Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(82)

“Our readership has doubled in two days,” Katherine said. “We even get comments from people in Australia. They’re quite upset there about the treatment of Violette, apparently.”

“Well, their government should have taken a strong stance earlier,” Bish said.

“Astrid Copely’s sister wrote a beautiful piece in her honor,” Katherine said. “Of course we’d never ask her parents for anything, but teenagers are used to expressing their every thought on social media. She wrote about the fear she has that Astrid will be remembered as a tragedy, when she was such an annoying prankster.” Katherine burst into tears. It took the others by surprise, and seemed to surprise Katherine even more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Sadia took Katherine’s hand, squeezing it.

“An aisle. That’s all it was,” Katherine said. “This side of the aisle said our girls lived and the other side said their children died.”

“There but for the grace of God. That’s what Fionn’s mother says.” Sadia was nodding.

“Then she’s visited him?” Saffron asked.

Sadia made a clicking sound that said no. “She rings every day and we speak often. But she’s a recluse.”

“They miss each other,” Katherine said. “The doctors are doing everything to get Fionn well enough to transfer him up to Newcastle.”

“If they miss each other, then she should be here with her son,” Bish said.

Sadia and Katherine exchanged a knowing look. “It’s about her size,” Sadia said with a confirming nod. “She’s a big woman.”

They returned to Manoshi’s room and Iqbal went to get some fresh air, which meant a cigarette. Saffron volunteered to go with him.

“Can I speak to the girls together?” Bish asked Katherine and Sadia. Moments later, Katherine guided Lola into Manoshi’s room, an arm hovering close to her daughter, who was trying to get accustomed to reduced vision. Lola had been walking unassisted for a day now and seemed pleased with herself.

They spent the next half hour looking through their fellow campers’ photographs on Instagram and Facebook. The girls hadn’t seen most of them before. Now and then the images elicited a giggle, even from Manoshi. When Bish saw they were looking at a photo of the Ramsgate twins asleep in their seats, he asked them about it.

The two girls glanced at each other. “Anyone who fell asleep on the bus had a photo taken of them,” Lola said. “The older kids used to get really angry about it.”

“It was funny.” Manoshi made a face, mouth gaping open, head tilted to one side, and there was more giggling.

“So everyone tried not to fall asleep,” Lola said. “Because the photo always ended up on Snapchat or Instagram.”

Bish eyed them both with mock suspicion. “Bee as well?”

They looked at each other again. Lola made a snorting sound, nodding.

“We held out the longest,” Manoshi said.

“But we fell asleep on the bus the day before…”

“Before the bomb went off,” Manoshi finished for her.

They both seemed relieved that one of them had said it. As if no one had yet dared use the word.

“Everyone took photos of us,” Lola said.

“It was big payback,” Manoshi confirmed.

“If anyone sends you one of these photos, can you forward them straight to me?” Bish said. “Your mums have my email address.”

There were quite a few photos of kids in another bus. In a car park, it seemed. Same bus each time, but not the Boulogne car park. Bish recognized Marianne Attal in all of them.

“We shared the same campsite three times,” Lola said.

Manoshi pointed to Lola. “She had a crush on a boy from the French bus who did magic tricks.”

Lola covered her face, embarrassed. Laughing.

“You didn’t tell me about a boy, Lola?” Katherine said. The mothers were enjoying their daughters’ frivolity.

Bish came across a photo of Bee sitting on her own, staring out the window of the bus. She cut a lonely figure.

After Bish had said his good-byes to the girls, Katherine and Sadia stopped him outside the room.

“Could you write something, Bish?” Sadia asked. “For our blog.”

“We’re asking all the parents,” Katherine said. “Perhaps a piece from the point of view of a father who is also investigating.”

“I’m not really investigating.”

“When we share experience, Bish, it becomes cathartic,” Sadia said. He liked the way she said it. Cathartic. All pronounced and full of meaning.

“One of the parents from Canterbury wrote about the role of schools,” Katherine said. “In providing community. Counseling. A place for collective grief. If the bombing had taken place on a school tour or during the school term, the children would have been better taken care of in the aftermath. The kids on this tour are from an assortment of schools in different counties. They’ve had no place to go to talk about what’s happened. The tour organizers have let these kids down, Bish.”

“I agree with what David Maynard wrote,” Sadia said. “His post has received the most comments. ‘Schools are a constant in an always changing world.’”