Just My Luck(102)

The glitter had loosened from Benke’s hands and floated on the bath water. Reveka yawned and Benke caught it, he opened his mouth wide, flashing his tiny, pearly baby teeth. The bath seemed to have calmed him. She hauled him out, wrapped him in a towel. Her head hurt. Benke was pulling at his ear, something he did when he was in pain. Maybe a toothache. She hoped they hadn’t caught a cold or flu. No one wanted to be sick at Christmas.

She dressed her boy in soft cotton pyjamas, and he was almost asleep before his head touched the pillow. She leaned over the cot to kiss him goodnight. He really ought to be in a bed. They might find one in a charity shop after Christmas. As she straightened up, the room slipped. She felt dizzy, a little nauseous. She had so much to do. Besides wrapping the gifts, she wanted to finish the ironing, make a dish for Toma’s return. It was important he came home to something good. He worked so hard. Double shifts at that factory were gruelling. Noisy, demanding, he was on his feet all day. He never complained.

She went into the kitchen, picked up a knife, onions, potatoes, carrots, they all needed chopping. But the pain in her head was so fierce now. Maybe she should sit down. Or even lie down. Just for a few minutes. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. Reveka dropped the knife, it narrowly missed her foot. She looked at it, lying on the floor, and was surprised. What was wrong with her? Why was the room swimming? Reveka collapsed onto her hands and knees. What was wrong? Something was very wrong. She started to crawl to her son’s room. Fear shot through her body. She needed to see him. She was sick. Was he sick too? She placed one hand in front of the other, dragged her knees and legs along behind her. She just wanted to sleep. Lie down on the kitchen lino, but more she wanted to check on her baby son. She dragged her body into his room, lit by the cheerful golden glow of the tractor lamp. There he was. Sound asleep. So still. Perfectly still. She had thought he might be dreaming. Dreaming about stars and gifts and Christmas treats but when he dreamy his eyes usually flickered. Tonight, he was stone.

Reveka stretched to put her hand through the bars of the cot. Exhausted, she knew she couldn’t make it into her own bed, didn’t want to. She must have a bug. Her head screamed from the inside. So much pain. Toma would be home soon. He would get her paracetamol. She couldn’t get it herself. Didn’t want to be that far from Benke. She lay down on the floor next to him. Close by if he woke and needed her.





47


Emily


Thursday, 20th June

Oh. My. God. Patrick Pearson has been arrested for kidnapping me!! Mum and Dad are reeling. I don’t know if they were even going to tell me. Well, they’d have had to at some point, but I guess they were going to struggle to find the right moment to drop that one. At is happened, I overheard them talking in the kitchen.

‘DI Owens has been in touch,’ says Mum.

‘Oh yes,’ replies Dad. My parents have a weird way of speaking to one another at the moment. It’s all sort of stiff and narky. I don’t know if it’s the stress of me being kidnapped or what. I think it was there a bit even before then. Not sure. Anyway, when they talk to one another now, it’s like they’re constantly waiting for bad news or are about to deliver it. Something like that. I miss them just being – I don’t know – themselves. Sort of relaxed and nice to each other.

‘The police have checked out Toma’s alibi and since the funds he has in his account are a certified gift from me, there is no case against him.’ Who is Mum talking about? Who is Toma? I sit at the top of the stairs that lead straight into the kitchen; my parents have their backs to me, so they don’t know I’m listening. It’s a funny thing. We now live in a massive house but honestly, because it’s all open plan, there are no secrets. Or rather, there are loads of secrets, apparently, but it’s easier to find them out now than when we lived in our small house when everyone had a door they could close. I’m guessing Dad didn’t take that into account when he picked this place.

‘So, what now?’

‘They said they had someone else in for questioning.’

‘Who?’

‘Patrick Pearson.’

‘Patrick Pearson?’ Dad sounds stunned.

‘Yes. They haven’t arrested him, but I think it’s only a matter of time.’ Mum sounds satisfied with this, vindicated.

‘Shit.’ Dad takes a step backwards, staggers a bit, rests his hands on the kitchen unit, as though he needs something to keep him upright.

Mum snakes her arms around his back and rubs him, like she’s comforting a child. ‘I know, this is huge, isn’t it? DI Owens said there is a paper trail to enormous sums of money in various offshore accounts that can ultimately be linked back to our account. Well, a digital trail, I suppose.’

‘How much money?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘And you didn’t give him the money? It’s not another one of your gifts, is it?’

‘Ha ha, Jake,’ Mum says dryly.

‘I’m serious.’

‘No, of course I didn’t give him any bloody money. I hate the man.’ Dad nods but doesn’t look at her. Mum is staring at him, trying to make eye contact, trying to read him. She used to be very good at that. She used to say she knew his every thought, then she’d joke that it wasn’t tricky as all he ever thought about was food or sport. I think he has a lot more on his mind nowadays. ‘Must be hard for you to process the betrayal. It’s a massive shock,’ she says.