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

by June Taylor

  ‘Right, this is it, Ju.’ Chrissy was attempting to summon up more of that extraordinary strength she had discovered in herself the previous night. ‘We only get one crack at this. If we don’t manage it, we just leave the bags and run. Okay?’

  Juliet nodded.

  They made for the truck, intimidated by its bulk once they were standing beneath it. When Chrissy saw how impossible this was she almost made them abort, then saw the determination in Juliet’s eyes. On a silent count of three they launched the first bag into the air. It went high, one full rotation, handles and straps flying. Then it dropped, sinking into the gaping mouth they couldn’t even see. There was no time to celebrate or to recover because it had to be done all over again.

  Juliet grabbed Chrissy’s arm, shaking her excitedly when the second bag landed safely. As they turned the corner, walking casually away from it they could hear the lorry on the move again, whirring and beeping, grinding their rucksacks to a pulp.

  It was another hour before they found a bridge over the river. Signs for ‘Centre Ville’ and ‘Gare SNCF’ meant small shoots of life were beginning to appear on the streets of Tours. The pavements were being washed down, and shutters on some of the bars and boulangeries were being removed. It seemed like a lovely place to spend some time, Chrissy thought, despite the screaming inside her head and the gnawing feeling in her gut. She wondered how much longer she could hold it together. Juliet needed constant encouragement and it was draining all her energy having to fill her with false hope that everything was going to be okay.

  Because how could it be?

  The station was already bustling, a steady stream of commuters trickling in. They tried to blend in as best they could. It saddened Chrissy to think that this country, which she had always adored and dreamt of living in one day, now felt foreign and hostile. Her only desire was to leave it behind as quickly as possible and never return.

  The ticket vendor on the other side of the screen was brusque and agitated. For once the lack of eye contact was reassuring, but everyone else was staring at them: the people in the queue, and especially the gendarme loitering nearby. Chrissy let out a girlish giggle when they were forced to walk past him, which baffled Juliet to begin with. Then: ‘Ooh, you’re good at this game,’ she said, once she realized why she had done it.

  Their train wasn’t for another hour. It seemed sensible not to kick about on the concourse looking nervous and guilty. Chrissy found them a busy café, a place where they wouldn’t stand out, and they sat down to a spread of fresh orange juice, croissants with slices of ham and cheese, and two large cafés au lait. Juliet took pleasure in the fact that it wasn’t every day they got to spend a dead man’s money, and she had a good appetite, too. Chrissy, on the other hand, who had stayed up all night and not eaten for nearly eighteen hours, had to force it down. She was constantly checking her watch. Time seemed to be expanding like elastic, ready to snap back in their faces. She thought about calling Dan but, as yet, had no good reason to speak to him and didn’t want to make him think anything was wrong. They were not even clear of Tours yet. A long way to go.

  Ditching their bags was definitely the right thing to do, Chrissy thought, when the train glided in. It was almost full, commuters into Paris mostly, some day trippers but certainly no backpackers. The crush and press of bodies was strangely comforting as they fought to get to their reserved seats. The denser the crowd the more inconspicuous they would be. Chrissy had hoped for seats on their own, limiting their interaction with anyone who could identify them later, but the elderly French couple sitting opposite were keen to engage in conversation and she soon realized they were not prepared for this.

  She was furious with herself at such a glaring oversight, having had many hours to come up with a strategy. Luckily she managed to launch into a story before Juliet could open her mouth. They were exchange students: she was an American over from New York, and Juliet her exchange partner. Juliet was often being mistaken for a French girl, with her air of insouciance, so it was plausible that she lived with her parents in Paris. Which was where they were making for now, Chrissy permitted Juliet to explain. To avoid having to elaborate they closed their eyes and pretended to sleep, but were both so exhausted that they had to be woken up as they pulled into Paris Gare d’Austerlitz two and a half hours later.

