Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(8)

A few others voiced similar fears. How would they tell their children that the person who’d sat opposite them at dinner for the past seven days could be dead, or badly injured?

“I just spoke to one of the parents at the hospital,” Bish said. “Reggie Hill and Amy Jacobs will be allowed to go home soon enough. Their injuries are minor. There are four students in a critical condition: Fionn Sykes, Lola Barrett-Parker, Manoshi Bagchi, and Astrid Copely. They were all seated at the front of the bus. If there’s any relief in this situation, it’s that the bus wasn’t at full capacity and the vacant seats were closer to the front.”

“Whose bodies are outside?” a woman dared to ask.

“I can’t say for sure.” Not quite a lie. Bish cleared the hoarseness from his voice. “A young Spanish girl was killed at the steps of her bus. The two closest to the destroyed bus are obviously ours. So you’ll have to prepare your children for the worst news.”

“They need to remove the bodies,” said a father dressed as if he’d just walked off a golf course. Half these people had been on holidays. They seemed to have got into their cars or onto a flight with nothing more than what they were wearing. “It’s wrong for them to still be out there,” he added.

“I’m afraid that can’t happen until everyone’s done their job,” Bish said.

He watched as a number of the women wept. Men wiped tears from their eyes, shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Can I ask that you don’t take up Ms. Gilies’s time for the next couple of hours?” Bish continued. He kept his tone gentle. “There are at least half a dozen parents and guardians still in transit, and it’s important she’s free to speak to them if they ring. If there’s any further information, I’ll update you. All I can say is that I’m grateful my daughter’s here and not at the hospital. Or lying outside. The best thing for now is to be with your kids.”

The group seemed less manic, at least. There was a murmuring among them and Bish went to walk away.

“This business with the LeBrac girl,” one of the fathers said. “My son said she was cagey. Strange.”

“And gave out sexual favors to more than one of the lads,” a woman said. “If she comes from that heinous family—”

“I can’t speak of that,” Bish said firmly, “because there’s little I know. But regardless of whose daughter she is, Violette Zidane is unaccounted for, and as much a victim of this tragedy as your children.”

He went in search of Bee, worried that he had neglected her this past hour. She was standing with Saffron on the veranda, watching the forensics team appear and disappear inside the tents.

When Bee saw him she asked the same question Crombie had. “Is it true what they’re saying about Violette? Her grandfather blew up those people and her mum built the bomb?”

He dodged the question. “Do you know where Violette is, Bee?”

“Don’t care. I hope she rots in hell.”

Bish looked carefully at his daughter. She was dressed differently than her usual attire. Bee was an athlete, a casual clothes sort of girl. Today she was wearing some sort of short tulle skirt, UGG boots, and a black singlet. He didn’t remember her dark hair having blue strands.

“She did this to me.” Bee pointed to a bruise above her eye.

“A girl did that?”

“Yes, a girl, Bish.”

So he was back to being Bish. Whenever she used his name she made it sound like a euphemism for idiot. He had liked being Daddy for two minutes. She had taken to calling him and Rachel by their first names a few years ago. They thought it was a phase. Nothing with Bee was a phase these days except perhaps being surly.

“Apart from getting into fistfights with other girls, did she act suspicious?” he asked.

Bee ignored him, her attention on a group of teenagers being led to one of the parked buses. They were dressed in football gear—the Pas de Calais team, Bish guessed. Today would have marked the last day of their tour with a game in Amiens, which had been canceled. If they were boarding their bus it meant they’d been interviewed and Attal was allowing them to return to their homes.

When the French teenagers disappeared from sight, Bee walked away.

Bish glanced at his mother. She understood Bee better than he did lately.

Saffron sighed. “Bee and Violette Zidane shared a room the entire tour.”

“They were friends?” Bish was shocked.

“Not according to Bee. All the other girls paired up on the ferry. Bee and Violette were the last two left. They didn’t have a choice. But Bee is fixated about where Violette is, as well as Eddie Conlon.”

“Well, Eddie can’t be far away. His name’s been ticked off on the list.”

“Some of the kids whose parents haven’t arrived are camped out closer to the police barricade, waiting,” Saffron said. “He’s probably with them.”

Lucy joined them on the veranda. Bish could see the boy who’d called Violette a slag out near the picnic tables. He was with his parents, being interviewed by Sky News.

“Charlie Crombie’s friend,” Bish said to Lucy. “Name’s Kennington, is that right?”

“Rodney Kennington. He imagined himself being in charge for about ten seconds, and then Charlie Crombie took over and Rodney seemed satisfied with being his lackey.”