Losing Juliet
JUNE TAYLOR

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Killer Reads

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Copyright © June Taylor 2016

June Taylor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover design by Cherie Chapman © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008215088

Version 2017-07-27

for Pearl

my big sister

The adventure is in the risk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Part Two

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading...

About the Author

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

The words sounded blurred and far away, as if someone had pushed her head underwater. She ran off into the rain and into the darkness. Her mother shouted her name but didn’t come after her. In any case she was too quick. She cast off her shoes, tossing them into the air, wishing they would explode into little pieces. She wanted to break something. Hit something.

The water running down her face was a mixture of rainwater and tears. She wasn’t cold but her dress was stuck to her skin, which was visible through the thin fabric. She didn’t know where she was heading and somehow found herself by the side of the lake. How different it felt to the last time she was here.

She removed her clothes, all of them, ripping her dress in the process. What did it matter? What did any of this matter?

The rocks tore at her feet. But what couldn’t be seen couldn’t hurt you. She knew that now. It’s what you could see. It’s what you did know. That’s what hurt the most.

The icy chill of the water seemed to take away some of her pain.

‘There is no better freedom,’ she wanted to say, but the words froze as soon as her lips tried to shape them. She swam to keep warm, soon becoming disorientated. Where was the shore and where was the middle of the lake? Impossible to tell with the darkness wrapped around her and the rain coming down again. The middle of the lake was too deep, she remembered. Soon she would be out of her depth and was already getting tired.

Did it matter? Did any of it matter?

Treading water she turned full circle on herself. The shadows and outlines all looked the same. Her knees scraped against rocks. Crawling over them she managed to stand up, the water to her waist, and she began to wade through it, pushing hard against the lake, feeling exhausted and numb with cold.

Gradually her steps became easier. Somehow she had reached the lakeshore and looked around, hugging her shoulders, searching for her dress swallowed up in the gloom. She ran. She must have, because suddenly she found herself at the tiny hut by the side of the tennis court where the racquets and balls were kept. The director’s chair was in the doorway, wet beneath her skin when she sank into it. Pressing her hands hard against her ears she slumped over her knees. If only Chrissy’s words would stop echoing inside her head.

She was shivering; naked, alone, and curled up like a foetus.

To think that only a few weeks ago she hadn’t known any of this. Was it better now that she knew the truth? She had wanted it so desperately.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

Manchester: 2007

The phone rang. She picked up.

‘Hello,’ said a voice. ‘I wonder: can you tell me, does someone by the name of Chrissy live there?’

She tried to tune in to the sounds at the other end for clues. Music. Opera, was it? A clanking of cups, possibly in a café?

‘Erm, who wants to know?’

‘I’m Juliet, an old friend from uni. We were best friends.’

The voice had a late-night feel to it, deep and smoky; the sort you might want to get to know.

‘Chrissy’s my mother,’ she said, seeing no reason to keep that from her.

‘Oh that’s brilliant! I thought I’d never find her, been trying for ages. Can I speak to her?’

‘She’s not here at the moment.’

‘Okay, well I’ll give you my number. If you could tell her I phoned?’

‘Okay.’

‘And you are?’

‘Eloise.’

‘Eloise. What a beautiful name. She chose a French name for you, that’s interesting.’

‘Is it?’

‘It’s a lovely name. She’s never mentioned me to you, Eloise?’

‘No.’

‘Well, it was a long time ago, must be nearly twenty years in fact. Getting on for that. It would be so lovely to see her. And to meet you, too. How old are you?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Well, tell Chrissy to hurry up and get in touch or you’ll have left home!’

‘I’ll try.’

***

‘Are you absolutely sure she said Juliet?’

‘Yes, for the hundredth time, I’m sure,’ said Eloise, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

‘And 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.

CHAPTER 2

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 as she reflected on why she hadn’t yet clicked with anyone when she had been here for almost a fortnight. It wasn’t due to a lack of trying on her part. During Freshers’ Week she had joined the Film Soc, French Soc, been to Happy Hours with people on stage giving blowjobs to hotdogs, and drinking a yard of ale in their underwear. She had even forced herself to do the three-legged bar crawl and that hadn’t yielded anything either. To make matters worse, she had woken up this morning paralyzed by fear, convinced that all the other students on her course would have been to better schools and read far more books. Plus, that she had been given someone else’s A-level results by mistake and had no right to be here in the first place.

Dan assured her it was still early days and things would get better once lectures had begun. Speaking to him daily on the payphone downstairs she assured him she wouldn’t call so often once she had found a bunch of people to hang out with. Looking around her now as the tiered rows curving round the lecture theatre filled up and the noise level reached an almost deafening crescendo, she was not so sure she ever would. Everyone else was in full-flow conversation; she was the only person sitting on her own.

