The Guilt Trip
Sandie Jones
For Lucy.
My daughter and best friend.
My life is all the richer with you in it.
PROLOGUE
The policeman, with his slicked-back hair, stands at the bottom of my hospital bed, staring at me intently.
“So, can you confirm you knew the deceased?” he says, in heavily accented English.
I nod, but even that hurts.
His eyes narrow as he studies me. “Do you remember what led up to this unfortunate incident? Were there any altercations between the guests? Was anything said?”
I almost laugh. Where would I start?
Should I be honest and say everybody was at each other’s throats? That it was only a matter of time before something like this happened? That I wish it wasn’t me who caused it?
The officer is staring intently, waiting for an answer, and I want to scream “Yes” to all his questions. But instead I shake my head in bewilderment and say, “No, everything was absolutely fine.”
1
“I can’t find it,” says Ali, with a slightly hysterical lilt to her voice as she rummages through her bag for the third time.
Rachel feels a hot flush begin to envelop her as she wavers between wanting to believe that Ali’s passport is really in there somewhere, and fast-forwarding to what the game plan is going to be if it isn’t.
She snatches a look at Jack as he stands at the airport checkin desk, patiently waiting for the growing sense of panic that Ali’s creating to be over. They all know that these are the scrapes that Ali normally gets herself into—drama appears to be her friend’s middle name—but right now, Rachel’s sure they could all do without the anxiety that it’s causing.
“When I asked you in the car if you had everything, you said yes,” says Rachel, careful to keep her tone light. “You checked off everything, including your passport.”
“I know, I know,” says Ali, upending her bag onto the polished tiles and dropping to the floor on her knees. She frantically fans through the pages of her current book, empties her makeup bag, and takes her iPad out of its case, leaving no stone unturned in her search for the maroon game-changer.
“I’m sure it was here,” she says, as tears of frustration pool in her eyes. “I’m sure I saw it—I just don’t understand.”
Rachel looks at Jack imploringly, but her husband just shrugs his shoulders as if to say, “This is her problem.”
“Might it still be at home?” Rachel asks gently. “What about if we retrace our steps back to the parking lot, just to check that you’ve not dropped it anywhere.” She looks at her watch and is grateful that Jack insisted on leaving home earlier than she had wanted to.
“If the traffic’s bad, I don’t want to be stressing that we’ve not left enough time,” he’d said last night. “And don’t forget we’ve got to pick Ali up on the way.”
Rachel had felt a sense of irritation creeping in as he’d fussed around her while she deliberated whether to pack the blue or the yellow dress this morning. She’d bristled at his never-ending need to be somewhere before he’d even left, but now she’s grateful for his eagerness, because if they need to go back to Ali’s place to look for her passport, they may have just enough time to do it.
“If I don’t get on that plane, Will’s going to lose his shit…” says Ali, her eyes desperately searching Rachel’s and Jack’s for an answer they can’t give.
“Let’s retrace our steps,” says Rachel, as she helps Ali scoop up her belongings from the floor.
“Think, just think,” says Ali to herself, closing her eyes, forcing herself to focus.
“What time does checkin close?” Rachel asks the bemused British Airways clerk.
“Forty minutes before the departure time.”
“And I don’t suppose…” starts Rachel, not entirely sure where she’s going with it.
The woman smiles apologetically with her brightly painted lips. “I can’t check in the luggage without everyone’s passports.”
“Okay,” says Rachel, looking around at the five cases that are standing between the three of them. Only one of them is hers and Jack’s; they’d managed to negotiate their way into sharing a single case, on the strict understanding that it was 75/25 in her favor.
“You can’t expect me to get everything I need for a four-day trip into one half of a case,” she’d moaned as Jack had objected to paying the airline an additional thirty-five pounds just for the privilege of actually taking their belongings on vacation with them.
“Everything you own is tiny. How much room can you possibly need?”
“But I need to take more things than you do,” she’d replied, without much conviction because she knew she was going to get her own way. “You only need to take one suit and that’s going in a separate carrier, so that means there’s more space for me.”
He’d smiled and rolled his eyes as he rationed the T-shirts and shorts that were in the pile on their bed. “Why you need to take enough for a month when you’re only going for a few days is beyond me.”
Looking at Ali’s four cases now, Rachel wonders if it’s a year she’s going for. “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do,” she says authoritatively. “Jack, why don’t you and Ali head back to the car…?”