by Linda Coles
Adam caught the train, not that particular line, but he caught the train daily into London. A shiver shimmied down her spine as she was reminded of the Ladbroke Grove crash nearly twenty years ago. She’d been dating Adam back then, and a similar number of fatalities had arisen in what was then termed one of the worst rail accidents in Britain. Inside her head, she said a short prayer that her Adam would be safe, though a little late home tonight. Home. That was the important thing. That he got home.
Turning in to their driveway, she could see the front door open and two bikes propped up against the wall at the side. Her boys were home. Two of her three, present and correct. Two pairs of evil-looking trainers lay on the front door mat; it looked like a flying visit, a food stop.
“Hello,” she called through, assuming they were in the kitchen at the back, and headed down herself. Dropping her bag on the kitchen countertop, she was greeted by two ruffled-looking youths on a mission to fill their stomachs, each with a roughly made jam sandwich in hand. It amazed her quite how much food two teenage boys could consume in one day, and seemingly without an ounce of fat added. Harry did his best to say hello with a full mouth of bread.
“Could you not get any more in there, Harry? I’m sure there must be an atom-sized space you could fill.”
His reply was barely a grunt tinged with a slight smile.
“Did you both hear there’s been a train crash?” she asked.
Two heads shook from side to side. No, they hadn’t.
“It wasn’t your father’s line, but he’ll be home when he can, the trains are backed up all over the place. Are you boys off out?”
Swallowing the last of his mouthful, Harry said, “Gary’s place. Will you be cooking if Dad’s late?” The glance from brother to brother wasn’t lost on Chrissy. She knew what they were thinking.
“I get the hint. Here,” she said getting cash from her bag and handing it over. “If Gary’s mum is fine with it, buy dinner for you three.”
Any excuse not to eat Chrissy’s cooking was taken, though the speed they ate she doubted it touched the sides of their mouths as it went down anyway.
Her phone began to ring. It was Julie.
“Hey sis, what’s up since I left not an hour ago?” She said breezily. Sniffles greeted her ears and Chrissy immediately tuned in, sensing her upset. “What’s wrong, hun?”
“It’s my friend Susan. She was on her way to Paris today, on that train that crashed.” Chrissy immediately picked up on her sister’s tone, she was obviously worried.
“Oh, Julie, have you heard from her at all?”
“That’s just it. I’ve tried her phone but she’d not answering. I don’t know what to think,” she said, her voice wavering as if tears were imminent.
“If she was on that particular train, it’ll be chaos over there, so try not to worry just yet. Are you sure she was going away today? Maybe she’s elsewhere and can’t get to her phone.” Chrissy wasn’t one for dramatics, but Julie was. Just because her friend wasn’t answering didn’t mean she was lying in a mortuary somewhere.
“Definitely today. I spoke to her yesterday so I know she was on it.” The words wobbled a little as she fought the urge to cry no doubt.
“Is Richard home?”
“No, not yet. He texted to say he’ll be late, the trains…”
Chrissy broke in, “Yeah, same with Adam. Look, do you want me to come back over?”
“No, don’t worry. I’ll see what else I can find out. I just needed to tell someone, but you’re right, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation. It will be chaos.”
“Well, let me know when you hear, or if you want me to come over, okay?”
“Thanks, I feel a bit better now. Call you later.”
Chrissy turned back to her boys, not that they showed any concern if they’d caught her side of the story.
“It’s all right. Julie had a friend on the train that crashed earlier and she can’t get hold of her.”
“Probably dead then,” Harry said unhelpfully.
Chapter Seven
The view from Marcus Smith’s room was dazzling, quite literally, but nothing compared to the woman that lay between the sheets on the bed behind him. The reflecting light from Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour below filled the room, twinkling like a dance-hall glass ball, tiny bubbles of light tangoing across the walls. Her body was as firm and sculptured as the marble table in the dining room of the suite – and just as useful. The woman was a regular in his life when work returned him to Hong Kong. She understood him, though that was what he paid her for. And generously. Her petit body and dark head of silky long hair was a far cry from the woman he lived with at home who was not nearly so big on giving. As he finished tying his Windsor knot and admired his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, he heard the woman behind him stirring and, remembering the pleasure he’d taken the previous night, a smile crept to his mouth. He took his special interests and desires from women like the one lying in his bed right now. Enthusiasm was an important ingredient.
The stark difference between this woman and his wife back in England was immeasurable. The two were worlds apart, both in their lives physically and attitudes in general.
Hot and cold. Open and closed. Spicy and bland.
He should give Susan a call. Not that he desperately wanted to, but the little conscience he had left told him he should. ‘Should’ always meant something you didn’t want to do but would do under sufferance. While he had a soft spot for Susan, he knew he no longer loved her, though he had once. She had been there at the perfect time and so he’d been happy with the arrangement back then. But that was years ago, he’d changed. Lots of things had changed. And it was old ground, and he knew his marriage was all but over save for the documentation of it finally dissolved, like a bad business contract ready to be ripped up.
