Читать книгу Losing Juliet: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming - June Taylor - Страница 18

France: summer, 1989

‘Told you it’d be easy,’ Juliet shouted as they jogged towards the truck in the blinding sun, rucksacks bouncing on their backs.

They had trudged out to the recommended spot near Porte d’Orléans station at the end of Ligne 4 on the Paris Métro. Eleven fifteen, and they already had their first lift out of Paris.

Chrissy had been feeling stiff from the long coach journey, queasy from the rough Channel crossing and weary from lack of sleep in a couchette that refused to recline. The cheaper overnight ferry meant arriving in Calais around four in the morning with stinging eyes and grinding stomachs, yet all of this fell away the moment she stepped off the boat.

‘Ça sent bon,’ she said, taking her first breath of France.

‘Must be something wrong with your nose,’ said Juliet. ‘We’re still in the port and ça pue!’

‘Don’t spoil it, Ju. I just want to savour the moment.’

On the five-hour coach journey into Paris, Juliet only wanted to sleep but Chrissy made constant observations about driving on the wrong side of the road and how much she wanted a Citroën 2CV. Once they hit Paris she talked dreamily of strolling by the Seine or meandering through the labyrinth of streets in the Latin Quarter; she wanted to browse the flea markets and eat Proustian madeleines in a salon de thé, drink wine with the ghosts of her literary heroes in Café de Flore or Les Deux Magots.

Sadly, on this occasion, Paris was well beyond their budget and as soon as they got off the coach they were straight onto the Métro. For Chrissy, though, even the smells and sounds of the Paris Métro were a delight. ‘How many times have you been to Paris, Ju?’ she asked as a distant rumble came down the tunnel.

‘Four or five,’ said Juliet, yawning. ‘Plus, I went to a summer school here once. Can’t remember where.’ They stood back as the train pulled in. ‘Kind of wish I was seeing it through your eyes.’ She glanced at Chrissy as they stepped onto the carriage.

They didn’t even attempt to get a seat, clinging to the handrail facing one another with their rucksacks still glued to their backs. Chrissy could feel her dress sticking to her skin and she noticed fellow passengers were frowning, no doubt jealous of their great adventure. The doors beeped shut. She grinned at Juliet, screwing her eyes to suppress her excitement as the train jerked on its way.

In spite of all that Paris had to offer, Chrissy was keen to move on. ‘Tant de choses à faire et si peu de temps,’ she said as they had emerged at ground level at Porte d’Orléans. But her romantic notions soon vanished when they were confronted by booming traffic, tall buildings, wide boulevards and a frenetic intersection of roads. ‘What now, Ju?’

‘Not sure, I haven’t hitched from here before.’

‘Well, I thought you had.’

‘I never said that,’ Juliet protested, removing her rucksack. ‘On parle bien le français, hein? You stay here with the bags. Someone’s bound to know where the Périphérique is.’

Chrissy watched her go, massaging her shoulders as she walked; envious that Juliet could still look that good even in their dishevelled state. As she waited, she looked around, taking in the street names: Boulevard Jourdan, Avenue du Général Leclerc, Boulevards des Maréchaux. They didn’t mean much and she hated not knowing where she was.

‘Right,’ said Juliet, returning with a paper bag, a smiling orange croissant on the front. ‘We need to be opposite those traffic lights.’

‘Which traffic lights? There’s hundreds of traffic lights.’

She waved a map in front of Chrissy’s face. ‘Knew that would make you happy,’ she said.

Chrissy stuck her tongue out and snatched it from her. They ate their croissants as they went, but a sense of unease began to set in when cars honked their horns and well-dressed Parisian women on their way to work shook their heads in disapproval. Was this a crazy thing to be doing? Chrissy asked herself. Putting themselves at the mercy of complete strangers, with their false smiles and Juliet’s cardboard sign that said ‘La côte SVP!’

