-lucky students on a working summer holiday to fugitives on the run.

  Did she really just kill someone?

  The phone by the side of the bed suddenly sprang into life and Chrissy jolted into the air. Juliet woke up, disorientated, a look of panic spreading across her face. Chrissy put her finger to her lips but Juliet still leapt off the bed, flinging her rucksack onto her back – was making for the window. Despite the cool air blowing in, Chrissy had left it open for a quick getaway.

  Juliet glanced back in horror when she realized Chrissy was picking up the phone.

  It trembled as she held it to her ear. She had to use both hands, her sweatshirt making the handset slippery.

  Holding her nerve, she didn’t say a word.

  After a few seconds, a voice said: ‘Ah pardon, je m’excuse. C’est une autre chambre qu’il me faut.’

  The line went dead. Chrissy hung up and allowed herself to breathe again. A simple mistake. The girl on Reception had dialled their room by accident.

  She had taken a risk, and had absolutely no idea what she would have done if the caller had required an answer. But this was surely a good thing now. It gave them more time. The motel had living proof that the occupant was in the room, just trying to sleep. Alive. Breathing. And in the morning, when the housekeeping team showed up, the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign would be respected until check out. Which, Chrissy had already found out, was midday. By that time, they could be well on their way to Calais. And from there, a ferry across the Channel to the UK.

  It was time to go.

  Chrissy made one last attempt to wipe down surfaces and objects, checking under the beds. They left in the same fashion as they had entered: in darkness and in secrecy, without a soul knowing they were ever there at all.

  The cold air soon found its way through their thin, summer clothes and Chrissy felt her teeth clattering together. Once they got going they would be moving quickly, she told herself, and lugging around these rucksacks would soon warm them up.

  His car was easy to pick out in the car park, even in the night mist, and Juliet whimpered when she saw it.

  ‘Shush, Ju,’ said Chrissy in a stern whisper. Her stomach lurched as they walked past it. There really was no time. As far as she could remember they had removed everything from inside. The key was in his jacket pocket in any case. But she still ran back to the car to make a half-hearted attempt to wipe down the windows and doors. It had to be enough. It just had to.

  They were on their way at last.

  Home.

  But which way was home?

  Chrissy hoped her instincts were right. She had studied the road atlas again and again. In a cruel twist of fate, it was of little use in their hour of need as they would have to stay clear of the roads. If they were seen by a motorist, even in the dimmest of headlights, they could easily be identified as two figures carrying rucksacks in the vicinity of the motel.

  ‘Which way do we go?’ asked Juliet.

  ‘How the fuck should I know?’

  Juliet’s lip quivered.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ju. I think it’s this way.’ She steered them towards the trees.

  Darkness was their friend – at least for now – and they had to gain some ground whilst they still could. Soon the glowing fingers of dawn would begin to point them out.

  CHAPTER 21

  France: summer, 1989

  They had been walking for two hours, stumbling in the pitch-black over tree roots and stones. Complaining that she couldn’t see, Juliet turned on her torch but Chrissy snatched it from her with a ferocity that alarmed both of them. Since then, Chrissy had been making a huge effort to keep her cool and remain calm for both their sakes. She knew that if she lost Juliet, metaphorically or otherwise, they would be finished.

  It was a struggle. Chrissy’s senses were so on edge they exaggerated the nightmare that was playing repeatedly in her head. Trees were giant monsters. Small animals rooting through the undergrowth were about to attack. The sounds of an owl hooting, a branch snapping, bore into her skull. And every touch, no matter how light – the brush of a spider’s web, the leaves on a tree as she felt her way – was like a knife across her skin. She could even smell and taste her own fear.

  Every so often they would stop to rest; their rucksacks weighed down by all the extra things Chrissy had stuffed into them. Wine bottle, glass, towels, rubbish.

  Evidence.

  And already the first signs of morning were poking through the trees. They would soon lose their cover. Streets were coming into view up ahead, and although the houses were still shuttered, the odd car was shooting past. Juliet hadn’t yet noticed they had been walking in a circle for the last few kilometres. She was getting weary, probably still suffering from the side effects of the drug.

  ‘If we got rid of these it’d help,’ said Juliet, throwing down her rucksack.

  ‘And how do we do that? Magic them into thin air?’

  ‘Don’t be cross, Chrissy.’

  ‘Don’t be cross? I’ve just killed someone and you tell me not to be cross. If we don’t get out of this I’m going to prison for the rest of my life, Ju. Don’t you understand that?’

  ‘You’re cross with me though. I can tell.’

  Juliet wiped her forehead with her sleeve, took off her sweatshirt and tied it round her waist. The scratches and bruises from the assault were clearly visible now on her arms, although she didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘We need to get going,’ said Chrissy.

  Then it struck her that Juliet had perhaps hit on something. ‘Wait. You’re right, Ju.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Chrissy pulled out a small bag from her rucksack. Really all they needed were passports, coach tickets, the money she had stolen, and a change of clothes just in case. Chrissy tossed a book in at the last minute, only because it might make her look a bit less suspicious.

  ‘What the hell do we do with these?’ said Juliet, giving her rucksack a kick after following Chrissy’s lead.

  ‘Oh something’ll turn up, I expect. Always does, Ju. Remember?’ Chrissy narrowed her eyes, but Juliet didn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

  They set off again, creeping like shadows, making sure they couldn�
�t be seen from the road if a car should happen to pass. Something told Chrissy she had better get used to this. At some point these streets were going to burst into life, and then what? They needed some more good fortune and it had to come soon.

  Juliet was heading towards a bus shelter, and Chrissy followed her. It was the advertisement on the side, a picture of a château, which seemed to be drawing her in. Juliet pressed her hands against it and read, longingly, ‘City of Tours, gateway to the Loire’.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Chrissy, wrenching Juliet back into the trees.

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘That beeping and chugging noise.’

  From their temporary hideout they could see a large refuse lorry turning into what looked like a housing estate.

  It had to be worth a try. There was nothing else.

  Chrissy thought she could hear Juliet’s heart pounding over the sound of her own; holding onto her until it was safe to go. She was just about to give the signal when three cars sped past, puncturing the dewy stillness of yet another glorious morning. They waited until it was clear, scurrying down the grassy incline to the road and houses on the other side.

  Dodging in and out of driveways reminded Chrissy of playing hide-and-seek as a child, giggling and squealing. In the grown-up version they hardly dared breathe; moving only when she said it was safe. Quite how they were going to get to the refuse lorry and toss their bags into it without being seen was another matter. In their favour, though, it was still early and hardly anyone was about.

  ‘How long do we wait?’ whispered Juliet. ‘Let’s just go for it.’

  ‘No!’

  Her next suggestion was to go back and dump their bags in the woods, but it would only be a matter of time if they did that. At least this way, despite the enormous risk, the evidence would be totally destroyed.

  ‘Hey, they’re off somewhere,’ whispered Chrissy, observing the men walking away from the refuse truck.

  ‘Looks like they’re going on a fag break,’ said Juliet. ‘Lucky bastards.’