Читать книгу Losing Juliet: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming - June Taylor - Страница 17

Manchester: 2007

‘Sounds great,’ said Eloise. ‘So was it easy to get lifts? Is that what you did?’

‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘I’m not!’

‘Well, lots of people did it then. That didn’t take away the risks, but it wasn’t considered totally mad.’

‘Did you just take off then, without any more planning than that?’ Eloise was reflecting on her own trip with Anya.

‘There was no internet then, you know.’ Chrissy laughed at herself. ‘Can you believe it? How reckless.’

For a fleeting moment Eloise thought she saw the teenage girl her mother had once been. But she noticed how quickly her expression changed. ‘So why don’t people hitch any more, do you reckon?’ she asked her.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there was more trust then. Or more fear now, what with all the media and—’

‘The internet,’ Eloise chipped in, sarcastically. Her mother hated it; she didn’t know why. Then another thought occurred to her. ‘That yellow bear … ’ Eloise stopped for a moment. ‘That’s not the one Dad gave to me, is it? I thought it was a present – for me, I mean. But, so, Juliet gave it to him?’

‘Well, I guess he wanted you to look after it. He was fond of it.’

Eloise still couldn’t help feeling disappointed. ‘Where is it, by the way?’

‘Oh,’ said Chrissy, trying to think. ‘Haven’t seen it in a while. You’ve hidden it and forgotten where, haven’t you? Don’t worry, it’ll turn up. I’m off to bed.’

‘No! I want to hear about your trip.’

‘’Night, Eloise.’

***

Eloise’s first thought on Sunday morning was to check the fridge. In her haste to hide the enormous bottle of champagne from Chrissy, she feared she may not have disguised it well enough.

‘Morning,’ said Chrissy, suddenly appearing.

The fridge juddered as Eloise slammed the door shut.

‘You look a bit tired, Eloise. Do you feel okay?’

She forced a smile. It had been a restless night, worrying that her mother would be angry with her, instead of grateful, when she finally came face-to-face with her best friend again.

Her fists clenched when she saw Chrissy opening the fridge.

The champagne bottle was still wrapped in the carrier bag, wedged behind the leftovers from Maria. Eloise watched anxiously as Chrissy removed the carton of milk and took it to the table. A small part of her wished that her mother had discovered it, and then she could tell her the truth; the rest of her was glad because that might just ruin things completely.

With so many knots in her stomach, Eloise merely pushed her cereal round the bowl. ‘I have a theory about Juliet,’ she said. ‘Do you want to hear it?’

‘Depends what it is,’ said Chrissy, licking butter off her fingers.

‘Well, it’s about that brooch.’ She winced as she said the word ‘brooch’, sensing this was a bit of a trigger.

Chrissy put down her toast and folded her arms, resting them on the edge of the table. ‘Okay. Fine. Let’s hear it.’

‘Well, I think Juliet’s been trying to communicate with you. I mean, for ages.’

‘What, via the brooch?’ Chrissy scoffed. ‘Like some telepathic thought transfer through the cat?’

‘Sort of.’

Eloise knew her theory was a good one. Most people used the internet these days; it was almost impossible to function without it. Unless, of course, you were Chrissy: ‘It’s too nosey, too public, too Big Brother-like,’ she would say. ‘You give it bits of information and soon the whole world knows your business and where you are.’

‘I just think, Mum, that she hopes you might try and Google her sometime.’

‘Like you did to her you mean?’

‘Well, yeah, it’s what people do. And when you find her website, there she is: wearing the silver cat brooch in her hair that you didn’t even think she liked.’

‘So?’

‘So, almost twenty years have gone by and she still has this thing in her hair. Don’t you get it? She wants you to see it. It’s a message just for you.’

‘Saying what?’

‘Saying: she cares about you; she misses you; still thinks about you – all of those things. Saying, get in touch.’

Chrissy took another bite of her toast, but Eloise could see that she had sent her to some distant place.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit mean not calling her back?’

‘“Mean”?’ Chrissy sprang up and started clearing the table before either of them had finished. ‘It’s not easy for me all this dredging up of the past, Eloise. You seem to think—’

A text had pinged through on her phone. It was too risky to ignore after what had happened the last time, but Chrissy was staring at her, almost challenging her. Eloise stuck it out, and when she heard her washing up, she seized the moment to take a look:

‘Open the door.’

