The Silent Friend, page 6
‘Oh my God. It’s The Naturals,’ Ava exclaimed, loud enough for the members of the band to hear. Sarah spluttered on her beer.
‘I’m Ava,’ she said, getting up and reaching across the table to shake their hands.
Claire coughed.
‘Oh, and these are my friends Claire, Sarah and Laura.’
‘I’m Niall, the lead singer.’
Ava rolled her eyes, which made Laura giggle. It might be obvious to Ava, but Laura didn’t know the names of the members of the band. Apart from Connor.
‘This is Rich, our guitarist and my backing vocalist,’ Niall continued. Laura looked at Rich, who had tight blond curls and tanned arms. ‘This is Tom. He’s our drummer.’ Tom was tall with a receding hairline and a nice smile. ‘And last but not least our bass guitarist and my best mate, Connor.’
Having dispensed with the introductions, they pushed their tables together. Laura ended up next to Connor. As he sat down again, she got a whiff of his aftershave – a pleasant citrusy, musky scent. Thinking she was probably giving off a rank smell by now, Laura tried not to sit too close to him.
Niall did most of the talking, and he was the main topic of conversation. Ava acted like an overexcited groupie, taking photos of them with her phone, asking them for their autographs and trying to wangle backstage passes, all of which amused Laura and seemed to please Niall no end.
‘So, yous have come all the way over to Lyon to see our gig, then?’ Connor asked Laura.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We got here yesterday. We’re staying for a week. I’ve seen you play before, actually. A long time ago. In The Dirty Onion. I was with my cousin, Declan.’
‘Declan. Of course. I remember now. I knew I’d seen you before! I didn’t dare say it in case it sounded like a cheesy chat-up line!’
They laughed at that. Connor was easy to talk to and as they chatted together, Laura tuned out the others and almost forgot they were there. She no longer felt the heat, either.
Niall paid for another round of beers.
‘So, are you nervous about tomorrow?’ Laura asked.
Connor, who had been upbeat until then, didn’t answer for a few seconds. A cloud passed over his face. ‘I’m terrified,’ he said.
‘Well, I suppose it’s normal to get nervous before you go on stage,’ Laura said. ‘And it’s a big arena.’
‘Aye, I do get stage fright – we all do,’ he said. ‘There’s always a lot of adrenaline and it’s not such a bad feeling. But this time, I feel like … I don’t know … it’s daft … It’s more than that this time.’
‘How so?’
‘Och, it’s pathetic. I think I’ve got myself worked up or perhaps the heat has gone to my head. I just don’t feel good about this concert.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it.’
‘I think I know what you mean,’ Laura said. ‘I felt like that on the plane. It was the first time I’d flown, and I imagined all sorts of things going wrong – the plane crashing, hijackers on board, you name it, it went through my mind. But all my worries turned out to be unfounded. We landed safely. It will be fine, you’ll see. I’m sure you’ll be grand.’
‘Thank you,’ Connor said, sounding sincere. ‘You’re right. I’m panicking over nothing.’ He smiled at Laura, but it didn’t reach his lovely blue eyes.
Chapter 9
THE NIGHT THEY DIED
Laura
They all agreed that the musicians playing for the opening act were pretty “meh”, as Claire put it. Whenever the lead singer of the French band sang into the mic, high-pitched feedback filled the auditorium. To his credit, he carried on regardless.
‘I hope they get the sound system sorted out before The Naturals come on,’ Sarah shouted over the music.
Laura was more concerned about going for a pee before The Naturals came on. Sarah had wanted to be as near to the stage as possible and had insisted on them all arriving at the arena an hour and a half before the doors opened. They’d waited at the front of the queue in the still-blazing evening sun, taking it in turns to sit in pairs in the shade of the plane trees along the boulevard. Laura must have drunk nearly a litre of water and they’d bought a plastic beaker of beer each when they’d got in.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Ava said during the interval.
‘You’ll lose your place,’ Sarah warned.
‘We can push through the crowd,’ Ava replied. Then, turning to Laura, ‘How’s your leg?’
