Читать книгу The Armageddon Game - Lynne Fox - Страница 11

CHAPTER 5

Keeping my head down, I walked as quickly as I could out of Kings Cross station. I knew from past experience that the police would access the station’s security cameras and may well pick me out however hard I tried to be inconspicuous. Once outside I turned left toward a small boutique that I knew specialised in clothes that were quite different to the tailored, classic outfit of my funeral attire.

Half an hour later, staring at my reflection in the fitting room mirror I assessed my new look. Mid-calf length full, brightly patterned skirt, short suede jacket, polo neck white silken sweater and a large brimmed floppy brown hat that when worn at a rakish angle covered most of my face. The only thing needed to complete the outfit was knee high fashion boots and I knew just the shop for those. Paying in cash I watched as the shop assistant neatly folded the garments and placed them in a carrier bag. ‘Thanks so much for your help; I’m sure my niece will be thrilled.’

‘It’s lucky you’re almost identical in size; being able to try on a whole outfit it’s so much easier to see if it really goes.’

‘My thoughts exactly; I only wish we lived closer, I’d love to borrow some of her clothes.’ I grinned as I hefted the bag towards me. As I did so the carrier bag containing my bulk cash and Liliad slipped out of my grasp onto the counter. The assistant moved to grab it as it keeled over just as one of Liliad’s arms flopped out the top. I instinctively snatched at the handle, practically slapping the assistant’s hand out of the way. ‘Leave it!’

The assistant took a step back surprised at my tone. ‘I’m sorry, I was only trying to help.’

I tucked Liliad’s arm back inside and drew the bag into my arms. ‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just the doll is extremely delicate and can so easily be damaged.’ I smiled in apology.

‘No problem; I understand.’ Looking enviously at me as I walked toward the exit, picking up on our previous conversation, she commented, ‘I’d have to starve for a week to have any chance of getting into my daughter’s things,’ and sighing resignedly she plonked onto the stool behind the counter as I let the door swing shut behind me.

I retraced my steps to the main road and hailed a taxi for Oxford Street. Entering one of the large department stores I found the ladies room and changed into my new outfit. I then made my way to the store’s shoe department and spent a pleasurable half an hour trying on various boot styles until I was satisfied.

I knew that out the back of the store were a collection of recycle bins. I left by the back exit and threw the whole bag of my funeral clothes into the relevant bin – may some Third World woman have the benefit – it was nothing to me. I then took another taxi to Waterloo Station and bought a one-way ticket to Bournemouth.

Once on the train I settled back into my seat, closed my eyes and allowed myself a few deep, calming breaths. As the train pulled away I gazed unseeing out of the window as my thoughts turned inwards towards the future and the new persona I was to adopt.

My new name was Coral Wright; I was really pleased by that, it had a lovely ring to it and I felt the clothes I’d chosen fitted the name well. I imagined her as a free spirit; a delicate butterfly fluttering through life; never alighting long enough to be trapped and pinned down. Absent-mindedly I picked up the hem of my flouncy skirt with my fingertips and, like a little girl, swirled it gently under cover of the train table. Silly I know but a pleasing sensation of freedom after the restriction of the funeral clothes and the dowdy uniform I was obliged to wear in St Joseph’s. As the train passed through a tunnel I smiled at my reflection in the darkened window and mouthed silently, ‘Hello Coral, nice to meet you.’

Pressing myself into the gentle curve of the back of the seat I lay my head against the headrest, closed my eyes once more and allowed my mind to drift back over the years.

I recalled the isolation of my childhood; my mother’s cold, appraising stare each time she looked at me; the lack of any physical affection from her. Well, that was explained now, wasn’t it. No wonder she hated the very sight of me – living evidence of her betrayal of her marriage. What must it have been like, living that lie for over thirty years; keeping up the pretence of a happy family? As the image of that cold, impregnable face floated into my mind I felt myself physically recoil, even though she was now no more than a pile of ash scattered to the winds.

Then there was my father, cuckolded and duped; no wonder he’d flipped when he’d finally found out. Looking back I had to admit he’d never been actively unkind to me, just indifferent but he was mostly like that toward my elder brother, Matt too. I guess he just wasn’t cut out for family life and kids.

I sighed as the image of Matt’s handsome face came to the fore. The only one who’d ever shown me affection my brother, fifteen years my senior, had been the mainstay of my life but then he’d met Addie and was planning to leave me. I was nine years old and distraught at the prospect. How could he abandon me and for her; so unlike me in every respect that I’d felt rejected twice over. I’d had to use all my cunning to rid myself of her; persuading her to take a swim in what I knew was a dangerous part of the river was a stroke of genius. I folded my arms across my middle and hugged into myself acknowledging my childhood cleverness but it all went wrong when Inspector Munroe came on the scene.

