I can’t tell if it’s a question: her voice is uneven and there’s that trace of fear in her look.
The last time Bradley saw or heard from Lori was at the party, the same as Rosemary. ‘Lori was OK,’ he says, ‘maybe a bit down about ending it with Dawn, thinking about a change of scene, having a few days away.’
My pulse picks up at this. ‘Did she say where?’
‘No. Shona said Lori was thinking about the islands, Hong Kong way or Hainan, but she had to look at the fares,’ Bradley says.
‘Did the police check whether she’d taken an internal flight?’ I say to Tom.
‘Well, I’d hope so,’ he says.
‘We should ask,’ I say.
‘If she took a train,’ Bradley said, ‘she’d show her passport, too. They probably keep a record.’
I jot that down, something to consider.
‘Do you remember anything else from the party?’ Tom says.
Bradley shrugs. ‘Things got sorta crazy after that, a drinking game.’
‘Lori played?’ I say.
Bradley looks sheepish. ‘Lori won.’
I think of newspaper headlines, TRAGIC DRINKS DEATH. Those smiling faces of young men or women who’d lost their lives from alcohol poisoning. An image springs to mind: Lori drunk, collapsing, vomiting, choking. The friends unable to rouse her, panicking, desperate to hide the truth. I dig my nails into my palms.
‘But she was OK?’ I say.
‘I think she was sick, you know, after the game but we all left together,’ Bradley says.
Besides, I remind myself, she was teaching the next day and on the Sunday, so nothing could have happened to her on the Friday.
When Shona sits down with us and gets out her tin of tobacco and cigarette papers, she begins to talk before we ask anything.
‘We had a party on the Friday – it was a bit insane. Then she texted me on that Monday. She was doing this photography project.’
I remember the email back in February: Chengdu is growing all the time, malls and skyscrapers going up, everyone studying and working and trying to get ahead, get an education, get a good job to buy the shiny things in the shops. Sound familiar? But there’s also surprises, hidden bits, weird hobbies people have on the side.
‘She wanted to fix up a time to see me.’ Shona’s accent is Scottish.
‘You make the jewellery?’ I nod to the bangles that she’s turning round and round on her wrist.
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘from scrap. Lori texted she could visit me Tuesday or Wednesday. I was in lectures so I didn’t pick up the message till my break.’ She takes a drag on her roll-up.
