No Escape: The most addictive, gripping thriller with a shocking twist. Lucy Clarke

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СКАЧАТЬ group of travellers appeared from a gap between the rocks, talking in loud voices, laughing, bashing each other over the shoulders. Lana followed the direction they had come from, hobbling slowly along a cool, stone passageway.

      Eventually she found herself standing at the top of a stairway made of hundreds of white pebbles set neatly into concrete. From here a view of a bar opened out below. It was built on stilts over the water, its sides open to the softening blue sky, and almost everything she could see was made of bamboo or driftwood. Backpackers in T-shirts and board shorts, sundresses and colourful tops, lounged in low chairs or on floor cushions, playing cards, smoking, talking. Two girls sat at the very edge of the bar drinking beers with their tanned legs dangling towards the water. The pulse of music throbbed through the space, intermingled with voices and laughter.

      The man found them a spot by the water, where a cool breeze drifted in. Lana set her sketchbook on the table, then lowered herself down into one of the wide wooden chairs that sat only inches from the floor. She stretched her legs in front of her, pleased to take the weight off her ankle.

      ‘I’ll get some ice,’ Kitty said, ‘and drinks. Lana, you need something medicinal.’ Turning to the man, she asked, ‘Beer?’

      He held a hand up, saying, ‘You guys go ahead. I’ll sort myself out. I’m meeting some mates here soon.’

      ‘Just a quick one – to say thanks,’ Kitty insisted.

      He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged, saying, ‘Sure, why not?’

      He introduced himself as Denny, and when Kitty went to the bar he told Lana he was from New Zealand. He had an even, golden tan, which set off the pale blue of his eyes, and his hair – a bed of tight sandy curls – seemed to grow upwards. She imagined that if she reached out a hand it would feel springy to the touch.

      He unhooked the headphones from around his neck and set them on the table beside her sketchbook. ‘You draw?’

      ‘A little,’ she replied.

      ‘What type of thing?’

      ‘Oh, anything really. Whatever captures me.’

      ‘And what captures you?’ he said, looking at her with interest.

      She thought for a moment. In the month she and Kitty had been travelling in the Philippines, she’d already filled two sketchbooks with illustrations. She pictured her most recent sketches – a group of boys sitting on a crumbling wall, legs swinging; a goat tethered in the shade chewing the cud; a doorway shrouded by a sun-bleached yellow sheet; a lone shoe discarded at the roadside. ‘I like to sketch ordinary things that pinpoint a moment.’

      He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Something that has a story.’

      ‘Yes, that’s exactly it.’

      Kitty returned with three beers sweating on a bamboo tray, slices of lime sticking out of each bottle neck. She passed them around, then handed Lana a bundle of napkins and a glass of ice. ‘Best they could do in the first-aid department.’

      Lana wrapped the ice cubes in a napkin and placed them against her ankle, wincing at the cold.

      Kitty used a finger to push the lime into the belly of her beer bottle, then they all clinked bottles.

      Behind them there was a crash of wood, followed by the sound of laughter, and Lana turned to see a giant Jenga tower had collapsed. Its builders were collecting the blocks, rebuking each other in Italian. Kitty turned back to the table and said, ‘Great bar. Didn’t even know it was here.’

      ‘Real nice couple run it,’ Denny said. ‘They’ve definitely picked the right location.’ He glanced out across the water to where the sun was getting lower, painting the water rose-gold. As he turned back, his gaze moved to the entrance. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Here they are.’

      Two men in their late twenties strolled across the bar, a younger blonde woman with bare feet walking between them. Denny waved them over and made the introductions.

      Aaron, another Kiwi, who was square-jawed and thick-necked, stood with his hands gripped over the back of a chair. ‘I picked up the part,’ he told Denny, ‘but I had to go to the mechanic’s cousin’s brother’s shop.’

      Denny rolled his eyes. ‘What did they charge you?’

      ‘Six thousand pesos.’

      ‘Pretty good.’

      Aaron nodded.

      ‘No Joseph?’

      Aaron raised an eyebrow, communicating something that Lana didn’t understand. ‘Right, I’ll get the beers in.’

      Heinrich, a German with even white teeth and a sensible haircut, pulled up a chair for the blonde girl, Shell, and set his next to it.

      ‘What happened?’ Shell asked, looking at the ice pressed to Lana’s ankle.

      ‘I got in the path of a runaway cockerel,’ Lana said, lifting the napkin to reveal the swelling skin.

      ‘Bloody kamikaze cockerels,’ Kitty added.

      Shell leant forward and pressed the backs of her fingers very gently against Lana’s skin, a flock of slim silver bangles jangling on her wrist. She drew her fingers lightly around the edges of the swelling. ‘Looks like a sprain. Keep topping up the ice tonight.’

      Lana liked Shell immediately, sensing warmth in the wideness of her smile. She tried to decide whether Shell and Heinrich were a couple, but couldn’t tell if their easy manner with one another was familiarity or intimacy.

      Aaron returned with the drinks and conversation began to flow. Kitty was entertaining the table with a story of a love tryst she’d witnessed earlier between a slight Filipino woman and an ageing American. Lana was content to sit back and listen, trying to place the accents and dynamics of the friends who explained that they’d travelled through South-East Asia together.

      A heady blend of beers and rum on a warm evening meant conversation flowed easily from one topic to another. Lana forgot the pain in her ankle and grinned at the colourful details she learnt about the others: Denny would only fall asleep in a Spider-Man outfit until he was nine years old; Heinrich was so competitive that he used to beg his brother to score him on how long he peed for; Shell’s parents owned a cattle-feed store in Ontario and she used to go sledging on the wide plastic sacks the feed was delivered in; Aaron had once got lost in a rainforest on Réunion island and taken a badly aimed crap on an ants’ nest.

      Several more rounds of drinks were bought and drunk. Candles were lit and streams of white fairy lights began to twinkle around the bar as night arrived. When it was Kitty’s round she ordered more beers, with a tray of chasers, and the noise around the table rose even louder.

      ‘So what made you decide to travel? Why the Philippines?’ Shell asked Lana, the group’s attention turning to her.

      Lana glanced down at her drink, her mouth turning dry as she thought about what led to her decision to leave England. She remembered her father’s expression when he’d found her kneeling on the threadbare carpet of his bedroom with a Manila envelope in her hands: his features seemed to slide downwards, as if weighted by guilt.

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