He’d just been starting to nod off, the digital clock on the bedside table having ticked over to a few minutes past two in the morning, when he heard the incessant vibration of the mobile phone coming from the pocket of his trousers.
He jabbed the light on, blinked in the brightness and scrabbled on the floor to grab the phone from his pocket. It was Lisa again. He groaned, looking at the time on the bedside clock. Although it was far too late to be taking phone calls, he knew Lisa wouldn’t be calling at this time unless it was urgent.
As soon as the call connected, he could hear her desperate sobs, even before he’d managed to say hello.
‘Lisa? Lisa, what is it, sweetheart?’ he said, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake up anybody in the adjoining rooms.
He heard Lisa fighting for the words, trying to find a way to say what she had to say.
‘Oh, Dan. I don’t know how to put this,’ she said, before breaking off and crying.
‘Say what? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
Lisa sobbed again, a huge release of emotion. ‘I’ve had a miscarriage.’
42
I feel guilty for lying to Marek. For pretending to be someone I’m not. But then again that’s what I’ve spent my whole life doing. Why change now?
I manage to find my way back to the hostel, thankful that I’d walked pretty much in a straight line from here to town earlier today. At least staying above the bar will mean I’m more central and will be able to find my way back more easily. It seemed to be right in the thick of things.
When I get back to my room, everything’s still silent. I’d be willing to bet that none of the occupants of any of these rooms have even moved since I left earlier, never mind got up.
As I open the door, I stop and stare at the carrier bag I left on the side, with the holdall full of my belongings inside it. I can’t remember for the life of me how it looked when I left it earlier this morning, but I still can’t shake the overriding, all-engulfing feeling that it’s moved. It’s a feeling I can’t explain, but it’s strong.
I step cautiously over to the bag, poke my head around to the opening and look inside. It’s just a holdall. Just my holdall. Not that I really expected anything else, but something still doesn’t feel right here. It feels like the walls have eyes.
I gather I have nothing to lose, so I grab the carrier bag and head back out into the corridor. Instead of turning left towards the stairs, I head right. I remember seeing a fire door at the far end of the corridor not far from my room. I have a decent idea where this will lead.
When I get to the door, I check it for electrical contacts. It doesn’t seem to be alarmed, so I push on the bar and shove the door open. There’s a brown metal staircase leading upwards against the wall, and a bucket with sand in it, a dozen or so cigarette butts sticking out of it. It seems a bit pointless in this place, seeing as everyone appears to just smoke inside anyway. I take the bucket and prop it up inside the door frame to stop the door from slamming behind me, and I make my way up the staircase, the carrier bag and my old holdall in one hand, the new rucksack in the other.
When I get to the top of the steps, I find myself on the roof of the hostel. It looks like any other roof around here – a few air-conditioning units and water-storage tanks. It’s hard to tell where the roof of the hostel ends and the building next door starts, but that’s irrelevant right now. I’m up here for a reason, and I don’t intend to be long.
I step towards the edge of the roof and look over across Bratislava. The view is pretty impressive, especially on a bright and sunny day like this. It seems a world away from Herne Bay and East Grinstead, from Claude’s farmhouse and the constant shoulder checks.
The physical distance allows me to keep some emotional distance, too. I’ve never been the most emotional guy in the world, but even I’m struggling to cope with what’s happened recently. However, coping is exactly what the human body and mind is built to do. It’s a ready-built coping machine. I’m well aware that I’m probably in denial, but I really don’t care. All that matters is that I can avoid being caught by the police until I’ve worked out what’s going on. Or worse, being found by Lisa and Jess’s killer.
That last possibility is one that only occasionally occurs to me. That someone wants to terrorise me.
If that’s the case, how do I get out of this? Will I ever get out of it? Somehow I don’t think so. I’ll never be truly free, but I’m a lot freer here than I would be back home right now.
Home.
What is home, anyway? Surely it’s the place you feel safest, the place you want to be. England is neither of those things to me any more. I feel safer here than I have anywhere since Lisa was killed, save perhaps for the arms of Jess. But she’s not coming back. And neither is my desire to head back towards England. I know that now, but I’ve known it deep down for longer. And that’s why I came up onto the roof.
I bend down and take the old holdall out of the carrier bag, unzipping it and taking out the contents. I then unzip the new rucksack, shove the carrier bag and the polystyrene foam inside the old one, and put my belongings into the new one.
I keep one thing unpacked, though.
I take the old rucksack over to a more open part of the roof and place it on the floor. Then I bend down on one knee, roll the side of my thumb quickly down the wheel of the lighter and wait for the large flame to settle. It’s barely visible in the bright light of the Bratislava skyline, but the air above it shimmers in a hot haze.
Carefully, I lean further over and put the flame to the material of the rucksack. It takes a few seconds to catch, but when it does it’s beautiful. I stand up, take a few steps back and watch for a couple of moments. Once I’m satisfied, I pick up my new rucksack and walk back down the metal staircase, never looking back.
43
When I get back down to the reception area, there’s no-one around. That doesn’t particularly surprise me, but it does mean I don’t need to bother about explaining myself. I leave the key on the reception desk and step out onto the street.
It already feels brighter and sunnier out here. It was pretty bright and sunny earlier, but now it feels as if a veil has lifted from in front of my face. I feel lighter, freer. This is the space I need to be in to be able to come to terms with what’s happened and to find out who killed Lisa and Jess – and why.