They’re queuing for the Eurotunnel much further up the road than I’d imagined. I’ve only used it once before, and that was very late at night, so I guess I’d had a skewed idea of what was involved. I wonder how many of these people are going home after a day’s business in London, how many are going on holiday, visiting friends, attending funerals. Either way, I wish they’d all fuck off. Jessica booked our tickets using her mobile on the way down here, but now I’m worried we’ll miss our boarding.
‘You have to keep calm,’ she says, as if this is a perfectly common situation to be in. It makes me realise how disturbed she must be as a person. I don’t mean that in a bad way, though. It actually intrigues me. Quite a lot. There seems to be some sort of deep understanding within her; a sense that she’s known all the evil there is to know in the world and knows exactly how to deal with it. Most people would just call her fucked up, but I find it fascinating. I guess we’re all a little fucked up.
Being perfectly honest, there’s a huge part of me that’s getting off on ceding control. I’ve always been the one to lead by example, do the organising, make the decisions. It’s been a case of having to. I’ve had no other choice throughout much of my life, and until now I’d never realised how much that annoyed me. Having this petite, feisty girl call all the shots is something I’m finding strangely enjoyable. No, not a girl – woman. She’s all woman. There’s no doubt about that.
There’s a knock on my window, and I hear myself audibly gasp as I snap my head round to the side to see who it is. It’s a woman in a blue fleece top, with ‘BORDER CONTROL’ written on it.
‘Passports, please?’ I hear her say through the window, her voice muffled by the glass. I wind down the window and hand her my passport from my inside jacket pocket. Jess passes me hers and I hand it to the woman. I try to keep calm, appear calm.
She seems to take an age looking through it, glancing at me, then down at the picture, then back at me again. For a moment, I’m certain we’ve been rumbled. I see it all flash in front of my eyes: Lisa’s body being discovered, the forensics experts in their white bodysuits, the glare of the coroner’s bulb, the judge’s gavel crashing down on the block.
Then she smiles, hands us back our passports and moves on to the car behind us, carrying on with the daily grind.
‘The fuck?’ Jess says, taking her passport back. ‘We don’t even need to show our passports to get into France. They’re in the Schengen Area. Bloody jobsworths.’
‘You said earlier they might. Spot checks, you said.’
‘Yeah, spot checks are one thing, but that woman’s going to every single damn car. No wonder it’s taking so long to board. We’ll be here all night at this rate.’
‘Maybe they’re looking for someone,’ I say quietly.
‘Clearly not us, then.’
‘Wait a sec. Why do you have your passport on you? You just carry it around with you all the time, do you?’
Jess laughs. ‘When you look as young as I do, you always have your passport on you. The dicks at the hotel bar even started IDing me a little while back. They think it’s hilarious, but I don’t. I don’t drive, so my passport is the only form of ID I have.’
‘Yeah, but you just walk around with it in your pocket?’ I ask.
‘Much safer than leaving it in my bag or just lying around at work. You get some dodgy sorts staying in hotels, you know,’ she replies, giving me a knowing look. I still can’t get over how casual and playful she’s being. Perhaps it’s just her coping mechanism. I’ve yet to find what mine is.
My thoughts run away with me, and before I know it we’re boarding the Eurotunnel. A man in a hi-vis vest waves me forward, further and further, until I’m fairly certain the nose of my car is already in the backseat of the one in front. A few feet further forward and he signals for me to stop.
Some other drivers get out of their cars. A couple of families congregate around one car and start chatting. I presume they’re all travelling together in the two cars. The two dads stand laughing and joking. They’re looking forward to their booze cruise, I can tell. One of them seems to be about five and a half feet tall at best, with a pot belly and milk-bottle glasses that make his eyes appear to bulge like a frog’s. If I couldn’t see his children right now, I’d imagine they were the sort of kids who’d be dressed in matching clothes. Thankfully, they’re not. A couple of the kids start to tag each other and dart around behind their parents to avoid being tagged back. The others just look completely bored.
At any other time, I’d be really fucked off at the kids running around, worried that they might dent or scratch my car. Kids just don’t care about anything. They have no concept of being careful. Right now, though, I’ve got other things on my mind. I’m not going to lie – there’s a big part of me that’s trying to suppress a lot of bubbling rage and anger that could quite easily be directed at these little shits, but I’m keeping a lid on it. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
It feels utterly bizarre, seeing these two families – complete strangers to me – going on holiday together; everything carrying on as normal, as my wife lies dead in a bathtub in Herne Bay. A huge part of me wants to scream at them about their lack of respect, but then I realise how ridiculous that sounds. It feels like everyone should know. Why don’t they?
This feeling, like all of the others, comes and goes quickly, to be replaced by another equally strong emotion. Every time it does so, it makes me feel sick. I don’t handle adrenaline well at the best of times, but this is something else altogether. I know my brain is struggling to cope. Whose brain can possibly be wired up to deal with such a set of circumstances?
Well, Jess’s, it seems.
She’s sat in the passenger seat, quietly playing a game of solitaire on her phone. I don’t know whether to be seriously impressed or scared by her complete lack of emotion. Oddly, I think it’s exactly what I need right now. Without her, I think I would have flipped out and started smashing stuff up. I’m still not entirely sure how I’m coping, but then again I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on, either. It’s all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. And I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen next. All I know is that we need to keep moving and that Jessica’s scary calmness could actually prove to be what keeps my head above water. For the time being, anyway.
‘Shit,’ I say, suddenly snapping back to reality. ‘Why the fuck didn’t I grab the phones?’
‘What phones?’ Jess asks.
‘My mobile. From the hotel room. And Lisa’s.’
‘Why would you want to grab Lisa’s?’
I pause for a moment. ‘Don’t know. No reason.’
‘Bullshit,’ she says, looking at me. ‘What’s on the phone?’
I take a deep breath. ‘A text sent from my phone asking Lisa to come up to my room. But I didn’t send it,’ I add, quickly. ‘I promise.’
She nods, but I can’t tell if that means she’s accepted my explanation or that she doesn’t believe me. ‘You wouldn’t want your own phone, either. They’d use it to track you.’
I nod, silently.
After a few minutes, there’s an announcement over the tannoy in the carriage (which I barely hear, my brain tuning it out) and the shuttle starts to pull away. It’s at that point I know there’s no going back.
12