The Child(67)

Her daughter gave her a big hug, not wanting to let go.

“I’m fine, Mum. I’m a big girl now. I don’t need you to feed me anymore,” she said. “The question is, are you eating properly? Dad says you are leaving your food.”

“I haven’t got much of an appetite,” Angela admitted.

“Mind you, if Dad was cooking for me, I’d lose mine,” Louise said, and both smiled. “Sausage and mash every night, I expect. I’ve brought humanitarian supplies—a lamb casserole,” she said. “Dad’s put it in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, love. You’re so good to us.”

“Rubbish. You’re my mum and I love you. That’s all.”

Angela started to weep. The simple sentiment only amplified her feeling of loss.

Why is this not enough? ran through her head. You’re a lucky woman. You’re surrounded by people who love you. You have two beautiful children.

Louise was talking and Angela tuned back in to hear her say that she wanted to take her mother away for a weekend.

“Oh, I couldn’t go away. Something might happen—the police might need me,” Angela said.

“I’ve got my mobile phone. You don’t have to be here all the time. It’s making you ill, Mum.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, pulling a tissue out of her sleeve to blow her nose. “I need to be here. For Alice.”

Louise’s face stiffened. “You need to do what’s best for you and Dad, Mum. You need a break from this. The police will do their job and you need to take care of yourself. For Paddy and me. Alice is gone, but we are still here. You do see that, don’t you?”

“I am here for you,” Angela shouted at her daughter. Like the woman in Asda.

Nick came back in. “What’s going on here?”

“I’ve upset Mum. I shouldn’t have come,” Louise said. “I’m so sorry.”

“No. It’s not your fault. It’s me. I don’t know what I’m saying or doing at the moment,” Angela said.

“I’m taking her back to the doctor’s,” Nick half-whispered to Louise. “She’s not coping.”

Back to the doctor’s. Dr. Earnley must be dead by now. But it will just be more patting on the shoulder, more encouraging words.

“You will get through this, Angela.”





FIFTY-FOUR


    Kate


FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 2012

Toni practically shrieked with excitement when she rang Kate to say her big reunion was on.

“I’ve found all sorts of people online. They all love the idea and we’re having a party next week at the Boys’ Brigade hall. It’s going to be brilliant. We’ve got an eighties DJ and everything. Say you’ll come.”

Try and stop me, Kate thought. “Sounds unmissable, Toni. Who’s on the guest list?”

Toni reeled off a string of names.

“Oh, well done for finding all of them,” Kate said. “Must have been quite a task after all this time.”

“Yes, some of them were hard to find, but I tracked them down. Even Harry Harrison. The girl we all thought would get herself mixed up in drugs. Actually, she’s done well for herself. Who’d have thought . . .”

Toni almost sounded disappointed.

“Where’s she living now?” Kate asked.

“All very posh in Kensington. Mrs. Thornton now. She wasn’t sure about coming at first but I laid it on thick. You know: ‘Remember where you come from, Harry.’ The girls won’t believe it when they see her.”

Kate noted it all down.

“Ah, but will Malcolm be at the disco?” she asked, laughing.

“Oh yes. And the Sarahs. Should be a hoot,” Toni said, breathless with the excitement. “I’d better go, got loads to do. It starts at eight. See you there in your glad rags.”

Kate put down the phone and sat back in her chair.

“Who was that?” Joe asked, ever alert. “You look really happy.”

“For a change,” Terry said as he walked by. “Moody baggage, your boss.”

Kate was too pleased with herself to rise to the bait.

“I’ve been invited to a party,” she said and laughed. “Now I need an outfit.”

The two men looked at each other, mystified.

“I thought it was a story,” Joe said.

“Of course it’s a bloody story,” Kate replied.

She stood up and pulled her jacket off the back of the chair. Enjoying her moment.

“Come on, tell us,” Terry teased.

“Not in the mood,” she said and swung her bag over her shoulder, ready to flounce out. “Got to go and see someone. See you later.”

? ? ?

Outside, she rang Joe and told him to meet her by the main doors.

“We’re going to talk to Harry Harrison,” she told him. “No driving this time. We can walk from here.”

? ? ?

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman with a cigarette in her hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Thornton? I’m Kate Waters from the Daily Post.”

“Really? The press? What do you want?” the woman said, her tone instantly dismissive. “Look, I’m on my way out.”