by Linda Coles
Richard, her long-suffering husband, worked in the city. Though the man was as dull as dishwater, Chrissy knew he was silently impressed with how the business was performing. One day he might say so out loud.
The two women were sitting in Julie’s conservatory enjoying a little down time together with the help of a glass of ginger beer each. It was almost lunchtime and the room was so bright from the overhead sun that Chrissy wished she hadn’t left her shades in the car out front.
“I could do with a spa day this week, but I can’t see where I can squeeze one in,” said Julie dreamily. She looked nearly asleep, head resting back on the soft cushion of the wicker recliner.
Chrissy rolled her eyes, knowing Julie couldn’t see since hers were closed. Julie’s pale skin looked almost porcelain, like one of those dolls with a pot head that wore frilly dresses.
“Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“You know what, rolling your eyes. Like you stick your tongue out when you think Richard can’t see you.” Julie lifted her head off the back of the lounger and glanced across at Chrissy, a smile forcing its way through chemical filler. There was no malice, and Chrissy met her smile with one of her own.
“Has he ever said anything?”
“Not to you, he won’t. He ignores you largely; he likes a more mature woman.”
Chrissy raised herself upright. “Eh?”
“In nature, not in looks, silly. You’re too flighty, too ‘gung-ho’ for him, whereas I am demure, ladylike.” Julie’s mouth creased a little at her own words. She was having fun bugging her sister.
“Heavens above! Really? He said that?” Chrissy settled back down and closed her own eyes, trying not to let her smile break into a full-on giggle. Richard had her down pat, Chrissy could indeed be described as gung-ho. If only he knew the half of it. But then only Adam, her own husband, knew the full story. Having worked for MI5 for most of their marriage, she told everyone she worked in human resources and that generally dried the conversation up. Nobody ever felt like delving further, it was hardly scintillating. They still shared the secret, one that Julie would never know the full truth of. Her past was never mentioned.
“I should come with you on one of your spa days. It could be fun.”
“Darling, you’d be too disruptive; you couldn’t sit still long enough to enjoy relaxing. Too much energy, you should drink less coffee. It stains your teeth anyway.”
Chrissy rubbed her tongue over her front upper row self-consciously. Did they need bleaching, were they stained? Maybe Julie had a point.
“What are you working on at the moment?” Julie asked, enjoying the tranquillity of the sunroom. It was her afternoon off.
“Interesting you should ask,” quipped Chrissy. “It’s a little perplexing actually.”
“Then tell me, I might be able to help.”
“I’ll tell you what I can, client confidentiality and all, but I’m working with a college, a rather important and well-known one.”
“And?”
“They suspect there’s something going on in that the students are doing things on behalf of somebody else. Does that make sense?”
“Kind of. Do you mean like doing each other’s homework? Because that’s old news.”
“No. A lot more sinister than that. They’d hardly need a PI for a homework issue, now, would they?” Chrissy rolled her eyes a little in exasperation. No doubt Julie felt the gesture. “I mean, for instance, odd and potentially dangerous pranks carried out on behalf of another, usually a student. But more recently there’s been an instance where outside involvement is suspected too, so coming in from outside the school gates.”
“Oh, that sounds creepy,” added Julie. “And how far have you got?”
“Not far enough. But I will. I’ve a digital forensics guy involved now so it’s good to have his input. Anyway,” she said, anxious to change the subject from a client, “why do you ask? Need my services?”
“Not that I know of, and taking an interest in my sister’s business, nothing more.”
“And on that same subject, any news on your next shop, have you found a location yet?”
“Looks promising actually, but I’ll not temp fate and say, not quite yet.”
“Meany,” Chrissy added petulantly like they were ten years old again. She glanced at her watch. It was past 12.30 pm.
“Damn! Look at the time,” she said suddenly, struggling to get up off her lounger without toppling back down. “I’ve things to do, people to see.”
“Like who?” Julie asked, sounding intrigued and reaching for her glass.
“Figure of speech. I’d better get going. But I’m serious about the spa, I can be still and relax if I put my mind to it. Maybe for a couple of hours? It could be fun. Let me know next time you’re going, or we can plan to go together. You only just said you needed one, and you sure do deserve one.”
“I’ll let you know.” Julie’s eyes were still closed as Chrissy said goodbye to a hand lightly waving her off Marilyn-Monroe style. Chrissy pulled her tongue out.
“I saw that.”
Chapter Four
She’d been swept away with her own actions immediately after the crash and now it was too late to change it. She wasn’t sure why she’d even contemplated it, never mind actually done it. But something had triggered her actions. The woman’s bag, Tabitha Child’s bag, had been a lifeline at that moment, a soft pillow to hang on to in the mayhem, but now, as she sat in a wheelchair among other walking wounded at the hospital, Susan wondered quite why she’d done it.
While she hadn’t planned to take the woman’s name, events had unfolded that felt like a sign from some higher power, an opportunity had presented itself to run. And the odour that had lingered reminded her of times past. The sole survivor of the carriage, protected by a piece of warped, fallen ceiling metal, the lookalike woman on the same train, the same carriage even. There were too many signs, too many events lined up, too many instances that, when you put them all together, pointed a direct line to one action: if you want it, take it and make it your own. So she had.
