Losing Juliet: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming. June Taylor
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she definitely asked for Chrissy? Not – oh, I don’t know – Flissy. Or just Chris? I bet she said Chris.’
Eloise gave her papers a shove down the end of the table to make some room, causing a pen to roll off the edge before she could catch it. But Chrissy made no effort to pick it up, so immersed was she in her thoughts. Eloise slid a slice of pizza onto her mother’s plate, hoping the conversation could move on from this now.
‘There you go, Pizza à la Freezer with some extra Cheese Eloise,’ she announced. But Chrissy was giving her a pleading look. ‘Oh, Mum, I told you. How many times? Definitely Chrissy. I said that you were my mother, and … What? What’s wrong with that?’
Chrissy was sawing at her crust, her fingers turning white at the ends. She caught Eloise’s eye and put down her knife, pushed away her plate and sank back against the chair. It sliced through Eloise’s optimism; she was already pinning her hopes on this long-lost friend.
‘She sounded all right to me, Mum. Why have you never mentioned her?’
Her mother tapped her lips whilst she considered her answer. ‘It’s just a surprise to hear from her after all this time,’ she said finally, allowing a sigh to escape through her fingers. ‘I never expected to. That’s all.’ She seemed to linger on that for a while until the phone started to ring, then she jolted into the air with her hand to her chest.
Eloise let it ring a couple more times. She knew her mother wouldn’t answer it; she never did.
‘Should I get it?’
Chrissy shook her head.
‘CLICK: Hi, Eloise, we spoke earlier. And Chrissy, if you’re listening to this I just thought I’d try you again, but you’re obviously out enjoying yourselves. Well, it is Friday night. I would love to see you after all these years. I hope you think it is okay for me to contact you now. You have my number but I’ll keep trying. Ciao for now. Oh, it’s Juliet, by the way. Juliet Ricci. Well, Juliet Shaw, as I was then. Remember me?’
Juliet’s words drifted into every corner of their room, twisting like smoke, fading too quickly.
‘What did she mean?’ asked Eloise, trying to hang onto them for as long as she could. ‘Why wouldn’t you think it’s okay for her to contact you now?’
Her mother stood still for a moment – she had begun to pace – frowning at the answer machine.
‘Did you fall out or something?’
Dropping forwards over her knees, the way she did when she came back from a run, Eloise was about to repeat her question when Chrissy straightened up again. Her breathing seemed normal but her hands had a slight tremble as she scooped her hair back into a ponytail, quickly letting go again.
‘No, we never fell out. Hey, shall we go and see a film tonight? I’ll skip my yoga class.’
‘Mum!’
‘What?’
‘I’m seeing Anya later. I told you that.’
‘Did you?’ said Chrissy, rubbing her forehead.
‘Oh come on, Mum. We’re going to plan our Inter-Rail trip, remember? Well you could at least try and be a bit excited for me.’
Eloise watched her mother move across to the window. It wasn’t dark yet but she snapped down the blind.
‘You’re not going Inter-Railing, I’ve changed my mind. You’re too young.’
‘What?’ Eloise let out a mocking laugh. ‘I’m seventeen for god’s sake.’
‘Besides, I don’t know Anya well enough.’
‘Of course you do.’ Eloise let her body go limp in the chair, one arm dangling by her side. She didn’t want a fight. ‘You can’t treat me like a kid, Mum. You should have done that when I actually was a kid.’
‘That’s enough, Eloise. And if she calls again, just say you were winding her up; it’s the wrong number; there’s no Chrissy living here.’
Eloise almost laughed at that too, stopping herself when she realized her mother was being serious. ‘I can’t do that. Anyway, why?’ She glanced at the time on her phone; still nearly an hour before she needed to set off. ‘So is this Juliet the reason you dropped out of uni then?’
‘Of course not,’ Chrissy replied, sounding irritated. ‘You know that was my decision.’
‘Well how would I know that? You never tell me anything.’ Then she panicked, noticing her mother was drifting, and said: ‘Okay, so you had some embarrassing girl-on-girl thing that you’re too ashamed to talk about. Is that it?’
At least it got a bit of a smile. She racked her brain for more possibilities.
‘Well did she try and steal Dad away? Did she know my dad?’
‘Yes,’ said Chrissy. ‘I mean, yes she knew him.’
‘But was it over a boy though? Was it? I bet it was.’
Chrissy got up and walked around the back of Eloise’s chair, but didn’t respond to the question.
‘God, it’s like living in a tunnel with you sometimes,’ said Eloise, trying to prise her mother’s hands off her shoulders. She wanted to turn round, but couldn’t.
‘It never goes away, Eloise. It never can.’
‘What doesn’t?’
Eloise gave her a moment then snapped herself free from her mother’s grasp, rubbing her shoulders where she had been pressing down. ‘Right okay, I’ll just call this Juliet woman and ask her. I have her number.’ Eloise waved her phone defiantly into her mother’s face.
For one brief second the world went dark. Chrissy had slapped her on the cheek.
‘What the hell was that for?’
‘Oh god, I’m so sorry, Eloise. You know I’d never hurt you.’
‘You just did!’
‘I’m sorry, so sorry. Of course I’ll tell you.’
‘Well you better had now. My god, Mum!’
Chrissy sat down and took hold of her hand, staring at their interlocking fingers whilst focusing on her breathing. Eloise grabbed some air for herself. Sometimes there just wasn’t enough to go round. When Chrissy retreated back into her silence, Eloise kicked out at the chair leg, giving her a jolt.
‘Maybe you could start by telling me how you two met, Mum,’ she said, opting for a gentler approach. Inside, she was still screaming at her.
Chrissy closed her eyes and frowned, as though the memory hung by a delicate thread.
Bristol: 1988
The first lecture, French Literature in the twentieth century, was not until eleven o’clock. But Chrissy’s nerves were not prepared to wait and she set off much earlier than was necessary. New Order’s ‘Blue Monday’ was thumping out from across the corridor as she stepped out of her room. She had no idea who lived there, or anywhere else on her floor for that matter.
The School of Modern Languages was housed in a series of grand old Victorian villas along Woodland Road. At nine thirty, she left her halls, Cliff Lawn Halls of Residence, down the hill, but with so much time to spare she decided to meander first. The sponge covers of her Walkman had been lost, causing the plastic to nip into her ears, but The Smiths was the perfect soundtrack for her mood.
A dense fog lingered in the air, giving the streets of Clifton an eerie feel. The way it clung to her was like a damp cloak, even entering her nostrils