Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil (34 page)

‘One of the parents from Canterbury wrote about the role of schools,’ Katherine said. ‘In providing community, counselling, a place for collective grief. If the bombing had taken place on a school tour or during the school term, the children would have been better taken care of in the aftermath. The kids on this tour are from an assortment of schools in different counties. They’ve had no place to go to talk about what’s happened. The tour organisers have let these kids down.’

‘I agree with what David Maynard wrote,’ Sadia said. ‘His post has received the most comments. “Schools are a constant in an always changing world.”’

Of course. David Maynard, principal extraordinaire, would have had to put his two bloody pence in.

Katherine nudged Sadia surreptitiously and she reddened. ‘Sorry Bish, I forgot —’

‘Send me the link,’ he said politely. He heard laughter amid the chatter from inside the room. Manoshi and Lola were like those two guys in
The Muppets
, Fionn had said.

‘Have you thought of the girls sharing a room?’ he asked. ‘It’d do them the world of good.’

He left them for Fionn’s room, tapped lightly on the door and nudged it open. He caught a whiff of pot, and on entering found Charlie Crombie lazily curled up in an armchair. When he saw Bish he got to his feet and held out a hand to the other boy.

‘Later, Sykes,’ he said as they shook. He walked past Bish, sniffing exaggeratedly.

‘Give my regards to your parents, Charlie,’ he said.

‘Will do, Inspector Bish,’ Charlie said with feigned reverence.

When Crombie was gone, Fionn waved away the remnants of smoke. Bish was incredulous at the audacity of bringing pot into a hospital ward.

‘I thought Mr Crombie considered you a minion?’ Bish said.

‘If anyone can argue me under the table in theology, he can.’

It sounded lame. Bish was certain Crombie wanted something from this lonely, awkward boy.

‘Don’t sell yourself short, Fionn,’ he said, and caught the hurt in the kid’s eyes.

‘Don’t tell me I’m selling myself short, Mr Ortley. I go to school with plenty of
decent
people and hardly any of them have come to see me. A few came once. Did their duty. They acted like nothing had happened and I was just lying back and resting my constitution. And try getting any of my friends from up north to come visit.’

Bish knew the same thing had happened to Lola. Katherine couldn’t convince any of the parents of Lola’s so-called friends to visit. It’s too distressing, they said, too much for their children to bear. It’s too far for them to travel. Maybe when Lola’s better . . .

Fionn looked pained. ‘But Crombie’s been here four times now. It takes him just under three hours for the round trip, but he’s here. Like he’s got nothing better to do with his summer holidays.’

Other than get arrested, Bish thought.

‘At first I thought he was here out of guilt,’ Fionn said. ‘He didn’t speak to me for most of the trip. Not until the last couple of days. But now he lets me talk and talk. And not once has he pretended that my leg hasn’t been blown off. Because he was there, he was the first person I saw when I opened my eyes afterwards, and he kept saying over and over, “It’s okay, Sykes. I’m here. I’m here.” I was so scared I pissed my pants.’ Fionn seemed heartbroken. ‘Did you know it was me who killed them? I was trying to make room for Lola’s bag and I moved the backpack that had the bomb in it. Put it in Astrid and Michael’s overhead locker. That’s what the French are saying. I read it on a blog.’

Bish put a hand on the boy’s arm. ‘No one knows what happened, Fionn. Not yet. And even if what you say is true, what would that mean? If the bag had stayed where it was, you and Lola and Manoshi would be dead.’

Fionn was now sobbing. ‘I just want to get out of here. Sometimes I wake up and I can’t breathe. Can you find a way to get me out of here?
Please? 
’

Iqbal Bagchi had volunteered to drop Saffron home on his way back to London. It meant that Bish could take her car, with the hope of making it across to Calais by seven with Bee by his side. He suspected that the conversation with Rachel about the proposed interrogation by French Intelligence would be tricky, and was bound to end in either labour or another fainting spell.

‘No. And no!’ Rachel said. ‘Just in case you didn’t hear it the first time.’

‘We don’t have much of a choice, Rachel.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, I know the law. Of course we have a choice.’

She was chopping up onions in a way that had Bish fearing for her fingers. He removed the knife from her hands and found himself making the wife-stealer’s dinner.

‘They’ve promised me Bee isn’t under suspicion. When Attal’s daughter was interviewed by Intelligence, she recalled Violette mentioning an argument with the driver of the French bus. That was reinforced by footage caught on a video of Michael and Astrid.’

‘So why involve Bee?’

‘Because Marianne Attal claims Bee was there when Violette spoke about the argument. French Intelligence believes Bee can shed light on what took place. Not to mention the fact that she shared a room with Violette for a week.’

‘I thought Violette wasn’t a suspect?’

‘She’s not. She was possibly the target. Could still be if we don’t get her off the streets.’

Rachel was unconvinced. ‘Why did they interview Attal’s daughter in the first place? They’ve got something on these kids, Bish. There must be more on those campsite security cameras.’

‘Worst case scenario is that Bee and the others were drinking or smoking dope. Better that I take her there with a barrister from Home Office than French Intelligence cross the Channel to interview her and it becomes a headline.’

‘Do you know what I think?’ Rachel said. ‘That Marianne Attal, or whatever the hell her name is, has something to hide and is trying to drag the British kids down with her.’

‘I think French Intelligence believe the kids saw something while they were getting up to no good the night before the bombing.’

‘Well, if you go I’m coming with you.’

