My Sister's Bones(53)

‘Two.’

The water below me is a raging sea. All I can do is go forward, no matter how terrifying.

‘Three.’

I reach out and grab his hand and he holds me so tight I fear he will break my wrist. Soon I am flying through the air, over the cliffs, off into the ether it seems, and I close my eyes, waiting for the moment he loses his grip and I fall. But I don’t. We do it. We hold on to each other and we don’t let go until I’m safely on the clifftop. Paul puts his coat over me as I lie there trying to get my breath.

‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he cries as he pulls me towards him. ‘Jesus, I really thought I’d . . .’

He buries his face in my shoulder and as I hold him close I feel his body trembling.

‘Shall we go home?’ I whisper into his sodden hair.

He looks up and it may be the salt in my eyes or the dense mist that hangs over the clifftop, but he looks different. His hair, battered by the wind and the rain, looks black. I watch as he pushes it out of his eyes and a familiar sensation twists inside my stomach. He looks, for a moment, like someone else.

‘Yes, I think we should,’ he says. We get to our feet and stand face to face, our backs against the violent coastal air. ‘Come on.’

I nod my head and he takes my hand as we walk silently towards the lights of the bay.





24


Herne Bay Police Station

36 hours detained

The air has changed inside the interview room and I am finding it difficult to breathe.

‘Could we open a window?’ I ask Shaw. ‘It’s so hot in here.’

‘It’s the central heating,’ she replies. ‘It comes on automatically. I’m afraid the window only opens slightly but I can see if it helps.’

She goes to stand up but I shake my head.

‘Oh, don’t bother, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘Let’s just carry on.’

I take off my cardigan and drape it over the back of the chair. As I sit here in my flimsy vest and mud-splattered jeans I feel vulnerable, exposed. As though I have no dignity left.

‘Okay,’ says Shaw. ‘Let’s continue, if you can, Kate.’

She looks down and reads from her notes.

‘Nidal was playing football in the hallway. His father came out of the room and they argued. Then you told the boy that he should listen to his father and stop playing football. The boy shouted and ran away.’

It all sounds so neat and contained, nothing like how it actually was.

‘What happened then?’ asks Shaw.

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Please just try,’ says Shaw.

I don’t answer. Silence seems so appealing. I feel like I have no words left.

‘Perhaps if I can read you the account Graham Turner gave to Harry Vine when he returned from Aleppo,’ says Shaw, her voice calm and deliberate.

‘No,’ I cry. ‘Please don’t do that.’ How could Harry do this to me?

‘Kate, I need to understand the conditions that led to your arrest at number 44 Smythley Road,’ she says. ‘And part of that is to look at what happened that day in Aleppo.’

She is holding an A4 sheet of paper. So that’s all it took to sum up what happened, Graham? A few lousy paragraphs?

‘Account given by Graham Turner,’ Shaw begins.

As she continues I put my head in my hands and try to drown out her words with the rhythm of my breathing.

‘We had been staying in downtown Aleppo for a week and during that time Kate had befriended a young Syrian boy, the son of the family we were staying with. Her behaviour went beyond the professional and I could see that she was becoming emotionally involved with the boy and his family to the detriment of our safety.’

I think of Graham Turner, my friend, my colleague, the man who’d accompanied me through hell on so many occasions, and I wonder why he has done this to me; why he felt the need to betray me like this.

Shaw clears her throat and continues:

‘On the afternoon of 29th March we had been disturbed by the boy kicking a football outside our room. Kate ran out to see him and the next thing I knew she had grabbed her shoes and was making her way to the shop above to find the boy. At that time of day it was a grave mistake as the district was under heavy bombardment and the shop was in a prominent position. Alarmed for her safety, I ran after her, and when I got to the door of the shop I saw her outside on the street.’

Tears stream down my face as I sit listening to Graham’s words. I can smell the dust and the petrol in my mouth as Shaw continues.

‘She was talking to the boy and telling him that if he came back inside she would take him to England.’

‘And I would have,’ I sob. You bastard, Graham. ‘I would have taken that child anywhere he wanted to go if it meant I could have saved him.’

Shaw waits for me to catch my breath then continues.

‘I opened the door and saw them coming towards me. The boy had taken her hand and they were coming back inside.’

‘No, no, no,’ I wail as I feel his little hand in mine. ‘Don’t do this to me.’

We were nearly there; we were so close.

‘They got to the door and were just about to step inside when the boy said something about his football, said he’d left it in the street. Kate told him to leave it. She said she would buy him a new one. But the boy was frantic. He was pulling at her, trying to break free from her hand. Kate lost her temper. She shouted at him. Told him that it was just a stupid football and to get back inside. Then the boy yanked his hand from hers and ran into the street. She went to run after him but I held her back. I told her not to be so reckless. The street was a no-go area and we needed to get back inside and find the boy’s parents.’