Losing Juliet: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming. June Taylor
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but here, she thought. She wandered about their flat, squirming at the mad colour scheme. The furniture in the lounge was looking rather shabby and everywhere needed a fresh lick of paint. The clock in the kitchen no longer worked, the pictures in there were dire: one of spoons dancing, and another of chubby peasants at a country fair. Suddenly these things mattered in a way they hadn’t ever before.
She poured herself a glass of orange juice from the fridge. Her throat throbbed from the ice-cold shock.
When another mail landed in her inbox, she pounced:
‘Eloise,
Of course. One thing you should know is that, for Chrissy, I’ll do anything. I’ll get Laura to arrange it.
See you Monday.
Juliet x’
She was already running fifteen minutes late, and Maria would not be pleased, but there was one more thing she had to do before she left.
‘Do I really deserve this?’ said Chrissy, accepting the plate of toast and Marmite.
‘Just wanted to spoil you, Mum.’
Chrissy propped herself against the pillow, her head on one side. ‘You’re turning into such a young woman, Eloise. Smart and beautiful.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Your dad would be so proud of you.’ She turned to his photo by her bedside. ‘I wish he was here to see you grow up.’
‘Me too. Hey, but listen. I can show you a picture of Juliet if you like. She has a website.’ Chrissy gave the duvet a sharp tug. ‘I don’t mean now. I’ve got to go to work.’
Their discussion was interrupted by a heavy pounding on the door, followed by an insistent ringing of the bell. Surely Juliet would not just appear on their doorstep without warning? Not after all that had been said. Was Chrissy having similar thoughts too? She was as white as her pillow.
‘I’m coming,’ shouted Eloise, twisting her ankle in her haste to see who it was.
It was the police.
‘Who is it?’ said Chrissy, coming out in her dressing gown. She froze when she saw the female officer standing there.
Afraid she might faint, the officer quickly stepped inside and helped Chrissy to sit down. Eloise was told to make her mother a hot drink. ‘I’m sorry to give you a scare,’ she said. ‘It was just to alert you about a break-in next door last night, and we wondered if you’d heard anything.’
They told her they hadn’t, that they were in most of the evening, apart from when Chrissy went out for a run, which seemed to fit in with the timing of the break-in.
Everyone got done once on the estate; it was known as ‘the housewarming’. And the next-door neighbours were fairly new, so it was to be expected really. That said, their own flat had never been broken into, not with Chrissy’s stringent security measures, and they had lived in it for more than ten years.
When the police officer had gone, Eloise phoned Maria to say that she would be in work a bit later. Maria was fine once she explained why.
‘I’ll be okay,’ said Chrissy. ‘It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all. You don’t need to stay.’
‘Yes I do,’ Eloise insisted. Her mother’s face had turned a peculiar shade of grey and she was still trembling. ‘I’ll put the kettle on shall I?’
Chrissy nodded and soon they were both settled in the living room with steaming mugs of tea.
‘So,’ began Eloise tentatively, ‘did Juliet meet you in that place for coffee?’
Chrissy gave a tut, rolling her eyes at her daughter’s persistence.
‘Did she? Gino’s, was it?’
‘Gianni’s.’
‘Or I can show you her website.’ Eloise ignored the stab of guilt she was feeling, pushing her mother like this in the state she was in. ‘Your choice, Mum.’
Bristol: 1988
Sitting in Gianni’s on St Michael’s Hill, her fingers coiled round a mug of hot chocolate that she had been sipping for well over an hour, more cold now than hot, Chrissy was wondering whether she should be offended, or worried. There was no way of getting in touch with Juliet; she could be anywhere. She hadn’t shown up to the lecture either, on Nineteenth-Century Romanticism. This probably meant Juliet would ask for Chrissy’s notes again, and she couldn’t quite make up her mind what to do if she did.
She was just about to leave when a purple raincoat came into view. ‘Where’ve you been, Juliet? I’ve been worried sick about you.’
‘Am I that late? Sorry, I had stuff to do.’ She kissed Chrissy on both cheeks, holding her cigarette out of the way, then wafting at the smoke slowly creeping back into Chrissy’s face.
‘Have you got my notes?’ Chrissy asked, sternly.
‘Blimey, you don’t mess about, do you?’
With her cigarette balanced stylishly between her fingers Juliet rummaged in her bag, proudly holding up three sheets of paper. Chrissy snatched them out of her hands.
‘Don’t be mad at me,’ said Juliet, childishly pleading. When she saw it hadn’t dented Chrissy’s anger, she tried: ‘Let me buy you a coffee.’
‘I’ve already had a drink,’ said Chrissy, snapping together the metal rings of her binder.
Juliet put her hand to her forehead. ‘Stupid. I mean hot chocolate, don’t I?’ Waiting for a response, she twisted her hair around her fingers. She wore it down today, and the black went well against the purple raincoat. ‘Oh, but do you have to go already?’ she said when she saw Chrissy was still gathering up her things.
‘Already? Juliet, I’ve been here for over an hour.’
She considered asking what had been so important to keep her waiting for so long. At the same time, she didn’t want to feel insulted by the response, so she kept silent. Chrissy feared, somewhere in the back of her mind, there may be a part of Juliet’s life she didn’t want to have anything to do with. Thrusting her hands into her pockets she made for the door.
‘I’ll walk back to Clifton with you,’ said Juliet, quickly linking her arm through hers. ‘We can go shopping.’
Chrissy looked down at Juliet’s hand, contemplating whether to remove it or not. ‘I’m on a budget,’ she replied. Only that morning, in fact, when she had drawn a £5 note out of the hole-in-the-wall, she was shocked at how little was left of her grant money once the halls of residence had been paid. And when it was gone, it was gone.
Broke.
Judging by the cut of Juliet’s clothes, she was way out of her price range. Either her parents were rich or she made a lot of money by some other means.
‘Well, me too,’ said Juliet. ‘But people throw away some great stuff in Clifton.’ She gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Come on! Live a little.’
Chrissy found herself smiling. Juliet was hard to resist.
The sunshine was dazzling as they walked back along Tyndalls Park Road, yet despite an almost perfect blue sky there was still a wintry sting in the air. Chrissy pushed her chin down into her scarf and was glad when Juliet huddled into her. Crossing Queens Road into Clifton the wind suddenly whipped bundles of leaves into brown swirls, as if they were under some spell, and Chrissy quickened her pace.
‘Oxfam on Princess Victoria Street is pretty good,’ said Juliet, trying to keep up.
‘What