Book Read Free

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

Page 28

by June Taylor


  ‘Life is never perfect, of course. But honestly, I think ten actually. Maybe nine on a not-so-good day.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ said Juliet, applauding. Eloise cringed at her over-the-top reaction, but she would have danced on the table herself if that had been any more appropriate.

  Ten.

  Maybe nine on a not-so-good day …

  ‘Didn’t you love your husband then?’

  ‘Eloise!’ said Chrissy, frowning at her. Even Juliet gave her a look to say: Back off.

  ‘Oh, it’s okay,’ said Marianna. ‘Yes. Yes, I did love him.’

  Why couldn’t she just admit that she hated his guts and wanted someone to bash his brains out?

  Eloise knew Juliet was thinking that, too.

  ‘How long ago did he die?’ Chrissy asked.

  ‘Oh, a long time ago now.’

  ‘Time’s obviously done its healing work,’ said Juliet. ‘I mean, for you to be a ten.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose it has.’ Marianna looked at them in turn, as if assessing whether to expand on that. ‘I loved him but I didn’t respect him.’

  ‘Really? Why not?’

  ‘Eloise, don’t be so nosey. It’s none of your business,’ said Chrissy. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe we should play charades instead. Do you know charades?’

  ‘Because he didn’t respect me,’ said Marianna, trying to press one of the discarded corks into the table. She didn’t make eye contact. This was the first time she had shown any signs of discomfort. The cicadas in the background seemed to get louder, a warning perhaps not to persist with this perverse game of Juliet’s. So now it was Marianna’s turn to give away too much. As far as she was aware, they were merely holidaymakers staying in one of her properties, complete strangers. She also struck Eloise as someone who would normally maintain a professional distance.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  ‘If he had still been alive I’d still be with him for sure, but I would have been crushed and humiliated. His death liberated me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t regret that he died. He was a decent father but a terrible husband.’

  Whatever her reasons, this was more like what they wanted to hear. Eloise beamed at Juliet. She was beginning to like this game after all.

  ‘Why, what did he do?’

  ‘Eloise! Really, just stop asking so many questions. You shouldn’t have any more to drink.’

  ‘I’ve already stopped, Mum.’ She raised her eyebrows at Chrissy, hinting that she might wish to do the same.

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ said Marianna. ‘Really, it’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to share. Is it not? Share the pain, share the burden.’

  How had Chrissy managed all these years to keep her guilt so tightly wrapped? And maybe Juliet was right. Maybe it did have to get much worse before it could get any better.

  How would her mother take it, though, when she found out who Marianna really was? And when would that be? Eloise had already decided that she didn’t want her to know until they were safely back in England. What would it matter to Juliet if her little scheme went up in smoke? It would change nothing for her. No matter what the outcome, Juliet would flit back to London, to Italy, carry on her glamorous lifestyle, perhaps feeling that bit better about herself because at least she had tried to repay her debt to Chrissy. Eloise was the one who had to be there for her mother long after this trip was over. And what if Chrissy went to prison?

  She wanted to tell Juliet these things immediately, but their guest didn’t seem to want to leave.

  ‘My husband was very handsome,’ she continued. ‘Always flirting. He was not at all loyal. I don’t think he was capable of it. I knew he had a mistress, at least one, but I chose to turn a blind eye, I suppose. I thought that was the best thing to do. We had a child and I didn’t think I could cope alone.’ Chrissy nodded. ‘I had no family, what could I do? And as I said, I loved him.’

  ‘What a complete and utter bastard,’ said Juliet. ‘He deserved all he got then.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Marianna.

  ‘Er, you told us he died,’ Eloise corrected. ‘That’s what she means.’ She glared at Juliet.

  Marianna ran her finger round the rim of her glass. ‘Yes. We all have to die, don’t we?’

  Chrissy was crying. It was time to end this before it got out of control. Was she crying for Marianna’s sake, or was it out of some form of release for herself? After all, if she ever did sit down opposite her victim’s widow, however unlikely that was as far as Chrissy was concerned, these would be the exact words she would hope to hear.