Dazed, glazed over and looking at nothing in particular, Susan, or Tabitha as she was now assuming, sat alone in A & E, silently, with her thoughts. Her fingers ran over the gold bracelet on her wrist and contemplated the clasp. Had it been part of the reason she’d run? Subconsciously even? Instinctively, knowing each word of the inscription on its inside, she slipped it off and placed it in a pocket of her purse for safe keeping. It would be secure there. Until she could put it back on.
She’d been at the hospital for an hour, medical staff busy with more pressing cases than her own. She wasn’t badly wounded, nothing physical except for a bloody nose, a black eye, and superficial cuts and scratches. The emergency room was a riot of activity, doctors and nurses struggling to cope with the influx of passengers all needing assistance of varying degrees. She was taking up a wheelchair and felt like a fraud.
The bag she’d been clinging to was in her lap, its soft leather soothing, and she fiddled with the strap to keep her hands occupied. Orderlies pushed makeshift beds and trolleys with heavily blood-soiled people on them, orders and directions were shouted, and confusion hung in the air like a wet cloud. The familiar smell of hospital disinfectant was now tinged with a sooty odour. Dirty faces of survivors were all around her. She was lucky; so many hadn’t been. A vibrating phone dragged at her attention. It was in the bag still on her lap. Slowly, she unfastened the zip and glanced at the screen. The word ‘Dominic’, along with a photograph of a handsome and dark-haired man looked back at her. She assumed it was the woman’s partner, maybe husband, maybe lover. Though it could have been her boss, perhaps. She’d been on a work trip after all, her laptop had been on the table in front of her for most of the journey. Whoever it was, he’d rung six times previously, though she’d not noticed amid the mayhem. Someone would be worried no doubt, probably heard of the crash on the news, and would be looking for her. She let it ring.<
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Nobody would be looking for Susan, not for some time anyway. Marcus would be hard at work and though lunchtime approached for her, he was hours ahead with the time difference. If he heard of the crash later, it likely wouldn’t register she had even been aboard. The phone stopped buzzing and she wondered about Tabitha. Would the authorities assume the dead lookalike was not Tabitha but her? Would they match her bag that she’d left somewhere on the train with the woman, perhaps using her driver’s licence for ID? How did these things work? The man’s face looked back at her. He obviously knew the woman; it would only be a matter of time before things got awkward. If she was going to carry on with someone else’s identity, she had to get out of the hospital, and fast, before Dominic figured things out and came running to her bedside. God, he could already be on his way to the hospital, could be parking his car even, could be organising childcare. Did they have children? The thought instantly saddened her, what if they did?
It was time to cement an important decision – move on right now with her new identity or carry on being Susan Smith and put her stupidity down to a bump on the head. Stepping out of the wheelchair, she casually made her way down the long corridor and out towards the front entrance and bright sunshine. She had until she reached the double doors to decide.
Chapter Five
She was on autopilot, someone making decisions for her and sending them to her brain to action. Still she clutched the bag; it contained her new and only possessions as Tabitha Child, such as they were. Where would she go? How much time, realistically, did she have before she was found out? Before Marcus found out? Before Dominic found out? The thought of him drove her forward towards a taxi rank and she slipped inside a waiting car. There was little point heading for the train station, the rail system would still be in the same turmoil as the inside of the A & E behind her.
“Where to, love?” the driver asked, part way turning his head towards her. He must have noticed the bloodstain on her face. “Hey, are you all right, love?” She caught his eye in the rear-view mirror as he glanced at her. They were as dark as Ghanaian cocoa beans and they held hers for a moment.
“Yes, thanks. A bad nosebleed. Sorry, I thought I’d cleaned up better than I have,” she said and opened the bag on her lap looking for a tissue.
“My daughter gets them all the time. You should see the state of the pillow on her bed,” he said, smiling. “So, where can I take you then?”
She really had no idea. But if she needed more cash, the bank was as good a place to start as any. She reached inside for the woman’s wallet and looked at her credit card.
“HSBC. Is there one nearby?”
“Not far,” he said and started the engine.
She sat back and studied the credit card in her hand as he drove. She needed a PIN number, which she hadn’t got, and she couldn’t get a replacement quickly. Flipping the plastic over, she saw the signature would be fairly simple to recreate, a capital T, then Ch and a fairly straight but lumpy line. And she had Tabitha Child’s passport so at least she could draw some money out. It would have to do. She pulled out a small compact mirror and studied her face. Blood was still evident under her nostrils and with the help of a moist wipe, she did her best to get rid of it. A bruise was beginning to form over her right eye; it would be a shiner by the morning. There was a small amount of make-up in the side pocket where she’d found the mirror and so she applied lipstick then a little blusher to her pale cheeks. With colour back in her face, she looked and felt a little better. A quick comb of her shaggy hair and she was ready to test the acting lessons she’d had one summer break over fifteen years ago. It was fair to say she’d be rusty.
A few minutes later, they pulled up outside the bank.
“I won’t be long. Can you wait, please?”
“Will do. If I get moved on, I’ll pull back around, okay?”