The woman slipped from between the sheets and wordlessly made her way to the bathroom. Water ran from taps, a toilet flushed. They rarely spoke, there was no need for conversation, they weren’t lovers; it was merely a transaction, she filled his needs. And she knew the procedure, to be out of his room before he left for the day, and why it wasn’t an affair. It kept it simple, no ties just pleasure. He watched her dress and gather her belongings silently, and he marvelled at her body once more before the suite door closed behind her without another word. Maybe he’d call her back again tonight. If today’s deal worked out as planned, he’d reward himself. He deserved such indulgencies.
Ten minutes later Marcus Smith was on his way to the International Finance Centre and the walkway leading to the ferry pier. A constant breeze blew in gusts across the water allowing various pungent smells of Hong Kong to fill his nostrils. It reminded him of New York a little, a place that never rested no matter the time of day or night. The short walk persuaded him to call Susan, call home and check in, the dutiful husband for a while longer.
It rang. It rang again. Then went to voicemail.
That’s odd, he thought, Susan always answered his calls. It was one thing he insisted on and she carried her phone wherever she went. Maybe she was in the bathroom? He slipped the phone inside his jacket pocket and watched the view across the water while he waited for the ferry to arrive. After two minutes she hadn’t returned his call and so he tried again, but as previously her phone rang out, eventually going to voicemail. He left a brief message saying simply he was checking in and would call back later.
By the time the ferry finally arrived Marcus had tried Susan three more times to no avail, though he didn’t bother leaving any more messages. What the hell was she playing at? He checked the private app he’d installed on her phone some time ago, an app that showed her current location. The blob glowed somewhere south of Ashford in Kent. His wife was clearly not home. Thinking back, he didn’t remember her mentioning anything when he last spoke to her, did he?
“What are you up to, Susan? Another dull day shopping, doing nothing? God you bore me,” he said under his breath.
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Boarding the ferry, Marcus Smith returned his thoughts to something a little more important.
Chapter Eight
The taxi journey down to Dover Ferry Port had been a good idea as it turned out. It gave Susan time to run through what had happened so far and what she was now going to do moving forward. Somebody was going to be looking for Tabitha Child no doubt and no one would be looking for Susan Smith quite yet. While she’d been planning her trip for a while, she could only recall telling one of her friends, Julie, about it. But that had been ages ago and she doubted Julie would even remember let alone figure she’d been involved in the accident. Although there was still the small matter of Marcus, he probably wouldn’t realise that she was even gone for a couple more days yet. It had been convenient his being in Hong Kong, and even more convenient the train had crashed at all, giving her an opportunity that she’d snatched and ran with. While she’d planned an adventure in Paris, the trip was turning out to be one all on its own. She figured she had a couple of days clear and no more before someone missed her. Europe was easy to get lost in with most countries having open borders. And she had a passport if need be, one she’d have to use to get into France in the first place.
There was £1,000 in her money belt and another £500 in her wallet along with Tabitha’s passport and credit cards so she was going to have to be careful how and where she used her resources. If some bright-spark detective caught on to the identity switch early on, they’d be looking at Tabitha’s movements too so the trail would have to go cold when she reached Calais. She had no plans to use the cards or passport from there but had decided to keep them in case she absolutely had to use them. Life or death situation only. She hoped she never would. Susan pulled out Tabitha’s phone and tried all the common passcode numbers that she could think of – 999999, 123456, all zeros – but nothing worked. The woman obviously had more intelligence than lackadaisical owners who relied on such common ones.
“Dammit,” she said, showing her frustration. It would be handy to get inside the phone, find out more about the woman’s life, find out who this Dominic person was even. If she was going to be Tabitha Child, there was a good deal more she needed to know. Phones contained people’s whole lives, offering up a plethora of personal information once unlocked. The phone aspect of the device was often the least used. A voice broke into her tired and now throbbing head. She wondered if she had concussion.
“What’s up, love, forgot your password?” he said, chocolate-brown eyes looking through his rear-view mirror at her again. “I used to stick with a simple one, all zeros,” he said, laughing.
I rest my case, thought Susan.
“But my son said I was stupid and set me up with another number and I’m always getting locked out of mine. So he showed me a couple of tricks to get back in. What sort of phone is it?”
“An iPhone,” she said, waving it in the air.
“Well, there’s a couple of things you can do until you remember your password or get home to retrieve your backup. You can still get access to your messages and you can still send emails. Really useful I can tell you. I don’t know how I’d operate without texting. And when my phone is locked because I forgot the password again… Mayhem!” His arms gesticulated like a passionate Italian.
“Really?” enquired Susan. “How do you do that from a locked screen?”
“Trust me, it’s easy, I’ll show you when we stop. Best I show you rather than trying to explain it. It’s useful having a techie son. Like I say, I’m always getting locked out. Can’t remember my own date of birth half the time.”
“If I could just send a couple of messages that would be great, thanks.”