How many times could she lace up her Docs? Rub at the coffee stain on her stonewashed jeans? Or keep going over the date she had written in the top right-hand corner of her A4 notepad: ruled narrow feint and margin? The coffee stain was still wet and she could see her leg, red and sore, through the rip in her jeans. She had gone into the common room just before the lecture in the hope of meeting a few people off her course, but had to settle for the vending machine’s buzzing and clanking for company as it squirted a dirty brown liquid into a polystyrene cup. Then, whilst she was pretending to read the noticeboard someone had bumped into her without realizing she was even there. And no apology for causing her to tip hot coffee down herself either.

It was a relief when the lecturer walked in. The place fell immediately silent as a small, rotund man with a long beard, tweed jacket and yellow cravat, placed his notes on the lectern, sweeping his eyes over each student, already weeding out the Firsts from the Fails.

‘What is existentialism?’ his voice boomed round the lecture theatre. ‘Who wants to have a shot?’

There was no other hand up, only hers. Suddenly sixty pairs of eyes were upon her and she flushed, feeling like a swot. A phoney swot at that because no words were coming out. On the verge of putting her hand back down, she suddenly remembered something she had read.

‘A view of the world in which man is condemned to a life of freedom and has the full burden of responsibility?’

She felt her cheeks catch fire.

‘Meaning?’ said the lecturer.

Meaning? That was good enough, surely.

‘Erm, well, meaning that he can’t hide behind God or science but he makes his own choices about absolutely everything. Even under pressure, in a split second. I think.’

A commotion at the back of the lecture theatre, a latecomer, made everyone turn round. The lecturer was annoyed, it broke his flow, but then his face melted. Suddenly this student was the most important person in the whole room. Chrissy couldn’t help noticing this girl’s je ne sais quoi factor either, but she was furious with her for stealing her moment.

Most people would have settled on the first gap they came to at the end of a row, keen to end their embarrassment, but this girl had people moving bags, A4 files, coats, legs, arms, to let her through. And to Chrissy’s horror she was making for the centre of the middle row where there was an empty seat next to hers. Chrissy looked helplessly at the lecturer, feeling herself flush again, as though this was all her fault. The girl flipped down the seat and held out her hand, refusing to sit down until Chrissy had shaken it.

‘Juliet,’ she whispered, as she settled down at last.

Chrissy tried to ignore her as the lecturer resumed. She didn’t want him to think they were friends, especially as she had made an impression on him and she actually felt worthy of being here now. Juliet scribbled something on her notepad and pushed it towards her. When Chrissy paid no attention she received a gentle nudge in the ribs. ‘Qui es-tu?’ the note said. Realizing she would get no peace unless she responded she scribbled her name down quickly, still focusing on the lecturer and not prepared to engage any further.

When the session finished, Chrissy zipped up her bag and stood up.

‘Does my head in, all this existential stuff,’ said Juliet.

‘So what are you doing here then?’

Chrissy turned her back, ready to shuffle along the row.

‘Long story. I came to sit with you, by the way, because you looked like the least boring person in the room.’

‘Am I meant to be flattered?’ said Chrissy, half-twisting her head.

‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can borrow your lecture notes, is there?’

Chrissy pulled down the notepad that Juliet was clutching to her chest and saw it was full of sketches of what looked like fashion designs. She shook her head, turning away again.

‘You want to get a coffee?’

Even if this girl was rather irritating, and certainly not the sort of friend she was looking for, at least she was showing some interest. ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ Chrissy replied. ‘But thanks for asking.’

‘I don’t mean that shit from the vending machine either.’

‘I still can’t,’ said Chrissy, laughing.

Once she was out into the corridor, narrow with a low-hanging roof, it would be easier to lose herself in the crowd, she told herself. But she was wrong.

‘I like The Smiths, too,’ said Juliet, referring to Chrissy’s T-shirt and suddenly by her side again. ‘Saw them twice.’

‘Three times for me,’ said Chrissy. ‘Look, I can’t hang about. I’ve got to go and meet my tutor.’ She speeded up again, heading for the stairs.

‘You know, the reason I was late was because I saw a dog run over and I couldn’t decide if the dog had chosen to run in front of the car, or if it was just an accident.’

‘Really?’ said Chrissy, stopping.

‘Oh. Actually, no, I was trying to be existential. I slept in; I don’t have an alarm clock.’

‘Well maybe you should go buy one then.’ Chrissy carried on up the stairs, reminding herself to trust first instincts.