‘Why can’t it be somewhere more specific, instead of just saying “the coast please”?’ Chrissy had queried. ‘Like Lyon? Or Autoroute du Soleil?’

‘Trust me, will you? I’ve done this a zillion times.’

Juliet stuffed the screwed-up paper bag into Chrissy’s hand.

‘Well, not from here you haven’t.’

She tapped Chrissy over the head with the cardboard sign, saying: ‘Told you, you always worry too much. Finish your croissant. You’re so tetchy when you’re hungry.’

They were not the only ones hoping for a lift. Chrissy counted four young men spaced at intervals by the side of the road with their thumbs out, and one middle-aged woman with a ferocious-looking dog.

‘I bet you we get a lift before any of them,’ said Juliet.

Twenty minutes later a lorry pulled in. Juliet could have choreographed it herself. The driver shook his head at the four young men bounding towards him, pointing to the two of them instead. The woman’s dog began to bark, upset at the unfairness of it all, but she held it back, resigned to the fact that the lift wasn’t hers either.

He was a Spanish trucker, obsessed with The Beatles, and had to finish off his rendition of ‘Let It Be’ before he spoke, unfazed by all the horns blasting in protest of his stopping.

‘Buenos días. I’m going as far as Dijon,’ he said in a mix of French and Spanish. ‘Ça va?’

‘Yes,’ said Juliet. She turned to Chrissy for approval.

‘Don’t we need to go more like Orléans, Ju?’ She was about to get her Michelin road atlas out, but was getting ‘that look’ from Juliet.

‘It’s not a taxi service, Chrissy. And it’s still south. The main thing is, do we get a good vibe?’

Chrissy peered inside his cab. A photograph, presumably of his wife and daughters, was attached to the mirror. ‘Well, I guess so. Do you? You’re the expert.’

Juliet tossed her bag in and climbed up.

Chrissy had never ridden in a full-sized truck before. It was even better than her dad’s van, giving her a real sense of the open road. She noticed Juliet grinning at her, mocking her innocence, so she gave her leg a sharp pinch.

‘Ouch. What’s that for?’

‘Looking smug.’

It was a while before they cleared the sprawl of Paris, and Chrissy was still desperate to get out the road atlas to see where they were heading, but couldn’t because her bag was trapped behind the seat. Juliet would only give her grief in any case. She began to feel more at ease when it became clear that the only thing the trucker wanted in exchange for the ride was a translation of Beatles’ songs. He fished out a bundle of shabby, handwritten lyrics and Juliet set to work. Chrissy must have fallen asleep because, the next thing she knew, a whole four hours had gone by and they seemed to be pulling onto the hard shoulder.

‘This is where I drop you,’ she heard him say. ‘The turn off for Dijon is in seven, ten kilomètres. You should stay on this road.’

Chrissy looked out of the window. This really didn’t seem like the ideal spot to try and pick up another lift.

‘Here?’ said Juliet, also surprised.

But they thanked him for getting them this far and he pushed their bags out onto the tarmac, wishing them luck as they jumped down. The traffic thundered past, kicking up swirls of dust.

‘Don’t let les flics see you,’ he shouted as he swung his door shut.

‘What did he mean?’ yelled Chrissy, rolling her rucksack out of the way of the motorway blast, pinning her hair down with her hand. She got out her Michelin road atlas and felt slightly better, climbing up onto the metal crash barrier where it felt that bit safer.

‘What are you doing?’ Juliet screamed. ‘Get your thumb out; it’s the only way out of here, Chrissy. You should dump that. We don’t need it.’

Chrissy ignored her. She remembered seeing signs for Lyon. At a quick glance she noted it was almost due south of Dijon so this was taking them in the right direction. Slapping the atlas shut again she put it back inside her rucksack and began slowly edging her way towards the wall of traffic. She took hold of her corner of their cardboard sign, trying her best to smile even though she feared for her life. ‘You never said it was breaking the law, Ju.’

‘Just look gorgeous and we’ll be on our way again. Laws are for breaking in any case.’