  The old man gently touched her arm to try and stir her, and Chrissy let out a scream. Juliet’s laughter – however inappropriate in light of what they had just been through – was the best reaction possible. But, in any case, everyone else was gathering up their belongings in the race to get off and no one seemed to react.

  After a brief farewell to the elderly couple, they sped off into the crowds and Juliet pushed her arm through Chrissy’s. ‘You were awesome,’ she said in an American accent.

  They spilled out into the busy concourse, where armed men in uniforms appeared to be everywhere. Chrissy felt Juliet’s grip tighten as she, too, sensed the danger. Any moment now they would be stopped. Sweat was pooling on Chrissy’s forehead. The clothes she had put on for warmth through the night were clinging to her now, and she thought she might faint. Juliet spotted the sign for ‘Taxis’ and began pulling in that direction.

  Chrissy felt it revive her.

  Disappointment showed on Juliet’s face when Chrissy steered them towards the Métro instead, telling her they needed to immerse themselves in the crowds. On the escalator, going down into the tunnel, she noticed Juliet staring at posters for Chanel and Dior as they filed past on the wall. She wondered what was going through her head. How much of the incident could she remember?

  Poor Juliet.

  ***

  The coach station in Paris was even more insane than Gare d’Austerlitz. On any other day they would have found this intolerable. Today, it was perfect. Pushing through hordes of people with bags, pushchairs, suitcases, dogs, children playing games being scolded by their mothers, they made for the screens up ahead with Arrivals and Departures information. Over the sea of heads, they could just make out that the next coach to London Victoria was in two hours.

  The waiting room stank of perspiration and babies. Strangely, on this occasion, these things were comforting. A TV was mounted high up on the wall in one corner and an advert was running for some life-changing yoghurt drink, a stunning French woman maintaining this was the secret of her beauty. The morning news reported on a water shortage in Provence, a strike in a factory somewhere in Grenoble.

  And then:

  ‘A man was found dead in his hotel room this morning near Tours. It’s thought he may have hired the services of a prostitute and the murder was motivated by money. The man’s family has been informed. He leaves behind his wife and three-year-old son.’

  They got up and walked away as if they had just been listening to the day’s weather forecast. Chrissy could hear the thud of her own heartbeat echoing inside her head.

  CHAPTER 22

  Manchester: 2007

  Eloise always knew there was something different about her mother, even when her dad was alive. The hushed conversations as a child; finding her in tears curled up in a quiet corner; the desperate hugs when Eloise didn’t want them; the way she jumped at the slightest thing. Not to mention the transience of her friends, keeping them at arm’s length until they dropped off the radar altogether. If Eloise had known the reason behind these things, she would never have pushed her mother. She thought back to the words Chrissy had said only a fortnight ago: ‘It never goes away.’

  From now on it would always be there for Eloise as well. For the rest of her life. They were all in it together now. It still didn’t make any sense: a story about someone else, someone else’s mother. With such an ending, how could it possibly be her own? What do you do with that sort of information? She had acted in the heat of the moment trying to protect her best friend. Would Eloise have done the same if Anya was in that situation? Probably, yes.

  Chrissy had not meant to kill him.

  When they s
aid their goodbyes at Euston, Juliet had whispered in her ear not to forget about Italy, reaffirming that she still had plans to help her mother. Eloise couldn’t even consider that yet. What if she ever did get caught? Could she be put on trial even though it was back in 1989? Would she be found guilty? After all, there was nothing to back up their story. It was perfectly clear to Eloise now why she had severed all ties. Not only was Juliet a terrible reminder of her crime, but the enforced estrangement would also make them much more difficult to trace if the police or Interpol ever came looking. She understood her fear of the internet too. Her mother was right; these days everyone lived around the virtual corner, whether in Timbuktu or Tunbridge Wells. Chrissy didn’t want to leave any trace of herself in the digital world because it would make her too easy to find.

  ***

  The first thing Eloise did was to gather up any alcohol they still had in the flat, hide it under her bed. If her mother took refuge in a bottle again she might lose her in the darkness forever. And Eloise would be left on her own once more to deal with it.

