Lynne Fox - The Armageddon Game

‘Oh, I’m not going to tell you that. Here,’ I handed him the two packages; one a thin envelope containing his plane ticket, the other an A4 padded envelope containing some cash. ‘To tide you over,’ I said in answer to his silent question.

He took them from my hand. ‘Aren’t you going to open them?’

He shook his head. ‘No need.’

‘OK,’ I smiled, ‘thanks for that vote of confidence, Alberto; in fact, thanks for everything. Have a good life out in Venezuela.’ I picked my handbag up from the foot-well and, cuddling Liliad, made to get out of the car. Alberto laid a hand on my shoulder.

‘Take care, Annalee.’

I calculated there was a very slight risk that Alberto would take the ticket and money as evidence of my duplicitous behaviour and then report me to the authorities to gain a bundle of brownie points for his career. He could claim I’d given him the slip and absconded after the funeral but I didn’t think he would. As our plans had progressed he’d become more enthusiastic at the prospect of such a marked change in his circumstances. On balance I reckoned I was safe but nonetheless I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

I nodded and left without a backward glance. Hurrying into the railway station I stopped just inside the entrance and waited until I saw Alberto drive away before heading to the bank where I collected the cash I’d been depositing. Stuffing five hundred pounds into my handbag I placed the rest inside a plastic bag and then inside the foldaway carrier bag I’d hidden in the inside pocket of my coat and carefully placing Liliad on top of it all I retraced my steps to the station, obtained a one-way ticket from the machine and caught the one thirty train to London.

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.