It seemed like hours before any lift came, but when Chrissy looked at her watch it had only taken twenty minutes for a bright green Renault to come crawling along the inside lane, a line of juggernauts hot on its tail. The one immediately behind flashed its lights at the late indication to pull in, and Juliet nudged Chrissy out of the way just in case.

It was a French family from a town north of Paris. The mother was driving and the father was in the back, a baby on his knee. ‘Which part of the coast are you trying to get to exactly?’ said the mother, referring to their sign. She spoke French, shouting over the roar of the traffic.

‘Montpellier,’ Juliet yelled back. ‘Marseille. That sort of area.’

The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, we are actually going to the Alps but we have to go via Lyon. Ça vous va?’

Chrissy nodded to Juliet. She wasted no time in clambering into the front seat with her rucksack, leaving Chrissy to get into the back with Papa and the baby.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur,’ she said, trying to smile as she wedged her bag between her legs. She held a finger out to the baby, surprised when he grabbed it and then wouldn’t let go. The car smelt of regurgitated milk. She wound the window down, hoping that wasn’t too impolite.

‘It’s very dangerous what you are doing,’ said the mother.

The same could be said about her for stopping, thought Chrissy, but she just smiled and let Juliet do the talking.

‘So are you on holiday? Or maybe you have jobs for the summer?’

‘Yes,’ said Juliet. ‘Well, we hope to find work.’

The baby began to emit piercing little shrieks which bounced off the car’s interior and drilled down into Chrissy’s eardrums. Papa gave her a pleading look and she was suddenly landed with it, along with a bottle of milk.

‘Oh!’ she said, trying to look pleased. She waved the bottle in front of its mouth, forcing the rubber teat between its tiny lips. Then, something rather ghastly began to waft up from its nappy. She hung onto her breath for as long as she could, holding her nose to the open window and just praying that she wouldn’t be given that job as well.

Juliet turned round and smiled. ‘Aw look, so cute. Quite the petite maman, aren’t you, Chrissy?’

Chrissy mouthed the words ‘piss off’.

It was a slow journey, and they made several stops, but despite the inconvenience of the baby and its dreadful odours, Chrissy drifted into a contented doze whilst Juliet chatted with the mother in the front. Two free rides across God knows how many miles. Maybe hitch-hiking wasn’t so bad after all.

Five and a half hours later they arrived in Lyon. By now it was dark; it would be impossible for them to get to the coast tonight. They were dropped off at Camping Soleil in Dardilly on the outskirts of Lyon: not far from the Autoroute du Soleil, so they were told.

The woman handed Chrissy a piece of paper with a telephone number scribbled on it. ‘Call me if you want au pair work,’ she said.

Chrissy ripped up the number as soon as they were gone, much to Juliet’s amusement.

It had been a long day and their lack of sleep the previous night was catching up with them, and even though it was dark there was no let-up in the heat. Chrissy let out a loud moan when Juliet helped with her bag, lifting it onto her back. Adjusting the straps made little difference to the soreness in her shoulders. They set off down the dusty track to the campsite.

‘Do you know how to put this tent up?’ said Chrissy.

‘No, do you?’

‘I thought you did.’

‘I thought you did.’

They linked arms, giggling their way into Reception, the smell of barbecues suddenly making them feel ravenous, reminding their poor stomachs that they hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Chrissy woke in the middle of the night with a stiff neck, scratchy mouth and pounding head. ‘You awake, Ju?’ she whispered, giving herself a scare when the sagginess of the tent touched her face. Juliet had managed to befriend some hippy types who had put the tent up for them, and afterwards they binged on bread and saucisson, getting drunk on ridiculously cheap table wine which they had dragged back from the campsite shop in a large plastic container. ‘Ju,’ she said, louder this time, reaching out to feel for her in the dark.

Juliet was gone.