  She had tried everything.

  ‘Just imagine, Mum, if you’d done nothing, if you hadn’t acted like you did, where would that leave Juliet? He might even have killed her. Or you could both be dead. And then I wouldn’t be here either, would I?’ But it only made Chrissy sob inconsolably. ‘Please, Mum. I still love you, and you’re still my mum. Why can’t you understand that if I’m fine with it, and Juliet is too—’

  ‘Juliet didn’t kill him.’

  ‘And you said my dad was fine with it … It’s time you let this go, Mum. Please.’

  Of course she wasn’t fine with it. Not with any of it. How could she be? Her own mother had left a son without a dad and a wife without a husband. But she would make herself, because this was the only way to move forward.

  How long was this going to go on? It already felt like forever.

  Eloise went into her room, pressing her face into the pillow so she could scream into it. She had to stop her mother falling apart again.

  There was one thing she still hadn’t tried. She hadn’t thought of it until now. Tortuous, if her mother agreed to it, but Eloise was prepared to do anything.

  ‘How about we go for a run, Mum? I mean both of us, like, together.’

  If only she had come up with that sooner. Ten minutes later, Chrissy appeared in her running kit.

  ***

  She followed her mother up Oxford Road then down onto the towpath. Eloise always got a sense of Old Manchester along the canal: the mooring rings for the coal barges, and all the huge brick warehouses and mills, now apartment blocks and bars.

  It was impossible to keep up with her, and she was making no allowances for the fact that her daughter hated running and was not in the least bit fit. Eloise’s chest was tight and a cold pain in her throat made it difficult to speak.

  ‘Mum,’ Eloise shouted, hoping she might slow down a little. ‘Mum … I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘What about?’ Chrissy turned her head slightly but still cracked on at a sprinter’s pace.

  ‘Well … Bournemouth Uni … is—’ Eloise gulped some air into her lungs, ‘is a long way from here … so how about I do what you suggested … and apply to … Manchester Uni … and live at home with you?’

  Rather than pausing to consider this information, Chrissy speeded up.

  ‘Mum!’

  As Eloise emerged onto Canal Street she felt her legs buckle coming up the ramp. The sight of people sitting out at the street bars did give her a short burst of energy, but she could see that Chrissy had already crossed Sackville Street, heading for Minshull Street Bridge.

  ‘Mum!’ she called just before she lost her again.

  Then, spotting her rejoining the towpath: ‘Mu-um!’

  A bike swooshed up from behind, coming at speed down the slope. Eloise heard it, unsure which way to go. Losing her balance, she screamed and toppled into the water. The canal closed in over her head. It smelt of sludge and diesel fumes. A raft of twigs and litter floated in front of her face. She was treading water, desperately trying to find a way to get back up onto the towpath without having to breathe or swallow.

  Then she felt herself slowing, her body getting cold, shutting down.

  The next thing she knew her mother had hold of one arm, the cyclist the other, and she was being pulled out of the canal.

  ***

  Chrissy came into her room and woke her with a hot mug of tea. She put it down on the bedside table. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, stroking her hair.

  ‘Yeah, better thanks.’ Her stomach felt tender and her body still ached, but no real harm done.

  ‘You need to get right for Italy,’ said Chrissy.

  ‘Oh. Look, Mum, it’s okay. We don’t have to go.’

  ‘Yes, we do. You are the most important thing to me in the whole world, Eloise. I can never let you forget that.’

  ‘Manchester’s fine. Honestly, Mum.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You can’t stay here forever. We’re going to Italy.’

  She should have been ecstatic, but memories of London were still circling in her mind. She feared, even if they did go, it might not all be pizza and ice cream. How could a single trip to Italy put her mother back together again? Juliet was fooling herself; she didn’t understand. How could she?

  Still, it was as good a place as any to try.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 23

  Rome: 2007

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t wear that thing all the time,’ Chrissy said irritably as they waited in the Executive Lounge. ‘Don’t you ever take it off?’ She was referring to the cat brooch. Juliet had it pinned into her beehive today, the way she wore it on her website.

