So that’s it. It’s official. Lori is missing. Those three words fill me with such anxiety that I have to stop outside and cling to Nick’s arm, my heart thumping, wild and irregular, against my ribs, my head buzzing black.
* * *
At home, Penny takes one look at us and sends the boys out to get themselves ice creams from the corner shop. She opens a bottle of wine and pours us each a glass. I tell her what the detective said, feel the pressure of tears behind my eyes and force them away.
‘Don’t tell them yet,’ I say, as we hear the boys coming back. I know we can’t keep it from them for very long, but I’m hoping DI Dooley might bring us good news and it would be awful to upset Finn and Isaac if we weren’t absolutely certain of the situation.
We need to choose a recent picture of Lori. I run through the ones on the computer. Nick points to the snap at the airport. Lori and her backpack.
‘Her hair’s still pink in that,’ I say. I’m worried that people will notice the colour and that’s all they will notice so they’ll immediately disregard it because they don’t recall an English girl with pink hair.
There is one picture from her website, from her blog, that she sent just after arriving in Chengdu. She’s seated in a teahouse but there’s a clear view of her face. Her hair is an in-between length, without the pink. You can see her eyes are a mid-blue. She’s smiling – you can see her dimples. She’s wearing a lilac and cherry-red blouse, crinkly material that’s good for travel, easy to wash and dries in minutes. ‘This one I think.’
The doorbell rings and Tom is here. ‘What did they say?’ He doesn’t bother with any niceties as he steps inside.
‘We go back in tomorrow – there’s a list of stuff they need, all her details, passport number, bank account, phone, email, when we last heard from her, who we’ve spoken to. And a photo.’ I clear my throat. ‘Look.’ He follows me through to the computer. ‘This one?’ I say.
‘Fine, and then what?’
I repeat what DI Dooley has said. Tom is agitated: it’s visible in the way he holds himself, the set of his shoulders. Nick stares at the floor.
‘So we just wait?’ Tom interrupts me. ‘Why not go straight to the Foreign Office now?’
‘The police have to check it all out,’ Nick says, ‘make sure the information’s correct and clear before they involve the Foreign Office or the authorities abroad.’
‘You’ve given them most of the information,’ Tom objects, running his hand through his hair, turning away, then back again.
