‘Shop, I go,’ Oliver says, pointing to himself.
‘You don’t mind?’ I say.
‘Yes, I go,’ he says.
‘Tonic water, please,’ I say. He doesn’t understand. Anthony isn’t familiar with it either. Tom looks it up on his app and shows Oliver the Chinese translation. ‘Cola for me,’ Tom says.
‘And more water too?’ I show Oliver the empties.
They don’t sell tonic water but Oliver brings me lemonade. Once we have the drinks I go with Tom back into the flat and he makes the call to the consulate, his phone set so I can hear too. Tom paces as he talks, civil, but his frustration is plain.
‘This Mr Du is the last person to see our daughter,’ he says, ‘and one of the people she wanted to photograph. This could be really important. Has Superintendent Yin come back to you yet?’
‘No, not yet. Look, can I suggest that you email over what you’ve heard?’ Peter Dunne says.
‘Yes, we will,’ Tom says, ‘and please emphasize to him that we think this needs looking into straight away.’
When Tom has hung up, I say, ‘Could Lori have talked about the project with Mr Du? It was obviously on her mind when she texted Shona.’
‘If that text was from Lori,’ Tom says.
‘I think it was. It was so specific, and if it wasn’t Lori it must have been someone who knew her well, knew about the project, knew how she signed off.’
‘So we need to find out if she made a start with him during their lesson and, if not, whether she said anything about who she would photograph first,’ Tom says.
‘We should talk to the neighbour before we leave here,’ I say. We’re meeting Shona to leaflet at the university at three o’clock.
‘I’ll fetch Anthony,’ Tom says.
But there’s no answer from Mrs Tang’s flat on the second floor and no one around to ask.
We’ve put everything away, Anthony has left, and Tom and I are walking to the bus when we are accosted. Three giggling girls approach. They are beautiful, fresh-faced, wearing short-sleeved blouses in pastel colours and miniskirts. They look at us with a mix of delight and fascination. One of them talks to me – I catch the word ‘photo’ but not the rest. I frown. ‘Please, photo?’ she says, gesturing to us, then herself and her pals.
I open my mouth to refuse, ready to wave a leaflet at them, look – nǚ ér, shī zōng – but Tom gives me a warning look, so I acquiesce. We stand together, Tom and I, a girl on either side, while they take turns with their cameras, counting: yi, er, san. Flash. Another. Flash. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
