The girl in the denim jacket is still alone when I return with another beer. I hesitate, just for a moment. Do I really need to talk to another girl right now? Maybe I should look for a man instead. I’d thought a friendship was what I needed more than a lover, and I’d even thought that Carrie might become both, but things aren’t going to plan and maybe it’s time for a break.
I can’t see her face. It’s obscured by her long hair, her head tipped forwards as she types fast on her phone. A frantic conversation, by the looks of it, or a rant. I walk closer, and see that in front of her on the table is an ice bucket with a bottle of something fizzy, beads of condensation running down the sides. Two flutes and one pretzel, sitting expectantly on a plate.
She’s waiting for someone.
I almost walk away. I do a quick scan, looking for another likely candidate, but everyone else is in couples or groups, and I never join a group if I can help it. Far too risky.
She drops the phone on the table and sighs dramatically. Perhaps she’s been stood up? I take it as my cue.
‘Mind if I sit here?’
She doesn’t look up. ‘Sure, go ahead.’ She has an Irish accent – Northern, I think. Something about it is familiar, but I blink it away. She uses a nail to slice the foil on the bottle, twists it off and rolls it into a ball, then sets about untwisting the wire mesh.
I sit down opposite her, put my beer on the table, and try not to stare. She’s wearing a straw cowboy hat with a black rim. Huge, amber-tinted sunglasses. Her hair is dark and sleek. From the angle, I can’t see her face at all. I’m not going to be pushy. I open my bag and take out Carrie’s laptop, and place it down in front of me, but I don’t open it yet. I take a sip of beer, try to be casual. I’ll wait until she talks to me, because if she does, then I’ll know I was right to come over.
Her hands are working on the cork, and she mutters something under her breath, and I have this sudden flashback to the night I met Carrie, and her accents, and…
She lifts her head, just as the cork releases with a loud pop, and I see her face for the first time. Even with the sunglasses and the hair and the hat, I’m not going to fail to recognise those lips. Her perfect rosebud mouth.
My own mouth falls open in shock. The pop of the cork has given me another flashback – this time to Brad and his fancy hotel. Blood pooling under his face on the posh carpet. I blink.
She takes off her sunglasses and hangs them on the front of her loose T-shirt, exposing smooth, milky skin. I stare, open-mouthed, as she plonks the hat on the table, slides the dark wig off her head and shakes her own shorter blonde hair loose. ‘Surprise,’ Carrie says, grinning. ‘Nice laptop. I used to have one like that, but some fucker stole it.’ Her Scottish accent is back, and it’s dripping with venom.
‘You’re … you’re supposed to be dead. I—’
‘That’s right, Violet. Don’t make a scene, now. Christ, you took your time. I thought for a minute you weren’t going to come over.’ She leans across the table, whispers, ‘You thought I was dead. You didn’t check though, did you? I woke up in the stinking boot of that Lada, face pressed into your man Sergei. I’d thought he was decent at the party, but he was a right shady fucker, as it happens. You did me a favour sorting him out, so I thank you for that, although you did take your time, to be fair. You let him get his filthy cock inside me before you caved in his skull. He wasn’t so good-looking after being launched off that balcony, I can tell you that.’
I lean back from her, shocked. Unable to take it in. ‘I didn’t push him. He … he fell.’
‘Course he did. Just like I did when I tried to stop you from pushing him or battering him to a pulp with that lamp. Hit my head on the bedside cabinet. Even I thought I was a goner. You know you’re meant to check breathing as well as pulse?’
‘I … uh…’ I can’t get the words out. ‘He carried you downstairs. Out the fire escape. I took your bag … well, it was my bag, as it turned out – Ivan was grabbing things and tossing them in. I got confused with all the commotion. Didn’t realise until I woke up later. Anyway, I took it and walked past reception with it. Shorts on, sweatshirt hood up. Not hard to pass myself off as you. I knew the receptionist wouldn’t be paying attention…’
She rolls her eyes, mocking me, and it lights the touch paper.
My shock soon morphs into embarrassment and anger. I ball my hands into tight little fists. I don’t like to be made a fool of. My voice is cold, flat. I need to deal with this now. ‘I assumed Ivan would’ve made sure.’
‘You picked a dud there, love. Turns out he actually was Ivan the Terrible after all. Terrible at doing your dirty work. Should’ve seen his face when he opened the boot and I leapt out. We came to a wee arrangement, though – I’d say nothing about the body with a head like a burst watermelon in his boot; he’d let me go, as long as I paid him fifty thousand roubles and disappeared. You were never to find out, of course. Until I saw what you were up to. That first email you sent to Laura almost gave you away.’
I nod. Calm again now. I know I’ve messed up. It was a risk, and it could’ve paid off, but it didn’t. ‘I realised that. I was terrified that I’d given myself away straight off … then she replied, and I thought it was OK.’
‘She was suspicious, but I got to her fast. I spoke to her. I told her we’d just have to come up with a wee plan of our own. If you were pretending to be me, then I would pretend to be her. She gave me her email login, and the two of us kept in touch via different email addresses and on the phone. I’m not sure what you were hoping to achieve, pretending to be me – maybe just to give you enough time to detach yourself from me, so that when people at home sussed out that it wasn’t me writing those emails, you’d be long gone? Tell me, Violet. Tell me, because I am genuinely interested in how your psychopathic brain actually works…’
Something occurs to me, and I realise what an idiot I’ve been. How my plan was flawed from the start. ‘How did you know I was here?’