Laura’s knee was sore, and a little swollen, from all the walking they’d done. She hadn’t wanted to say anything to her friends because she didn’t want to slow them down or complain, but she was hobbling noticeably by the end of their first day here.
‘Holding up,’ she lied. She was in agony. She’d take a painkiller when they went to the loos.
There were loads of people waiting for the toilet and Laura and Ava were at the back of the queue this time.
‘There’s no one waiting in line for the men’s bogs,’ Ava said. ‘Let’s go in there.’
‘Hé! Qu-est-ce que vous faites?’ a man yelled as they passed the urinals. Ava darted into the only free toilet cubicle and the man continued to shout at Laura.
Laura muttered an apology: ‘Je suis désolée.’ Then she ran out of the men’s and took her place at the back of the queue for the ladies’, which had grown a little longer.
‘You head on back,’ she said when Ava returned. ‘You’ll miss the start of the concert.’
‘You sure? I’m happy to wait for you.’
‘No, you’re all right,’ Laura said. ‘I’ll find you no bother.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Ava said.
Laura wasn’t, but Ava had already gone.
When Laura eventually came out of her toilet cubicle, she heard squeals of delight and applause. The Naturals must have come on stage. She took a packet of paracetamol out of her handbag and stuck her head under the tap so she could swallow down a couple of tablets.
As she was washing her hands, a man entered the toilets. Laura was about to point out that the men’s was opposite, but before she could come up with the words in French, she caught his eye in the mirror. There was something about the way he stared at her through his insistent dark eyes, something unsettling, and Laura’s half-formed sentence died on her lips.
She felt nervous suddenly. She was on her own now, alone with this stranger. She gave him a taut smile, but his expression didn’t change. He wiped his forehead with his bare arm and Laura realized he was sweating profusely. Laura, too, had sweated outside while they’d waited to get in, but in the toilets the air conditioning was on full blast and it was almost too cool.
His gaze did not waver and Laura wanted to run, but she was frozen to the spot for some reason, as this man’s reflection held her eyes. She noticed his arms were tanned, but his face was deathly white. He had a short, scraggly beard, but his hair was neat as if he’d recently had it cut. He was younger than her, of average height and build, wearing dark clothes. She watched, trembling now, as he walked purposefully to the cubicle at the end. She saw him struggle with the door, which was apparently locked. But he got it open somehow and entered, banging the door behind him. Laura heard him lock it from the inside.
Stuck to the toilet door with tape was a sign, a piece of white paper. Two words had been written on it by hand with a black marker pen, but in the mirror, the letters were back to front. Laura turned around, taking in the words. HORS SERVICE. Out of order. Without drying her hands, she hurried out of the toilets as fast as she could on her dodgy knee.
The band had kicked off with one of their most popular songs, “Always & Anyway”, and the audience was jumping up and down. Laura had difficulty weaving her way through the crowd towards the stage. She certainly wouldn’t be jumping up and down; her knee was killing her. The closer she got to the stage, the hotter it seemed to get. The lights had dimmed and she couldn’t see her friends. Where were they?
The Naturals finished playing “Always & Anyway” and suddenly Laura was swamped by a fog of dry ice. She stood still, waiting for it to disperse, hearing the opening chords strike up to her favourite song, “Don’t let this be the end”. She sang along and relaxed a little, even though she was still separated from her friends. They couldn’t be far away. There were only two or three rows of people between her and the stage now.
Then, as a strobe light flashed, she caught sight of Ava, her head above those around her thanks to her vertiginous heels, and next to her, a good few inches lower, Sarah’s blond ponytail swinging from side to side as she swayed in time to the music. She heaved a sigh of relief and trod on some toes as she elbowed her way towards them.
A hand tapped her shoulder. Whirling round, she found herself face to face with Claire.
‘I was coming to find you,’ Claire shouted in her ear. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Laura said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I was … worried. I thought maybe … lost or something.’ Laura couldn’t hear Claire properly over the music.
‘What? No. Long queue, that’s all.’
Just then there was a loud bang. Laura froze.
‘What was that?’ she shouted near Claire’s ear.