  Eloise stood up.

  ‘Last one in the pool is a piece of merde!’

  No one reacted. She sat back down, saying: ‘It’s just something we do, Marianna.’

  In any case, Marianna was more interested in preparing Chrissy for the kill. She topped up her drink again. ‘So, what is your story? Why isn’t time healing you?’

  ‘What is this, the Italian inquisition?’ said Chrissy, finishing off her wine and slamming the glass on the table.

  ‘Mum.’

  Chrissy began rubbing her face until it turned red and angry. ‘God, I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘Just so fucking tired.’

  ‘Let’s go to bed then, shall we?’

  It was the best Eloise could do.

  ‘What makes you so tired, Chrissy?’ Marianna persisted.

  ‘Look, she did it for me. It was an accident.’

  ‘Juliet!’ shouted Eloise. Any minute now the guillotine would come whistling down on the back of her mother’s neck. And Juliet seemed to want to play the executioner.

  Juliet was holding the cat brooch out for Chrissy. Chrissy closed her eyes when she saw it, and kept them closed even when she started speaking. ‘You can still believe that’s the reason if you want, Juliet. But that’s not why I did it.’

  ‘Mum, please.’

  Chrissy had a chilling serenity about her now, and Eloise sensed this could not be stopped.

  ‘I’m not a bad person. Not really,’ she said. Her eyes were now locked onto Juliet’s. ‘I didn’t do it for you.’

  ‘You did it for both of us,” Juliet replied. ‘Anyway, you didn’t mean to. She accidentally killed someone, Marianna.’

  Eloise gasped. Right now she wanted to kill Juliet.

  ‘It wasn’t an accident!’ Chrissy yelled, banging her fists on the table. The half-empty bottle spun round, spraying wine from its neck and spattering them in red spots. Marianna caught it and stood it upright again.

  ‘Who did you kill?’ she asked, coolly.

  Chrissy shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. Just some worthless prick. We thought he was kind, offered us a lift to Paris. He saved us from another maniac too.’

  ‘So you were hitch-hiking?’

  ‘Yes,’ Chrissy answered. ‘Serves us right, eh?’ She pointed at Juliet. ‘Her idea.’

  ‘He attacked me,’ said Juliet. ‘She did it to save her best friend.’

  ‘No, Juliet. I did it for me.’

  CHAPTER 35

  France: summer 1989

  She held her face up to the cool jet of water and closed her eyes. Tilting forwards, she could feel it running down the back of her neck and the rest of her tired, aching body. Her skin was glossy and tanned, the hairs on her arms bleached white from the sun. Dan was bound to say she was too skinny, but she quite liked her new shape. And Dan would love her whatever.

  She hugged herself, imagining his arms around her.

  Nudging the temperature up a notch, she began to wash away the sweat and grime of the day: standing by the side of the road trying to thumb a lift; the tension between her and Juliet; the sleazy pervert in his filthy truck; she watched all of that disappear down the plughole. Chrissy smiled to herself at the thought of home and of being in Dan’s arms for real. There was her mother’s home cooking to look forward to as well, and going down the pub with friends, not to mention starting her second year at Bristol.

  The summer was almost at an end, an
d what a summer it had been, but she was more than ready now for the next chapter to begin.

  Still luxuriating in the shower, she didn’t hear him unlock the door. Or come into the room. And even when she saw a figure through the steam and condensation, she thought it must be Juliet. She banged on the cubicle door, shouting: ‘Juliet! You frightened the life out of me,’ rubbing away at a small area on the cracked plastic.

  Only, it wasn’t Juliet.

  He was getting undressed, undoing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt. Removing his trousers. Couldn’t he hear the shower still running? Maybe he thought it hadn’t been turned off properly.

  She banged on the door again. ‘J’ai pas fini! J’ai pas fini!’

  He grinned at her.

