Three Hours(26)

No, that’s not true.

There was an explosion and you didn’t warn her, didn’t help her, didn’t even think about her until you got Basi to the beach.

He’s running again over the snow-covered earth, his feet no longer beating out an iambic pentameter but a criticism over and over, you left her, and the boy holding her hand and the man he was becoming, around the bend in the path, have disappeared.

*

In the foyer of The Pines Leisure Centre, Beth Alton’s eyes are playing tricks or she’s in too much of a hurry and reading the list of children’s names too fast because if she slows down surely this time she’ll see Jamie’s name.

And you tell me not to rush things, Mum.

I know. But I meant homework, not—

More haste less speed, you say.

Please don’t tease me right now, Jamie.

Well, someone needs that job, Mum.

She just has to be more logical, not dart about but start at the top and work down, because it’s not like this list is in alphabetical order, any kind of order, just children writing their names down in a biro that’s running out, and then changes to a thick pen, and they didn’t have anything to press on which means it’s all a bit wonky and so easy to miss Jamie’s name.

Her phone keeps buzzing with calls and messages from her parents and sister and Theo at university; but she doesn’t answer. Another text from Mike.

Is he evacuated?



She hesitates but cannot pretend any longer.

No



The police officer holding the list looks at her with kindness. ‘If you go to the cafeteria on the first floor, police officers are updating relatives who still have children in the school.’

She feels weak for clinging on to hope when all the time the police officers in the cafeteria might have important information about Jamie, which conflates in her mind into being something that will help him if only she knows what it is.

The large cafeteria has no windows. Built in the interior of the leisure centre, it looks down over the swimming pool and a children’s play area, emptied now, everyone sent home apart from them. At the twenty or so tables parents have phones pressed to their ears as they talk to their children, others just gripping phones, willing them to ring; the air so tense that Beth thinks she can see wires criss-crossing the room, threading through the parents, winding tighter.

Another text from Mike.

Will ask Mum to drive over and check our answerphone



Their house mobile reception is unreliable so they often have to use the landline to call someone at home and Jamie might think that she’s at home. But surely he’d call her mobile too?

A police officer comes over to her. ‘Can I have your name, please?’

‘Beth Alton. My son Jamie was meant to be in the theatre, but he left to get a cauldron from the CDT room in New School.’ Why’s she telling him about a cauldron? ‘But he wasn’t evacuated. His name isn’t on the list.’

‘Yes,’ the police officer says, ‘I have a record of your son.’

‘You know where he is?’

‘Sorry. I meant that we know he was supposed to be in the CDT room.’

‘Does anyone know where he is?’

‘I have no more information, I’m sorry. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’

She is made of damp cardboard and is folding in half. She doesn’t know how to keep standing, so she sits at a table of strangers.

You okay, Mum?

Yes, course I am. It’s you that needs to be okay.

Jamie is four years old. She is in bed with flu. She hears his footsteps on the stairs, a chink of the china mug on a plate as it wobbles. He sets the mug in its swimming saucer down on her bedside table. ‘Tea,’ he says and clambers in next to her, his little body pressing close to her.

*

Some of the parents are shivering though it’s too warm in here. A teenage member of staff, wearing a Pines Leisure Centre sweatshirt, gives his phone charger to a mother, helps her to plug it in. ‘No problem,’ he says. The mother sits on the floor, holding her phone as it charges.

Beth feels something at her feet. A child’s party balloon is under the table with ‘4’ on it; she must have seen this balloon, not realized she’d seen, attuned only to Jamie so that she’d thought of him bringing her tea. This room is usually used for children’s parties with easy-wipe Formica tables and linoleum on the floor. She’s been here before with Jamie and Theo years ago, for birthday teas, parents all chatting, the children’s hair wet from the swimming party.

A commotion. Three parents are with a young woman police officer who looks outnumbered. The older male officer is coming to her aid.

‘The TV says armed police have arrived.’

‘I can’t comment on that.’

‘The TV bloody well has so why can’t you?’ a suited man says.

‘I’ll find out, sir. Please, calm down, I’ll find out.’

‘But what if the children are hostages?’ a mother asks. ‘What if he starts firing when the armed police go in?’

‘Safety of the children is their absolute priority,’ the woman police officer says.

The suited man steps away from her. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. Of course. I really am sorry.’ As if he needs to get back in her good books, because if he’s in her good books then the police will take better care of his child.