When Lori comes downstairs she accepts the offer of tea and scrambled eggs.
‘You’ve been through a terrible experience,’ Isabelle says to Lori, ‘but you’re here, you’re a survivor, and people want to hear about that.’ Lori doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t react.
‘The last thing anyone wants to do is put any additional pressure on you,’ Isabelle says. ‘My job is to make sure that this happens at a pace you’re comfortable with, that you don’t do anything you don’t want to do. People want to know about your abduction and about your rescue, but while legal proceedings are under way, my advice is not to discuss that. So, we issue a general statement for now, quotes from all of you, and we release a photograph of you as a family, but we do not go into any details about evidence that may be used in a court case. We wait until the trial is concluded and then we grant exclusives. There’s a great deal of human interest in the story.’
It’s not a story, I want to say. This is real. It really happened. My daughter was tied up and starved; she was kept naked and drugged and raped. She was hosed down when she was sick. She nearly died.
‘What do you mean “exclusives?” ’ Nick says. ‘Like, just one newspaper?’
‘That’s an example but there are several platforms to consider,’ Isabelle says. ‘We could be looking at TV, a documentary, say, women’s magazines as well as the papers, even a book.’
‘A book?’ I’m appalled by the idea.
‘It’s a powerful story. There are ghost-writers and non-fiction writers who have substantial experience of this type of project.’
‘Why on earth would we want to see a book about it?’ I say.
‘Apart from the huge public interest, there is the question of money,’ Isabelle says.
‘Money?’ I say.
‘We’d be expecting fees with any of these ventures. If my understanding is right, Lori won’t be entitled to any criminal compensation, given that the crimes were committed overseas. And the aftermath of an experience like this can be costly, medical bills, loss of earnings. It may be some time before Lori is back at work.’
‘This is all too soon.’ I get to my feet.
‘It’s OK,’ Lori says.
‘Nothing happens now,’ Isabelle says, ‘apart from the statement and the photo, if you agree to that. Nothing else is done until the legal side of things is concluded. That will likely be months away. But you need to know your options and I would strongly recommend that you brief me with exploring the route of exclusives.’
‘What if we do nothing?’ I say.
‘You will probably be pestered by the media, some of whom can be unpleasantly intrusive and persistent.’ She looks at Nick. ‘There have already been people coming to the house, ringing up?’
He nods.
‘You all saw the mob at the airport yesterday,’ she says. ‘This strategy will be a way to contain and manage the public interest.’
We don’t want reporters at the door.
‘Lori?’ I say.
‘Fine.’ She shrugs. Nick nods.
‘Good,’ Isabelle says. ‘I suggest we get the photograph done today. I’ll show you the draft statement and get it finalized.’
‘Today?’ I say.
‘The sooner the better,’ she says.
Two hours later we are posing in front of a photographer. Furniture has been rearranged, special lights, hot and bright, erected, white reflector shields set on the floor and a nearby chair. The stylist has made suggestions for clothing and applied makeup to me. Lori balked at that and I backed her up.
It’s a parody of the family snapshot. Tom stands at one side of me, Nick at the other. Lori sits in front of Tom and me, the boys beside her.
The stylist wanted Tom in something smarter but he’s no clothes here. He’s unshaven too. She asked him if he’d like to shave but he said not, brooking no discussion.
‘You could brush your hair,’ Lori said. I lent him my brush.
Thank goodness we’re not required to smile, though Finn calls, ‘Cheese,’ the first couple of times, which punctures the tension and has us laughing. I think of all those Victorian portraits, their faces solemn, and wonder when it changed. When smiling came in. Was it due to some technical advance? When people no longer had to sit still for so long? Lori probably knows.
At last it is done. We read through Isabelle’s statement and she needs quotes from Tom, from Lori, from Nick and me. The things we come up with are honest enough but clichés too. The sort of thing anyone in our situation would think, would say.
You can’t imagine anything like this happening to someone you know. There really aren’t any words to describe what it’s like.
