The Victim Read online

  Georgie opened her mouth and howled.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I had a best friend once. It was at primary school. Carl, he was called. It was his idea to cut that girl’s hair with the play scissors. Can’t remember her name but I do remember the hair. Red, it was.

  Or was that the blood?

  After that, we both had to go to different schools. We lost touch for a bit. Years later, we both ended up in Wandsworth together.

  I knew it was him cos he still had the scar down his cheek that his brother had given him for a birthday present.

  ‘Great to see you,’ I said clapping him on the back.

  But he didn’t seem so pleased to see me.

  I didn’t realise then that there was a pecking order in prisons. I was only small fry. It didn’t suit Carl to be seen in my company.

  ‘You’ve got to do something bigger,’ he said one day in the gym when his mates weren’t around.

  So I did.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘You’d taken your friend’s passport,’ said a voice behind her in a strong Yorkshire accent. ‘And I suspect, lass, that you also took over her identity.’

  Georgie jumped. She hadn’t noticed the old man coming up behind her. How long had he been there? How much had he heard? She hadn’t noticed that Lyndsey had fallen asleep either; her mouth parted slightly. Her breathing slow.

  Lyndsey’s father pulled up the chair next to her. His kind face took her back to all those days when she’d run round to her friend’s house, seeking comfort in a calm household without her mother’s ranting and raving.

  ‘You poor child,’ he said, his eyes milky. ‘What a terrible experience for you to go through. Mavis and I were both so worried when you just disappeared like that. But Lyndsey kept saying that you’d done it to get away from your mum. She was hurt, mind, that you didn’t send so much as a postcard.’

  He nodded his head; this time as though agreeing with himself. ‘But I can see why now. You were scared you were going to get arrested.’

  Georgie nodded, too horrified to speak. Yet at the same time she was relieved. Someone who had known her since childhood now knew what had happened. Well, part of it. Not just someone. A man whom she’d always revered. He understood! But that didn’t mean Sam would do the same.

  ‘My mother,’ she began.

  Lyndsey’s father’s face darkened.

  ‘What happened?’ said Georgie urgently.

  There was a shaking of the head. ‘She married that ne’er-do-well. You were right to be suspicious of him. Spent all her money, he did. Broke her heart.’

  ‘Did I … did I …’

  She stopped, unable to go on. For years she had told herself she’d done the right thing in ending contact with her mother – especially after she’d had Nick. What kind of a woman treated her daughter the way Mum had treated her? Always screaming at her. Always telling her that she should never had had her.

  It made Georgie shiver to think about it. But now, faced with the people who had known her then, she began to have some misgivings. What if her mother – instead of being relieved that she’d gone – had had some sort of breakdown as a result?

  ‘Did you play a part in breaking your mother’s heart?’ Lyndsey’s father voiced her own thoughts.

  His face softened. ‘Your mother had her own demons, dear. You mustn’t be hurt.’

  ‘So she didn’t miss me?’

  He glanced tenderly at his own daughter who was still sleeping, her lips closed now. ‘She may well have done in her own way but she never talked about you. Now she’s in the home …’

  ‘She’s in care?’

  ‘Her mind began to go a few years ago.’ He patted her hand. ‘It’s very nice, actually. Top class, in fact. Lyndsey and I go and see her every now and then.’

  ‘Do you talk about me?’

  He gave a sad smile. ‘Not so much. We’ve had to move on. Just like you.’

  Georgie felt a stab of hurt. Then again, what else could she expect?

  ‘Mind you, lass. There are times when it’s hard to move on if you’ve got the weight of the past on your back. Does your husband know what you’ve been through?’

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘He mustn’t. He thinks he married Georgina Peverington-Smith. Knows nothing about the real Georgina or the old me.’

  The old man nodded. ‘Thought as much. Maybe it’s time to tell him the truth.’

  A wave of panic caught her. ‘But I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ There was a steely edge to the voice now. As if in unison, they both looked at Lyndsey. Her eyes were flickering as if she was about to wake up.