Claire shouted back. Laura caught two words. “Firecracker” and “percussion”.
Claire didn’t seem worried, so Laura tried not to be. But it had seemed a bit loud to be a firecracker. And it didn’t sound like the drums. It had sounded more like a pneumatic drill starting up and stopping abruptly. Or a detonation. But that was ridiculous.
There was another loud bang with a white flash somewhere to their right, followed by a screeching sound through the loudspeakers as Niall fell to the floor of the stage, clutching his mic in his hand. On one of the giant screens, Laura saw him fall. The whole crowd had witnessed it, too. People started running in all directions, pushing and shouting.
Laura wanted to run as well, but she was paralysed by fear, like a deer caught in headlights. She looked at Claire, whose hand was clapped to her mouth, wide eyes glued to the stage. The music had stopped abruptly, replaced by loud dissonant screams from the crowd. Glancing at the big screen again, she saw Connor kneeling beside Niall, his hands on the frontman’s chest. The other musicians – Tom and Rich – had fled. Was that blood? Was Niall bleeding?
Another bang – a gunshot. Then a salvo of shots. Four or five people fell to the ground, a few feet away from them.
‘Oh God! Oh fuck! Laura! Ava’s been hit!’
As hordes of people stampeded away from the danger, Claire pushed her way towards Ava and Sarah. Without thinking, Laura followed, oblivious now to the pain in her knee. Her head was ringing with the sound of gunfire even as the next burst broke out, momentarily drowning out the screams, Laura’s among them. Suddenly the lights went out. They came on again a few seconds later, but Laura could no longer see Claire.
But she saw them. Three of them. All wearing dark clothes. All armed. They were making sweeping movements from left to right, then from right to left, with their automatic weapons – Kalashnikovs? – shooting aimlessly. She watched, helplessly, as rows of human dominoes collapsed in front of her.
They want to kill as many people as possible, Laura thought, terror ripping through her like wildfire. She barely registered the deafening volley of bullets flying close to her before she went down. She would never know what made her drop to the ground. Shock? Survival instinct? She did know she wouldn’t have made it far if she’d tried to run. She wasn’t much of a runner, even without her bad knee.
Where was Claire? Where were Ava and Sarah? Claire’s voice came back to her: Ava’s been hit! Was she injured or dead?
Making herself as small as possible on the floor, Laura tried desperately to think of something nice. It could be her last thought. But her mind was blank with terror.
This time the firing was relentless. She had no idea how long it lasted, but it seemed interminable. Fifteen seconds? Twenty seconds? Bullets raining, hailing, all around.
Laura couldn’t be sure because she could still hear the shots resounding in her head, but she thought it had stopped. There were far fewer people now. Had some of them escaped? Had they all been shot?
‘Maintenant! Cours!’ She heard shouts and was conscious of people in the pit getting to their feet and running. She didn’t dare to move. Was it over?
No sooner had that thought entered her head than it started up again. They must have been reloading. That’s why it had stopped. Suddenly someone fell on top of her, someone who had been gunned down while trying to escape. She half-pushed, half-kicked the deadweight off her, her screams blotted out by the noise of the automatic weapons. But she’d reacted without thinking and she instantly regretted it. The dead body would have shielded her, acted as a camouflage as she herself played dead underneath it, and now she was exposed. She didn’t even know if the victim was a man or a woman.
When they finally stopped firing again, there was an eerie silence. No screaming, no crying. Or maybe Laura’s ears were no longer working. She was overwhelmed by a strong stench – sweat mixed with a pungent odour of powder from the weapons and something metallic, which Laura recognized as blood. The smell of fear; the smell of death.
Opening her eyes, through streaming tears she saw one of the armed men kick a body lying in a pool of blood on the floor near her. There was no movement, no sound. He moved on to the next person. Another kick with his black boot. This time a groan. More shots rang out and the body jerked suddenly. The man had shot him dead.
Oh God. He’s killing the ones who aren’t dead. He’s finishing them off, she thought. A whimper escaped as she willed herself not to scream. The shots continued to echo in her ears.