***

The campsite was full. She stumbled repeatedly over guy ropes and protruding tent pegs; the cheap batteries in her torch were already fading. She went first to the toilet block, calling Juliet’s name every few seconds. Then she tried walking between the tents, up and down, still calling out, startled by every noise or silhouette that moved. She was getting horribly lost too. And soon she would have to alert someone that her friend was missing.

Then she spotted it, the hippy tent: a wigwam-shaped structure they had been in earlier. Cursing as she stumbled towards it, she could hear Juliet’s distinctive laughter coming from inside. She hovered for a while, listening to their voices, eventually satisfied that she could return to her own tent and get some sleep. It took at least half an hour to find it again.

***

‘I was worried sick about you,’ said Chrissy the next morning as they stood at the side of the heat-hazed road, thumbs out, wearing their fake smiles and munching on bits of leftover baguette, clutching a corner of their cardboard sign.

‘So I got an offer to have some fun. What’s the big deal?’

‘You didn’t tell me you were going.’

‘Well, you were fast asleep. Look, if you weren’t with your precious Dan you’d be doing that too. You can’t expect me to live like a nun, Chrissy.’

Juliet tossed two paracetamols down her throat and swigged from a bottle of mineral water that had been perspiring in the morning sun.

‘And why did you give a T-shirt to all four of them?’ Chrissy asked.

‘Because they put the tent up for us, and took it down again this morning. That’s got to be worth something. Come on.’

‘I thought the idea was to sell them, Ju. Did they give you anything besides?’

Juliet raised her eyebrows, as if that should have been obvious, then she pulled a cigarette from behind both her ears.

‘Is that it? Two bloody fags.’

Juliet extracted something from her shorts pocket: a polythene bag full of weed. ‘That’ll keep us going,’ she said. ‘Oh come on Chrissy, you like it too. I got it for us both. And they’re my T-shirts, you know. Lighten up; we’ll get jobs in no time when we get there.’

‘We’ll bloody starve at this rate. And get where exactly?’

A horn honked loudly, speeding past them with an assortment of body parts hanging out of windows. Then whistles, shrieks and more horn blasts as the car seemed to be slowing.

‘What the hell is that?’ said Chrissy.

‘Dunno, but it looks promising.’ Juliet was already running towards it. A Fiat, the size of a bubble, had come to a screeching halt just up the road. ‘Some Italian lads on their way to Spain,’ she shouted back. ‘Quick.’

‘Spain?’

Chrissy had to slow to a walk: a painful stitch jabbed into her side. She didn’t know which was worse: that, or the sizzling heat. Not forgetting the ludicrous weight on her back.

‘Spain, Ju?’

‘They’re going to a wedding but they can drop us at the coast,’ she replied. ‘It’s a gift! Faut pas refuser un cadeau.’

‘We’ll never fit in there!’ said Chrissy, counting five beaming faces, as well as the driver’s.

Juliet had already surrendered her bag. Shortly after, her legs disappeared too. Chrissy eased herself in as best she could. With europop blaring from tinny speakers, windows fully down so they could all take turns to breathe, they were on their way again.

Chrissy felt sorry for the poor boy whose lap she was crushing, although he didn’t seem to mind. Mostly she chatted to him on the journey in English whilst Juliet entertained the others in her fluent Italian. At some point Chrissy must have fallen asleep, as the next time she looked at her watch she saw that they had been going for three hours.

And Juliet was in full snog with one of her new friends.

***

Chrissy was sure she could smell the sea blowing in through the windows. She stuck her head out as they were passing a vast stretch of water. It didn’t look much like the sea.

‘It’s a lagoon,’ said the driver. ‘A salt water lake. Have you heard of La Camargue and the wild horses?’

‘The white ones?’ said Chrissy. ‘Are we near there?’

‘This side Montpellier, that side La Camargue.’

‘Show me on the map,’ she said, pulling out her road atlas.

‘Allora.’ His friend took over the steering. ‘So, for you, I’m thinking La Grande Motte … Watch out!’ They swerved to avoid a car. ‘On your map … it’s … ah, here it is,’ he said, pointing to it. ‘If you don’t find work in La Grande Motte you won’t find it anywhere.’

