Cath Staincliffe - Half the World Away

‘We can move the wardrobe and drawers to that side,’ I suggest to Nick. ‘That’ll cover most of it. And put some of their posters over what still shows.’ It feels odd to be reorganizing the rooms when everything with Lori is up in the air. Normal life should be suspended, paused, until we know where she is, but it doesn’t work like that.

I’ve an irrational urge to tell him to move it all back, put everything how it was, as if by rearranging the furniture we can return to some time before 2 April. Put Lori back in place where she should be posting a new blog about her escapades: So I am sticky and itchy and STILL having an amazing time. Lxxx

Finn wants to help but is just getting in the way so I give him the pile of posters and tell him to take them downstairs: he and Isaac can pick three each to go up on the wall.

I empty the wardrobe of the boys’ clothes, which are on the shelves at the right-hand side. Neither of them has anything that needs hanging up. Between us, Nick and I lug the wardrobe over to the wall. As we edge it into the corner, I try to see the collage afresh, look for surprises in it, but I’m too familiar with the components: the family wearing gas masks, her landscape photos from Skye, the cityscapes of Glasgow and Manchester, the picture of a skeleton draped with feather boas.

Nick removes the drawers from the chest and puts them on Finn’s bunk, then hefts the carcass over and puts it next to the wardrobe. The bedroom door will only open ninety degrees but that will have to do.

There’s a wail from downstairs. Finn. I find him standing disconsolate, holding two halves of a poster.

Isaac has a beetle brow, mouth pursed with defiance.

‘He tore my picture.’

‘I did not,’ Isaac yells. ‘You snatched it.’

‘It’s mine,’ Finn says.

‘I was giving it to you.’

‘Isaac-’ I say.

‘I was! He shouldn’t pull.’

‘We can fix it,’ I say, ‘with some tape.’

‘It’ll still be torn,’ Finn says.

‘Put it there.’ I nod to the table and fetch the Sellotape from the basket on the shelf. The rip is more or less straight so it’s easy to repair. When I turn it over, Finn inspects it. ‘It’s still torn. You can see the mark. I want a new one.’

‘OK, but for now we use this. Have you chosen your others?’

‘No,’ Finn says.

‘Two minutes,’ I say, ‘then if you still haven’t I’ll pick for you.’

‘You tell Isaac off.’

I cannot face this. ‘It’s a shame the poster got ripped but we will get you a new one.’

‘You tell Isaac off.’

I’m saved from having to launch into a reprimand by Nick calling, ‘Jo, can you bring up the extension lead from the shed?’

‘OK,’ I shout, then remind the boys, ‘Two minutes.’

Nick shows me the little room. He’s not bothered repainting so the wall is scuffed where the bunks used to be and there are stickers here and there, little dinosaurs, dogs, and large round ones from the dentist that say ‘Hero!’ or ‘Champion!’ The curtains show cartoon kid astronauts floating among rockets and planets. The computer desk is L-shaped and fits into the corner, giving work space each side. On the shelves where the boys had their toys, Nick’s put books and folders from his work.

‘You could take those down.’ I signal to the curtains. ‘Have a blind – or nothing at all. No one can see in.’

‘I might,’ he says.

‘It’s fine, though,’ I add, wondering if I’ve struck the wrong tone in implying he could do more.

My phone goes. DI Dooley . My stomach drops.

‘I’ve no news,’ she says first of all, which helps me stay upright, ‘but I’ve verified there has been no recent activity on Lori’s phone or her bank accounts so you should go back to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, tell them that, and ask them to request the assistance of the Chinese police.’ My face freezes as I take this in. Nick stares at me intently. I grimace at him. He moves closer so he can hear.

‘Will you let Mr Maddox know or shall I?’ DI Dooley says.

‘I’ll do that. So, erm, what happens now?’

‘The Chinese police will do a welfare check on the ground there, then instigate a missing-person investigation. It’s not something I’d have any involvement in, other than assisting with forwarding any information we already have. And if Jeremy Chadwick needs anything from me, please tell him to call.’

‘Yes. We’ve been looking at the Missing Overseas site,’ I say. ‘We could ask them to put Lori’s details up there.’

‘I think that would be a good idea,’ she says. ‘If you prepare what you need for that, then liaise with the FCO as to the timing – they may want to make some initial checks over there before going public.’

‘Yes.’ I look at the helmets and inflatable suits on the astronauts, the perky grins on their faces, the red stain on the flying saucer where Isaac had written Finn pig and I’d tried to scrub it off.

‘Yes,’ I say again.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ she says. ‘Get back to me if there’s anything you need, anything you want to ask.’

‘Thank you.’

Stupefied, I close the cover on my phone.

‘Shit,’ Nick says.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. ‘We’ve got to find her,’ I say.

‘We will,’ he says, but I read the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

‘Can you ring Tom?’ I say.

There’s a moment’s pause. How can he hesitate? He gets out his own phone. I’m wiping my nose and trying not to beat myself up for crying. What’s the point of bottling it all up? Of course I should fucking cry. What sort of mother am I? What mother wouldn’t?

I sit on the floor while Nick talks to Tom. From his side of the conversation I can tell Tom’s asking a whole lot of questions, none of which Nick can answer. Then Nick covers the phone and says to me, ‘He wants to come round.’

The thought exhausts me but who am I to shut him out? We have things to do, things to prepare, like the detective said.

I nod to Nick, blow my nose and wipe my face.

‘These ones.’ Finn comes up the stairs holding posters. ‘And Isaac has four, not three. But I don’t mind.’

I can’t speak for a moment, still full of tears. Finn watches me. Can he tell I’ve been crying?

‘Get the Blu Tack,’ I say, as brightly as I can, ‘and we’ll put them up now.’

Once he is out of earshot I ask Nick to do it with them. I don’t want to. I don’t want to cover up her lovely riot of pictures.

The GP is new to me. We never seem to see the same one twice. It’s a group practice, and although we have a named individual as our primary carer, she only works two days a week and her appointments are like gold dust. So Dr Munir has never met Isaac. He listens while I go over our worries, the run of fevers, the vomiting. Choosing my words carefully, I also talk about his outbursts, the anger and biting.

To his credit the doctor talks directly to Isaac, too, asking him if he has any pains, if anything is worrying him. Isaac shakes his head each time.

‘What about school?’

‘Sit quietly on the carpet,’ Isaac says, ‘or Miss gets cross.’

‘Do you get cross?’

‘Sometimes,’ Isaac says.

‘Why?’

‘If Finn is naughty or Sebastian hits me.’

‘Does Sebastian hit you a lot?’ Dr Munir says.

A toss of the shoulders. ‘Not really.’

Dr Munir asks Isaac to stick his tongue out and say aaah , which he does, grinning at the cheek of it. He examines Isaac’s ears and feels under his neck. ‘Slight swelling of the glands here but nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes an infection presents with vomiting and that would account for the swelling too. Any toilet problems – constipation, diarrhoea?’