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.
