38

I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet, so I walk back from the salon a different way and end up on the edge of the famous Tiergarten – the huge park in the west of the city centre, famous for nude sunbathers, secluded gardens and a pretty boating lake. I remember coming here with my parents, on that trip so long ago, and it feels like fate that I should end up here. I was too young to care much about the bar when I was younger – but I remember it vividly.

I check the signs to make sure I am going the right way, and then I hurry into the park, the trees screening the sounds of traffic nearby, and by the time I have been walking for a few minutes, it feels like I am a million miles away.

Maybe my bank card is back in the hotel, and I’m overreacting. I have enough cash to keep me going for now, so I decide not to worry about it for a while.

The sunlight tries to push through the thick canopy of trees, but the light fades as I go further into the woods. Shadows dance on hidden sculptures, and the place seems to fall silent for a moment, and I stop to take a breath. I look up at the sky through the clearing and have a sudden feeling of claustrophobia, as if the branches reaching up are beginning to change direction, swirling and winding, seeking me out, ready to grab me and smother me in their wooden embrace … and then the sounds return. Birds chirruping in the trees, the scurrying of small animals in the undergrowth, and a flurry of voices carrying on the wind.

I blink, rub my face with my hands. Get a grip. Then I start walking again, quickly, over a small bridge and towards the sound of the voices. When I come out of the trees, the world returns: a road, nearby, and on the other side, the bar that I remember – long wooden tables, fairy lights strung across trees. The tables are filled with the after-work crowd, mingling with tourists, drinking steins of cold, pale beer and eating pizza.

I take a breath and feel calmer at last. I follow a couple into the self-service area and get myself a beer and a pretzel, then head out to find a good place to sit and reflect. I have to work out what to do next. Staying in Berlin isn’t really an option now, after what happened at the rooftop bar, but for once I am at a loss as to where to go. I wish I could go home. Move back in with my parents. Shut myself away for a while. But from my conversation with Daddy, I don’t think I am welcome. I suppose it’s no real surprise that he’s given up on me, just like everyone else.

I take a bite of the pretzel, enjoying the soft, salty warmth. Then I wash it down with a glug of ice-cold beer, and take Carrie’s laptop out of my bag. The photo on the wallpaper is of the two of us on the train – taken on our first night, and the only photo of us that I think there is. I run a hand across Carrie’s face and wish that things had turned out differently. I’d thought we were so alike, that first night in Beijing – but it turns out we weren’t alike at all. She just wanted fun, no matter the risk, no matter who got trampled along the way. I’d wanted a friend … more than that. I’d wanted someone to love me.

I click open the photos folder and delete the picture, then empty the trash. Then I gaze across the lake, at the couples laughing, rowing their boats, having fun together. Carrie would like it here, I think. I take another sip of my beer, and I try to block out the chatter around me, zoning out as I remember the last time I saw her.

She’d grabbed me from behind, trying to pin my arms to my sides. Trying to stop me from smashing Sergei in the face with the lamp. He’d staggered back, and I’d pushed, and she’d pulled … and it was an accident. But it was her fault. I close my eyes.

‘Violet, stop!’ Carrie screams in my ear. She’s yanking at my T-shirt, and I shrug her off, but she won’t stop.

Sergei is stumbling, trying to right himself. There is a lot of blood, from where I’ve hit him on the back of the head, and he reaches a hand up, touches it. Looks confused. He is muttering something in Russian, but even in another language it sounds garbled and nonsensical.

He is almost at the balcony.

Carrie is on my back, gripping me like a monkey. ‘Violet, you need to stop.’ Her weight causes me to lurch forwards, and I almost lose my footing, but I throw out my arms to break my fall, and I connect with Sergei’s chest, and he flies back, colliding with the low wall of the balcony. The wall is too low. I said this to Carrie when we arrived. It’s dangerous, this low wall. It’s a health and safety concern. Just one of many in that horrible place.

The shock of the impact causes Sergei to awaken from his stupor, momentarily at least, and he rises up to his full height, his face contorted in anger.

‘You fucking beetch,’ he shouts, and I lunge forwards, lifting a shoulder hard at the same time, and I feel a huge weight lift off me as Carrie loses her grip and crashes to the floor. I barrel into him like a charging bull, and I hit him just in the right place.

His arms windmill as he falls back, realising that there is nothing behind him, and he bends in half and topples over the balcony. After a moment, there is a wet, crunching sound as gravity deals with this rotten apple of a man. Not a man … an animal.

A wolf.

I’m relieved that the hotel is practically deserted.

I peer over the edge, and see the lump of flesh and bone on the concrete below. There’s no way he can have survived that fall. I take a step back and let out a long, slow breath.

‘It’s OK,’ I say, quietly. ‘He’s gone, Carrie. He can’t hurt you anymore.’

No answer.

I turn, expecting to see her crying on the floor, but that’s not what I see.

She is on the floor, but she is not crying. She’s not moving. Her face is turned away from me, a small pool of blood forming on the floor where she has hit her head on the edge of the bedside cabinet.

Oh God … oh God … oh God.

Carrie is dead.

A creak brings me back to the present, movement on the bench as someone sits down at the other end, a little distance away from me. I open my eyes and wipe away my tears. I never meant for that to happen. Of all the things, I never meant for that. I can see the new arrival out of the corner of my eye – a young woman in a long floral dress, floppy sunhat and huge shades. She seems to be alone.

Can I risk another friendship? Perhaps, but I have to sort out some admin first.

I open the email app on the laptop and scroll back up to the top of the list – to the most recent email from Laura to Carrie. It must’ve come in while I was in the hair salon.

HER REAL NAME IS VERONICA DELAUNEY, AND SHE IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS!!!

I laugh out loud. I can’t help it. The stupid cow still thinks she’s talking to Carrie.

I type a reply to the message:

What’s with the dramatic caps, Loz? It’s fine. I am safe.

Then I delete it, and type instead:

My name is VIOLET, my dear Laura … and they will never find me.

I delete this too, then snap the lid of the laptop shut. I’ll deal with it later.

‘Too nice an evening to be working, right?’

I turn towards the voice. The girl in the sundress. She’s taken off her sunglasses and placed them on the table.

‘You’re right, there,’ I say. ‘I love your dress, by the way.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ She grins and her whole face lights up. She’s younger than I first thought. Her English is perfect, but with the hint of an accent. Not German; Swedish maybe. I see a lock of white-blonde hair poking out from under her hat and think that I’m probably right. I keep looking at her dress.

‘I’m Daisy,’ I say, reaching out a hand, ‘like your dress.’

‘That is so cool! I love floral names. I’m Annie.’

‘Like the orphan.’

She laughs.

‘My mother wanted to call me Violet,’ I say. ‘But my father thought it was too dark.’

She laughs again. ‘They are a bit sinister, aren’t they? Daisies are beautiful though. Sunny and bright and perfect.’ She grins, and then she turns away at the sound of her name being called from another table.

‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, gathering up her sunglasses and her bag. ‘My colleagues are over there. I didn’t even see them.’

I swallow back my disappointment.

‘Have a lovely evening,’ I say. I hear her laughing when she reaches her friends, and I want to run over there and grab her and shake her and scream.

But I don’t.

I glance around, at the groups of people, at the couples, looking for someone else who might be more promising. Someone else alone. I see a woman with long dark hair poking out from a cowboy hat. Sitting with her denim-jacketed back to me a few tables away. I pause, glancing around, but she’s the best candidate. The only candidate.

Then I pick up my things.

I’m going to go to the toilet, and then I’ll get myself another drink … and if she’s still alone when I return, I will go over and join her.