‘We were on telly,’ Finn says.
‘Did you see yourselves?’ I say.
‘Yes, but we were fuzzy,’ he says.
‘Daddy talked,’ Isaac says, ‘he talked about Lori-’
‘Isaac made too much noise,’ Finn says.
‘I did not.’
‘Did.’
‘OK, lads,’ Nick interrupts. ‘Let me talk to Mum now.’
‘What does he mean “fuzzy”?’ I say.
‘They blurred the boys’ faces – privacy rules apparently.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Was it OK – the filming?’
‘Bit crazy,’ he says, ‘but they must be used to all sorts, the team that do it.’
‘I’ll try to call again tomorrow,’ I say.
They all crowd in to wave goodbye and then the screen goes black.
I’m at breakfast when Tom seeks me out. ‘Any word from Peter Dunne?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, ‘but it’s only nine o’clock.’
‘He had all day yesterday to talk to Superintendent Yin.’ Tom looks tired, in spite of the fact that he’s acquired a tan since we got here. His eyes are dull, weary.
‘Ring after this, then?’ I say. ‘Are you not eating?’
‘I already did. Give me a knock when you’re ready.’
I wish Nick were here. There’s a gulf between Tom and me that can’t be bridged. The rift when he left me and Lori was so deep, so ragged, that it never really healed. Or not on my side. I’ve no idea what Tom’s perspective is on it. We’ve never spoken about it in any meaningful way. He was quite ruthless at first, unapologetic almost. I’d be weeping down the phone and he would hang up. As things settled, as it became apparent that the separation was going to be permanent, that I couldn’t win him back, I hardened my heart against him. I let all the fire of my love, jealousy and anger crystallize and chill into cold, unyielding stone. He would never hurt me again. In my own mind I belittled him, a man who couldn’t commit, a playboy, a narcissist, his only concern feeding his ego. I bit my tongue in front of Lori as Tom cherry-picked his time with her. I became an expert at tact and diplomacy.
If Nick were here I could share my thoughts and feelings about our search, perhaps even voice the fears I’m working so hard to deny, to ignore. Although Nick and I weren’t exactly communicating well before I left.
Across the room, a guest drops a glass of juice, making me jump. In the hubbub that follows I leave the table and walk to the lift. I rub at my arms to ease the gooseflesh and the shiver that runs through me.
Tom’s window looks down onto a side road and across to the buildings opposite. I think they must be offices – there are no balconies, no ever-present laundry on show.