We were so lucky to find Lori just in time and the hospital was fantastic. We want to thank all the doctors and nurses there. And the people in Chengdu who helped us in the search for her.
Our thoughts are with the family of Bai Lijuan after their terrible loss.
I’d no idea people were looking for me. I didn’t know anything about the outside world. But I’d like to thank everyone who helped and most of all my mum and dad, who wouldn’t give up.
It was a complete nightmare but we had such excellent support from Missing Overseas and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.
You’re living on adrenalin, this horrible mix of fear and hope, but you keep hoping . . . You have to keep hoping.
There’s a collective sigh of relief once Isabelle and her crew have gone. Tom sits with Lori in the front room for a while. We heat up some of Penny’s food. Tom joins us, and Isaac and Finn chatter through the meal. It’s a useful distraction.
‘I said I’d visit my folks this afternoon,’ Nick says.
‘Oh, no!’ I complain, not ready for more travel.
‘It’s OK, I said you’d be too tired,’ he says, ‘but I’ve not seen them for ages.’
‘We’re going to the museum,’ Finn says, ‘me and Mummy.’
I’m about to disagree, then think, Why not? I’m still feeling displaced – however I spend the rest of the day will be surreal. And Finn deserves some attention.
Lori looks anxious: her eyes dart between Tom and me.
‘I can stay here till you’re back,’ Tom says.
‘Yes!’ Isaac likes the idea.
There’s a flash of something, resentment or irritation, in Nick’s face but I say, ‘Good,’ and it’s sorted.
Fatigue, bone deep, hits me as I queue with Finn in the museum gift shop to buy his replacement rocket. He’s singing, off key as usual. It takes me a moment to recognize the Bowie song, ‘Space Oddity’, which the boys got to hear last year when astronaut Commander Hadfield released a version of it from the International Space Station.
On the bus home, it strikes me that I’m invisible again. No longer an object of interest, no longer different.
Lori has gone up to rest, Isaac is drawing in the living room and Tom is smoking in the garden when we arrive back.
Finn stares at Tom’s cigarette and pulls a face. But the desire to show off his rocket wins out, and Tom dutifully admires it.
‘How’s she been?’ I ask Tom, once we’re inside and Finn has gone to watch TV.
‘Very quiet,’ he says. He runs his hand through his hair. ‘I told her I’d call in every other day.’
‘OK.’
‘And I mentioned the GP,’ he says.
‘Yes, we’ll take her down tomorrow.’
My phone sounds a text message alert.
‘I’ll head off,’ Tom says.
‘OK. See you Tuesday.’
He smiles, that crooked grin, and my stomach flips over. I’m aware of the space between us, that we are alone in the room. I duck my head, stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. He nods goodbye and leaves. We do not touch.
The text is from Nick. He’ll be back later, he’s going to eat with his parents.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
I’m staring into the freezer considering fish fingers and chips as an option
when the doorbell goes. Mindful of what Isabelle said this morning, about the press, I look out of the front bay window to see who it is. Penny is there – a large pie in her arms.
‘If this gets to be too much,’ she says, when I open the door, ‘too Desperate Housewives or whatever . . .’
‘You’ve saved the day,’ I tell her. ‘Come in.’
‘I don’t want to be in the way.’
‘They’re all crashed out or hooked up to their consoles,’ I say, ‘and Nick’s gone to his folks. Keep me company.’
‘You sure? Not jet-lagged?’
‘I am seriously jet-lagged but I want to see you.’
I make coffee and Penny doesn’t ask me anything about what happened but I launch into my account. It’s jumbled, all out of order, but she’s a good listener and a better friend and she lets me tell it my own way. Her eyes fill with tears as I describe finding Lori. I don’t tell Penny I slept with Tom. I don’t know if I ever will.
‘With Isaac on top of everything else,’ I say, ‘that was so scary.’
‘He’s doing well,’ she says.
‘Yes.’
‘And Lori?’
