Half the World Away - страница 22

‘More than we do,’ I say.

‘Do you want to get a coffee?’

‘I’ve got work,’ I say.

An almost imperceptible shake of his head, the release of breath in his nose. I am a disappointment. Dull, hidebound.

‘Who’s to know?’ he says.

And perhaps this isn’t Tom wanting to play hookey for the hell of it. I’ve had Nick to talk to about Lori. Has Tom been able to share it with anyone, the woman in Dublin, say? If he has, then it’s not the same as family, as people who know her.

‘Half an hour,’ I say.

There are plenty of small bars and cafés on Burton Road, among the hairdressers and boutiques. The area is known as ‘fashionable West Didsbury’ in all the estate-agent blurbs. Tom wants to sit outside to smoke, so we pick the first place that has a pavement table, order two espressos.

‘If she’d had an accident…’ he says, lighting his cigarette, one eye screwed up against the smoke.

‘We’d know, surely. Any hospital, they’d notify someone, notify us.’

‘What if she had no ID on her?’ he says. ‘And they didn’t know who she was?’

‘They’d get someone to speak English, and ask.’

‘And if she was unconscious?’

Couldn’t communicate. It’s not something I want to think about but it’s in my head now, along with all the other unspeakable possibilities. ‘They’d put out an appeal, surely,’ I say. ‘They must have a way of informing the ex-pats. Through the embassies or whatever.’

He smokes, taps ash into the ashtray. ‘Or kidnapped?’ he says. ‘A way of making money.’

‘Tom, don’t-’ My voice shakes.

‘You must have thought-’

‘Of course. But… Look, there’d have been a ransom demand, wouldn’t there?’

‘I just feel so bloody helpless,’ he mutters.

‘Join the club.’

‘She’s not stupid,’ he says, as we part.

‘I know. But she can be caught up in the moment…’ Twelve days.

We leave it hanging. Go our separate ways.

Isaac complains that the pictures on Lori’s wall are spooky and horrid. He’s right about some of them.

‘We can move the wardrobe and drawers to that side,’ I suggest to Nick. ‘That’ll cover most of it. And put some of their posters over what still shows.’ It feels odd to be reorganizing the rooms when everything with Lori is up in the air. Normal life should be suspended, paused, until we know where she is, but it doesn’t work like that.

I’ve an irrational urge to tell him to move it all back, put everything how it was, as if by rearranging the furniture we can return to some time before 2 April. Put Lori back in place where she should be posting a new blog about her escapades: So I am sticky and itchy and STILL having an amazing time. Lxxx

Finn wants to help but is just getting in the way so I give him the pile of posters and tell him to take them downstairs: he and Isaac can pick three each to go up on the wall.

I empty the wardrobe of the boys’ clothes, which are on the shelves at the right-hand side. Neither of them has anything that needs hanging up. Between us, Nick and I lug the wardrobe over to the wall. As we edge it into the corner, I try to see the collage afresh, look for surprises in it, but I’m too familiar with the components: the family wearing gas masks, her landscape photos from Skye, the cityscapes of Glasgow and Manchester, the picture of a skeleton draped with feather boas.

Nick removes the drawers from the chest and puts them on Finn’s bunk, then hefts the carcass over and puts it next to the wardrobe. The bedroom door will only open ninety degrees but that will have to do.

There’s a wail from downstairs. Finn. I find him standing disconsolate, holding two halves of a poster.

Isaac has a beetle brow, mouth pursed with defiance.

‘He tore my picture.’

‘I did not,’ Isaac yells. ‘You snatched it.’

‘It’s mine,’ Finn says.

‘I was giving it to you.’

‘Isaac-’ I say.

‘I was! He shouldn’t pull.’

‘We can fix it,’ I say, ‘with some tape.’

‘It’ll still be torn,’ Finn says.

‘Put it there.’ I nod to the table and fetch the Sellotape from the basket on the shelf. The rip is more or less straight so it’s easy to repair. When I turn it over, Finn inspects it. ‘It’s still torn. You can see the mark. I want a new one.’