My Sister's Bones(49)

I close my eyes and there he is: a thin, wiry boy wearing an over-sized Brazil football shirt. I blink the image away and continue.

‘I went to close the door then I heard his father’s voice. They started arguing.’

‘What were they arguing about?’

‘Khaled was worried that Nidal was making too much noise,’ I tell her. ‘He was concerned that he would attract the attention of the soldiers outside. He wanted him to come back into the room.’

I close my eyes and see Khaled’s tired face and Nidal’s defiant one.

‘Go on, Kate.’

I hold my hands in my lap, trying to control the shaking.

‘I came out of my room to see if everything was all right. Nidal saw me and started to cry. He said he just wanted to play football and be normal again. He said he was sick of being kept in a prison.’

‘And what did you say to him?’

‘I told him to calm down. I explained that his father was tired and that he should do as he said and leave the ball game for now.’

I take a sip of water and look at the clock. My body starts to tingle all over and I realize it’s been over forty hours since I last had a sleeping pill. I scratch at my injured arm. Shaw notices and looks at it disapprovingly.

‘You told him to calm down,’ she says. ‘And did he listen to you?’

The itching becomes worse and I pull my sleeve up and scratch furiously at my mottled skin. I can smell the street dust on my clothes, in my hair, on my skin. I can hear him screaming. It’s unbearable but I have to go on; I have no choice.

‘No, he didn’t listen,’ I say, tugging down my sleeve. ‘He started to yell and said that he hated his father, hated me, that we couldn’t keep him locked up like this. That he wanted to leave. Then his father lost his temper.’

I hear Khaled’s voice, low and ominous as he grabbed his son’s collar: You think there is time for football if you are refugee, huh? If you are refugee you are treated like vermin, like shit. Is that what you want, boy, is it?

‘I don’t blame him,’ I go on. ‘The poor man was scared and exhausted and Nidal just wouldn’t give up. Khaled went back into his room when he saw me. He thought Nidal would be safe with me. He trusted me.’

He’s here again, right here in the room with me. His little face is wretched with fear and rage and disappointment. Shaw clears her throat and shuffles impatiently in her chair. I continue my recollection as Nidal watches me from the corner of the room.

‘It all just happened so fast,’ I say, feeling his hot skin brush against my arm. ‘I tried. I really tried but he was in such a state and then he . . .’

‘Then he what?’

The blood pounding through my head merges with the voices. Nidal’s. Khaled’s. Graham’s. They are so loud I can barely hear what she is saying.

‘Kate.’

She leans forward in her chair and puts her hand on my arm. It’s a gentle, steadying gesture and it takes me by surprise.

‘Just take it slowly,’ she says. ‘We have plenty of time.’

I know that’s not true. I know that time is running out and I have to fight against the voices and tell her what happened.

‘He ran away,’ I say, my voice a whisper. ‘He ran out of the basement and out into the street and he was so fast I couldn’t stop him. I just couldn’t stop him.’





22


Saturday 18 April 2015

Paul is waiting by the benches on Neptune’s Arm. He has dressed for the weather in a thick padded coat and hiking boots that wouldn’t look out of place on the front line. He has a bulky rucksack with him, I presume packed with provisions for the day.

‘I thought a picnic might be nice,’ he says as he comes to greet me. ‘Out on the beach.’

‘It’s not really the weather for picnics, though, is it?’ I say doubtfully, looking up at the grey clouds gathering overhead.

‘We should be okay,’ he says, following my gaze. ‘There’s a sliver of blue sky over Reculver.’

He points towards the far end of the shoreline where the towers are peeking out from the cliffs. I can’t see any blue sky. I have no idea how he can be so relentlessly optimistic.

‘Come on then, let’s go,’ I say as we walk down the steps to the seafront.

I still feel uneasy about last night. The noise. The blood. I’d stripped off my clothes and stood in the shower, searching every inch of my body for a cut. But it was like it had come from nowhere. And once it had all washed down the plughole, how could I even be sure it had been there?

I’m tempted to tell Paul my concerns. But I don’t want to worry him. He’s got enough on his plate at the moment with Sally. I pause to fasten my ancient parka. Its padding feels like a blanket as the sea air whips into my face.

‘God, it’s freezing,’ I say as I hurry to catch up with Paul. ‘I’d forgotten how cold it gets by the sea.’

‘We’ll be fine once we get a stride on,’ he says. ‘Soon warm up.’

I quicken my step to keep up with him.

‘You sound like my mother,’ I shout, my voice a thin reed fluttering in the searing wind.

‘You calling me an old woman?’ he laughs as the wind almost blows his scarf away. ‘Cheeky mare.’