I purse my lips, blow out air. ‘I don’t know. It’s so early. I don’t know.’
A pause, then I say, ‘Tell me about you. How are your boys? What else has been happening here?’
But she bats the question away. ‘We’re fine, everything’s fine.’
‘I’m hungry.’ Finn comes in, the dog at his heels. His face lights up as he sees Penny.
‘Well,’ I say, ‘you’re in luck. Penny’s brought our tea.’
I wake Lori to see if she wants to eat but she doesn’t. She agrees to a drink. When I get back up there with hot chocolate she’s asleep again. Her eyelids flicker and I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Are her dreams a respite or a place of horror? Is she back in the lock-up, bound and gagged on the filthy concrete floor? What must it have been like not knowing when Bradley would return, if he would return? Understanding that she would die without the doctored water he let her drink. And that he would rape her when she was completely defenceless. To be so alone.
I force such thoughts away and join Penny and the boys. I distract myself and entertain them with stories of the food we ate, and didn’t eat, in China.
They are both in the bath when Penny gets ready to leave.
‘Tomorrow we’ll be back on track,’ I say. ‘I’ll do a shop. Thanks so much for looking after Finn, for helping out, for everything.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she says. ‘You’d do the same.’ She starts to speak again, then stops, closes her mouth.
‘What?’ I say.
‘Nothing.’ I know her well enough to smell the lie.
‘Penny?’
She gives a weird smile. ‘It’s probably not the best time . . . I don’t know whether I should say anything.’
‘What is it?
She’s embarrassed, her face and neck flushing.
‘Penny – what?’
‘It’s Nick,’ she says. ‘I’m worried about him.’
I don’t know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.
‘He’s been down,’ I say, ‘since the redundancy.’ Is that what she means?
‘Drinking,’ she says.
I’m suddenly defensive. ‘We’ve all been drinking. Christ! With everything that’s going on . . .’
‘Yes, of course, I know, I’m sorry. But a lot,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, Jo, it’s not my business. And the house . . .’
I look around. The house is all right. No worse than when I’m doing most of the chores. ‘It’s fine,’ I say.
‘I cleared up,’ she says simply.
‘Oh.’
‘Like you say, it’s been such an awful time but . . . I don’t know.’ She puts her hand to her throat. ‘I thought I should mention it. Things will probably settle down now.’
‘Yes,’ I say. I’m stung by the notion of Nick struggling, the house so dirty and messy that Penny had to intervene. But she’s probably blowing it out of all proportion. Her house is always tidier than ours, and she hasn’t got a dog. Nick must have been completely unmoored, stressed already about work, then Lori missing, me thousands of miles away, Isaac collapsing. Who could blame him for a few glasses of something to get through it?
‘Thanks again.’ I can’t quite keep a measure of reserve out of my voice.
Once the boys are in bed I reheat Lori’s chocolate, wake her up and she drinks it.
Then I clear up the kitchen and take the rubbish out. I go to put the empty milk and juice cartons in the recycling bin but the whole thing is full of bottles, not just wine but whisky and brandy too. It looks like the aftermath of a house party.
I think of Nick’s eyes when he met us, bloodshot, how I put it down to tiredness. He always did like a drink and, if I’m honest, he was drinking more after the redundancy . . . Then I chide myself: cut the guy some slack.
I’m woken by the car coming into the drive at half past midnight. There’s a thump as Nick shuts the front door, then his feet on the stairs. I hear him in the bathroom, the whine of his toothbrush. He stumbles once in the bedroom changing into his pyjamas.
Fair enough, I think, it’s dark, he’s tired, he’s had a long drive. I’m worn out and being paranoid.
When he climbs in beside me, even the smell of the mouthwash can’t mask the reek of alcohol, coming off him in waves.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Isaac answers the phone, and I hear him say, ‘Yes,’ a few times. Then he calls to me, ‘It’s Nanny Betty,’ he says. Nick’s mum. Nick is still in bed.
