Coffin Road by Peter May Page B

was a plain girl, with straight, mousy-brown hair and over-large hips that Karen would say, when she was being mean, made her perfectly suited for childbearing. Karen swore she would never have children. What a waste of intelligence, she would say, to spend your life raising children for some shit of a husband who regarded you as little better than a glorified nursemaid and housekeeper.
    Gilly sat down beside her and lit a cigarette of her own. It was her sole concession to rebellion. She had not gone down Karen’s road of facial piercings and tattoos. She was certain to go to university, where she would probably get a master’s degree or a doctorate, then spend the rest of her life raising children. She said, ‘You’re in deep shit, girl.’
    ‘Yeah? Whose?’
    ‘Mrs Forrest’s, for a start.’
    ‘Aye, well, she’s pretty full of it.’
    ‘She went straight to the headmaster’s office after you’d gone. Left us a good fifteen minutes on our own.’ She grinned. ‘The place was in uproar. If you stood in the election for student rep you’d be a shoo-in.’
    ‘That might be a little difficult after they’ve expelled me.’
    ‘They won’t expel you!’
    Karen shrugged. ‘That’s a pity. Guess I’ll have to quit, then.’
    Gilly gave her a sceptical look. ‘And do what?’
    Karen inclined her head very slightly but said nothing.
    ‘What’s got into you, anyway? You’re being a right pain today.’
    Karen took a pull on her cigarette and stared at the ground. It was a long time before she said, ‘That bald-headed bam’s moving in with my mum.’
    ‘What, that guy she’s been going out with?’
    ‘Yeah, her boss at work.’
    Gilly shrugged. ‘So?’
    ‘So he thinks he’s just going to walk in and take over where my dad left off. Well, he’s got another think coming.’
    ‘Could be worse, she might have married him.’
    ‘She can’t. It’ll be another five years before she can apply for a legal declaration of presumed death. As if it’s not pretty fucking conclusive as it is. An empty boat and a suicide note. At least it means she’ll not be changing her name and trying to change mine, too.’ She flicked her cigarette away across the tarmac and watched the sparks kick up from it as it hit the ground. ‘Think it’s probably time I moved out.’
    Gilly was taken aback. ‘Moved out? Where would you go? How would you live?’
    ‘I’ll figure something out. But I’m not staying there to let him boss me around, and spy on me in the shower.’
    ‘Is that what he does?’
    ‘Not that I know of. Not yet, anyway. But he probably will.’ She grinned and stood up. ‘I’m out of here.’
    *
    She took a bus into town, then rode out to the airport and back again on the tram. The airport was somehow symbolic of escape. But it was only ever a dream. An impractical fantasy.
    The tram was fun, and she was still newfangled with it. The outward and return journeys took her through western suburbs she didn’t know, and then slap bang through the city centre. Priority for the tram, and unrivalled views of the gardens and the castle through panoramic windows. And no matter how busy it was, no one would speak to you. People travelled in their own little bubbles, listening to music or reading books, or simply staring into space, like Karen.
    She had removed her tie, opening the top of her blouse to reveal a little of her tattoo, lipsticked her mouth deep purple and reinstated her lip rings. She was determined to be as defiantly ugly as possible, staring down anyone who had the temerity to look at her.
    But today she wasn’t catching anyone’s eye. And, contrary to all outward appearance, she was bleeding inside, where Daddy’s little girl hid from the world, succumbing to guilt and grief.
    It was still a mystery to her why she had given him such a hard time. Driven by some internal devil that made her say and do things that she really didn’t mean. Just to be difficult, or obstinate, to hurt with