‘Do you want to come to a party?’

It was just loud enough to pick out above all the other voices. Chrissy reached for the handrail and turned round.

‘Fuck’s sake!’ snapped a girl with pink hair and alarmingly plucked eyebrows. ‘Do you have to stop on the stairs?’

‘When?’ shouted Chrissy, ignoring the complaints.

‘Wednesday. Bring a friend, or friends if you’ve made some. The more the merrier.’

She found herself going to claim the photocopied invite that Juliet was tantalizingly waving at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Where is it?’

‘Cowper Road.’

She was about to ask where that was when Juliet helpfully added: ‘There’s a map on the back of the invite.’

‘Aren’t you in halls?’

‘Stoke Bishop. Miles from bloody anywhere. Luckily I know a couple of people in Redland. Do you know it? Just head up St Michael’s Hill away from town. It’s not far. Where are you?’

‘Clifton,’ she said, tugging the piece of paper out of Juliet’s fingers, giving the map a quick scan. ‘I’ll find it.’ She tucked it into her jeans pocket and then found herself weakening. Handing over her lecture notes, she said: ‘And if you lose those I will kill you.’

‘You’re all right you are, Chrissy Wotsit,’ she heard Juliet shout as she galloped up the stairs, not wanting to be late for her tutor. She turned round and gave Juliet the finger.

But for the first time in days, she had a smile on her face.

CHAPTER 3

Manchester: 2007

‘So did you go to the party?’

Eloise was desperate to know more but Chrissy had come to an abrupt halt. It was time to go in any case. Her cheek still felt sore as it brushed against her mother’s, kissing her goodbye, reminding her of the slap she had received earlier and for no apparent reason. It was more the shock than any physical pain that had bothered her, but it was a sign that she would have to tread carefully.

Something Eloise had been doing for years.

‘Wouldn’t you like to see her again, Mum?’

Chrissy shook her head, a small movement at first, as if a tiny part of her was still undecided. Then, an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Well, tell me some more later, yeah? When I get back.’

‘Do you have to go?’ said Chrissy.

‘What, to meet Anya? Or do you mean Inter-Railing?’

The lack of reply annoyed Eloise, almost as much as her question. She bent down to pick up her bag, feeling her mother’s gaze burning into her back. She stood up again, moving towards her until their faces were almost touching.

‘Goodbye, Mum,’ she said, meeting her glare, confident she would not be the one to back down first. She just had the edge in her shoes. But in the end Eloise did look away first, her mother’s face was so full of anguish, and she turned to leave before she felt that she couldn’t.

‘How’re you getting home?’ she heard Chrissy shout as she made for the door.

‘Dunno.’ She was already halfway out.

‘Well, can you walk back with Anya?’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

The Mancunian Way rumbled on like a Big Dipper ride over the Stockport Road, the grey-white tower of the university protruding above it. Clouds had closed in on the sun, stealing the warmth out of their summer’s evening. The estate was quieter now, apart from the murmur of traffic.

The key turned in the lock behind her, startling Eloise; she had been using the door as a backrest. Then the chain slid across. She kicked out at a piece of Lego, shooting it off the walkway, and moved over to grab the railings, fingernails digging into her palms. If her mother thought a harmless bit of Inter-Railing around Europe was a problem, what would she be like with a whole gap year after A-levels? And what about Bournemouth Uni? Eloise had convinced herself, and her mother, that it was by far the best course in Travel and Tourism. It was also the furthest away.

Of course she would go Inter-Railing; there was never any doubt about that. If she couldn’t get Chrissy to agree to it, she would still go. It was for four weeks, not forever. Nevertheless, she could still hear her dad’s words, as if it was only yesterday when he had uttered them: ‘Look after your mother, Eloise. You’re all she’s got now.’

At the bottom of the stairwell, these thoughts still pinballed around inside her head. As she walked along Grosvenor Street the pair of trainers looped over the telephone wires swung back and forth. She watched them; they had been there for years, condemned to a life of futile hanging in the breeze. This was not a bad area by any means. The centre of Manchester was less than a mile away, and with the university close by they had the whole world on their doorstep. ‘So why go anywhere else?’ her mother would say. She had even suggested that Eloise could go to Manchester Uni and live at home. ‘It’d be so much cheaper,’ she insisted, but they both knew that wasn’t the real reason.

The pedestrian crossing on Upper Brook Street was beeping insistently at her. When she failed to cross, a sleek black car with tinted windows allowed her to go, and the motorist in the car behind sounded his horn, revving his engine impatiently. Eloise walked over to the other side, oblivious to the real world. Chrissy would never get in touch with Juliet, of that she was sure. Why did she never allow anyone else into her life? No one could even get close. Even when her dad was alive it was probably just the same, she realized. Except, when her dad was alive it didn’t matter, because her mother always had him.