  ‘Write him a letter,’ said Lyndsey’s father quietly. ‘It’s a good way to tell people something. None of your emails, written in haste and repented at leisure. If he loves you, he’ll understand. You’ll be surprised how much easier it will be for you to shed your load.’

  Tell Sam everything? No way. How could she risk losing her life as she knew it? Georgie edged away. She shouldn’t have said anything.

  ‘Actually,’ added Lyndsey’s father, ‘talking about a letter reminds me of something. When I was in the canteen just now, a young lad came up and gave me something to give you.’

  ‘Give me?’ Georgie felt another flicker of unease. ‘How did he know we knew each other?’

  ‘That’s what I wondered. Then I thought he must have seen us talking here.’

  They both looked at the envelope which had the name MRS HAMILTON neatly written in capital letters.

  ‘Is it anything to do with my girl?’

  Georgie was already ripping it open. Reading the first few lines, she let out a small gasp.

  ‘What is it?’

  Lyndsey’s eyes were open now. Wide open as though she hadn’t been asleep at all.

  She couldn’t worry her friend. Not in the state she was in.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said hurriedly, standing up and shoving the letter into her bag. ‘Nothing important.’

  Both looked at her. Neither, she could see, believed her.

  ‘We’re always here for you,’ said Lyndsey. She spoke as though she understood that her father knew the truth too.

  Georgie bent down to kiss her friend on the cheek. It felt cold. ‘It’s more than I deserve.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ The old man’s cheek was wet as she kissed that too. ‘You’ll always be our Georgie. Won’t she, love?’

  ‘Please,’ Georgie whispered. ‘Please be careful what you say.’ She gave Lyndsey one more hug. ‘I’ll be back later. I promise.’

  Then, walking briskly down the corridor, she made her way to the car. Only when she’d locked herself in did she read the letter more carefully.

  IF YOUR HUSBAND WANTS HIS MONEY BACK, YOU’LL HAVE TO TELL HIM THE TRUTH ABOUT THAILAND.

  That was it. No name. No signature. It was typed too, so no handwriting to go by apart from the capitals on the envelope.

  If she went to the police, they’d ask her what it meant.

  The truth about Thailand.

  How did the writer know. And who was he – or she?

  Sweat began to break out over her brow. Then she jumped as her mobile bleeped. It was a text.

  ‘Don’t be late for our meeting with Charles.’

  That was it. No kiss. No word of comfort.

  Still, what did she deserve? No more than this, surely. In fact she’d been lucky to get as far as this. No. Don’t think like this. Don’t give into blackmail, she told herself sternly as she started the car and headed for town. You’ve blagged this out before. You can do it again.

  The meeting with Charles wasn’t pleasant. Again and again, he made her tell him what had happened as if he was trying to catch her out.

  ‘So you left the car outside your client’s house but it was outside your home when you got back?’

  She nodded. ‘I know it sounds strange but …’

  Charles took off his glasses as though it might give him
a better view of her, and then put them back again. ‘It does, rather.’

  ‘Georgie’s had an appointment with the doctor about it,’ said Sam crisply.

  ‘Identity fraud is a very complex business,’ said Charles, as if she hadn’t learned that already. ‘But I have to say that this one seems different. Usually it’s someone emptying an account in small dribs and drabs so the holder doesn’t notice. Or it’s a large one-off payment. You appear to have had several of the latter. Then of course, there’s the added complication of the appearance on CCTV.’

  He slid the latter sentence in so fast that Georgie didn’t feel it until it had hit her. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she said furiously.

  ‘I didn’t say it was,’ added Charles smoothly. ‘Although I must say that it’s odd, given that you were in the same place at the same time. A hospital, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You know damn well it was the hospital,’ retorted Georgie furiously.

  ‘Georgie,’ said Sam warningly.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Charles smiled at her. ‘I’m only asking these questions in the same tone – or thereabouts – as a lawyer would do on the other side, in case we have to take your bank to court. It’s maintaining that you took the money out yourself. We need to prove it was someone else.’

