Exclusive extract from Trip of a Lifetime by Liz Byrski.
Later, even when she’d had time to think about it, she still couldn’t remember anything unusual about that evening; no sense of foreboding, no warning signal, not even feeling of unease. The meeting ran late, it was dark and wet as they came out of the office and she was fiddling with her umbrella while she waited for Shaun to set the alarm and lock the door. But she turned to go down the steps to the street, she tripped and grabbed his arm and that was when it happened. Something hit her shoulder with tremendous force, propelling her forward as her neck was thrown back, the noise a sharp explosion as she hurtled down the steps. The next thing she remembered was the ambulance, the wail of the siren, a mask over her face, and Shaun urging her to hang on, before everything went black again. When she finally regained consciousness, it was in the harsh light of the emergency ward.
‘I can’t have been shot,’ she insisted, closing her eyes again.
‘Try to keep your eyes open, Miss Delaney,’ someone said. ‘Can you talk to me, please?’
She forced her eyelids open, aware now of pain, a lot of pain in her left shoulder and her head.
‘Can you see me?’ She nodded in the direction of a white coat. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
‘Three.’
‘Yes, good. Someone took a shot at you. They got you in the shoulder but you’re going to be fine.’
‘My head…’
‘You hit your head. It’s not serious but it’ll need a few stitches, and an X-ray will show us where the bullet is. I’m going to give you something for the pain. This’ll sting a bit.’
‘Shaun?’ she asked.
‘I’m here, Heather.’ His drawn face appeared above her. ‘I’m going to stay with you.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine, and you’re going to be okay too, just hang in there. This is Detective Roussos.’
The room lurched drunkenly and a new face emerged.
‘Sorry, Miss Delaney, but time’s important. Do you have any idea who might have done this? Who might want to…want to kill you?’
‘Kill me?’
‘A grudge, perhaps? Something political, past or present?’ ‘Of course not…’
His face blurred and then clarified. ‘You’re sure? Not a constituent or some protest group?’
She tried to shake her head but it hurt too much.
‘Any threats? An old boyfriend, an ex-husband?’
‘Christ,’ she murmured, ‘it’s a wonder I’ve lived so long with all those people wanting to kill me,’ and she closed her eyes against the glare of the lights.
News of Heather’s shooting was almost four days old when Diane heard about it in an email from her daughter. She was getting bored with the poolside chat of her travel companions and had walked into Ubud to browse through the market and the jewellery shops. She bargained ruthlessly over some silver bangles and a ring set with a large turquoise, and waited with satisfaction while the vendor wrapped them. The bargains were some sort of compensation for her disappointment with the holiday. It had seemed like a good idea when the women from the tennis club had suggested going to Bali, but you never really knew people until you went on holiday with them and, away from familiar surroundings of the club, Diane felt hopelessly out of place. She slipped her new jewellery into her bag, headed for a nearby bar and decided to check her email while she waited for her banana and mango lassi.
It bugged her that Shaun hadn’t let her know personally and she considered sending him a curt message. After all the work she did for them in the electorate office it was the least she would have expected. It was awful, of course, and frightening. She closed the email and went onto a news site to read some of the reports. ‘It could have been me,’ she murmured. ‘It could so easily have been me.’ She was always at the electorate office, stuffing envelopes, photocopying, making coffee and running errands. ‘I often come out of there in the dark. They could have confused me with Heather.’
‘Sorry, ma’am?’ said the large American backpacker at the adjacent computer. ‘You say something?’
She shook her head. ‘Just talking to myself.’
‘First sign, they say…’
Diane gave him a forced smile, switched on her mobile and dialed her daughter’s number but Charlene’s phone was diverted to message bank, as was Shaun’s, and all four lines to the electorate office were busy. Tense with shock and resentment, she moved to a small table under a sunshade of palm fronds and slipped her lassi, the creamy sweetness soothing the bitterness of the insult. Had they given a thought to calling her? Bugger them, bugger the lot of them, she had better things to do than bother about selfish politicians and their ridiculously ambitious staff. But she didn’t like this feeling of being on the outer, just a volunteer, not sufficiently important to merit a call or an email.
Diane finished her drink and made her way back up the hill in the heat to the hotel. Her room was pleasantly cool and newly serviced. She loved the feeling of being looked after by staff; she was so sick of looking after herself. Peeling off her dress, she stared at herself in the mirror wondering if she could pass for less than her age. Fifty-three, perhaps; fifty, even? No, that was kidding herself. But she looked fit. Three times a week at the circuit gym, frequent games of tennis and watching her diet did pay off. She had a small frame and she’d never tended to put on weight, unlike Heather, who, as was obvious from early photos, had certainly stacked on the kilos.
Diane stepped closer to the mirror. Her hair was good – as thick as ever, and the grey had merged quite attractively with the natural blonde. But her face seemed to be disappearing, the features becoming smaller, less defined, her eyes less bright. It made her feel colourless and insignificant, and although she was onto the latest beauty products in a flash, they didn’t seem to make much difference. Sometimes she wondered if all these tiny but hugely expensive pots of special oils and serums and creams were just a con. She’d read somewhere that a five-dollar jar of sorbolene from the local pharmacy was just as effective. She looked like a women of a certain age, whatever that meant, and she wasn’t sure whether it was just age or being a divorcee of a certain age that made her feel so faded and nondescript.
With a sigh of resignation, Diane turned away from the mirror, pulled on her bathers and a sarong and wandered back down to the pool. There were hardly anyone around, and the lone of the banana lounges where she had left the other women was completely empty.
‘Excuse me!’ Diane called to a waiter who was on his way to the pool bar with a tray of empty glasses. ‘Do you know where the other ladies are? The ones I was with earlier?’
He paused for a moment. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. ‘They go for massage. Special price before four o’clock. Too late now; you pay full price, I think.’
Diane shook her head and sat down. ‘I’ll stay here,’ she said quietly. ‘Just bring me a sparkling mineral water, would you? And some of those little dry salted nuts.’
With a slight bow he turned and hurried away, and Diane, feeling more and more on the outer than ever, stretched out in the sun and put on her Dior sunglasses and a hat with a big brim. If she were to be alone, at least she would look stylish.
