Half the World Away

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I call Peter Dunne, my teeth chattering, my voice fracturing. His secretary answers. I tell her that we need the police, now, that it is an emergency and I give her the address. ‘Now,’ I say several times, ‘they must come now.’ Does she understand?

Waiting is unreal. My legs are rubbery and I sit with Tom in the spare bedroom, staring at the suitcase. Periodically the drilling resumes and it feels as though it will shake me apart.

The police arrive and there is noise and commotion and confusion. Tom gives them one of our leaflets to explain who we are, who we were looking for. He is ashen-faced now, shivering, his wet hair plastered to his head. I feel myself withdrawing as though everything is shrinking away from me, sounds muted, vision blurring, sensations numb.

‘Mrs Maddox?’ We are back at the hotel, in my room. Peter Dunne is here. And Tom. I blink and try to concentrate. How long have we been here? There aren’t enough chairs.

Peter Dunne sits beside me on the bed. ‘I am so very sorry,’ he says. ‘The first thing we need to do is to make sure that these remains definitely are Lorelei’s. I’ve been in touch with DI Dooley in Manchester and she will get dental records sent for comparison. That shouldn’t take long. Lorelei’s dentist is still Mr Gargrave?’ He glances at Tom, who must have dredged the name up.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Not even five weeks,’ Tom says. ‘How’s that… just bones-’ He chokes on the word.

‘Until we have all the facts…’ Peter Dunne shakes his head, adjusts his glasses. ‘We can make arrangements for you to take her home,’ he says. ‘Would you like me to speak to your husband?’

Nick. The thought brings a fresh wave of dread. ‘No. Thank you. I’ll do it.’

‘Bradley?’ Tom says.

‘Bradley Carlson has been arrested and is in police custody,’ Peter Dunne says.

‘Why would he-’ I break off. It’s not a question anyone here could possibly answer.

‘Would you like to see a doctor?’ Peter Dunne asks me.

‘No.’

‘Mr Maddox?’

‘No,’ Tom says. He looks desolate.

I reach for a tissue, wipe my face, clear my throat. ‘What happens now?’

‘The police will question Mr Carlson. They will hope to obtain a confession, then hold a trial. There won’t now be a press conference but, once Lorelei’s identity is confirmed, the news will be made public. Mr Maddox has given me details for your contact Edward at Missing Overseas and I will brief him.’

‘What if some hotshot American lawyer finds a way for him to wriggle out of it?’ Tom says.

‘He won’t be allowed to hire a lawyer from the US,’ Peter Dunne says. ‘He will have to use a local lawyer and here defence lawyers play a much lesser role than we are used to at home. The system is not adversarial in the way ours is. The lawyer will have little to do until the trial, and even then his or her role will be limited, compared to what we’re used to.’

‘What if Bradley doesn’t confess?’ I say.

‘Ninety-five per cent of suspects in China do confess and then go to trial. That’s how they like to do it here. But even if they don’t get a confession they will still hold a trial. And the conviction rate is ninety-eight per cent.’

The truth washes over me again. Oh, my sweet girl, my Lori. And I hide my face and weep. Tom comes and pulls me into him and it makes me weep more.

When I stop and pull away, Peter Dunne is still there. His eyes are glistening, the tip of his nose is red. ‘I’ll be here in Chengdu for the next few days,’ he says huskily. ‘If you need anything, anything at all, please call. In due course the police will want to speak to you but not until you feel up to it.’

I call Nick. I sit on the edge of my bed, one fist clamped tight.

‘Jo?’ His voice is hoarse. I must have woken him. It will be early there.

‘How’s Isaac?’ I say, not ready to tell him.

‘He’s OK. He had a good night. The stitches are a bit tight and he’ll be on a drip today, no food, but he’s OK, just weak. He needs to sleep as much as possible. So don’t worry-’

‘Oh, Nick. Oh, Nick.’ My breath comes in uneven gulps.

‘Jo, what is it?’

I can’t just say it straight out. ‘It’s bad news.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘We… erm…’ my teeth chatter and I have to force the words out ‘… we found out that Bradley Carlson had arranged to meet Lori…’

‘The American guy?’

‘Yes. He’d lied to us about it and… erm… we went to his flat…’

‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Nick says quietly.

I swallow, fight tears. ‘We found some remains.’

‘Remains?’

‘A skeleton.’ I sound hoarse. ‘They have to do a dental comparison to make sure.’

‘So it might not be-’ I can hear the hope.

‘He had her camera, Nick.’

‘Oh, my God. Oh, Jo.’

I sniff hard and blink. ‘We should know soon, for definite.’

‘Oh, God. I don’t know-’ He flounders.

‘Don’t say anything to the boys yet. Not to anyone. Not till we’re sure. Peter Dunne, he’s speaking to Edward.’

‘Right. Oh, good God.’ I think he’s crying. I keep sniffing. Bite my knuckles hard.

‘Oh, Jo.’

There’s a few seconds, then I say shakily, ‘So if Isaac’s all right… I’ll stay here until…’

‘Of course, yes, you must. Oh, God,’ he says again. ‘I wish I could come, we could come-’

‘I know, I know. So listen, as soon as we hear I’ll ring or text and Peter Dunne, he… erm… he said they can arrange everything, getting her home, you know?’

‘Yes, right,’ he says. ‘I can’t believe it, I just can’t.’