Without Eloise, Chrissy had no one.

Turning right onto Oxford Road there was something of a Friday night buzz. The sleek black car with tinted windows was making slow progress, crawling along beside her in the slow-moving traffic. Up ahead, Eloise could see a crowd of smokers gathered outside Maria’s Café. The green sign distinguished it from the kebab shop and the music shop on either side. It was a popular spot, especially with students.

Eloise pushed open the glass door. She smiled at a group of regulars, squeezing between the benches, and waved at a couple of Sixth Formers from her college that she recognized. She was glad not to be working tonight.

Maria looked up from the spurting coffee machine and nodded towards the end computer. After a while she came over. ‘Someone was in here looking for you earlier.’

‘Really?’ said Eloise. ‘Who?’

‘A man. Wearing some sort of uniform, not sure what he was.’

‘Could be Anya’s dad, he’s some kind of security guard. Did he leave a message?’ Maria shook her head. ‘He was probably looking for Anya then.’

‘He asked for you.’

Eloise smiled, hoping she would go away. It was only when she brought up the Inter-Rail website that Maria took the hint.

‘Who is Juliet Ricci?’ she typed once she had gone.

The computer fired a string of results back at her. She checked to see if anyone was watching before scanning down the list. They all sounded rather dull, except for one. She clicked on the link.

A website of translucent greys and whites began to unfurl. Moody images of long, pale models, dressed in outfits that looked more like works of art than clothing, appeared across the screen.

‘Enter the exclusive World of Ricci. Shop the latest collections of this luxury Italian fashion house. Read the latest news about the brand …’

It was ridiculous even to imagine this Juliet Ricci in the same room as her mother, let alone breathing the same air.

‘ENTER: Juliet and Luca Ricci, internationally acclaimed designers producing iconic work as seen on red carpets and catwalks throughout the world. Two major collections a year, distinctive designs.’

A selection of menus along the top enticed her further:

‘Womenswear, Menswear, Accessories, Evening Wear, Lingerie, Shoes, Fragrance’

The prices were eye-watering.

‘CONTACT’

There she was: Juliet Ricci, standing back-to-back with her Italian husband, Luca, a fluffy white cat intertwined through his legs. She had a beehive, dark with red streaks running through it, and something silver, like a big hairslide pinned into it. She wore a blue and silver Japanese-looking tunic, silver platform shoes.

Eloise clicked on a map of the world covered in white arrows:

‘There are Ricci stores in all the major capitals and over 120 concessions within the world’s most prestigious department stores.’

She imagined the possibilities. Trips to Italy. New York. Tokyo. Paris. Long weekends in London. A never-ending supply of free designer clothes for her and Chrissy.

The website disappeared off the screen. Eloise needed to force herself back to reality. She pulled her phone from her pocket and brought up Juliet’s number, telling herself that, even if it turned out to be the boring Juliet in IT from Cambridge, it really didn’t matter. What did matter was that this woman should become her mother’s best friend again. Someone else to share the burden.

‘Pronto? Chi parla?’

That seductively husky voice. Maybe she lived in Italy?

‘Hello?’ it said again.

Italy would be perfect.

‘Juliet Ricci speaking. Who is this?’

Eloise cut the call. What could she possibly say to Juliet when her mother didn’t seem to want to know? A text message, she suddenly thought, wishing she had done this in the first place instead of making a fool of herself. It would also give her time to plan. Several attempts later, she settled for:

‘Would love to meet you Juliet.

Please don’t call again.

Email me – Eloise.lundy@tiscali.co.uk XXX’

Her finger hovered over the ‘Send’ button.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘Christ Almighty, Anya! You frightened the life out of me.’

Eloise stared at the words:

‘MESSAGE SENT’

***

Eloise assumed her mother was out when she didn’t answer her shout through the letterbox; something she was meant to do before unlocking the door – if she remembered to do it. Rooting in her bag for her keys, Eloise stuck her head over the side of the railings, discreetly, just to be sure. At one point she had thought she was being followed, but when the man had turned off before the Salvation Army building she changed her mind. Besides, he seemed more interested in his phone than anywhere she might be going. Nonetheless it had shaken her; she had quickened her pace, taking the stairs two at a time when she reached them, checking behind her all the way.

When the door wouldn’t open she banged on it loudly with her fist.

‘Mum, why is the bolt on? I can’t get in. It’s me.’

It clunked across, top and bottom. The place was in darkness, apart from a candle flickering on the coffee table.