“No problem, like I like say, I’ll show you when we stop. Not much further now.”
Susan sat back again and closed her eyes for a while, trying to work through what she still needed to do, where to head even, when she got over into France. It was getting late in the day. Her stomach growled, she needed sustenance. With all the stress and concern, and generally being tossed around like a pair of jeans in a tumble drier, it wasn’t long before her eyes closed, and she slipped off into a deep sleep. How long for she wasn’t sure, but she was aware of the driver calling her. Glancing at Tabitha’s phone, it told her she’d been asleep for about half an hour.
“We’re here, missy,” he said gently. “Sorry to wake you, but I don’t want to hang around too long. Now, let me quickly show you how to sort your phone before you go. Susan felt a little bleary eyed. Thirty minutes sleep was not enough, not after her day. Since she intended to use the woman’s passport here and probably in Calais too, the credit card was still a viable option and made sense. But nothing past Calais. She wished she could get more cash out. Susan handed the card over and waited for the payment to be confirmed. When the transaction was finalised, he took the locked phone from Susan and pressed the home button, waking Siri up, then showed her what to do.
“Wow, I can’t believe you can do that from a locked screen! And the same for email messages?”
“Yes, simple enough. Now you’ll be fine until you get back into it properly. Safe travels, now, eh?”
Susan shuffled across the rear seat and thanked the driver once more as she got out. It had chilled down a little since she’d set off in the taxi and she wished she’d a coat, but there was no point in wishing, she’d have to make do with what little she had. There’d be a blanket she could wrap herself in on board somewhere, maybe in the first-aid room.
Now she had to get through passport control for the second time in the day, though this one would be a little more stressful and she hoped any nerves didn’t show. And surely the name of Tabitha Child wouldn’t ping anything up just yet, the woman was hardly a wanted criminal. She certainly hoped not anyway.
But she was a dead woman.
She shook her head to dislodge the rampant negative thoughts that were clambering around like monkeys on a climbing gym and headed inside the terminal building to buy a one-way ticket to Calais. It couldn’t have gone any easier. With her ticket purchased, passport control was a breeze, almost pointless but at least it was out of the way, a non-event. Tabitha Child had now officially left the country.
Paperwork all taken care of, she headed over to a Burger King and ordered much needed fuel. Breakfast had been a hell of a long time ago.
Her head throbbed.
In a quiet corner of the ferry building, Susan wondered about Dominic again. Who the hell was he? He’d called a couple more times since her hospital stop and now, thanks to the taxi driver, she’d be able to hear his messages.
They didn’t make pleasant listening. Tomorrow she would have to move quickly. But for now she sat patiently and waited to board.
Chapter Nine
The last voicemail Dominic had left Tabitha had been a little over an hour ago and simply said “I’m getting worried now. Where are you? Call me.” The last text message he’d sent had been an hour before that and read I hope you’re not avoiding me, which could have meant anything, depending on how you read it and the context it was sent in. And that was something Susan had no clue about. Was this man Tabitha’s partner, boyfriend or what? Someone she couldn’t shake off, a loan shark even? There could be so many reasons for his text, but without knowing Tabitha and her life it was impossible to know. Whoever he was, “getting worried” sounded like he cared for her in some way. She asked Siri to read the last email Tabitha had received from Dominic.
There wasn’t one.
Just text and voicemail. So he likely wasn’t a work colleague or connection as email would be the obvious way to communicate if they were. That narrowed it down – a little. But she needed to get him off her case, or at least put his mind at rest since he was obviously concerned. And buy herself some space until she could figure out just how he fitted into her new life as Tabitha. But there wasn’t time right now, the ferry was boarding, so she grabbed her bag and joined the queue.
The ferry was packed with a mixture of ho
lidaymakers, tourists and shoppers, the latter heading for the cheap booze on the other side. Judging by the state of them, it seemed most had already had a skin-full on their way to purchasing shopping trolley loads more at the hypermarkets. A grating laugh caught Susan’s attention as she sat quietly in the small café with a cup of coffee. A fake-tanned and badly bleached blonde woman with a group of identical-looking friends had parked themselves at one end of the bar, the end nearest her. The woman gave a raspy laugh as rough as sandpaper, likely from far too many unfiltered cigarettes, as another of the group got to the punchline of a joke and shared it. Heads turned from all directions at the noise and Susan noticed the disapproving looks as the women’s combined laughter increased in volume. But they were on a trip with every right to enjoy themselves as they simultaneously pickled their livers. Still, Susan hadn’t the desire to pay the women any further attention and did her best to block them out of her head.
Since the air outside had cooled, and she hadn’t got a jacket, a stroll up on deck was out of the question as the ferry sailed away from the chalky white cliffs of Dover and into the open waters of the English Channel. She’d have much rather preferred to be outdoors, taking in the salty sea air away from the diesel engines and watching the birdlife come and go on the ferry’s railings. But she’d be frozen stiff. The windows from the warm bar area would have to suffice for a sea view for the next ninety minutes or so.