‘Well, you’re not,’ he said, pointing to her belly. ‘Bee says you’re having a C-section. Do you honestly think the French will let you do that if you decide to go into labour in Calais? French hospitals weren’t good enough for the
anglais –
didn’t you read that headline? They’ll send you back in an ambulance and you’ll have the baby in the tunnel, caught between two worlds, and they’ll call him Little Lord Folkestone —’

‘Shut up, Bish.’ But she was laughing.

‘Look, you know I won’t let anything happen to Bee,’ he said. ‘But the last thing either of us want is for
The Sun
to be running some trashy piece on her.’

Still Rachel was sceptical. ‘What’s the name of the barrister Home Office is sending?’

‘Marie Bonnaire.’

Rachel was at least happy enough with the name. Almost impressed. ‘You’re going to have to drag Bee there kicking and screaming, you do know that? She won’t go voluntarily. She’s not doing anything much voluntarily these days.’

‘What’s going on?’ They both swung around to see Bee standing at the door, having just returned from a run.

They hadn’t had time to rehearse what to tell her, and in the awkward silence Bee’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Please don’t tell me you guys are getting back together.’

Bish felt insulted. Wasn’t it every kid’s dream to reunite their parents? Obviously not their daughter’s.

‘Just spit it out. The suspense is boring me.’

It was an unspoken certainty that Rachel would handle this better. ‘The French want to question you again about the night before the bomb, sweetheart. They’re not accusing you of anything, they just want to confirm a few things you might have seen or heard.’

Bee looked unconvinced.

‘And if you were experimenting with drugs, so be it,’ her mother said.

‘I was experimenting with drugs when I was fifteen, Rachel. It’s why David called you up to school and you started an affair with him.’

This was the perfect moment for Bish to take over. He was now the favourite parent. ‘It’ll be pretty low-key,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a legal representative, and Captain Attal has insisted there be only one person from French Intelligence interviewing. He’s pretty particular about who speaks to his daughter.’

‘His daughter?’ Bee asked, stunned.

‘Don’t worry about what she’s saying, Bee,’ Rachel said. ‘The Home Office is sending one of their best solicitors and you know that no matter what, I won’t let anything ––’

‘Do I need to pack a bag?’

Bee’s stomach is churning. Driving off the ferry reminds her of that time at the beginning of the tour, when Astrid Copely was taking photographs of the fat bottom of the woman in front of them. It’s what Astrid did all the time, take photos of ridiculous things. Astrid was the one who came up with the idea of taking photos of droolers while they were sleeping.

Michael Stanley was the exact opposite. Very intense and quiet, but not in the dreamy way Fionn was quiet. Bee tries to remember Mr McEwan from that day.
Put a motor on it
,
Fionn
. That was his way of telling Fionn to stop staring into space and walk faster. And then the coach arrived to pick them up and everyone said the driver looked like a serial killer. Serge had a strong accent and he told them over and over to learn the numberplate off by heart because the buses all looked the same, and Eddie would do the perfect impersonation. Bee wishes she knew more about Serge and the others who died.

The port of Calais is for Bee about life before the bomb. Before seeing Michael’s dead body. It was her first one. Her parents wouldn’t let her see Stevie’s body, so she feels she never got the chance to say goodbye. But since seeing Michael dead, Stevie is suddenly everywhere. Standing beside Eddie and Violette outside the bus after the explosion, yelling,
Run, Bee. Run.
There between Violette and Eddie as they wait for her at the bus stop outside Mile End Tube station, and walking alongside Eddie when he crosses the road to buy chewing gum. It’s as if the bomb has resurrected her brother, after Bee has spent these years closing her heart to everything.

The barrister from the Home Office is there to meet them outside the police station in Calais. Marie Bonnaire looks like most of the other barristers Bee has come across in her mother’s world. Not exactly one of the Top Twenty-Five Glamorous Female Barristers in the UK as featured online.

Marie holds out a hand for Bee to shake. ‘Do you go by Sabina?’

‘Bee.’

‘They’re waiting inside.’

Her stomach churns even more. Her father notices her reluctance and squeezes her hand.

‘We’ll be out of here in no time,’ he tells her.

How clueless can one man be? As if she gives a shit how long they’re in here.

The three of them walk into an interview room. Capitaine Attal is there, and another creepy-looking man with a Dracula-peak hairline called something Dupont. He’s from French Intelligence. And
she
is there. Marianne Attal.

There’s a lot of talking in French among Marie Bonnaire and the other two men about the driver of the French bus. Bee can tell Capitaine Attal wants to explain to her dad what’s being said but the Dupont guy keeps shutting him down. Dupont tells Marie that the information he’s just revealed is for Downing Street ears only and not for the father of a witness.

Bee is pretty particular about who makes her dad look like a fool. ‘The driver of the French bus lived in North London in 2002,’ she says. Now she has everyone’s attention. Dupont isn’t happy. There’s more discussion about secrecy, and not letting the press in on anything. Once or twice the capitaine says something to her dad in the most god-awful English Bee’s ever heard. But then her dad responds in the most god-awful French in existence and Bee can’t avoid Marianne Attal’s eye-roll. Whose father is the biggest dickhead of biblical proportions? Violette would ask.

Then they get down to business. Marie Bonnaire asks Bee if she wants a translator. Bee says in French that she doesn’t need one. She’s become obsessed with the French language since going to the Gothenburg junior athletics meet in May. There she ran the two hundred metres in lane eight. Marianne Attal was in lane seven. Bee won the race, but had to be happy with second in the four hundred. After the other girls left the dressing rooms that day, Marianne Attal stayed behind and asked Bee for her phone number. Kind of demanded it. Like she knew something Bee wasn’t willing to say out loud. So Bee told her to sod off.