Half the World Away - страница 52

A sparkle comes into her eyes, a flash of enthusiasm. ‘Very much.’

‘It’s the same in England, for young people,’ I say.

‘Everywhere, I think,’ Rosemary says.

‘You didn’t try to get in touch with Lori over these last weeks?’ Tom says.

Rosemary’s expression alters, fretful again. ‘I messaged her but there was no reply so I thought she was still away. Maybe she is still away,’ she says.

I can’t tell if it’s a question: her voice is uneven and there’s that trace of fear in her look.

The last time Bradley saw or heard from Lori was at the party, the same as Rosemary. ‘Lori was OK,’ he says, ‘maybe a bit down about ending it with Dawn, thinking about a change of scene, having a few days away.’

My pulse picks up at this. ‘Did she say where?’

‘No. Shona said Lori was thinking about the islands, Hong Kong way or Hainan, but she had to look at the fares,’ Bradley says.

‘Did the police check whether she’d taken an internal flight?’ I say to Tom.

‘Well, I’d hope so,’ he says.

‘We should ask,’ I say.

‘If she took a train,’ Bradley said, ‘she’d show her passport, too. They probably keep a record.’

I jot that down, something to consider.

‘Do you remember anything else from the party?’ Tom says.

Bradley shrugs. ‘Things got sorta crazy after that, a drinking game.’

‘Lori played?’ I say.

Bradley looks sheepish. ‘Lori won.’

I think of newspaper headlines, TRAGIC DRINKS DEATH. Those smiling faces of young men or women who’d lost their lives from alcohol poisoning. An image springs to mind: Lori drunk, collapsing, vomiting, choking. The friends unable to rouse her, panicking, desperate to hide the truth. I dig my nails into my palms.

‘But she was OK?’ I say.

‘I think she was sick, you know, after the game but we all left together,’ Bradley says.

Besides, I remind myself, she was teaching the next day and on the Sunday, so nothing could have happened to her on the Friday.

When Shona sits down with us and gets out her tin of tobacco and cigarette papers, she begins to talk before we ask anything.

‘We had a party on the Friday – it was a bit insane. Then she texted me on that Monday. She was doing this photography project.’

I remember the email back in February: Chengdu is growing all the time, malls and skyscrapers going up, everyone studying and working and trying to get ahead, get an education, get a good job to buy the shiny things in the shops. Sound familiar? But there’s also surprises, hidden bits, weird hobbies people have on the side.

‘She wanted to fix up a time to see me.’ Shona’s accent is Scottish.

‘You make the jewellery?’ I nod to the bangles that she’s turning round and round on her wrist.

‘Yes,’ she says, ‘from scrap. Lori texted she could visit me Tuesday or Wednesday. I was in lectures so I didn’t pick up the message till my break.’ She takes a drag on her roll-up.

Tom gets out his cigarettes. I feel a pinprick on the back of my calf and pat at it. A mosquito perhaps.

‘And you replied?’ Tom says.

‘That’s what Superintendent Yin told us,’ I say.

‘Yes, and nothing.’ She concentrates on the bracelets, spacing them out at intervals along her forearm, the rollie between her fingers. Only occasionally does she look our way. Is she shy?

‘Do you still have the text?’ Tom says.

‘Yes.’ She scowls, seems puzzled by our interest.

‘The police say that’s her very last communication,’ I explain. ‘It’s when we lose her.’ I swallow.

Shona puts the cigarette in her other hand and rummages in her bag. Flips open her phone case, then pulls up the message and turns it so we can see. I read, Making a start on the project, ur next. Tue or Wed? Lxxx

I start copying it down but Tom says, ‘Can you forward it?’

‘Sure.’

He reels off his number and Shona sends it to him. There’s a chime as it reaches his phone.

‘ “Making a start”,’ I say. ‘Who was she making a start with?’

Shona shrugs, puts the phone down, tokes on her rollie, wincing at the last drag.

‘What did you know about the project?’ Tom says.

‘Not much,’ Shona says. ‘She wanted something a bit… quirky. Challenging stereotypes. Something you’d never associate with China – no wee pandas or chopsticks. The idea of hobbies, obsessions, she talked about that stuff.’