‘What’s going on? Are you okay?’

Chrissy nodded. She seemed calm enough.

‘Has there been a power cut or something?’

‘No, I’m just meditating,’ she replied.

‘Oh,’ said Eloise, trying to weigh up her mood and eliminate the flashbacks from earlier, walking home.

Chrissy returned to the sofa, sitting down cross-legged. The TV was on but muted, some talk show with a sofa full of vaguely recognizable people on it, and Eloise noticed a plate of toast and Marmite on the coffee table next to a half-drunk glass of wine. She wondered whether to remove the bottle that was down at her feet but left it where it was.

‘So did you make it to your yoga class?’ asked Eloise, bouncing down next to her.

Chrissy shuffled along, continuing to stare at the TV. ‘No. I went for a run instead.’

‘Oh. How many circuits did you do?’ Eloise wasn’t at all interested, but running was her mother’s thing and sometimes a good way to engage. As far as Eloise was concerned, running was a form of torture.

‘Actually I ran into town and back.’

‘You never,’ said Eloise, screwing up her face. ‘Centre of Manchester on a Friday night? What’s that about?’ Her usual circuit was down to the Apollo, weaving back through the Brunswick Estate. She had been doing that for years, never deviated.

‘I changed my mind.’

‘Why though?’

‘Just a feeling,’ she said, still not making eye contact.

‘Well, what sort of a feeling?’

‘I wanted to be in a crowded place, that’s all.’

Eloise grabbed the remote and zapped the TV off. ‘Can we talk, Mum?’

‘Why, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’

Chrissy lunged for her glass and turned her body round to face Eloise, who was slightly regretting this tactic now. It had crossed her mind to mention that she thought she had been followed, but didn’t dare do that now; it would only play into her mother’s paranoia. Besides, it was just in her head, so hardly worth a mention.

‘No, nothing’s happened. I’m fine. I’ve just been wondering about your friend, Juliet, and what she did after uni. Have you any idea?’

Chrissy polished off her wine and poured herself another. ‘Is that what you want to talk about, Eloise? Because if it is I’m not in the mood.’

Eloise wished she had taken the bottle away now.

Chrissy was looking at her awkwardly. ‘Listen, I’m sorry for slapping you,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It’s okay,’ Eloise replied, knowing her mother’s guilt was to her advantage. ‘So, when will you be in the mood?’

But instead of answering, Chrissy sank another large mouthful. Before leaning back again, she began rearranging the cushions behind her, pulling out the little yellow bear, a present to Eloise from her dad. It had become a game of theirs, putting the bear in unusual places so the other person would find it: in the biscuit tin, swinging from a light fitting, it could even be found hiding in a pocket. A smile spread across Chrissy’s face at the discovery, and Eloise felt herself softening towards her again.

Her cheeks were still flushed from her run, hair swept back in a ponytail and tiny beads of sweat glistened in the fine creases around her mouth. Eloise wished she had her mother’s lips; they were heart-shaped and she was lovely when she smiled. This thought saddened her all of a sudden, although she didn’t quite know why, not until she started speaking. ‘Do you remember, Mum, that time when Dad told me you’d gone running? I thought he meant you’d run away, like forever, and were never coming back. I cried for days.’

She put down her glass and pulled Eloise into her side. ‘I’d never run away from you. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, ’course I do,’ Eloise replied, leaving it a moment before adding: ‘But I don’t know why you run away from everyone else. Why won’t you see Juliet? She’s your best friend.’

‘Was.’

‘Okay “was”, but you said yourself that you never fell out.’

Chrissy stood up. ‘I’m going to run a bath,’ she said. She left the room clutching her glass, and Eloise tossed a cushion across the floor.

‘Damn thing,’ said her mother, shaking her head at the trickle coming out of the hot tap.

‘Can’t you just tell me?’ said Eloise, kicking the doorframe.

Chrissy sank down onto the side of the bath, tucking her hands between her thighs. ‘Look, do you have to keep on at me, Eloise?’

‘Just tell me why you don’t want to see her again.’

‘Because …’

She let the word drift into the sound of the water. The tap was flowing now, which seemed to soothe her, then she remembered her wine and tipped the final dregs into her mouth. Eloise took the glass out of her hand and put it down by the sink.

‘It’s complicated,’ said Chrissy. Her face was red from the steam and from rubbing it so much. ‘Anyway, it’s not possible to see her again.’

‘Of course it is, Mum. You just get in touch and say—’

‘It’s not possible.’

She made a chopping motion with her hands as if to say ‘The End’. It caught the stem of the glass, clattering it into the sink.

