by June Taylor
Brown stain on the ceiling. Red spatters on the wall. Scratches on Juliet, down her stomach and legs. Blood-soaked towel over his head like a shroud. Halo of blood across pale lemon sheets.
And that face.
‘No, fuck you.’
She decided to go and locate her departure stand, even though she still had a long time to wait. Feeling herself being jostled as she stood up, she saw it was the young couple from her table who were also on the move. The girl mouthed the word sorry then turned back to her boyfriend. They carried on walking, lips pressed together, causing everyone else to move out of their way.
Stand 21.
Golders Green, Stockport, Manchester.
She spotted a ‘Toilet’ sign just behind it.
Completely out of coins, she had to duck under the barrier.
The attendant was waiting for her when she came out. ‘You don’t pay,’ she said, holding out her hand insistently. ‘You need pay now.’
‘Look, I don’t have any English money. I really don’t; I was just desperate.’
‘You don’t pay; I call security guard.’
‘No! No, don’t do that. Please don’t do that. Here. That’s fifty francs. That’s like five pounds. Get it changed at the currency place and keep some for yourself.’
The woman eyeballed her but took the note and waved her through. It was all the money gone now. She pushed against the turnstile, hearing it grind round like a torture rack.
‘No. Fuck you.’
She would fight this all the way. Whatever it took.
Arsehole.
Dan was going to help her. Dan would understand.
***
Chrissy searched for him in the sea of faces. It was late when she arrived, and the temperature in Manchester was much cooler than she had been used to in France. She observed her fellow passengers with envy, receiving hugs and kisses from their loved ones.
Perhaps he was stuck in traffic.
She paced up and down, shivering, on the verge of dissolving into tears.
Nearly an hour went by, sitting in the waiting area. Numb. Like being in a thick fog where sounds were muffled and people were blurry. Realizing she was drawing attention to herself, she tried to think what to do. I’m in a bus station, she told herself. There must be a payphone here somewhere. Trudging around she finally found one that worked, surprised to hear her own voice asking the operator for a reverse-charges call.
‘Why the hell didn’t you phone me when you arrived in London?’ was the first thing Dan asked. ‘I’ve been really worried about you.’
It was good to hear him again. Even better, to know that he still cared.
‘Well, didn’t Juliet call you? I asked her to. She was supposed to.’
‘No.’
‘Look, please Dan, I’m really tired. Don’t … just don’t, okay?’
‘I’m on my way,’ she heard him say.
He took one look at her and said: ‘God, what’s happened? You look awful. Bad journey?’
CHAPTER 27
Tuscany: 2007
‘So, wait, Dad wasn’t there?’ asked Eloise.
Chrissy opened her mouth to continue but was interrupted by a loud ‘Buongiorno!’ from just outside their window.
‘Who’s that?’ whispered Chrissy, immediately on the alert.
‘Sounded like Marianna.’
‘Croissants. Fresh bread. Come and get it!’
That was Juliet.
‘We should get up,’ said Chrissy.
‘Wait. Why wasn’t he there? Did Juliet … did she tell him what happened?’
Chrissy gave a strangled laugh.
‘No, god no. Though that was what I thought, of course. I thought he didn’t love me any more. But no, Juliet didn’t even call him in the end. I was in such a state when I saw he wasn’t there.’
‘Juliet didn’t call him? What … why?’
‘I don’t know why. Because she’s Juliet?’
‘But if Dad wasn’t there for you—’
‘It’s fine,’ Chrissy whispered. ‘Don’t worry.’
***
Eloise trudged into the living area. The terracotta tiles under her bare feet gave some relief from the already intense heat.
‘Buongiorno,’ she said to Marianna, pointedly ignoring Juliet.
‘Morning, Eloise,’ said Juliet, clearly perturbed by the snub. ‘Pretty scorchio again.’
A few moments later Chrissy appeared, fanning herself with a magazine.
‘Ah, but a storm is coming,’ said Marianna. ‘Maybe two, three days away. Everyone is praying for it as we badly need the rain.’ She could probably tell from their faces they didn’t believe her. The sky looked like it could never be anything other than pure, uninterrupted blue. She changed the subject by asking: ‘So, do you have any plans for the day?’
Juliet and Chrissy both said they were happy to chill by the pool. Eloise nearly asked if Nico would be around, stopping herself just in time. Her mother would freak if she thought she already had her ‘boy radar’ on. Chrissy’s phrase, not hers.
‘Va bene. Well, if you want to use the bicycles or Vespas, just find one of us to help you. And let me know if you want to horse ride,’ she said to Eloise on her way out. ‘Oh, and if you want to play tennis there are racquets and balls in the small hut just at the side of the tennis court.’
‘Isn’t she just great?’ said Juliet when she was gone. ‘I mean look at this place, it’s incredible.’
‘Have you met her before?’ asked Chrissy.
‘No, I found it on the internet.’
Chrissy puffed out her cheeks and stood up. Eloise stepped in, sensing her mother’s tension. ‘Without the internet, Mum, we wouldn’t even be here.’
‘Exactly. And Juliet would never have found me. I’m going for a swim.’
‘Chrissy!’
