The Guilt Trip

by Sandie Jones

  ‘I can’t find Paige,’ says Noah desperately, kneeling down beside Rachel.

  ‘Well, she’s got to be here somewhere,’ says Rachel, looking around. ‘Where was she when it happened?’

  Noah shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I think . . .’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I thought she was with Jack.’

  In that moment, Rachel suddenly remembers all that had gone on before, and her already-splintered heart breaks in two. Before the fireworks: Paige on the terrace with Jack, pretending to anyone looking on that they were casually enjoying a cigarette together – the bracelet on her wrist saying otherwise.

  Had they still been there when she’d come around the corner after speaking to Ali? She shakes her head, trying to place them, but the terrace had been full by the time she’d arrived and she hadn’t been able to see them or Noah.

  ‘I saw them out here when I was inside at the bar,’ says Noah. ‘But by the time I came out, there was no sign of them. I don’t know where they were.’

  Rachel pulls herself towards Jack, who is lying on his back on the deck with his eyes open. ‘Help is coming,’ she says. ‘Just a couple more minutes.’

  Jack manages a shivery nod. ‘Can he have your jacket?’ Rachel asks Noah.

  ‘Don’t you need it more?’ Noah says, taking it off.

  Shock’s setting in, freezing her to the core, but she shakes her head, taking the jacket and laying it over Jack’s chest. He winces, despite her barely touching him, making her wonder what other injuries may lie beneath the surface.

  ‘Where’s Paige?’ she whispers close to his ear, conscious of how loaded the question is.

  His eyes flicker and slide towards her.

  ‘Was she with you?’ she asks, not wanting him to exert himself. ‘When it happened?’

  ‘Sh . . .’ he starts, the one syllable clearly causing him pain.

  ‘Blink once for yes,’ says Rachel. ‘Twice for no.’

  He has to exert all his energy into closing his eyelids and opening them with purpose. Rachel and Noah watch intently, both of them desperately hoping that he blinks again to say she wasn’t with him. Because if she was, where is she now?

  Rachel shudders as she tries to fend off the terrifying thought that Paige might have been knocked into the sea – which, as the waves crash against the terrace, doesn’t look like it will give anyone up easily.

  26

  Noah’s is the first face Rachel sees when she comes around from the anaesthetic and, for a moment, she thinks she’s still under its influence. His features are softened, as if she’s looking through a blurred lens, but as the focus sharpens, she sees his brow is creased and he has bags under his eyes.

  So many thoughts railroad her brain, though she’s unable to separate the flashbacks from a dream she thinks she’s had. A car is up in the air – she can see its underside – yet when it crashes into the water, she’s inside, thrashing to get out. She gasps, as if desperate for air.

  ‘It’s okay,’ says Noah, as if able to see her innermost thoughts. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘Where am I?’ she asks raspingly.

  ‘You’re in a hospital in Portugal,’ says Noah. ‘You’ve had an operation on your leg, but you’re going to be just fine.’

  He looks like he hasn’t slept for days; is that how long she’s been out for? And if he’s by her side, waiting for her to come round, does that mean he doesn’t have his own wife to watch over? And where’s Jack? Shouldn’t he be here?

  She suddenly remembers him lying next to her, shivering, with blood covering his face.

  ‘Jack?’ she breathes, going to pull herself up. The needle in the back of her hand tugs and she winces.

  ‘Ssh,’ says Noah, gently holding her down. ‘He’s okay. He’s being patched up, but he’s going to be okay.’

  She allows herself to fall back into the pillow, trying to recall at what point the party turned into a nightmare. She sees flashes of Ali and Jack in a cave, Paige going to push Ali off the cliff, Josh as a baby in Jack’s arms, Noah and Josh laughing and drinking in a pub . . . all the images bombard her fragile brain and she’s unable to determine which of them really happened and which she’s imagined.

  ‘Where’s Paige?’ she asks, fearful of the answer.

  Noah drops eye contact and stares intently at the bedsheets.

  ‘Where is she?’

  He shakes his head. ‘We don’t know,’ he says quietly.

