Half the World Away

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A cab drops us at the university, at the West Gate. When we meet Shona, she’s wearing shorts again, royal blue, patterned with small white angelfish, along with a sleeveless denim top. And the same clashing collection of bracelets and necklaces. I ask her why it’s called Sichuan Normal University.

‘A normal university is for teacher training,’ she says. She tells us it’s coming close to the end of the academic year but most courses are still running. There are a lot of courses, like hers, for international students. In her master’s class there are people from Italy, Korea, Tibet, France, America, Mexico and Thailand. Classes are taught in Chinese so they all need at least a working knowledge of Mandarin.

‘Were you always good at languages?’ I ask.

‘Sort of. My mum was from Finland so I grew up bilingual.’

At the entrance there’s an open-air arcade, three storeys high, with shops selling groceries, DVDs, accessories, then kebab and noodle stalls, a dumpling shop and restaurants. We visit all of these and distribute copies of the fliers.

Further inside the campus, trees line the avenues and provide shade in the courtyards between the buildings – but even here it is stifling. A patina of gritty dust is silted over everything.

We take a broad avenue downhill, lined with busts of famous people: philosophers, musicians, artists, scientists and writers. Their names are in Chinese. One or two I recognize: Charles Darwin, Marie Curie.

Passing a building with rows of large sinks inside, I see ranks of vacuum flasks piled up outside.

‘The halls don’t have hot water,’ Shona says. ‘Students fetch it from here for washing.’

The blister on my heel, tight with fluid, stings with each step. My mosquito bites from the first visit to the bar are big red lumps with crusty yellow centres. The need to scratch is intense. I’m able to resist it most of the time but at night I think I do it in my sleep.

We leave leaflets in the library, the gym, the admin offices and the student canteen. Shona takes a bundle to give to her faculty. A couple of times we stop when we run into someone she knows, but neither of them has news of Lori.

Some students are splashing about in the open-air swimming-pool at the bottom of the hill. It’s so inviting. I think of Finn, of his prowess in the water. Like a seal, sleek and smooth and fast.

I miss my boys.

‘We’re in The Big Issue.’ That’s the first thing Nick says when I call. Half nine in the evening my time but it’s only half two in the afternoon there. ‘I’ll scan a copy and email it. Two-page spread. And the Guardian have published a small piece, a couple of inches. The Manchester Evening News are doing a full page tomorrow. We’ve a TV crew coming anytime now, BBC, for the local news.’

‘I wish there was some sort of coverage here,’ I say. ‘There’s still not been anything.’ A press conference seems to be the only way to grab the headlines and we haven’t a date for that yet. ‘Listen, Nick, we talked to Oliver today. That last lesson Lori did, on the Sunday night, the student was one of the people she was going to use for her photo project. And, according to Dawn, he was a bit odd.’

‘Odd in what way?’ Nick says.

I tell him.

‘Shit.’

‘I know. We’ve told Peter Dunne and insisted that we want the police to look again at this bloke.’

‘Yes, they must,’ Nick says.

‘They have interviewed him,’ I’m not sure whether I’m reassuring Nick or myself, ‘so he must have checked out all right. There’s a neighbour too, whom we haven’t seen yet. She was another hobby subject. Look, do you want me to talk to Edward about any of this?’

‘No,’ Nick says. ‘I will.’

‘Have there been any calls to the hotline?’

‘I don’t know. Edward says they check things out first, just to make sure, and pass on anything they judge to be significant.’

I hear our house phone ring.

‘I’d better get that,’ Nick says.

‘I’ll Skype the boys later.’

‘Great. Bye.’

And he’s gone.

When I Skype the boys, I feel as though someone has cut me off at the knees, thinking back to Christmas when they squabbled and Lori, slightly merry with drink, grinned and blew kisses.

Isaac stares at me reproachfully. ‘When are you coming back?’ he says.

‘Soon.’ I am deliberately vague. ‘How was the museum?’

His thundercloud lifts for a few moments, light in his eyes, as he gives me an energetic account.

‘Brilliant,’ I say.

He nods.

‘Finn’s turn,’ Nick says.

Finn is delighted to see me. ‘Mummy!’

‘Hello.’

He peers closer into the webcam. ‘Have you found Lori?’

‘I’m still looking for her.’

‘Oh. Benji ate my rocket.’

‘Ate what?’ I say.

‘From the museum.’

‘His spaceship – he chewed the nose off,’ Nick interprets.

‘Oh. Naughty dog.’

‘It might come out in his poo,’ Isaac, off screen, chips in.

Finn laughs. A rich chuckle. They all have different laughs: Finn this throaty chortle, Isaac quieter, almost a titter, breathy. And Lori: Lori’s laugh is sudden, abrupt, like a bark, but hilarious and infectious.

‘We were on telly,’ Finn says.

‘Did you see yourselves?’ I say.

‘Yes, but we were fuzzy,’ he says.

‘Daddy talked,’ Isaac says, ‘he talked about Lori-’

‘Isaac made too much noise,’ Finn says.

‘I did not.’

‘Did.’

‘OK, lads,’ Nick interrupts. ‘Let me talk to Mum now.’

‘What does he mean “fuzzy”?’ I say.

‘They blurred the boys’ faces – privacy rules apparently.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Was it OK – the filming?’

‘Bit crazy,’ he says, ‘but they must be used to all sorts, the team that do it.’

‘I’ll try to call again tomorrow,’ I say.

They all crowd in to wave goodbye and then the screen goes black.