  Chrissy had been fractious ever since they set off for the airport. Juliet had offered her some pills to take before their flight, but she flatly refused. Her behaviour had even prompted a security person to approach at one point.

  ‘Oh, she’s a terrible flyer,’ Juliet intervened, taking her by the arm. ‘Always the same. She’ll be fine once we’re on the plane.’

  ‘I was fine,’ said Chrissy, keeping her voice low. ‘I was perfectly fine until you showed up again.’

  ‘Mum, you said you wouldn’t do this.’

  ‘It’s just nerves, Eloise.’

  ‘How do you know that, Juliet? What can you possibly know about my bloody nerves?’

  ‘And you weren’t perfectly fine at all, Mum.’

  ‘Please,’ said Juliet, ‘don’t hate me, Chrissy.’

  ‘I don’t hate you!’ she hissed, in a low whisper.

  Juliet waved her arm at someone. ‘I think we need a sherry. Calm your nerves.’

  ‘Sweet, medium or dry, Madam?’ the lounge attendant asked.

  ‘Sweet what?’ said Chrissy, looking directly at Juliet. ‘Sorrow? Charity?’

  ‘Get her a double cream sherry, please,’ said Juliet. ‘I’ll have a fino. Eloise?’ Eloise shook her head. The attendant nodded and went away. ‘Look, if you don’t want to do this just yet, we can go back. I’ll call Anton and—’

  ‘She does want to. Don’t you, Mum? We haven’t had a proper holiday in years.’

  Chrissy managed a smile for Eloise.

  ‘You’ll be fine, Mum. I promise.’

  Their drinks appeared on a tray and set down on white paper mats. ‘Enjoy,’ said the attendant.

  ‘Hardly,’ muttered Chrissy.

  Eloise ran her fingers along the top of her dad’s note. She always carried it with her now, safely tucked into the top of her purse. An announcement sounded over the tannoy. A further hour and a half’s delay sent Chrissy back to the perfume counter. They could see her contemplating the array of bottles on the shelves. She took one down and sprayed it in front of her face, stepping into the mist.

  ‘I’m really worried about her,’ said Eloise. ‘She’s acting weird.’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ Juliet reassured her. ‘Sometimes things have to get worse bef
ore they can get better.’

  ‘They can’t get any worse, Juliet!’

  The attendant came to clear their table. Shortly after, Chrissy returned. She smelt like she had sprayed the entire perfume counter over herself.

  ***

  London dissolved beneath them until there was nothing left but sky. Eloise kept checking on Chrissy. Her eyes were closed and she seemed relaxed. Juliet gave her the thumbs up across the aisle. But when the pilot cut in with: ‘The “Fasten Seatbelts” sign will remain on due to some light turbulence’, Chrissy was suddenly roused.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ she said. ‘More turbulence.’ She became agitated again, turning to Juliet, saying: ‘And I’d feel a whole lot better if you removed that thing for a start. Every time I look at you I see—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That stupid brooch.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Juliet, putting it to her lips. ‘I kiss it every day for good luck and it keeps me safe. I even have the card you sent me. For my twentieth birthday. Remember?’

  ‘Why should I remember?’

  Chrissy was aware that Eloise was secretly grinning at her; she didn’t react, however. But really, what did stealing the brooch matter in comparison to what else she had done? Chrissy pulled a magazine from her bag, reclining back into her seat, and Eloise rested her head on her shoulder, grateful for the peace. Moments later they heard Juliet ordering champagne. Chrissy gave Eloise a nudge, rolling her eyes, happy to share a private snigger this time.

  Eloise could remember starting a text to Anya, missing her all of a sudden, but was told to turn off her phone. She must have fallen asleep after that because when she next looked out of the window they were high above the clouds, the sun streaming through. She was just about to tell Chrissy it was like being in heaven when she heard: ‘If you didn’t want me to wear it, why did you send it to me for my birthday?’