‘I’ll sort it,’ said Chrissy, shunting Eloise out of the way.

Eloise backed off, her hands up in submission, and went to get some newspaper. When she returned, Chrissy was holding out the remnants in her T-shirt.

‘Oh, you’ve cut your finger,’ Eloise remarked as the glass clinked down onto the paper.

‘It’s nothing,’ she replied, giving her finger a suck before folding the newspaper into a parcel. She held out her injury for Eloise to inspect. ‘Think I’ll live, don’t you?’ Putting her hand to Eloise’s cheek, she added, ‘I know you’re curious.’

‘Well then tell me!’ she snapped, swiping Chrissy’s hand away. ‘Or maybe I’ll just ask Juliet myself.’

‘Don’t think you can blackmail me,’ said Chrissy, narrowing her eyes. Her lips also had a habit of drawing in when something bothered her, which they were doing now.

‘What are you going to do? Slap me again?’

Chrissy looked down at the vinyl flooring, the edges starting to curl where it wasn’t stuck down properly. She let out a sigh before she spoke. ‘Look, I will tell you about Juliet. But …’ She raised her hand to prevent Eloise from butting in. ‘… but you can only hear it from me. Do you understand that? Never Juliet. Just give me some time to think.’

‘You’ve had twenty years to think, Mum!’

‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘Please, that’s all I ask.’

Eloise nodded, though she was unconvinced. Suddenly a vision of herself, twenty years from now, forced itself into her head. Still crouched by this bath beside her mother, never having left home. Never having a life of her own. She had always thought it was because of her father’s death that her mother was this way, but perhaps it was something else. Whatever it was, Juliet was the key – and Eloise had no intention of letting the opportunity slip away.

***

A sharp triangle of light cut across Eloise’s bed where the curtains had not quite come together. She had slept lightly in any case, waking up in a panic, trying to unlock a door that she could never quite reach.

Pulling back the curtains she opened the window to let in the familiar hum of traffic. It sounded different this morning, as if it were going somewhere meaningful and not just the dreary commute into Manchester.

Eloise shuffled into the kitchen, grinning to herself, checking her phone as she went.

‘Don’t you have to get yourself to work?’ asked Chrissy when she was presented with a mug of tea, and Eloise climbed into bed next to her.

‘It’s Saturday, you know.’

Chrissy reached for her alarm clock, spilling tea on the bed. ‘Oh fuck!’ she blurted, setting the mug down and then smiling at Eloise, remembering her as a cross little girl with a swear box. ‘Sorry, Eloise. I meant fluck,’ she insisted.

‘Well, I’ll let you off if you tell me some more. I want to know about that party Juliet invited you to. Did you go?’

Her mother began folding the duvet into neat rolls, focusing on the wall opposite as though she could see images projected onto it.

‘I did,’ she said finally.

CHAPTER 4

Bristol: 1988

Chrissy didn’t need to look at the numbers down Cowper Road to know where the party was. There was already a huddle gathered outside on the front steps and music was blaring into the street. The house was in a row of Victorian terraces, much shabbier than the ones either side of it. She closed the A-Z before anyone saw it and dropped it into the inside pocket of her overcoat; she didn’t completely trust other people’s maps. The heavy reggae beat pumped through her chest as she got nearer. Clutching her cheap bottle of wine, she pushed her way through the smokers in the doorway. The wisps of a joint weaved up her nostrils as drinks were held aloft, and she repeatedly said ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’.

She was heading for the kitchen but somehow ended up in the front room where people were dancing. A beige sofa had been turned on its end to make more space and the gas fire had a CONDEMNED sign across it. Her eyes were drawn to a glitter ball, casting coloured spots over the walls and people’s faces as it spun round. The smell of beer, sweat and hairspray hung in the air and took some getting used to.

She had almost made it into the kitchen when the music changed to The Smiths and she felt a hand pulling her back in.

‘Chrissy, come and dance,’ someone shouted. She assumed it was Juliet, although wasn’t sure, and almost stumbled.

Whoever it was wore a fascinator-style hat with a net over her face and looked stunning in a fitted tartan jacket, black shorts, high heels and fishnets. ‘Really glad you’ve come,’ she said, lifting up the net and taking a drag from a roll-up, releasing a trail of smoke from the side of her mouth.

‘Hi. I wasn’t sure if it was you,’ said Chrissy. She quickly looked around for somewhere to put her wine bottle, embarrassed that she still had it, then danced to ‘Panic’ with a group of people who all seemed to know Juliet.

‘Drink?’ said Juliet when it had finished.