It wasn’t Juliet’s number. Or anyone else in her Contacts.

Could it be dangerous? Should she tell her mother?

Sliding the chain across, she released it as silently as possible. Using both hands, she attempted to get a firm grip on the handle, and with her body butted up against the door, opened it a little way, preparing to shut it again quickly if necessary.

The walkway was deserted. Only the neighbour’s dog, tied up. It was trying to sniff the huge bouquet of flowers left in front of their doorway. Eloise was surprised that it hadn’t barked. She leapt over the flowers and peered over the side of the railings.

A man was just stepping into a car.

Cars like that stood out.

So her instincts had been right all along. That man really had looked directly at her yesterday when Maria had commented on the car. And quite possibly had followed her home the other night; she hadn’t imagined that either. Was he linked to Juliet? Or someone else who knew her mother? But Chrissy didn’t socialize with anyone except for her.

Leaving flowers was hardly threatening. Despite this, Eloise still couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling. She scooped them up, closing the door with her foot. Their flat immediately burst into colour. An exotic scent drifted into every corner of the room. The cellophane made a crinkling noise, causing Chrissy to come out of the kitchen to see what was happening. She looked puzzled when she saw the flowers, her body rigid.

‘Someone loves you, big style,’ said Eloise, putting them down on the table when she refused to take them.

Chrissy stared at the words printed on the card:

‘Chrissy Plumber xxx’

She began to examine each flower individually. ‘Must have cost a fortune,’ she said.

‘Have you any idea who they’re from though, Mum? They were just left outside the door.’

Eloise could see she was struggling to work it all out.

‘But how could they find us?’ she said, after what seemed a long time.

‘Who? Mum, who?’

She was sinking into her memories again like they were quicksand.

‘Well, maybe someone from Dad’s band told them where we live,’ said Eloise, hoping that might lead to something. ‘I’m just guessing, obviously. But why don’t they know you’re called Chrissy Lundy? Juliet knows you married my dad.’ Then she realized that Juliet hadn’t actually known they had got married, not until Eloise confirmed it for her. ‘Well, I’m assuming she did. She was your best friend.’

‘I’ll see to these,’ said Chrissy, handling the flowers roughly. ‘Let go, Eloise.’

***

She found them in the wheelie bin outside, tossed upside down. By the time she got back upstairs, Chrissy was in her full kit and running shoes.

‘I’m sorry, Eloise’ she said, twisting side to side. ‘I shouldn’t have got angry.’

Eloise held them out to her like a limp corpse. They were still in their cellophane, ruined. ‘These haven’t done anything wrong, Mum.’

Chrissy stared at them, narrowing her eyes. Gradually her face softened. ‘No. No, you’re right. And nor have you. I suppose they’ll brighten the place up a bit, won’t they? Do your best, eh? And I’ll see you in a little while.’

Eloise rummaged in the kitchen drawer for some scissors. She would make sure these flowers would be the first thing her mother saw when she came back from her run, and then she would have to tell her who they were from.

***

‘Juliet sent these. Didn’t she?’

Chrissy wiped the sweat off her face with her sleeve. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, heading into the kitchen.

‘Who else could it be?’

Eloise stayed close.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Yes, you have. Don’t lie to me.’ She felt her cheeks redden at the accusation, squirming under the pile of lies that had spilled out of her own mouth lately.

Chrissy began to pour herself a large glass of wine.

‘Isn’t it a bit early for that, Mum? Look, maybe Juliet wants to make it up to you.’

‘For what?’ said Chrissy, eyeing her with suspicion.

‘Well, maybe for saving her from doing anything stupid on that bridge. And she wouldn’t have changed courses if it wasn’t for you. And look where she is now.’ Eloise gave her a moment before pushing it further. ‘Unless, Mum, there’s something you’re not telling me. You know who sent the flowers, I know you do. Was there someone else besides my dad? You can tell me … Mum.’

There was no response.

‘Would Juliet know then – if I asked her?’

‘Don’t you dare, Eloise.’

‘You can’t stop me.’

‘No,’ said Chrissy, glowering at her. ‘But I’m asking you – again – not to do that. And I will know if you have.’

‘How? How could you know?’

‘Oh, believe me, Eloise, I will know.’

She stole the glass out of her mother’s hand. ‘Right. You can have this back if you tell me some more. Tell me about France.’