‘Lots of people on holidays,’ one of the others said.

The next time they passed a sign for La Grande Motte, Chrissy felt a wave of excitement. She desperately wanted to share it with Juliet but couldn’t because she was still attached to her Italian lover’s lips. Leaning out of the window the wind caught her hair; the moment spoiled, however, when someone pinched her backside. The boy whose lap she was sitting on put his hands in the air to protest his innocence. One of the others winked at her.

She tapped Juliet on the shoulder. ‘Hey, what do you think about this place, Ju?’

It was a purpose-built resort with giant pyramids rising out of an incredibly flat landscape, creating an almost futuristic skyline. Chrissy couldn’t decide whether it was attractive or ugly, not that it mattered. Palm trees lined the side of the road, with holidaymakers strolling casually either side along wide pavements, eating ice creams, carrying bags of shopping or heading to the beach with all their paraphernalia. A blue dolphin structure came into view as they got close to the marina, where brightly coloured flags wafted lazily in the breeze.

‘La Grande Motte,’ said the driver, bringing them to an unnecessary screeching halt.

‘Ju. For god’s sake, Ju, put him down, will you?’

She finally came up for air, her hair in chaos and her lips looking like they couldn’t take much more. ‘What? Oh, this looks okay,’ she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her neck was still being caressed as she peered out of the window. ‘Yeah. Looks great. Drop us in Centre Ville.’

‘We’re already in Centre Ville,’ said Chrissy.

‘Anywhere here then.’

They spilled onto the pavement like their spaceship had just crash-landed. Whilst their bags were being squeezed out onto the kerb the driver honked his horn, then an array of hands began waving out of the windows as they pulled away. Chrissy lost count of the number of times she said ‘grazie’, and anyone would think Juliet was sending her sweetheart off to war with all her kisses and cries of ‘Ti amo’.

Chrissy ran her fingers across her cheekbones to wipe away the sweat beneath her sunglasses. She could already feel the sun burning through her skin as she waited for Juliet. The enormous pyramid on Allée de la Grande Pyramide towered above the others. Further down the street she could see the Tourist Information symbol and a sign for the campsite. Meanwhile Juliet was still waving enthusiastically.

‘They’ve gone, Ju,’ she said, hoisting her rucksack onto her back. ‘You can stop now.’

‘I’m in love.’

‘In under four hours? A record, even for you.’ Chrissy saw that she was clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest. ‘You got his number? I don’t believe you sometimes.’ She laughed. But then a thought struck her. ‘Which one was it you were snogging?’

‘Luca,’ said Juliet, dreamily.

‘Didn’t they say it’s Luca who is getting married?’

‘Final fling.’ She grinned at Chrissy, enjoying her disapproval. ‘Never kissed an English girl before.’

‘Oh well, that makes it all right then.’

‘I didn’t force him. We can’t all be saints like you, Chrissy.’

‘You’re not going to look him up, are you?’

‘Well, I might. One day.’

With that, she tucked the piece of paper into her bra and slung her rucksack onto her back. ‘Who knows? On ne sait jamais.’ She gave Chrissy a kiss on the cheek and Chrissy wiped it off again like a sulky child. ‘Hey, guess what?’ said Juliet, linking arms.

‘What?’ said Chrissy, pretending to be mad at her.

‘We fucking made it!’

Their cheering caught the attention of a group of old men playing pétanque. The metal boules clattered together in a cloud of dust and the men seemed to think that the cheers were for them, waving as the girls walked past.

‘Seems like a friendly enough place,’ said Juliet, waving back.

‘If you tap off with any one of those, Ju, I’m going to disown you.’

‘I think they’re more your type. Steady and sensible.’

‘Excuse me. Dan’s not steady and sensible, he’s a musician. Actually, maybe he is. You’re just jealous in any case.’