Half the World Away

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Isaac answers the phone, and I hear him say, ‘Yes,’ a few times. Then he calls to me, ‘It’s Nanny Betty,’ he says. Nick’s mum. Nick is still in bed.

‘Betty,’ I say, ‘how are you? Is everything all right?’

‘We’re all right,’ she says. ‘I wanted to ring and say hello and send our love to Lori.’

‘Thanks.’

‘How is she doing?’ Betty says.

‘Sleeping a lot,’ I say, focusing on the physical.

‘A terrible thing,’ she says, ‘terrible.’

I feel the scale of it threatening me anew, so I press on, ‘Yes, and with Isaac as well, we don’t know what hit us.’

‘Isaac? What about Isaac?’ Alarm in her voice.

‘Didn’t Nick say?’

‘We’ve not heard anything from Nick for weeks.’

Shit! My stomach turns cold. He lied to me. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Betty, it’s been crazy here. Isaac had appendicitis. He had an emergency operation but he’s fine now.’

‘Oh, my goodness. The poor little lamb. Listen, as soon as you can manage you must all come to see us – it’s been far too long.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘How’s Ron?’

‘Oh, not so bad. His legs are going. It’s rotten getting old,’ she says. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you any different.’

‘And Philip?’ I say.

‘He’s fine.’

I wonder what Betty would say if I broke convention and let on that I knew about Philip’s history, if I told her what was really happening to Nick, if I asked for her advice. Has she gained any insight from all the years of dealing with Philip’s drink problem?

‘And Finn,’ she says, ‘is he OK?’

‘He’s great, still winning badges for his swimming.’

‘He’s a love,’ she says. ‘Now, I won’t keep you but when you get a chance, you will come and see us, won’t you?’

‘We will, of course we will,’ I say.

‘Is Nick there?’

I’m tempted to say yes, to wake him and let him try to hide his hangover, and make his excuses to his mother for his neglect, but then she might guess what’s going on and he’ll know I’ve caught him in his lie and I’m not ready for that yet.

‘He’s out,’ I say.

‘Never mind, then. Bye-bye.’

‘Bye.’

A week later I’m at school, talking to Grace about my return to work, when Peter Dunne calls. She must notice the change in my expression, as I see his name onscreen, because she says, ‘Take it,’ and motions to the door to see if I want her to leave. I shake my head – she can stay.

‘Hello?’ I say.

There’s a slight delay on the line. Then he says, ‘Mrs Maddox, how are you all? How’s Lorelei?’

‘Resting a lot. It’s still early days.’

‘Of course. Do please pass on my best wishes. Mrs Maddox, I’ve just been speaking with Superintendent Yin. Carlson confessed this morning and the case has been referred to the procuratorate, who will consider the evidence. As soon as we have a trial date I will let you know.’

Ice water in my stomach. ‘We won’t have to attend?’

‘Most unlikely,’ he says.

‘And Lori?’

‘The same. The statements you all made will be evidence enough.’

It’s a blessing. I’ve read enough about rape trials here to know that many victims describe the court appearance as just as harrowing and demeaning as the attack itself. A second violation.

‘Mr Carlson will be appointed a lawyer,’ Peter Dunne says.

‘A Chinese lawyer?’ I remember him talking about it before.

‘That’s right. Given he has confessed, the lawyer’s role will be to try to minimize any sentence. They really won’t be able to do any more than that and, in my opinion, it’s already a lost cause.’

‘Can he plead insanity or something?’ I say.

‘No, he’s not going down that route.’ Peter Dunne goes on. ‘With the degree of international interest in this case I predict that the authorities will be bending over backwards to demonstrate that the justice system is fair and transparent. They would lose a lot of face if the US cried foul or the quality of the prosecution evidence was found wanting. It’ll be a lead story in the US, once it breaks. They will also want to prove to the home audience that no foreigner kills a Chinese citizen and gets away with it.’

‘The evidence is overwhelming, isn’t it?’ I say.

‘Indeed, and that’s what counts most.’

‘What about motive? Do they know why he did it?’

‘There doesn’t seem to be any motive, other than self-gratification,’ Peter Dunne says. ‘As it is, they’re much less interested in motive here.’

‘Why Lori?’ I say.

‘I don’t know, I’m afraid. But I can tell you we have heard that the FBI is looking into Carlson.’

‘What for?’ I say.

‘I’m told it’s very rare for someone to act as he has done, at such an extreme, without some history, prior criminal incidents, escalating over time.’

‘There might have been other victims?’ I say.

‘They think it’s worth investigating.’

Oh, God!

‘Please give my best wishes to Mr Maddox and to your husband,’ he says.

‘I will, thank you.’

‘And your son, Isaac, how is he?’

‘Much better, thank you.’

The call unsettles me. I fill Grace in and she tells me to go. ‘We’ve covered the basics,’ she says. ‘See you a week on Monday. It’ll be great to have you back.’

Walking home, I catch a phrase of music and I’m in Chengdu again. The ethereal rise and fall of a flute cut off by a squeal. Then a crashing sound. Concentrating, I hear the phrase repeat and realize, feeling foolish, that it is the recycling lorry collecting glass. Some fluke of metal and friction producing a tune.

Lori is up but not dressed and Nick is out walking the dog. Which may well mean he is at the pub, or sitting on a bench somewhere with a bottle in his pocket.

I did ask him to wait until I got back from school – Lori still doesn’t like to be left alone – but she seems OK so perhaps Isaac’s presence is reassuring enough. He could cope with lessons now but isn’t quite ready for the rough and tumble of the playground. Another couple of days and he’ll be back at school.

Lori wanders into the kitchen where I’m folding the laundry. She sits down. Isaac’s reading book is on the table and she flicks the pages back and forth. Fidgeting.

‘I’ve heard from the consul in Chengdu,’ I say.

Her hand stills. ‘Mr Dunne?’

‘That’s right. Bradley has confessed to all the charges.’

She flinches at the name and I feel an answering prick in my heart. She gets up. ‘I thought you should know,’ I say. She walks away.

Would it have helped if I hadn’t said his name? It’s so hard to know how to behave, what will hurt her and what she can tolerate. The boys are desperate to help. Finn tries singing and chatting. Isaac draws pictures and leaves them on the floor in her room. It’s too much. There are times when she withdraws completely, others when she’s suddenly angry or frightened.

I hear her climb the stairs, still a slow process. She has been given exercises to help build up her muscles again but I don’t think she’s been doing them.

My mind plays nasty tricks, conjures up the bleakest scenarios for the future. As if what I’ve witnessed isn’t horrendous enough. I think of Tom’s mother, Daphne, in and out of hospitals and clinics. Her inability to manage everyday life. Wounded in her soul and never fully healed. Blighted with a chronic condition. Of parents I know at school with poor mental health. Of lives cut short through acts of desperation. We have brought Lori home, Tom and I, but we cannot make her better. She is still so distressed, and there are days like today when I fear the future. Fear for her.

I have an overwhelming longing to see my mum, to share this burden with her, to be someone’s daughter again myself.

It won’t always be like this, I think. Surely it won’t. Nothing stays the same. And I return to the clothes and the business of folding them into our separate piles.