That day passed agonizingly slowly. After Carrie had left I paced the room, trying to ignore my growing hunger, and my growing fear of what would happen if Carrie didn’t face up to the reality of Richard’s plan.
I was absolutely certain that he had never intended Carrie to live much beyond establishing Anne’s departure at Bergen. When I shut my eyes, pictures rippled in front of them—Anne’s face, glassy-eyed with terror as Carrie let the suitcase fall. Carrie, walking innocently along some alleyway in Norway, a figure coming up behind her.
And now me. . . .
To distract myself I thought about home and Jude, until the pages of Winnie-the-Pooh blurred in front of me, and the familiar well-worn phrases dissolved into a flood of tears that left me too exhausted to do anything but lie there.
I was just beginning to lose hope of supper, and conclude that Carrie hadn’t been able to get any food after all, when there was a sound from the outer door and the noise of rushed footsteps in the corridor outside. I was expecting her to knock, but instead I heard the key in the lock and she flung the door open. It was obvious as soon as she came into the room that she wasn’t carrying any food, but all that went out of my head when I saw her panicked expression.
“He’s coming,” she burst out.
“What?”
“Richard. He’s coming back tonight—it was supposed to be tomorrow, but I just got a message, he’s coming back tonight.”
Tuesday, 29 September
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BREAKING NEWS: Second body found in search for missing Briton Laura Blacklock.
- CHAPTER 31 -
“He—he’s coming back?” My mouth was dry. “What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means? We’ve got to get you off the boat. They’re docking to pick up Richard in about thirty minutes. After that . . .”
She didn’t have to say anymore. I swallowed, my tongue sticky against the roof of my mouth.
“I— How . . . ?”
She pulled something out of her pocket and held it up, and for a moment I didn’t understand. It was a passport, but not mine: hers.
“It’s the only way.” She pulled off the headscarf, revealing her shaven head beneath, bristly with regrowth, and then began to strip.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re going to walk off this boat as Anne and get on a plane as me. Understand?”
“What? You’re crazy. Come with me!”
“I can’t. How the fuck am I going to explain this to the crew? Here’s my friend who’s been hiding out in the hold?”
“Tell them! Tell them the truth!”
She shook her head. She was down to her underwear now, shivering in spite of the fuggy heat of the stale air in the cabin.
“And say what? Hi, I’m a total stranger, the woman you think I am got pushed off the boat? No. I have no idea if I can trust any of them. At best he’s their employer. At worst . . .”
“So what then?” I was half hysterical. “You’ll stay here and let him kill you, too?”
“No. I’ve got a plan. Just stop arguing and take my clothes.” She held them out, a bundle of silks that felt featherlight in my hands when I took them. Her skinniness was shocking, her bones practically poking through her skin, but I couldn’t look away. “Now give me yours.”
“What?” I looked down at myself, at the stained, sweaty jeans and the T-shirt and hoodie I’d been wearing for almost a week now. “These?”
“Yes. Hurry up!” Her voice was edgy. “What size are your feet?”
“Six,” I said, my voice muffled as I stripped off my T-shirt.
“Good. Mine, too.” She pushed the espadrilles she was wearing towards me and I kicked off my boots and began to peel off my jeans. We were both down to our underwear now, me awkwardly trying to cover myself, she completely focused as she began to pull on my discarded clothes. I pulled the silk tunic over my head, feeling the expensive fabric whisper cool against my skin. She pulled an elastic band off her wrist and handed it silently across.
“What’s this for?”
“Pulling back your hair. It’s not ideal. You’ll have to be very careful with the headscarf, but it’s the best I can do. We don’t have time to shave your head, and in any case, if you’re going to skip the country under my passport, it’s probably better that you have real hair for passport control. We don’t want to give them a reason to look twice at the photo.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t I just go as me? The police must be looking for me, surely?”