I could still picture him so vividly as he was when he first set foot in our house, the image so precise that I swear I could scent the smell of his pipe tobacco as though he were sitting beside me. I’m convinced that his relentless pursuit of Matt and his ardent conviction that Matt was guilty of harming Addie was what drove Matt to take his own life. It was thanks to Munroe that I no longer had my brother and for that he’d had to pay.

A loud thud of a duffle bag being slung onto the table in front jolted me out of my reverie. Startled, my eyes sprang open as a man in his early twenties, his hair cut short like an American GI and a gold stud near the edge of one eyebrow, dropped onto the seat opposite. He grinned, ‘Did I wake you?’

I stared disapprovingly back. ‘You could have been a little more considerate.’

He shrugged. ‘And you could have booked into the Quiet Carriage near the front if it matters so much.’ He rummaged in his bag, produced a mobile and set of earphones and plugged himself in ignoring the angry look I gave. He lolled back in his seat at an angle, stretching his long legs out toward the aisle and leaving his duffle bag on the table between us like a barrier.

Considering him with cold detachment I moved my right leg under the table to rest more securely against the carrier bag that contained my money and Liliad. I’m sure she was none too pleased to be so confined for the entire journey but I didn’t dare bring her out to sit on my lap; it would have drawn unwanted attention and in any case would be picked up on the train’s CCTV. I knew I’d have a lot of making up to do once we reached Bournemouth.

Pulling into the station I deliberately waited until the young man opposite had left. Bending down to pull my carrier bag out from under the table I caught sight of a black wallet that had slid under the opposite seat. Ducking under the table I was just able to reach it, dragging it toward me with my fingertips. It must belong to the young man; I recalled how he’d slung his jacket onto the seat as he sat down. It must have fallen out of his pocket. I glanced out of the window as I tucked the wallet into my handbag spotting him hurrying back along the platform, his hands delving in his pockets as he did so, his face a picture of confusion and mounting anxiety. I grinned, muttering under my breath, ‘Serve you right, you obnoxious little prick.’

I gathered my bags about me and made my way out. As I went to step onto the platform the young man leaped up into the carriage beside me. ‘Have you seen a wallet near where I was sitting?’ his voice raising an octave in panic.

‘Why, have you lost one?’

‘Well obviously.’ he snapped.

‘No, I haven’t.’ I smiled as I stepped down from the train. It didn’t bother me to know the difficulties I was causing him and not just because he’d been so unpleasant. I wouldn’t have cared even if he’d been the nicest person on the planet. As I saw it, the wallet was there for the taking; I might as well have it as anyone else.

I made my way to the exit. As the machine swallowed my ticket and the barrier opened I stepped through into my new life. Taxis waited in line like a row of black beetles; I was pleased to see so many Hackney cabs; I always feel so much more dignified sitting in their spacious interiors. ‘Just to the seafront, please; anywhere along there will do.’

The driver nodded and coasted out of the station forecourt whilst I settled back to consider my next step. It was still early in the year, the holiday season hadn’t really begun so I didn’t anticipate any problem getting a room in a B & B and there were copious numbers of those along the front. It would do for a couple of weeks whilst I searched for an apartment to rent.

I’d chosen Bournemouth as I considered it a good place in which to disappear. Sprawling and large it had a transient population due to being a holiday destination mixed with its long-term residents and there was plenty of part-time casual work available especially during the holiday period so I shouldn’t have too much difficulty supplementing my finances. It was also twenty five to thirty miles from Dorchester where my mother had worked and, it seems, had her illicit affair. I figured the authorities would be trying to find me, at least for a while and with Inspector Munroe’s knowledge of those intimate details of my family life they might well direct at least part of their search in that area. I would have to be very careful when making my own enquiries.

‘This do you, luv?’ The taxi driver pulled over to the kerb.

‘Yes, that’s fine, how much?’

‘£5 to you.’

I handed over the cash.

‘Have a nice stay.’

I picked up my bags and stepped out of the cab. He’d dropped me at the start of the seafront walk. I took a few deep breaths, luxuriating in the fresh air and tang of saltiness and started to walk slowly along, assessing the B & B’s as I went.

I didn’t want one that looked too upmarket, partly due to price but also I was concerned they may be more particular about recording personal details but neither did I want anything that risked lowered cleanliness standards. Eventually I settled on one called The Roselea Hotel.