  She goes to pull herself up again. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

  ‘She’s wasn’t on the terrace,’ he says. ‘The police think she could have been knocked into the sea.’

  ‘Is everybody else accounted for?’

  Noah nods.

  ‘So, it’s just Paige who’s missing?’ she asks incredulously.

  ‘And the driver,’ says Noah.

  They both look away from each other, neither of them prepared to even begin to acknowledge that it could be one and the same person.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ cries Rachel, the enormity of the situation bearing down on her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Noah. ‘They were going to recover the car at first light.’ He looks out of the window at the pink-tinged sky. ‘So we should have some answers any time now.’

  ‘Mrs Hunter?’ comes a voice.

  Rachel looks up to see a man knocking on an invisible door at the foot of her bed. ‘May I come in?’

  Rachel nods, assuming that he’s a doctor, in his beige chinos and open-necked pale-blue shirt. Dark hair curls around his collar and he offers the kindest of smiles. The sort that heals people.

  ‘I am Afonso Da Silva from the police department,’ he says, taking Rachel completely by surprise. He extends his hand before realizing that hers is otherwise occupied by the IV drip. He nods, almost imperceptibly, to Noah, implying that they’ve already met.

  ‘This is Sophia Casimiro,’ he says, turning to the woman who’s just appeared beside him. ‘She is assisting me in this incident.’

  Rachel wonders what an ‘incident’ means in Portugal. He didn’t say accident, crime or inquiry, so it gives her no clue as to what they’re actually investigating. Might it be a ‘missing person’ case, whilst they search for Paige?

  ‘I have spoken with your consultant,’ the policeman goes on. ‘And she thinks you might be well enough to answer a few questions.’

  Rachel looks to Noah, who gives a small nod.

  ‘I still feel a little bit woozy, but I should be able to tell you anything you need to know.’

  Da Silva’s brow furrows. ‘I’m sorry, woozy? I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

  Rachel manages the tiniest of smiles. ‘Just a little sleepy from the surgery,’ she says.

  ‘Ah, my English is not that good, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It’s better than my Portuguese,’ offers Rachel.

  ‘Okay, so whilst Ms Casimiro speaks with you, perhaps, Mr Collins, you would come with me?’

  ‘Oh no,’ says Rachel. ‘It’s fine. I’m happy to talk to you with Noah here. In fact, I’d prefer it.’

  ‘I will be needing Mr Collins to accompany me for just a few moments,’ he says, holding a hand out to encourage Noah to leave.

  ‘Do you know something?’ he asks, getting out of his chair. ‘Have you found her? Have you found Paige?’

  ‘Please, Mr Collins,’ says the policeman patiently. ‘Come with me.’

  Noah turns to look at Rachel wide-eyed and terrified, as if they’re leading him to the gallows.

  ‘Have you found her?’ Rachel asks the policewoman who is getting a notebook out of her crossover bag.

  ‘They will have news soon,’ says the woman, sitting down on the imitation-leather armchair next to Rachel’s bed. ‘If I could, please, ask one or two questions?’

  Rachel knows they know more than they’re letting on. ‘Is she alive?’ she asks, in desperation.

  ‘Senhor Da Silva will be giving answers,’ she replies. ‘But I wo
uld like to know where you were when the car came?’

  Rachel tries to brush off the fear that’s creeping through her veins, pretend that it’s a perfectly reasonable question in the circumstances. Though, if it had been a fluke runaway, she doubts the police would need to know her exact whereabouts.

  ‘I was on the terrace,’ she says carefully, considering her position both literally, and metaphorically. ‘I had been talking to Ali, the bride, and we were called to watch the fireworks.’

  Casimiro makes a note. ‘Where are you and . . .’ She looks down. ‘Alison Hunter when you are talking?’

  Rachel’s eyes narrow, wondering why it could possibly be relevant. ‘Around the back of the restaurant,’ she says, slowly. ‘By the kitchen.’

  ‘So, that is to the left of the terrace, as you come down the hill?’

  Rachel rubs at her forehead, trying to remember. ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘And why were you there?’