  There was a dangerous pause. ‘If it was someone else.’

  ‘Come on, Georgie. Why would my wife want to steal her own money?’

  Georgie sat back, a satisfied look spreading over his wide features. ‘You did say she was seeing the doctor over memory loss.’

  That was it. She didn’t have to take any more of this. Standing up, Georgie pushed back her chair so that it fell on the ground. Both men looked at her startled. ‘I’m sorry …’ she mumbled. Then she opened the door of the office and walked. Briskly at first, past the surprised look on the receptionist’s face, and then faster. By the time she reached her car, she was out of breath.

  There was a note on the windscreen! Her hands shaking, she read it swiftly. It was typed, this time.

  I HOPE YOU’RE TAKING MY ADVICE.

  That was it.

  Someone was watching her. Someone had been watching her in the hospital – how else could Lyndsey’s father have been given the note? – and now someone had followed her to this meeting.

  For a minute, Georgie felt like running back to the hospital and asking Lyndsey’s father his advice. Yet somehow she knew what he’d say. Tell Sam. Tell him the truth.

  Maybe they were right. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe she should go back to Charles’ office and apologise. Maybe she should drive home – or to a café – and write a letter.

  Getting into the car, Georgie put her head back into the seat and closed her eyes. All she could see was a young girl. Her younger self. Sitting on that fisherman’s boat. Clutching her dead friend’s passport in one hand with the shell in the other. And hoping that no one was coming after her.

  The piece of paper that was poking out of Georgina’s passport on the boat was a driving licence. Part of Georgie, the part that wasn’t shaking with terror, recognised that this might come in useful. The more identification she possessed, the better chance she had of getting out of this awful country.

  Even better, there were some Thai bank notes inside the passport. Enough, it turned out, to get a train up to Bangkok. It was a long, horrible, dusty journey crammed with laughing backpackers as they bumped into each other when the train rattled round bends. But Georgie barely noticed the sort of discomforts she might have done otherwise. Instead, all she could see was Georgina, lying flat on her back, her eyes open; staring up to the sunlight.

  If she hadn’t slept with Joly, her friend wouldn’t have run off like that. Wouldn’t have run into the shrubland. Wouldn’t have been bitten by the snake. Wouldn’t have been murdered.

  As for the others and the police, that was awful. But it wasn’t her fault. They’d been the ones dealing drugs. It had had nothing to do with her. Then she thought, with a shock, of the small parcels Joly had given her to leave in that isolated spot on the beach. How naïve had she been? She thought too of the joints she had smoked. Both might be enough to put her in jail.

  Georgie began to shake so violently that one of the other backpackers noticed. ‘Are you ill?’ asked a tall, gangly boy next to the window.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered truthfully. The scenes she had just witnessed had certainly made her feel dreadful. Even though it was stiflingly hot in the carriage, she couldn’t stop shaking with the type of coldness that fear brings on.

  ‘Take this,’ he said. He opened his rucksack and pulled out a sky-blue jumper.

  His kindness made her want to weep.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  Georgie, she was about to say. And then she remembered the passport she was still clutching. Better be safe. ‘Georgina,’ she said. ‘Georgie for short.’

  ‘I’m Rufus.’

  Rufus? Another posh name.

  ‘Do you live here?’

  She almost laughed at the thought. ‘No. I’m … I’m travelling.’

  ‘No luggage?’

  ‘No. No … I … I lost it.’

  ‘Poor you. Aren’t you with friends?’

  So many questions! So many answers that she had to find without having had time to work them out. ‘I … I lost them too.’

  Rufus indicated the group around him. ‘You can come with us if you like. We’re going to visit my brother Sam in Bangkok. He’s a banker there.’ He made a mock wry expression. ‘The clever one.’

  ‘Come on, Roof. That’s not true and you know it.’

