June Taylor - Losing Juliet - A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming

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.