‘If you can find me, Juliet, anyone can. Doesn’t that bother you? Because it should.’
‘I knew where to look, that’s all. But it took me long enough.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Chrissy.
She slung her towel over her shoulder, thumping her bare feet onto the tiles as she walked away.
‘Well, who else would know to look up Dan’s band?’ Juliet shouted after her.
Eloise shot her a look of contempt. Juliet raised an eyebrow.
‘What’s wrong? What did I do?’
‘She doesn’t like the internet. You know that. And … how could you forget to call my dad?’
‘What?’
‘My dad. Dan. Mum asked you to let him know when to pick her up when you got back from France, but you didn’t. After everything that happened, you couldn’t do that one small thing for her?’
Juliet laughed strangely. ‘It wasn’t just your mother who was suffering, Eloise. What happened in France happened to me too. So, yes, it slipped my mind. I just forgot. Anyway, it was a long time ago.’
‘That’s pretty crap though. Wouldn’t you say?’ For the first time, Eloise was starting to see Juliet through her mother’s eyes.
She turned on her heel and followed Chrissy to the pool.
***
Juliet was itching to say something. They were having lunch, the heat blur making waves across the hillside. Eloise spotted a lizard scurrying across the terrace as though it would get its feet burnt if it didn’t move fast enough, and all that remained of the ice cubes in her glass was a thin film floating on the top.
‘I did some research on you-know-what whilst I was on my mission to find you,’ said Juliet, tapping the side of her nose, unable to keep it to herself any longer.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Chrissy, mimicking her nose-tapping.
‘You’ve nothing to fear.’
‘Fear? Why, what sort of research?’
‘You know,’ said Juliet, pretending to type with her fingers. ‘Online.’
‘There was no internet then,’ said Eloise.
‘No, but I found an art
icle from a couple of years ago.’
‘A couple of years ago?’ Chrissy slammed both hands on the table. Eloise had to shush her. But she felt the same fear. What the hell were they doing crossing borders if the police were still looking for the killer? Why hadn’t Juliet mentioned this before?
They had to get Chrissy inside, somewhere cooler. Eloise sat her down, straddling a chair; it sometimes helped if she rested her elbows on the backrest.
‘Turn the ceiling fan on,’ Eloise instructed.
Juliet kept saying how sorry she was, that she had only meant to reassure her. She had some positive information, apparently.
‘Save it for a minute,’ said Eloise.
‘No, now,’ said Chrissy, gasping.
‘Mum, it can wait.’
‘No, it bloody can’t. Say it now!’
‘Mum, please.’
She was getting worse. In a way it was a scene Juliet needed to witness. Eloise was beginning to wonder if she viewed this whole ‘let’s rescue Chrissy thing’ thing as some sort of game. She said she wanted to repay her dues but did she really know how?
As Chrissy began to show signs of recovery, Eloise gave Juliet the signal to carry on. She had to prompt her when she didn’t take her cue. ‘So did they reopen the case, Juliet?’
‘Oh god, did they?’ said Chrissy.
‘Juliet!’
Eloise wanted to shake her.
‘What?… Yes. Yes, they did. But then closed it again. Are you okay, Chrissy?’
It was unnerving to see Juliet this way. Like seeing a tear in one of her expensive fabrics, a broken heel on her designer shoe. Where was Juliet Ricci?
‘So what happened?’ said Eloise. ‘Please, Juliet.’
She must have seen the desperation in her eyes, imploring her to stop unravelling.
‘Well, we know that they always suspected he’d had a prostitute in the motel room …’
Chrissy nodded, and Juliet became animated again.
‘And you stealing the money from his wallet was definitely a good move, as it turned out, because it gave some credence to this theory. I mean, I know you only did it so we could get the hell out of there and back to England as quickly as possible, but it suggested a motive. I found all this out in the newspaper article: it gave a summary of the crime.’
‘But why was the case reopened?’ asked Chrissy, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
‘Okay. Apparently they interviewed a number of prostitutes in the area just after you – well after the incident – and they all had alibis. The bloke’s wife confirmed he had a few regulars, so they were found – nothing on them either. She also confirmed he had a mistress. The bastard had even bought an apartment for her in Paris, can you believe it? Anyway, she was cleared. So was his wife, by the way, poor woman. Two years ago, it comes to light that he had another mistress and – wait for this – an illegitimate child. The mistress contacts his wife, well, widow, to say that she was entitled to some of his money. She’d lost her job or something like that.’
‘The widow?’ asked Chrissy.
‘No, no, the mistress. So the police investigated, but again there was no evidence to suggest it was her either. The article said that all lines of investigation had been explored and unless any new evidence was found the case was closed. Something like that. But the motel is now a block of HLM in any case.’
‘What’s “HLM”?’ Eloise asked.
‘It stands for Habitation à Loyer Modéré.’
‘Council housing,’ said Chrissy.
‘So, basically the tone of it was that he was a complete and utter shit and deserved all he got. You know what the French are like, complete hypocrites.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Eloise.
‘They like their bit on the side,’ said Juliet. ‘A kept mistress isn’t unusual.’