“Great,” she said, climbing out. The fewer transactions she performed with her newfound credit card the better – someone could already be looking for the real Tabitha Child.
Once inside the bank, she headed for a short queue and hoped for a teller that was bored and wasn’t too observant. Rummaging inside her bag again, she pulled out the wallet and passport and quickly checked the date of birth and last place visited, ready for any inquisition to indeed ‘confirm’ her identity. Her story was simple, she couldn’t remember her PIN and needed some cash. She was such an airhead at times. It was a plausible story and if she demonstrated enough conviction, she felt sure it would work. A teller became free and she recited her dilemma.
“Your passport should cover it,” the teller said breezily, opening it and looking at the picture and then her. “You look younger today than when this was taken,” she said, smiling, “I should ask what brand of face cream you use.”
“Thank you,” she gushed lightly. “Nothing expensive, but I use it religiously morning and night, no excuses.” She managed a smile. Keeping the subject on the mundane side kept the conversation away from the formalities of what was actually happening. And helped with her nerves. She watched as the woman hit keys on her keyboard then waited while she counted out £500 in cash. She’d no idea what was going to happen from this moment on but getting some extra cash seemed sensible. While she still could. Transaction completed, she headed back to the waiting taxi and breathed a deep sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a moment before climbing into the back seat.
“What is the quickest way to France from here, do you think? What with the train disruptions? Gatwick?” she asked the dark-eyed driver.
“I’d say south towards a ferry. It’s a good ninety minutes, if we’re lucky, getting across to Gatwick, though it depends on what part of France you want to get to. Flights from there will take you straight to Paris almost. If you get to Calais via the ferry, a quicker journey from here, you’ve still a long trek on to Paris. Your call.”
The driver had a point. Either journey gave her thinking time, but she wanted to leave the country as soon as humanly possible. And she didn’t have a flight booked or even know how often they went. A long stay hanging around at the airport was not on the cards. Europe was the obvious choice, almost borderless now and the thought of moving freely was enticing. She’d been heading to Paris when all this started, hadn’t she?
“Let’s go south then. To the ferry. Can you take me all the way?”
“It’ll cost you, but yeah, I’d be happy to,” he said, smiling.
“You’ll take my credit card? Only I’ve forgotten my PIN so it’s signature only. I’m guessing it’ll be more than thirty pounds.” She held his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the lie.
From the way he glanced back at her, she could see he wasn’t too keen. “What the hell. I could do with the fare actually. It’s been a bit slow of recent and I’ve not much to hurry back to tonight.” She sensed sadness in the dark chocolate eyes that looked back from his mirror and she wondered what was going on behind them.
Perhaps she wasn’t the only one with problems.
“Then I’m glad I can help.”
Chapter Six
Chrissy had been out all afternoon working on a case. Several miles out from her home in leafy Englefield Green, an old-fashioned bike horn sounded, an incoming text from Adam. Each of her family had allocated tones, giving Chrissy the heads up who wanted her when she wasn’t right by her phone. Any other incoming text wasn’t so important, not compared to the three men in her life. Harry and Thomas still had to become fully grown men, but at fifteen and fourteen they were as tall as her already. A dash of fine fuzz across each of their chins, they were all hormones grunting and thumping music when they weren’t playing rugby. Their bedrooms smelled and looked like gym changing rooms. One day they’d become men, and their hygiene would improve.
The horn blared again, and she asked Siri to read the message while she waited behind a cautious learner driver at an intersection.
Trains delayed, I could be late back. The smash earlier causing disruption all over
. Eat without me. Xxx
“What smash is that?” she said and turned the radio on low ready for a news update. The learner driver hadn’t moved forward and, as best she could see, the passenger was showing their frustration. Judging by the haphazard ‘L’ plate in the back window, it was a friend or relative that had taken on the task rather than a driving school. The learner had now stalled. A driver further behind Chrissy blasted their horn. Everyone wanted to get home. She asked Siri to reply to the text.
No problem, can’t be helped. Not heard about the crash, I guess it’ll be on the news. See you when I see you. Xx
Siri read it back to her and Chrissy accepted it. As the radio announced its 5 pm news update, the learner finally pulled away, in the opposite direction to Chrissy. She breathed a sigh of relief. The smash was the lead story and Chrissy listened intently as the newsreader described the disaster that had occurred several miles outside Ashford earlier in the day. With the death toll currently around thirty, A & E departments across the county were dealing with over two hundred injured passengers, many of whom had broken bones or needed stitches. Several were in a critical condition, with those in the front carriages having taken the full force of the smash. Thankfully, the highspeed engines were not diesel but electric so fire hadn’t been such a big issue. It would be some time before the line could be reopened and passengers were being ferried from surrounding rail stations on coaches that had been brought in. An emergency number was given out for relatives to call. An inquiry as to how the train had derailed on the tight bend would be undertaken, but an eyewitness out for a run suggested the train was going way too fast into the corner. As was often the case, reporters and opposition party leaders speculated whether budget cuts were to blame. Either way, speed or money, thirty people had been killed, and the repercussions for their families were horrific. Chrissy switched it off before the reporter hashed it out or repeated the account yet again.