Carrie barks out a laugh. She nods towards the laptop. Her laptop. ‘You kept that – but you forgot to disconnect it from the cloud. Ivan gave me my phone, and I was still connected to it via the cloud. I kept expecting you to notice, to realise what was going on. If I hadn’t had my phone, I don’t think I could’ve done it – not without another device back-up. I told you Ivan was an idiot. Find my device is much more accurate than tracking people via their Facebook check-ins.’
I smirk. I still have an ace up my sleeve. ‘I read your drafts, Carrie. I know what you did…’
Her face clouds for a moment, and then she looks down, won’t meet my eye. ‘What I did was an accident…’
‘I doubt Greg sees it like that.’
She lifts her head and sighs. ‘You’re right, V. It’s something I need to take care of. I know that. Things got out of hand. But you don’t know Greg … you don’t—’
‘You hit him.’ My voice is incredulous.
She sighs again. ‘I know exactly what I did, and I’m not proud of that. I’ve spent this whole trip feeling guilty. Trying to block it all out. And it’s something I’ll have to face when I get back. But it’s something I will face. I’m not running away from it. I know I did something wrong. But you … you don’t seem to know the difference between right and wrong. You pushed a man off a balcony. You thought you’d killed me too. I’m pretty sure you don’t have the moral high ground here. I was angry and upset. Betrayed. I lashed out. But you—’
‘I don’t have to listen to this.’ I stand up, but she leans across the table, reflex quick, and grabs my wrist.
I’m too shocked to respond, and I fall back heavily onto the bench. The man sitting at the far end says something in German, and he and his companion laugh, but I ignore them.
‘You know you dropped your ID near where they found Sam? Jesus, what did that bloke even do? Did you actually know him, V, or was he just one of your mad obsessions?’
‘I told you. I don’t want to talk about Sam.’
She slams a fist on the table. ‘Sam is dead. They’re looking for you, V. They’ll find you.’
‘They’ll never find me.’
She smirks. ‘You know,’ she says, pouring champagne into the two flutes, ‘it’s funny that I always called you “V” – like I actually knew that your name wasn’t Violet.’
I pick up the bottle, and take a long swig. ‘So what happens now?’
‘Well, you killed me … remember? Then you pretended to be me. But you’re not as bright as you think you are, Violet. Or should I say Veronica. Veronica Delauney from Windlesby Manor in Surrey. I knew you were home-counties spoiled rich trash, but I didn’t expect this. Your poor parents. Daddy’s a diplomat, isn’t he? Not sure he’s going to manage to get you out of this one. I imagine the paparazzi are already at the gates.’
I make a face. ‘As if they care…’
‘Oh, have they disowned you? That wouldn’t surprise me at all. I wonder if they even know what you’re really like?’ She picks up her glass and downs the contents. Refills it, and does the same. ‘Cheers.’
She’s smirking at me, and I don’t like it. How dare she call me stupid?
‘You’ve got no idea what I’ve done. What people have done to me … I’ve defended myself, that’s all. I’ve done it many times, and I’ll do it again if I have to. People like you, you’ll never understand what it’s like…’ I pick up the champagne bottle, but I don’t take a drink.
A dark cloud crosses my vision and I zone out. A selection of interconnected scenes slot into my head, as clear as a cinema reel – me swinging the bottle, the bottle connecting with Carrie’s face … screams, blood, my arms being pinned behind me. Sirens, police with guns. Court. My mother’s blank expression as she watches me from the dock. Prison…
Perhaps prison wouldn’t be so bad. Plenty of opportunities in there, for someone resourceful like me.
The sound of sirens jolts me back to life.
I’ve taken too long.
I turn around, scanning the exits, the bar, the other tables – but she’s gone. I put the bottle back into the ice bucket. I can hear the sounds of car doors slamming, shouts. Running feet. Through the trees, I see the sun glinting on the boating lake, and I wonder if I have time.
I can’t swim, remember? This could be the perfect, sweet, release. I stand up, smiling now. It’s all going to be over soon enough. It takes me a moment to realise that people are being ushered away from their tables. Their drinks and food abandoned. There’s a cacophony of chatter and fear. I catch a glimpse of a red rowing boat, an oar dipping into the cool water. Too late now.
‘Veronica Delauney?’
Two armed police stand in front of me, their expressions stern. I should get them to call Daddy. I wonder if I’ll get diplomatic immunity.
‘Veronica Delauney, you must come with us now.’
Give me a minute.
Surely another few moments won’t make a difference now. I’m not going anywhere. I close my eyes, drifting off again, and I remember those big skies in the desert, Carrie’s arms around me. Her lips on mine.
‘Violet…’ she’d whispered. ‘I think I love you.’
The policemen are talking on their radios. They flank me on both sides, and one lays a surprisingly gentle hand on my arm. I turn to him, and smile. She’d thought it, even just for a moment. I’ll take that.
‘It’s Violet,’ I whisper, as I let them lead me away. ‘My name is Violet.’