‘Betty,’ I say, ‘how are you? Is everything all right?’
‘We’re all right,’ she says. ‘I wanted to ring and say hello and send our love to Lori.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How is she doing?’ Betty says.
‘Sleeping a lot,’ I say, focusing on the physical.
‘A terrible thing,’ she says, ‘terrible.’
I feel the scale of it threatening me anew, so I press on, ‘Yes, and with Isaac as well, we don’t know what hit us.’
‘Isaac? What about Isaac?’ Alarm in her voice.
‘Didn’t Nick say?’
‘We’ve not heard anything from Nick for weeks.’
Shit! My stomach turns cold. He lied to me. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Betty, it’s been crazy here. Isaac had appendicitis. He had an emergency operation but he’s fine now.’
‘Oh, my goodness. The poor little lamb. Listen, as soon as you can manage you must all come to see us – it’s been far too long.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘How’s Ron?’
‘Oh, not so bad. His legs are going. It’s rotten getting old,’ she says. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you any different.’
‘And Philip?’ I say.
‘He’s fine.’
I wonder what Betty would say if I broke convention and let on that I knew about Philip’s history, if I told her what was really happening to Nick, if I asked for her advice. Has she gained any insight from all the years of dealing with Philip’s drink problem?
‘And Finn,’ she says, ‘is he OK?’
‘He’s great, still winning badges for his swimming.’
‘He’s a love,’ she says. ‘Now, I won’t keep you but when you get a chance, you will come and see us, won’t you?’
‘We will, of course we will,’ I say.
‘Is Nick there?’
I’m tempted to say yes, to wake him and let him try to hide his hangover, and make his excuses to his mother for his neglect, but then she might guess what’s going on and he’ll know I’ve caught him in his lie and I’m not ready for that yet.
‘He’s out,’ I say.
‘Never mind, then. Bye-bye.’
‘Bye.’
A week later I’m at school, talking to Grace about my return to work, when Peter Dunne calls. She must notice the change in my expression, as I see his name onscreen, because she say
s, ‘Take it,’ and motions to the door to see if I want her to leave. I shake my head – she can stay.
‘Hello?’ I say.
There’s a slight delay on the line. Then he says, ‘Mrs Maddox, how are you all? How’s Lorelei?’
‘Resting a lot. It’s still early days.’
‘Of course. Do please pass on my best wishes. Mrs Maddox, I’ve just been speaking with Superintendent Yin. Carlson confessed this morning and the case has been referred to the procuratorate, who will consider the evidence. As soon as we have a trial date I will let you know.’
Ice water in my stomach. ‘We won’t have to attend?’
‘Most unlikely,’ he says.
‘And Lori?’
‘The same. The statements you all made will be evidence enough.’
It’s a blessing. I’ve read enough about rape trials here to know that many victims describe the court appearance as just as harrowing and demeaning as the attack itself. A second violation.
‘Mr Carlson will be appointed a lawyer,’ Peter Dunne says.
‘A Chinese lawyer?’ I remember him talking about it before.
‘That’s right. Given he has confessed, the lawyer’s role will be to try to minimize any sentence. They really won’t be able to do any more than that and, in my opinion, it’s already a lost cause.’
‘Can he plead insanity or something?’ I say.
‘No, he’s not going down that route.’ Peter Dunne goes on. ‘With the degree of international interest in this case I predict that the authorities will be bending over backwards to demonstrate that the justice system is fair and transparent. They would lose a lot of face if the US cried foul or the quality of the prosecution evidence was found wanting. It’ll be a lead story in the US, once it breaks. They will also want to prove to the home audience that no foreigner kills a Chinese citizen and gets away with it.’
‘The evidence is overwhelming, isn’t it?’ I say.
‘Indeed, and that’s what counts most.’
‘What about motive? Do they know why he did it?’
‘There doesn’t seem to be any motive, other than self-gratification,’ Peter Dunne says. ‘As it is, they’re much less interested in motive here.’
Half the World Away Page 28