‘I know. I love you.’

‘Oh, Jo.’ His voice is muffled with tears.

‘I’ll call.’

‘Yes. Yes, OK.’

Our goodbyes are clumsy, punctuated by more crying. We can barely speak. And, anyway, words can’t suffice. There are no words.

‘Should we ring Dawn?’ I say to Tom. We’re sitting by the Jinjiang river. The dun-coloured water is like dirty brass in the fog that has settled. I can smell the water, a pungent metallic pong, and I can smell the wet stone, too.

I barely remember coming here. Tom wanted to get out and I tagged along.

‘No,’ Tom says, ‘not until it’s official.’

Friday, I think. Five weeks ago Lori would have been getting ready for the party, deciding what to wear, when to leave. Perhaps feeling a bit sad after the break-up with Dawn. That’s what’s Shona said, didn’t she? A bit low.

‘Lori should never have come here.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Tom says quickly. ‘Who could possibly have stopped her?’

‘If you hadn’t sent the money-’

‘Jo.’ He groans, rubs his forehead.

‘Well, it’s true, she couldn’t have managed. She’d have had to come home. She’d be safe-’

‘It was what she wanted,’ he says, ‘so I wanted to make it happen for her.’

I shake my head. My eyes ache but they are dry – for now.

A brown dove with a white-tipped tail scours the pavement for food. A little egret chases it away, lands on the stone balustrade a few yards from us. It is slender, elegant, with its long legs and that spike of a beak, the spray of feathers behind its head, like a fascinator. I think of Lori’s headband, the antenna. The bag I gave to Superintendent Yin. Then her bones, that shocking jumble, smooth and creamy, grotesque.

‘She wanted to explore,’ Tom says, ‘have fun, see something of the world. What would you have done – locked her away? She’s an adult, she wanted an adventure.’

‘And you encouraged it.’

‘Damn right.’ He gets to his feet and the egret takes flight.

Music starts up, tinny, from along the way. A group of women mill about, putting umbrellas and bags down and taking their places. The dance begins.

‘I’m proud of her,’ Tom says, ‘proud of what she’s done. I think you are too. And if you’re not, you should be.’

I am. Of course I am.

The women dance. They are smiling, all of them smiling, as they turn and wave an arm towards the ground.

‘We did OK,’ he says, ‘really, with Lori, we did OK.’

My face crumples and he moves closer, sits down.

I nod, dash away my tears. ‘She’s amazing,’ I say, ‘she’s…’ I hear the present tense and cling to it ‘… she’s wonderful. Sometimes she drives me mad but, God, I love her so much.’

Before I go to bed, I call Nick. He is at the hospital and Isaac is awake.

‘He’s very sleepy,’ Nick says, ‘but they’re happy with how he’s doing.’

‘I’ll say hello?’

The sound of Nick passing the phone, then Isaac: ‘Hello.’ He sounds glum.

‘Hello, darling, how are you?’

‘I’m in hospital.’

‘Daddy says you’re getting better.’

Isaac grunts, noncommittal.

‘Does it hurt?’ I say.

‘Loads,’ he says.

‘Aw.’

I hear him yawn.

‘I love you. I’ll see you soon.’

Nick comes on the line. ‘A ray of sunshine,’ he says.

And I smile. And then I want to cry. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I’m functioning.’

‘I just want to come home,’ I say.

‘It won’t be long now,’ he says. ‘You’ve not heard any more?’

‘No, so…’ I sniff hard, ‘… I’m going to try and rest a bit. It just feels so unreal, you know?’

‘Yes, I know.’

I have a shower, a good long shower. Letting the water drum on my head and my back, eyes closed, until I am as numb on the outside as I am on the inside.

I wake in the dark with a terrible dread. I remember instantly the image of the suitcase, zipping back the lining. Her skull. I switch on the bedside light and sip some water.

I can’t stay in bed. At the window I look out onto the demolition site. It is abandoned tonight, silent, dark. The sky is burnt umber; through a ragged tear in the clouds I can see a star. The first star I’ve seen since we arrived. Lori got a telescope for her tenth birthday. She already had a camera and she’d taken pictures and made scrapbooks; some told little stories. Then she got interested in space after the solar eclipse when she was nine and they did a project at school. Did she miss the stars here? And the sunshine?

PS Mum, send cheese. And baguettes. Now. *joke*

PPS Mum, don’t worry, I’m fine. Just a lot thinner than you remember. #Notdeadyet.

My breath catches in my throat. I am trembling.

The corridors are hushed. Low safety lights every few yards cast a gentle glow; the carpet is thick under my bare feet.

I knock on Tom’s door and hear movement from inside.

He opens it, a towel around his waist, creases on his cheek from the pillow.

‘What?’

I don’t speak. His eyes search mine. I move forward, he steps aside, closes the door behind us. I reach for him, my hands raised to his face.

‘Jo?’

I place a finger on his lips. His eyes are pained, wary.

I want this. I move my hand back to his left cheek, feel the vibration as his muscles tense. Keep my gaze fixed on his, let him read what’s there. I watch until I see his expression shift. I see desire bloom in his eyes, see his nostrils widen as he takes a breath. I place a hand on his chest, feel the beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of blood pulsing through him. The life of him.

I reach up and kiss him.

We make love, and it is as if we are calling her back. Making Lori again.