  Even though she knows she’s done nothing wrong, Rachel can’t help but feel that every twitch and nuance is being analysed by the woman. Unlike her colleague, her face is deadpan, giving nothing away. Her small, dark eyes are empty of everything, except judgement.

  ‘We were talking, away from the loud music,’ says Rachel, her mouth drying up with every word she utters.

  ‘About what?’ asks the woman, tilting her head to the side.

  ‘Rachel!’ comes a voice.

  ‘Maria,’ shrills Rachel breathlessly, as she appears through the curtain. ‘Where’s Ali? Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.’

  Maria’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I don’t . . . I can’t . . .’

  ‘Where is she?’ asks Rachel.

  ‘She’s in theatre, but . . .’ Her shoulders convulse as she sobs. ‘She’s in a bad way. They don’t know if . . .’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ says Rachel authoritatively. ‘She’s going to be okay.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you are Alison Hunter’s mother?’ asks Casimiro.

  ‘Yes,’ says Maria quietly. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I would like to ask you some questions, just as soon as I am finished here.’

  Maria nods. ‘Of course, I’ll be waiting for my daughter to come out of surgery.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Casimiro. ‘I will come and talk to you in time.’

  Maria backs herself out of the cubicle, shaking her head inconspicuously, as if silently trying to communicate with Rachel.

  ‘So, can you remember what you were talking about?’ asks Casimiro, urging Rachel to carry on.

  Rachel forces herself to trawl through the debris in her brain. She’d thought Ali was having an affair with Jack . . . but then she can see Ali in the toilets, telling her that he was sleeping with Paige. She can visualize herself laughing at the ridiculous suggestion.

  She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s fuzzy, I can’t quite remember.’

  ‘And Mrs Paige Collins wasn’t with you?’

  ‘No,’ says Rachel.

  ‘So, afterwards, when you had finished talking, you came out onto the terrace to watch the fireworks, yes?’

  Rachel nods her head, wary of where this is going.

  ‘And do you remember seeing Mrs Collins then? Was she on the terrace?’

  Rachel closes her eyes, desperately trying to recall those few moments before it happened. It was dark, but there was enough lighting to be able to see silhouettes, and faces you knew well enough. But as much as she tries, she can’t see Paige anywhere.

  ‘No, she wasn’t,’ says Rachel.

  ‘And Mr . . .’ says Casimiro, looking at her notes. ‘Jack Hunter, your husband?’

  ‘He was there,’ says Rachel adamantly.

  ‘You saw him before the car arrived?’

  Rachel can see Jack in the morning suit he’d complained about, the pair of them not knowing that it was the only way she was going to be able to identify him later. ‘Yes, he was definitely there,’ but even as she says it, she wonders why she wasn’t standing with him if he was. She remembers seeing the fabric of his suit, going towards him, but then . . . no. She shakes her head in an attempt to retrieve the recollection.

  ‘No, actually it wasn’t until after the car had hit us that I saw Jack.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Yes, but he must have been there, otherwise he wouldn’t have got injured so badly.’

  ‘And Mr Noah Collins?’ asks Casimiro. ‘He didn’t show very many injuries. Was he there?’

  Was he? Rachel knows she wants to be able to place him, even though she’s not yet sure what it will mean if she’s able to. Will it exonerate him from whatever the police are trying to determine, or implicate him?

  She takes herself back to when she joined the other guests on the terrace after talking to Ali behind the restaurant, and can still feel the deep-rooted contempt that flooded her veins. Every fibre of her being had bristled with a stinging hostility as she looked around . . . but for who?

  Another jolt and she can see herself with Noah, but not on the terrace. They’re somewhere else and he’s trying to kiss her and is asking for a paternity test. Blood rushes to her head as she’s hit by the sudden recollection of what had happened. She falls back onto the pillow as the pieces begin to fall into place.

  ‘Noah was the first person I saw after I’d been hit,’ she says.

  ‘But you didn’t see him before?’ presses Casimiro.

  ‘No,’ says Rachel, feeling weary.

