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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. VIOLET
  3. VIOLET
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Contents
  7. Prologue
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. Epilogue
  48. Acknowledgements
  49. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  50. Copyright

Carrie grabs hold of my T-shirt from behind.

‘Stop,’ she says. ‘Stop!’

But I can’t.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: dffdijingfig

Carrie … email me back, please.

I don’t even understand your last email.

I’m worried about you!!

Lxx

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Just your mother!

Hello Darling,

Just a quick one as I know you’re busy gallivanting. Dad was wondering if you were thinking about getting a new car when you come home – Maurice at the office is selling a lovely little Fiat.

Check in soon, please? We miss you!

Lots of love,

Mum and Dad xx

26

When I wake up, there is a brief moment when I think that everything is the same as it was yesterday. I lift my head slowly, and it feels fuzzy and heavy, and a pulsing starts behind one eye. I wince, dropping my head back on to the pillow.

‘Carrie? Are you awake?’ I turn my head towards her bed, but it’s empty. Not just of her, but of her sheets, duvet and pillows too.

I turn back, close my eyes. I take a long, slow breath, in through my nose. Trying to calm my heart, which has started to thump hard in my chest. The usual smells of the room have gone, replaced by the sharp tang of bleach.

Shit.

I sit up fast, and regret it immediately. My head spins, and I feel myself lurching to the side. I have to hold on to the sides of the narrow single bed to stop myself from falling onto the hard, tiled floor.

‘Carrie?’

I call her name again, hoping that the memories slotting into place inside my drink-addled brain are dreams. Nightmares. Not something that really happened. Drinking that vodka was a mistake, but I was never going to be able to sleep otherwise.

Slowly now, to prevent the spins, I climb out of bed and take in the room. The floors are sparkling clean, all my stuff is bundled onto the chair next to the wardrobe. I see a strappy pink vest top that I know is Carrie’s, and have a brief moment of hope. But it’s a waste of energy. My shoulders slump and I sit back down on the bed. There’s only one rucksack leaning against the wall now. One pair of boots next to it.

Carrie is gone.

I’d like to just stay in bed now, forget about it all. It’s not long until I can get the train out of here, keep going with the journey. I’ll have to buy a new ticket of course, but I don’t think I have any other choice now.

The clock under the TV says it’s 12:43. The train to Moscow left at 9.37.