  Chrissy realized she was urinating, shocked to see the yellow liquid swirling around her toes. She covered herself with both hands. What else could she do?

  She was trapped.

  Juliet was probably asleep. And if she called out for help, they weren’t meant to be here in the first place. Who would hear anyway from inside the shower cubicle?

  Turn it off.

  That seemed a logical thing to do. But before she could get her hand on the dial he was already in there with her. The door clunked shut behind him. He edged nearer.

  Naked.

  This big, powerful man. Married man. Father. Who, very proudly, had shown them a photo of his son. It was his birthday. Today, in fact. His son would be waiting for him to make it home. Tonight. To Paris. This man was their hero, too. Saved them from precisely this sort of danger. Now here he was, standing within a few inches of her, his athletic body, naked and solid, with a threatening-looking erection she felt sure he was going to use as a weapon against her.

  ‘Please, Monsieur. Please don’t do this. S’il vous plaît. Monsieur.’

  She was trying to reach somewhere inside his heart not to hurt her. She also wanted to turn her back on him but felt that might be worse. Remaining face on, she pressed back against the tiles. The water gushed down between them. A barrier. But it was only water.

  It was all starting to make sense now. He had put something in that wine. He must have.

  He moved in closer. Closer still. The water was behind him, running down his back, his body firmly pressed against hers. He touched her. Breasts. Chin. Stomach. Face. Between her legs. He seemed to have more than one pair of hands. She tried to fend him off, cover herself, folding herself inwards, crossing her legs. She tried pushing him away time and again but, each time, he kept coming back.

  ‘N’aie pas peur. Don’t be afraid,’ he whispered.

  He tried to kiss her. She managed to cover her mouth and turn her face to the side. But he grabbed her chin, pulled it back and planted his mouth over hers. He needed a shave; his chin rubbed against hers like a scourer. She felt something inside her. It hurt, but not too much. It was only his finger. He was actually trying to turn her on, have sex with her.

  Did he really think she would respond?

  ***

  When it was over he released his grip that had been clamping her to the tiles, and took a step backwards. Gloating. She smacked him across the face, hard. He put his hand to his cheek, pushed his jaw side to side and then laughed as he pressed back against the cubicle door until it clicked open.

  He stepped out.

  The shower was still on, water coming down as if nothing had happened. Chrissy turned the temperature to max. Scalding. She wanted to wash away every last trace of him. There was blood running down between her legs. She was not a virgin; she had slept with Dan countless times. But Dan was the only guy she had ever slept with.

  She watched the blood drain away.

  Her insides were raw, like a knife had been thrust up inside her and twisted round, again and again.

  Rubbing another tiny window in the condensation, she saw him wrap a towel around his waist. He was looking in the mirror to check his face where she had slapped him. Or perhaps to see if he needed a shave.

  And then he went away.

  Chrissy sank to the base of the shower cubicle, letting the water soothe and rinse. She wrapped her arms around her knees, allowing her head to slump, noticing that her fingers were shrivelled at the ends. Her toes, too. Funny, she thought, how she was focusing on those small details. Then she closed her eyes and drifted away, allowing the water to erase the nightmare, going somewhere else in her head. Back to Dan. She may even have fallen asleep.

  And then, suddenly, she was jolted back to reality.

  Juliet!

  How long had she been in here like this? Ten minutes? Twenty? Maybe even half an hour. Too long. He must be in the bedroom. Where else could he have gone with only a towel round his waist? All she could think of was: Oh god, please let Juliet be okay. Don’t let him do to her what he’s just done to me.

  She tugged the towel off the rail, securing it around herself as she hurried into the bedroom.

  Juliet was lying on the bed. He was on top of her, tearing at her clothes. The TV was on.

  ‘Stop!’ she yelled, rushing towards him. ‘Leave her alone.’

  He turned, giving her that familiar look of contempt. What was she going to do exactly? Run out into Reception screaming – in a towel? It was only their word against his. They were nothing but a pair of cheap hookers.

  He began to get rougher with Juliet.