  A pretty blonde was tugging at her sleeve. She glanced at Georgie with a hint of suspicion. He was already taken, said the look.

  Don’t worry. She wasn’t making that mistake. Not twice.

  ‘That’s very kind but I’m sure I’ll be all right,’ she said. Then, making her excuses, she moved onto the next carriage. Found a quiet spot. And tried to go to sleep.

  Eventually she fell into an uneasy doze. Before she knew it, someone was nudging her. ‘Wake up. We are here.’

  It was a train guard. Already, a sea of people were surging in from the station, keen to get on before the train left again.

  She was here! Now what?

  Bangkok was bustling. A crazy mixture of spice smells, and sweat, and bodies that pushed you one way and then another in the street. Shops had clothes spilling out on rails with signs in broken English inviting you to purchase. Everywhere were bikes laden with five or six members of the same family – or so they seemed – along with an assortment of fruit or straw. The river stretched out before her, packed with barges festooned with petals.

  ‘It’s a festival,’ she heard another backpacker say as she walked past.

  By now, Georgie had formulated a plan. She’d try to get work – any work – to save up for a ticket to Australia. There was no way she could return to England. She might get found. Someone might trace her. Her mother would disown her if she was convicted of dealing drugs. As for what everyone else would say …

  But what kind of work? She tried approaching several restaurants but it had been difficult to make herself understood. Meanwhile, she needed somewhere to stay for the night.

  Georgie began to get increasingly anxious. If the worst came to the worst, she could always bed down by the river. Almost immediately, a vision of the swamp came back to her and Georgina’s staring eyes. Where were the others now? Maybe, she told herself, Joly had talked them out of trouble. He would be good at that. Perhaps the police hadn’t found the drugs. Perhaps …

  ‘Good evening.’ A sing-song voice came from the doorway. The most beautiful girl Georgie had ever seen stood there, beautifully tall and erect. Her face was immaculately made up with long eyelashes (false?) and jet black hair that fell onto her bare shoulders. Her dress was dark green. ‘You want massage?’

  Georgie almost laughed. ‘I want a job,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I can’t afford a massage.’

 
‘You wait there, please.’

  Uncertainly, Georgie hovered, her hand in her pocket, holding the shell for reassurance. Maybe she was going to offer a cheap deal. Even so, she didn’t have enough money to spare for such a luxury – although it would be nice if someone rubbed all this awful tension away that was throbbing through her.

  ‘Please. Come in.’

  The girl had returned and was beckoning her. Georgie followed her in. It was a smallish room with a display of plastic flowers on a desk and some tinkly music coming from a cassette player in the corner. At the side, a small indoor fountain ran into a pool with pebbles at the bottom.

  ‘You are American, yes?’

  Georgie’s attention was diverted to another tall, beautiful girl in a blue dress.

  ‘No. English.’

  ‘English.’

  The voice took on a keener note. ‘You want a job, yes?’

  ‘I do.’ She glanced through a side door where there was a bed. ‘But I can’t do massages. I’m an art student – at least I was. I’ve graduated now …’

  ‘You speak English well, I think.’ The woman was looking at her appraisingly. ‘It does not matter about the massage.’ She grinned suddenly, revealing a row of gold teeth. ‘We need nice lady for front desk.’

  A job! She was being offered a job!

  ‘That would be lovely. How much are you offering?’

  ‘Money? You want to know about money?’

  There was a chuckle. ‘The money she is very good.’ Then she named a figure which meant nothing to Georgie. It was so hard to work out this currency!

  ‘I’ll need to think about it. I have to find somewhere to live first.’

  ‘You have no room?’

  The girl frowned and then hurriedly whispered to the first girl. ‘There is room here,’ she announced. ‘If you start now, you can sleep there tonight.’

  Start now? But she had nothing nice to wear. Georgie looked down at her grubby shorts and T-shirt. She still had that kind boy’s jumper on, she realised. Too late to give it back now. She seemed to be rather good at taking things that didn’t belong to her. Including a life …