She ushered Chrissy into the kitchen, sloshing wine into a glass as she made some introductions. ‘Paula, Leo, Ali, Jazz.’ Chrissy smiled as they were being pointed out to her. ‘Carl, Vernon, Gabby.’ They had to be the coolest crowd in Bristol, an indie fusion of every fashion style going – punk, New Romantic, Hippie chic, and anything in between. Despite feeling underdressed in her jeans, Docs and purple lipstick, Chrissy was soon chatting away about music, gigs, Glastonbury and Dan’s band. To think that she had very nearly talked herself out of coming tonight.

Most people at the party, as far as she could tell, were Second Years, perhaps herself and Juliet the only freshers, so when the conversation in the kitchen turned to housemates’ banter she moved over to the wall where she could observe Juliet more easily. Juliet was dancing again, but every so often she would get a tap on the shoulder and briefly stop. Seemed like everyone wanted to speak to her.

How did she do it? A mere fresher.

‘Chrissy!’ Juliet called when she spotted her again. ‘Have you met my friend Chrissy, everyone?’ She placed a drunken arm around her neck, pulling her in to dance. Chrissy tried not to spill her drink as they swayed to some reggae beat.

‘How do you know all these people, Juliet?’

‘Oh well let’s see … Ali and Jazz, I know from school. They were the year above me. Hang on a sec.’ She turned away to talk to someone momentarily then came back. ‘Sorry. Yeah, so I visited them in Bristol a few times last year. It’s their party, in case you hadn’t worked that out.’

‘I had.’

She was just about to ask a further question when Juliet got an arm around her shoulder and a joint pushed into her mouth. Chrissy realized her moment was up.

‘Let’s have a proper chat later,’ she shouted, waving the joint in the air. ‘Really glad you showed.’

‘Me too,’ Chrissy replied, but Juliet had already flitted.

Chrissy ventured upstairs to find the toilet, climbing over drunken bodies. The first door she tried opened on a couple having sex on a pile of coats, so she shut it again quickly. In the next she was invited to do a line, but eventually found the queue for the toilet and, instead, stood in line.

Juliet was nowhere to be seen when she went back downstairs. Chrissy danced for a while, but soon tired of being on her own and looked for somewhere to put herself. One of the Rasta guys tried to pull her back as she moved away. She gave him a friendly smile, accepting the remains of a joint he was offering her, and began to pick her way through the empty Red Stripe cans, squashing peanuts into the slug-trailed carpet and fanning herself with her T-shirt. The glitter ball spots made the whole ceiling go round as she flopped into a beanbag kicked into the corner. She took a sly look at her watch. One thirty, and more people seemed to be arriving. Perhaps it was time to go.

‘So how do you know Ju then?’

It was a girl from the kitchen whose name she couldn’t remember. She slid down the wall and sat beside her, and Chrissy thought her eyes looked strange, like she had taken something. The girl’s question puzzled her at first, until she realized. ‘Oh, you mean Juliet. She’s on my course. But I don’t know her very well.’

Chrissy took the final drag on the spliff, seeing that the girl had one of her own.

‘Her stuff’s incredible, isn’t it?’ the girl said, putting hers to her mouth.

‘Is it?’ Chrissy replied.

‘There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!’

Juliet was carrying a stack of white toast smeared in Marmite, holding the plate aloft. She offered it to Chrissy just as several hands descended from all directions. ‘Hang on, hang on. Play nicely you lot.’ Despite not feeling hungry, and not even sure whether she liked Marmite that much, Chrissy helped herself to a piece.

Juliet handed the plate over to the greedy pack and they moved away.

‘Watch her, she’s trouble that one,’ said Jazz, winking at Chrissy.

‘Sod off,’ Juliet replied, collapsing into the beanbag, sending Chrissy into the air. The taste of Marmite stuck in Chrissy’s throat through laughing so much.

‘I might have to head off soon actually,’ she said as the room started to spin. ‘Great party though.’

‘You can’t go yet!’ Juliet shrieked through a mouthful of toast. ‘We’ve got hash cookies for pudding. Or magic mushroom cake if you’re feeling particularly trippy.’

‘Well, I don’t really do that stuff. The odd spliff but—’

She was persuaded to stay nonetheless, and Juliet began asking questions about her love life, music, friends, jobs, usual topics really. Although Chrissy had trotted this stuff out a million times over the past couple of weeks it sounded vaguely interesting when she shared it with Juliet. She seemed particularly keen to hear about Dan, his band and his music. They talked a lot about Dan.

‘So what about you?’ said Chrissy, realizing the focus had been almost entirely on her.