‘I’m not sure it’s still like that, is it?’ said Chrissy. ‘Oh, maybe it is. What do I know? So no one went down for it? Thank god.’
Eloise hadn’t even considered that outcome. Would her mother have turned herself in if she had discovered the wrong person had gone to prison? Knowing her, she probably would.
‘I used to buy French newspapers all the time,’ Chrissy said quietly, as if reading Eloise’s mind. ‘I’d scour the pages looking for updates and progress on the case. Listen to French radio obsessively for news, any indication that they were coming for me, so I could be ready. It drove Dan nuts; I was in such a state. So then I stopped. Just like that, buried my head in the sand. And for that I feel really quite ashamed.’
‘You shouldn’t,’ said Juliet.
Chrissy laughed, but in a mocking sort of a way. ‘No, you’re right. Why should I care if yet another life got completely ruined? A complete stranger’s, totally innocent.’
‘But no one did get put away for it, that’s what I’m saying.’
‘Supposing they had, though, Mum? What would you have done?’
Her eyes were glossy when she turned to Eloise. ‘I really don’t know. It would have depended on so many things.’
‘Well, there you have it,’ said Juliet, bringing her hands together. ‘You’re safe. They’d have found you by now, Chrissy.’
‘It’s just me now is it? No more “we’re in this together” and “I’m in this as much as you are”?’
Chrissy stood up and pushed over the chair she had been straddling. It clattered to the floor.
‘Wait, no. That’s not what I meant. But isn’t this good news?’
‘Juliet. I killed a man – a person; another human being. You have no fucking idea what that does to someone. What it’s done to me. So you were right the first time: it’s just me. No us.’
Chrissy grabbed her towel, heading outside again.
‘Where are you going?’ Juliet said desperately.
‘To think, Juliet. Some of us do that.’
Eloise stole a look at Juliet’s face. She couldn’t read her expression but there was a kind of static coming off her. Shock or anger, Eloise couldn’t tell.
***
There was no let-up in the sun, and nobody spoke. They did lazy lengths in the pool. After half an hour they came together on the steps, stretching out where the water was shallow in an attempt to stay cool.
‘They would probably have found you first in any case,’ said Chrissy.
‘You reckon?’ said Juliet, surprised by her remark. ‘Why is that?’
‘Just a feeling.’ Chrissy got out and dripped her way across to the steel-framed hammock under the trees, a few of Juliet’s magazines scattered beneath it.
Juliet got up too. She stood with her hands on her hips, facing Chrissy, and Eloise worried over what she might say.
‘So, then. Does anyone fancy a trip into the village? Or we could get a couple of the scooters, go and explore?’
It was a no from Chrissy.
‘Eloise?’
Eloise still felt bruised from the earlier incidents. Also, her mother might see it as taking sides. It had nothing to do with the fact she had spotted Nico out in the field with the horses. ‘Think I’ll just chill,’ she said. ‘Might take a walk in a bit.’
She watched Juliet wind her sarong around herself, intrigued at how she managed to turn it into a dress, like it had never been a sarong at all.
‘Sure?’ said Juliet.
Eloise nodded. She needed to return Nico’s torch, after all.
Juliet mouthed the word sorry and blew her a kiss goodbye.
‘I think she means well, Mum,’ said Eloise.
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘And it’s good about what she said, don’t you think? About … stuff?’
‘Maybe.’
Chrissy flicked the pages of her magazine, not wanting to engage. On this occasion, that suited Eloise.
‘Right, I’m off for a walk then. See you in a bit,’ she said.
***
She set off without the torch and had to dash back to get it. By the time she got to the field Nico wasn
’t there any more. Then she spotted him leading a horse out of the stable block. By his careful handling, she assumed it was French Fry.
He looked up. Now she was committed.
The last thing she wanted was a repeat of the awkwardness from last night. He had seemed to enjoy it in some perverse way, making her feel like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. Maybe that was all she was in his eyes.
‘Grazie mille,’ she said, blushing when she handed over the torch.
Still holding onto the reins, he slid it into his pocket. French Fry threw his nose into the air. ‘Sta’ calmo,’ he said, stroking him.
‘How is he?’
‘A little better. The vet said maybe he has been bitten by some bug – do you say? Insect or something, but he is okay.’
Eloise put her hand on its nose. She had never actually touched a horse before and was amazed at how solid it felt.
‘Do you ride?’ asked Nico.
‘I’ve never tried.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But he’s not well.’
‘I don’t mean French Fry. For you, maybe—’ He broke off to look at the other six horses dotted about the field pulling up clumps of dried-out grass with their enormous teeth. ‘Well, you are quite tall but very light, and you have never ridden before. So therefore I think Cioccolato.’
‘He sounds nice.’ She laughed. ‘Means chocolate, right?’
‘You want to try?’
‘What, now? I’m not really – I’m wearing flip-flops.’
‘Okay. Maybe some other time.’
It opened up another deep silence. But it was Nico who filled it, much to her relief.
‘Have you found the lake yet?’ he asked. ‘Most people miss it. It is so beautiful, very peaceful. You can walk there or take a bicycle. Also swim. It’s very – how do you say … solitario?’