Losing Juliet: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming. June Taylor
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if we’ve been to boarding school then we’re loaded. Don’t you? But just ’cos your parents have money doesn’t mean they give you any.’
‘You went to boarding school?’
‘Several. Hated them all.’
They had entered the Oxfam shop and Chrissy pulled her scarf up over her nose to try to diffuse the musty smell. Whenever she bought anything second-hand she couldn’t wait to get it home, stick it on a hot wash and spray it with perfume. It didn’t feel like hers until she’d washed it three or four times.
Juliet was busily sifting through the knitwear rail, the first one they came to, and Chrissy was horrified when she picked out a chunky mohair jumper, removed it from its hanger then stuffed it inside her coat.
‘Juliet!’ she said in an overly loud whisper, causing the woman at the till to peer over her glasses on the end of a long chain.
‘Money …’ said Juliet, strutting about the shop in a pompous manner, impersonating someone with a very large stomach. ‘… is for education. Not for the enjoyment of oneself.’
‘What are you doing?’ Chrissy couldn’t help laughing, despite not wanting to encourage her.
‘That,’ said Juliet, extracting the jumper, ‘is my dad.’ She held it up so the woman could see her putting it back on the hanger. ‘He’s a fat, fucking idiot.’
Chrissy laughed again, more out of relief that Juliet was not shoplifting than anything else. Chrissy put the jumper back on the rail, giving the woman a look of apology. After that she stuck close to Juliet as they went through the rest of the rails. It was an education in itself watching her. Everything she pulled out she would look at from all angles, nip it in at the waist, turn up the sleeves, weighing up all the possibilities.
‘This would suit you,’ she said, fishing out a green dress. Chrissy pulled a face. ‘Trust me, Chrissy. I’m going to get it for you. What size are you? Twelve?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘It’s 50p. Won’t break the bank.’
‘I don’t even like it. Juliet!’
She was already heading for the till.
‘You will,’ she shouted back.
They carried on walking to the Suspension Bridge. As this stunning feat of Victorian engineering came into view, slung across the Avon Gorge with its iron chains draped effortlessly between the two towers, it began to rain. Lightly at first, soon getting heavier. Rather than run for shelter, Chrissy and Juliet stood on the bridge, spinning round in the downpour, arms outstretched like children, oblivious to the cars honking as they made their way across the bridge.
‘I’m soaked,’ said Chrissy, stumbling over to the barrier, laughing because her head was still in a spin.
Juliet didn’t respond. She was asking a passing tourist to take a photo of the two of them. They posed like models, pouting at the camera, then Chrissy turned to look at the view. Her eyes struggled to take it all in. The River Avon was a muddy brown colour 245 feet below. Trees clung to its steep banks like green, woolly sheep, and a road snaked around one side with toy-sized cars which looked to be stationary, although were probably moving quickly. On the other side of the bridge was Bristol, stretching out towards the Mendip Hills. Up ahead, the white, sandy terraces of Clifton. ‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘I love bridges,’ said Juliet, looping her fingers through the diamond-shaped holes of the barrier. Raising her arm had caused her coat sleeve to slip a little, enough to make the tiny scars on her skin visible. She put it down again quickly. ‘Golden Gate Bridge, you ever seen that?’ Chrissy shook her head. ‘What’s your favourite one in Paris? Mine’s Pont Neuf.’
‘I’ve never been to Paris,’ Chrissy replied.
‘What? You’re studying French and you’ve never been to Paris?’
She wanted to say that she had been to Brittany on a school trip, but Juliet cut in with: ‘We should go.’ Which prompted Chrissy to look at her watch.
‘No!’ said Juliet, laughing. ‘I mean we should go to France. You and me, this summer.’
‘Oh.’ Chrissy was still frantically trying to process the last ten seconds, including the marks on Juliet’s arm. ‘Okay … I mean yeah, why not?’
There was the whole year to get through first, but Chrissy felt the beginnings of excitement stir in her stomach.
***
Chrissy was happily enjoying everything that Juliet brought in her wake: the parties, the gigs, and all the interesting people she didn’t seem to meet anywhere else. The drug taking was a concern, but as long as Chrissy could stay clear of it herself, it was really none of her business.
‘It’s only the odd happy pill and a bit of weed,’ Juliet insisted. ‘And some white powder now and again. You should try some, do you good.’
To be fair, it was pretty harmless in the scheme of things, and plenty of other people were doing it. Even Dan, occasionally, when the mood took him.
‘How do you afford all of this?’ Chrissy had asked Juliet one evening, gesturing at the spliff they were sharing.
Juliet smiled and grabbed her arm.
‘Come on, I’ll show you if you like. Let’s go to my place.’
Chrissy was surprised. In all the weeks of knowing each other she had never gone to Juliet’s room; it was always the other way round.
Feeling slightly apprehensive, she followed her.
***
Chrissy thought she had stepped into Aladdin’s cave when she walked through the door.
‘My god, Ju. So this is what you get up to?’
She had a sewing machine set up on the desk and piles of clothes everywhere: on the bed, the floor, some in bin bags, some laid out, some cut to pieces, some hanging up. Even the curtain rail was loaded. It soon became clear that the bulk of Juliet’s time and a significant portion of her funds was spent on buying second-hand clothes and customizing them. She had a real eye for snapping up bargains and a rare talent for adding frills, collars, fishtails, pleats, belts, zips, buttons, chains and buckles.
‘You do all this?’ said Chrissy, turning full circle to take in the scale of it. ‘Where do you sleep? When do you sleep?’
‘I must admit, these help,’ she said, popping a pill out of a brown envelope.
Chrissy felt something constrict in her chest. Drugs at a party were one thing, but taking them on your own? She brushed her uneasiness aside, however, and moved about the room inspecting all the clothes in their various stages of transformation. She realized that Juliet was waiting for some kind of approval. ‘I’m speechless,’ Chrissy said. ‘Honestly, Ju, I don’t know what to say.’
She did, but it wasn’t related to the clothes. She said nothing.
***
The clanking of cups and animated banter in Gianni’s was proving too much for Chrissy today. Juliet had even set the time herself, stating that she wouldn’t dream of being late, but by five past one Chrissy had had enough and decided to head back. They were four weeks into their course and Juliet had shown her face at only a couple of lectures. She had also skipped a tutorial and missed a deadline.
‘Ta-dah,’ said a voice behind her as Chrissy gathered up her things. When she turned round, Juliet was holding up a green dress that she vaguely recognized.
‘Oh my god,’ she said, instantly forgetting how annoyed she was.
‘Like it?’
‘Like it? I love it. Must have taken you ages.’
She had added an exaggerated scooped black collar, put buttons