‘Bien joué, Zak,’ one of the other two called out, laughing.
These men – these gunmen – were having fun. Laura felt bile rise into her throat and it was all she could do not to retch.
Pretend to be dead. Don’t move if he kicks you. The thoughts in Laura’s head were loud and frantic. Even as she willed herself to stay still, she could feel herself shaking uncontrollably, as if she were cold in this stuffy place. She was sure her body trembling would give her away. She closed her mouth to stop her teeth chattering, but she kept her eyes open. One of the gunmen was pointing his weapon at a man and a woman. He shouted something Laura didn’t catch and the couple dropped to their knees. The man was pleading; the woman was crying hysterically.
‘Am. Stram. Gram …’ With each word, he moved the weapon, aiming it first at one, then at the other. He was playing Eeny Meeny Miny Moe! He would shoot one of them! Laura was horrified.
‘… Ce sera toi!’ And with that, he took aim at the woman and shot her. She fell with a thud, face down onto the ground. The man threw himself on top of her, crying as hysterically as the woman had just seconds earlier. The gunman shot him, too, in the back.
A sharp kick to her side. Laura was unprepared for it and cried out. The game was up. She curled into a tight ball, her arms over her head in a futile attempt to protect herself. But instead of shooting her, the gunman hauled her to her feet. Her legs were too weak to hold her up and she fell back to the floor, but he picked her up again.
That’s when she recognized him. The one they’d called Zak. It was the man who had gone into the ladies’ toilets as she was coming out. He had an amused expression on his face. He recognized her, too. A thought dawned on her then. Had he hidden his weapon in the ladies’ loos? Is that what he was doing? Getting his gun?
‘Laura!’ It was Claire’s voice. Laura turned her head to the left, then to the right, but she couldn’t see her friend.
‘Ah! Vous vous connaissez.’
Now she saw her. She was walking towards them, followed by one of the gunmen, who was pressing his weapon into the middle of her back.
‘Tu choisis,’ Zak said into her ear.
Laura sobbed. No translation came to her. The sentence was easy, but its meaning was way too difficult to grasp. She couldn’t even find the words in French to say she didn’t understand. What did he want her to do? ‘Oi … Irish,’ she stammered. ‘English.’
‘A toi de choisir,’ Zak said, loud enough for only Laura to hear. ‘You choose.’
Laura’s heart stopped as she grasped his meaning now.
‘Who should live? Who must die? You or your friend?’ Zak said. He pointed his gun at her, then at Claire, who was whimpering. ‘Toi ou elle, bordel! Choisis!’
Chapter 10
THE NIGHT THEY DIED
Laura
Laura shook her head frantically then covered her face with her hands.
It happened so fast. Zak swung the Kalashnikov to his right and fired two rounds. Peeping through her fingers, Laura saw Claire fall to the ground and lie, crumpled in a heap. Laura sank to her knees. The only noise now was her wailing.
Claire, oh God. He’s shot Claire. Claire’s dead. What has he done? What have I done?
Zak jerked his weapon upwards to indicate Laura should get to her feet. Laura noticed the two other gunmen had rounded up six or seven other people and were making them walk towards the stage. Zak pushed his machine gun into Laura’s shoulder, forcing her to turn round, away from him.
‘Move!’ he growled, pushing his weapon into her back now. ‘Walk!’
She had to step over – even step on – dead bodies as she did what Zak ordered. She told herself not to look around her, but she couldn’t help it. Death was everywhere. This was a massacre. Carnage. Mounds of dead bodies. She could only have looked for a second or two, but she knew these images would be etched on her brain for the rest of her life.
If she could get out of here alive.
She allowed herself a faint glimmer of hope when, backstage, she spotted an illuminated sign for an emergency exit. But the gunmen – the terrorists – made them go up a winding staircase, then through a door that led to the balconies.
They heard subdued crying as they came through the door. There were more spectators – more survivors here. Three of them. They’d been hiding behind the chairs, probably too terrified to take the stairs to the ground floor in case they found themselves face to face with one of the assailants. They, too, were forced to join the group.