  She’s relieved when Noah returns, though he looks worse than he did ten minutes ago: sheet-white with red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m going,’ says Casimiro, hastily standing up and putting her notebook back in her bag. ‘I will be leaving you to take time.’

  As soon as she’s left, Noah takes hold of Rachel’s hand and squeezes it, his tears flowing freely.

  ‘I’ve seen her,’ he manages between sobs.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ says Rachel. ‘Is she all right?’

  He shakes his head. ‘She’s gone, Rach.’

  ‘Wh-what?’ she almost screams. ‘No . . . no, she can’t be.’

  ‘I’ve just had to identify her,’ says Noah. ‘They recovered her from the water.’

  Rachel’s world spins and she clutches hold of the bedclothes to save herself from falling off. No. No. No. This isn’t real, it can’t be. If she wasn’t already lying down, she’d pass out, her body temporarily shutting down to protect it from the shock. Her head lolls back onto the pillow and hot bile stings the back of her throat. She grabs the cardboard bowl from the side and vomits into it.

  ‘The car must have knocked her in,’ cries Noah.

  ‘Or else she felt she had no choice but to jump out of its way,’ says Rachel. She can’t refer to it as a car, as she’s unable to relate to how an everyday object could become a devastating killing machine.

  Noah’s shaking his head, as tears stream down his face. ‘I should have protected her, but I can’t even remember her being there. The last time I saw her she was with Jack.’

  Rachel can see the pair of them standing on the terrace, and watches in slow-motion as Paige’s heart bracelet glistens as she stubs out her cigarette. It’s the tiniest thing, but it’s the catalyst that unlocks the memories that have been locked away. Suddenly, the conversation she’d had with Ali comes back to her with crystal-clear clarity; the scenes shuttering in front of her eyes like a 1940s homemade movie.

  Rachel looks at Noah, already in his own world of hurt and pain, and wonders how she can possibly contemplate making it worse. But the truth can’t be hidden forever, and if she doesn’t reveal it now, it will have much further-reaching consequences when it does come out. ‘They were having an affair,’ she says numbly, as the details slowly seep into her consciousness.

  ‘Who were?’

  ‘Jack and Paige,’ cries Rachel.

  Noah’s head jolts up and he looks at her wide-eyed. When he goes to speak, nothing comes ou
t. She squeezes his hand for all the good it will do.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, feeling somehow responsible.

  ‘Are you serious?’ he says, his voice high-pitched.

  ‘Yes,’ says Rachel meekly.

  Noah shakes his head, as his shock and pain metamorphose into anger. ‘What the fuck . . .?’ he exclaims, standing up, sending his chair scraping against the worn laminate floor.

  ‘Please, don’t,’ she begs.

  ‘Have you told the police?’ he asks, as he paces up and down, not knowing what to do with himself.

  Rachel shakes her head. ‘Not yet, because everything was so hazy when I was talking to them. But it’s all gradually coming back, and now that Paige is . . .’ She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  ‘They need to be told,’ says Noah. ‘It might make a difference to their investigation.’

  ‘Investigation?’ repeats Rachel naively.

  ‘Into Paige’s . . .’ He doesn’t seem to be able to say the word either. ‘A car doesn’t randomly start up on its own, point in the direction of the terrace and start rolling towards it at speed.’

  ‘But who would do such a thing?’

  Noah rubs his hand manically through his hair. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘So you think we should tell them that Jack and Paige were . . .’ asks Rachel, unsure what to do for the best.

  Noah falls onto the chair and puts his head in his hands. ‘Do you know for sure that they were?’

  ‘Ali told me,’ says Rachel.

  ‘But I thought we were disregarding that as Ali being Ali?’

  Rachel shakes her head as the memories become clearer with every passing minute. ‘She told me everything, just before the accident. I heard it in all its technicolour glory.’

  ‘And you believe her?’ asks Noah.

  ‘Does it really matter anymore?’ cries Rachel.

  ‘Excuse me,’ says Da Silva, peering around the curtain. ‘May I?’

  Rachel nods as Noah buries his head in his hands.

  ‘Is there any news on my husband?’ asks Rachel, her voice unsteady.