Gilly MacMillan - What She Knew

‘I’m going to check out the rest of the alley before I go,’ she said. ‘We’ll speak tomorrow.’

In both directions the alley stretched out into darkness. We could hear scuffling behind the fence as something took cover. Further away the wind was making somebody’s back gate creak and bang.

‘Go back inside,’ she said to me. ‘Stay safe.’

I did go home, but the flat felt hollow and cold, and I was unsettled. I called Emma.

‘Where are you?’ I said when she answered.

‘I’m in the alleyway behind Rachel Jenner’s house.’

‘And?’

‘Well, they’ve washed most of the paint off, but you can see where the words were written in massive letters.’

‘How are the family?’

‘Rachel’s not good, she’s really fearful. Looks ill actually. Nicky’s holding the fort, she’s tough that one, proactive, I like her, and they’ve got Rachel’s friend Laura with them.’

‘Are you going back in with them?’

‘I don’t think I need to. They’re coping for now. I’m cold, Jim, I need to get going.’

‘Are you coming round?’

‘I’ve got to go and see John Finch, tell him about the forensics.’

‘Afterwards?’

‘I’m so tired. I might just go to mine.’

‘Please, Em. I missed you last night.’

She didn’t answer right away. The line went bad as the wind whistled into her handset and it was hard to hear her when she said, ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea, now I’m working for you?’

‘With me, not for me, and it doesn’t have to make a difference, of course it doesn’t. Please, come round tonight.’

‘I’ll come round after I’ve seen John Finch but I’m warning you I won’t be good for much.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘I hope I’m the right person for this job.’

‘Of course you are. Of course! Don’t start getting wound up because of what you said at the meeting. Fraser knows you didn’t mean it.’

‘The way she looked at me…⁠’

‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. Don’t. She’ll have forgotten about it by now. I promise you. You are the right person for this job. You’re tired tonight, that’s why it all feels bad. Just remember why you’re doing it: it’s for the boy. Emma? Are you there?’

‘Yeah. I heard you. It’s for the boy.’

‘Are you coming round?’

‘I’ll see you in about an hour. Don’t wait up.’

After we spoke I turned on all the lights in the flat and put the heating up. Then I went to the shop round the corner and got supplies for breakfast, and a Mars Bar, because Emma liked chocolate. I made a coffee and waited for her to arrive. I couldn’t wait to see her, but I wanted her to be her normal self. I wanted her to tease me, take me out of myself, and make me forget work for a while. I wanted to hold her.

When I got back inside Nicky held the phone out to me. ‘It’s John.’

‘The nursing home rang,’ he said. ‘My mother’s distressed because you didn’t bring Ben to visit her today.’

‘Oh God.’

I’d forgotten about Ruth. Ben and I made a regular weekly visit to see her in her nursing home. Spending time with her grandson was one of the only things she looked forward to.

‘Does she know?’ I asked.

‘No.’ His voice was quiet. ‘I’ve asked them to keep her away from the media.’

I knew it would be easy to keep Ruth away from the TV – she didn’t have a television in her room, and she was fiercely dismissive of the communal areas of the nursing home, keeping to her own room mostly. She loved to listen to Radio 3, though, and I wondered how they were managing that. She’d be desolate without it.

John was one step ahead of me. He said, ‘They’ve told her that her radio’s broken, and Katrina dropped off some CDs for her, and a player. It should keep her going for a while.’

‘You’ll have to go and see her,’ I said.

‘I can’t see her.’ This said so quietly that I could hardly hear him.

‘Well, one of us has to go. We don’t have to tell her.’

I wanted it to be him that went. I didn’t want to have to look into Ruth’s eyes and lie to her about Ben, but to tell her would break her heart.

‘No. Don’t ask me to,’ he said. ‘I can’t.’

‘John!’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he hung up. I stood there with the phone in my hand, incredulous.

‘How does he think I can deal with this any better than him?’ I said.

‘I’m not sure he’s coping,’ said Nicky.

‘Nobody’s coping,’ I said.

‘He’s really on the edge.’

‘We’re all on the edge .’

‘Don’t argue.’ Laura tried to be peacekeeper.

‘I just don’t see why everybody has to be so worried about John.’

‘We ought to be thinking of him,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s not just you who’s affected by this.’

‘Oh and it’s so hard for you with your perfect husband and perfect daughters safe in their perfect home?’

Nicky gasped. ‘That’s just not fair.’

She got up and left the room. I’d gone too far.

‘She didn’t deserve that,’ said Laura.

‘I know.’

‘She’s trying to help.’

I knew I should apologise to Nicky, but I couldn’t bring myself to. She came back down soon afterwards, eyes red, but face composed.

‘Rachel, I know this feels unbearable, but we’re all on your side, and there are even people out there who are on your side too. The stuff online, it’s not all bad. People are out there searching for Ben. People we don’t know.’

‘They’re organising themselves online,’ said Laura. ‘Using social media.’

‘And the police are going to meet with us,’ said Nicky. ‘Don’t forget what Zhang said earlier. We’ll be working with them to find Ben. It’ll give us the best chance.’

She held my hand and squeezed it gently, but all I could think of was those people out there who hid behind online nicknames, or anonymous blogs, or found safety in numbers on the payroll of newspapers. I thought about how they’d started hunting me from the moment I went off-message at the press conference and I felt preyed upon. Just like my son.

On the night of Wednesday, 24 October, after working all hours, basically until I was ready to drop, I dreamed of Emma and I dreamed of Benedict Finch too. I remember this because in the moment before waking properly, when the dream was most intense, I clutched her, pulled her to me, and expected her to understand why. She’d been in the dream with me after all.

Instead I scared her. She yelped and sat up, confused by being woken abruptly.

‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it?’

I realised my mistake then. Her voice, her actual real voice, chased the shadows of the dream away.

‘Sorry,’ I said.

She relaxed, fell back onto the pillows and looked at me with sleepy eyes. She said, ‘You look exhausted,’ and then, ‘What time is it?’

I’d forgotten for a moment that dreams are private.

The dream starts at Portishead lido, where I’m meeting Emma for a coffee in the café. I sit down opposite her. We’re the only customers. Across the room, amongst a host of empty tables, there’s one that has a ‘reserved’ sign on it. Outside, the water in the Bristol Channel looks grey and squally under clouds that are darkening, filthy and low. I feel as if we’re in the last place on earth. I crave a cigarette.

‘I like it here,’ says Emma.

‘Really?’ I say. ‘I feel as if I’m in an Edward Hopper painting.’

She laughs. ‘ Nighthawks ? I know what you mean.’

‘Something like that,’ I say. I don’t know what the painting is called, just that it shows a stark bar, only four people in it, muted colours, and a big dose of bleakness as its theme.