‘Me?’ Juliet took off her hat, shaking out her hair. A trail of shiny black waves fell over her shoulders. ‘Jeez, it’s hot under there.’ She had an olive complexion, dark eyes, and with her hair down she was even more striking. ‘I’ll fill you in sometime, not now.’

Chrissy hadn’t shared those things about Dan with anyone else in Bristol, and the disappointment at not getting anything in return must have shown on her face.

‘I generally don’t tell people my stuff,’ said Juliet, lighting another cigarette. She looked quite forlorn all of a sudden. ‘Anyway it’s very boring, and to be honest no one ever asks.’

Chrissy wafted the smoke away and looked at her watch. ‘I really need my bed,’ she said, attempting to get out of the beanbag.

Juliet managed to stand up before her and held out her hand.

‘Thanks,’ said Chrissy.

Suddenly both Juliet’s arms were draped round her neck and she made her sway in time to the music. ‘You can always crash here,’ she said with a wink. ‘It’s what I normally do.’

‘Thought you were in halls.’

‘I use my room for work mainly. They let me kip down here for free whenever I want.’

She saw Juliet give a nod to a seventies-style punk standing by the door. He looked high as a kite.

‘How come for free?’ she asked.

‘Guess they feel sorry for me. Look, please stay. Come on, it’ll be fun.’

‘No, honestly. I’ll tag along with that lot heading back to Clifton.’

‘What about that coffee then?’ said Juliet, kissing her cheek. ‘When are we next in?’

‘Friday. Do you know Gianni’s?’ She was pleased when Juliet didn’t. ‘It’s on St Michael’s Hill. I recommend the hot chocolate though.’

Juliet followed her to the pile of coats in the corner. ‘Sounds like a date,’ she said, kissing her other cheek as Chrissy was buttoning her overcoat. ‘I’ll give you your notes back then too,’ she added, pretending to throttle herself, making choking noises. ‘So you don’t have to kill me.’

Chrissy looked down at her Docs, embarrassed now for saying that, and gave Juliet a grin.

‘Ooh. One more thing,’ said Juliet, disappearing for a moment. She had found someone to take a photo of the two of them and placed her arm around Chrissy’s shoulder. The Polaroid camera clunked and whirred. After a few minutes it spewed out the picture, wet and shiny, as if by magic. Juliet blew on it, wafting it back and forth then handed it to Chrissy. ‘One for me, one for you,’ she said. So they had to do it all over again.

CHAPTER 5

Manchester: 2007

‘Anyway, get yourself ready,’ said her mother. ‘You’ll get the sack if you’re late again.’

Eloise checked her inbox first, before taking a shower. Nothing. And again after her shower. Still nothing. And every five minutes after that. So Juliet had abandoned them already. She could hardly blame her for giving up on her mother. Chrissy was probably the worst friend ever.

Then, just as she was about to turn off her computer, there it was.

From: juliet124ricci@yahoo.com

Dearest Eloise,

I’m sorry, I should have realized that my popping up after all this time would give your mum a bit of a shock. I’ve been trying to find her for so long now. I tried all the usual ways on the internet but she never comes up. I thought she’d disappeared forever. Then one day I had a brainwave, remembered the name of Dan’s band and found their website. After several dead ends and great confusion, which I won’t bore you with, I eventually tracked you down. One of their old band members – good friend of Dan? – gave me an address and a number to try. I can’t tell you how amazing it was to hear your voice yesterday, Eloise.

I was terribly sad to hear about Dan. Is he by any chance your father? You’ll have to forgive me because I know nothing about what happened after Chrissy left university. We were forced to sever all ties. It was a difficult time for both of us. I can’t say any more than that really, except she was a true friend. She did something very important for me once and I never got the chance to thank her, not properly. So I hope that with all these years behind us now, she will want to see me again.

I hope to meet you one day very soon, Eloise. In fact, we have a new collection out so I am currently in the UK promoting it. I will let you know when I’ll be coming North.

Much love to you both

Juliet Ricci

Xx

PS My assistant Laura has just brought in my schedule for next week. I will be in Yorkshire and Manchester on Monday. Scotland Tuesday. I could fly up tomorrow (Sunday) and come and see you if you think that’s at all possible.

Tomorrow?

Tomorrow felt too soon even for Eloise. It would be foolish to rush into anything. But at the same time she didn’t want to lose the opportunity to reunite Juliet and her mother.

It was only after reading Juliet’s email another three times that she trusted herself to reply:

‘Hi Juliet,

Thanks for getting in touch. I’m working on my mum and hope we can meet very soon. Yes, you are right. Dan is my dad and I miss him loads.

Can you make it Monday instead?

Eloise xx

PS Much better if we meet in town. Not here.’

Anywhere 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.’

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