  Chrissy charged at him; he pushed her to the floor. Clawing at the carpet for some inspiration, her eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene. The wine bottle was almost empty; she couldn’t see any glasses. Juliet’s flip-flops were over by the window where she had kicked them off. Her rucksack was on the bed, unopened. Chrissy’s was on the floor, the top still undone from when she had extracted her washbag. Moving to the double bed, his bed, she saw his clothes neatly folded on the pillow. It incensed her that he had taken the time to do this.

  She got up and tossed them to the floor, his belt coming loose in her hand.

  Standing behind him, as close as she dared, she jerked the leather strap taut in her fingers.

  Snap it round his neck and pull back hard.

  She tried and tried. Each time, froze in the crucial moment.

  Suddenly he turned and saw what she was up to. Moving quickly, he lunged at her. It came instinctively to use the belt as a whip and she lashed it against his face, catching his eye with the buckle. Blood spurted from behind his fingers, but he somehow managed to come at her again.

  Chrissy took a step backwards to get away from him. She knew there was nowhere to go and felt her leg hit against the bed frame. It knocked her to the floor and she nearly gashed her arm on a piece of broken glass as she landed. This must have been from a previous struggle. Perhaps he had tried to force more wine down Juliet’s throat.

  She seized the jagged stem of the wineglass. She went for him, slashing his stomach. He tipped backwards towards the bed, splitting his head open on the chest of drawers as he went down.

  Chrissy waited. Her breathing heavy from the exertion and the adrenalin coursing through her veins. She thought he might even be dead.

  He wasn’t. His pulse was still there. But he wasn’t moving and it gave her time to concentrate on Juliet. When she roused her, she was bleary from the drug he had slipped into their drink and wasn’t making much sense. But enough to describe what had just happened to her.

  He muttered something. It frightened Juliet, who wanted to know what he had said, but Chrissy sent her into the shower.

  ‘Fuck you.’

  He said it again and again. He seemed to be laughing at her.

  The stem of the broken wineglass was on the floor where she had dropped it before. There was blood on its edges, and maybe a piece of flesh from his stomach. She picked it up and threw herself on top of him, pinning his arms to his sides with her knees, holding onto his nose. He began to struggle, refusing to open his mouth.

  Sooner or later he had to take a breath.

  ‘Little bit wider, Monsieur. Bit more … Perf
ect.’

  In it went.

  There was a crunch when she snapped his jaws together. His body contorted; he tried to cough. Blood trickled down the sides of his mouth then appeared through his nostrils. It was hard to look at him, his looks completely destroyed; one eye bloody and swollen, and now this. When she finally released her hands he burbled like a baby. Gurgling and choking to death.

  Removing her towel, she threw it over his face so she would never have to look at it again.

  That face.

  ‘No. Fuck you. Arsehole.’

  CHAPTER 36

  Tuscany: 2007

  ‘Oh my god,’ said Juliet, her fingers trembling across her mouth.

  Eloise ran round the table and buried her head in her mother’s shoulder.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Juliet. ‘Why?’

  Only now did Marianna pour herself a glass of wine. She drank it in one go then poured herself another. Up until now, knowing what her mother had done, Eloise had felt nothing but sympathy for Marianna, but this new revelation turned her pity into something closer to hate. She knew it wasn’t Marianna’s fault, she wasn’t responsible for what her husband did, but Marianna was the closest thing she had to blame.

  So what happened now?

  There was a coolness about her. She gave nothing away. Hearing the gruesome details of her husband’s death, along with his alleged crimes, must have seemed like this was his murder trial. Would she even believe he was capable of rape?

  If Nico had been present he would have worked it out by now; Eloise felt sure of that.

  Juliet’s head was bowed, her shoulders caved in. She seemed to have aged in only quarter of an hour. What little use had she been to her best friend whilst all this was going on, lying on the bed with the TV on? She must finally recognize that Chrissy’s torment, for all of these years, was not as simple as she thought.

  As any of them thought.

 

‹ Prev