A woman in her forties opened the door to my ring. About five foot six, a little overweight and bearing a duster in her right hand she had an air of motherliness that bode well. I smiled my most deprecating smile and politely asked, ‘I wonder if I might rent a room for a couple of weeks please.’ As I spoke I directed my eyes to the ‘Vacancies’ notice in the front window, an unspoken challenge to a refusal.

She eyed me up and down taking in my attire, my handbag and my one large carrier bag obviously questioning in her mind how anyone with so little luggage could be requesting a room for two weeks. I regrouped quickly. ‘The rest of my things are at the station property office. I thought I’d find somewhere first and then collect them; I didn’t want to be dragging it all around with me.’

This explanation seemed to satisfy her as she stood back from the door, inviting me in. I followed her down the long hallway to a reception desk of dark, burnished wood that smelt as though it had recently been polished; the scent tickling my nose, threatening a sneeze.

‘I’ve a single room out the back; it’s not very big but it’s cosy and warm, which in this weather you might appreciate. It’s reasonably priced at £70 per night, including breakfast. There’s a residents lounge on the ground floor and breakfast is served seven to nine-thirty.’

‘That sounds fine; thank you.’

She took a key off the rack behind her then turned back to the desk swivelling a Guest Book round to face me. ‘Just write name and address details and I’ll require the two weeks paid in advance.’

I obediently signed Coral Wright and wrote a fictitious address, then counted out the cash. She took the money and tucked it into her apron pocket. ‘If you’d care to follow me; you’ll find it’s very quiet here; we’re a little way off our really busy time. What brings you to Bournemouth ahead of the holiday season?’

‘Oh, just the need for a little time to myself combined with sea air therapy.’

‘Well, you’ll certainly get both here. The wind can blow off the sea pretty hard when it has a mind to.’

We reached the first floor landing and continued along its length to a door at the very end, passing two other doors on the way. The carpet, as on the stairs, was highly patterned in a 1940’s deep red, floral design obviously of high quality with a good underlay; our feet barely made a whisper as we passed along. As she unlocked the door the sun emerged from behind clouds illuminating the room as though she’d just switched on a light. Instantly I could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays intensified as they passed through the window glass.

‘As I said a small but very cosy room,’ she stood to one side to let me pass. ‘I’ll leave you to sort yourself out. You’re welcome to use the residents lounge whenever you want. The front door is locked at night by eleven so if you intend coming back after then you’ll need to ring the bell. I’ve a gentleman who does the night shift so he’ll let you in.’ She handed me my room key. ‘My name’s Dorothy by the way but everyone calls me Dot.’ She took a final glance around the room as though assuring herself all was in order then left, quietly closing the door behind her.

I dropped my handbag and carrier onto the bed and flopped down beside them, gently extricating Liliad from her confinement. Carefully untangling her strings I sat her on the bed beside me and smoothed my hand over her ruffled hair. ‘Well, Liliad so far so good. I think this will do well until we can get a place of our own.’

As I turned Liliad’s head toward me the sunshine caught her eyes, intensifying the blackness of her pupils that seemed to spread like ink on paper until they appeared unnaturally large; drawing me in to their comforting warm depths, giving me the reassurance I needed that I was following the right path.

I bounced up and down on the bed a little, pleased at the springiness of the mattress which bode well for a good night’s sleep. The bed was positioned close to the window with a bedside cabinet on the window side creating just enough space to walk around it. To my right as I sat on the bed was another door standing open which revealed an en suite shower room and to my left was a free standing wardrobe and chest of drawers on which stood a television and coffee/tea making facilities. One easy chair was positioned at the foot of the bed and a sheepskin rug lay by the bed in addition to the carpet. All looked and smelt delightfully clean.

I opened the carrier bag and extracted four hundred pounds which I put into my handbag. Placing Liliad on my lap I tilted her head so that I held her gaze. ‘I’m going to have to put you in the wardrobe while I’m out; I can’t risk you being discovered because if there’s anything in the media about my disappearance they’re likely to mention you too and we can’t risk any connection but I’ll see about getting us somewhere of our own as soon as I can and then it’ll be like old times, when we were in our flat in Endover. You do understand, don’t you?’

Liliad’s head dropped forward slightly in acknowledgement; I could tell she was unhappy but accepted the need for such caution. ‘OK, I’m going to put you in the wardrobe now and pop out to buy myself some more clothes and open a safe deposit box again so I can keep the money somewhere safe. I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.’ I hugged her close, hating having to shut her away again especially after all she’d been through at St Joseph’s but there was no choice. As I quietly shut the wardrobe door I whispered, ‘I’ll make it right; I promise.’