Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil (33 page)

The boy has a mouthful of bread and can respond only with a few mumbles and a nod.

When Bilal walks in to speak to one of the chefs, Violette excuses herself and goes after him. Eddie follows with his plate.

‘Well, Violette seems ecstatic to see me after all these years,’ Layla says.

Jimmy holds out a hand and leads her outside. In the courtyard they stand in silence. She puts a hand to his face. He’s tense.

‘Talk to me, Jimmy.’

‘I can’t call the copper on them. I can’t.’

‘They can stay with me.’

‘Violette won’t stay put. Noor thinks she’ll head up to the place Etienne died, but I don’t know. She’s telling me nothing, and in about an hour I won’t have any control over the situation.’

He gathers himself. ‘I want you to promise me something, Layla. Go to those bastards and beg for your job back.’

‘Are you going to waste time arguing with me about that? When we could be doing this?’ She stands on tiptoes, kisses his mouth. When she hears a sound beside them, she glances over to see Eddie standing at the door with a plate of pita and baked egg yolks.

‘I’m so confused,’ the kid says. ‘I can’t get heads or tails of who’s related.’

‘We’re not related,’ Jimmy says, and can’t help laughing. Eddie disappears back inside.

A waiter steps out for a smoke, eager to talk football with Jimmy, so Layla goes to find Violette and Eddie. When he sees her, Eddie whispers something in Violette’s ear and wanders off. Layla receives a loaded stare from a frightening miniature version of Aziza Sarraf. It’s the same look Jimmy’s mother had given her when Layla was seventeen and started sleeping with him. ‘If your mother finds out, it will all end in tears,
habibi
.’

It ended in tears for so many different reasons.

‘Gigi reckons you were wasted at that dumb place you got sacked from,’ Violette says.

‘Thank you?’ Layla is unsure if it’s a compliment.

‘I’ve got some money saved, so I’d like to hire you, Layla.’

‘Hire me?’

‘For Noor.’

‘Oh Violette, I’m not the right person to be talking to. I’m a solicitor.’

‘Who’s out of a job because she sent an email to the Skipton police asking about my father’s death. Gigi overheard you telling Jocelyn. She says you’ve got a file. We think you’re the right person. It all begins with a solicitor.’

‘Violette —’

‘All my mother needs is someone smart who won’t give up. That’s what keeps happening – people give up because it’s too hard, or the timing is wrong.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Layla says. ‘I’ll find out all I can about what happened with your father —’

‘My father would have wanted you to take care of my mother first,’ Violette says. ‘He loved you, Layla. The way he loved Uncle Jimmy. He used to tell my mum that Brackenham breast milk must have been pretty potent. That when a Bayat and Sarraf put their heads to something, they never gave up.’

Layla sees a glimpse of tears, feels them sting her own eyes.

‘I’ll give you all the money I have,’ Violette says. ‘Just get my mum out of there.’

Jimmy returns with Eddie on his heels.

‘Pity we can’t go on one of those double-decker bus tours,’ Violette says, as if the intense conversation with Layla hasn’t happened. ‘Eddie wants to see Big Ben and I want to see where Wills and Kate live when they’re in London.’

‘Yeah, heartbreaking,’ Jimmy says, his voice gruff with affection. He puts an arm around each kid. ‘What were you speaking to Bilal about?’ he asks Violette.

‘A favour,’ she says. ‘His two firstborn children.’

Bish had to talk Saffron out of taking him straight home. The trip to Ashford and then over to Calais needed to happen sooner rather than later.

‘Could you drive me to Bee’s?’ he asked. ‘I’ll work out how to get around from there.’

‘You need to see a doctor.’

‘One that will tell me what I already know. “Drink plenty of fluids and rest.” ’

‘Bish . . .’

‘I don’t really have a choice,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I feel as if I’ve stuffed up your day.’

She put on her indicator and turned illegally. ‘I was wanting to visit Sadia and Katherine and the kids in Dover,’ she said, ‘so nothing ruined about my day.’

‘I can’t believe you just did that,’ he said. ‘Double lines.’

‘Are you going to give me a ticket, darling?’

Her phone rang and when she answered it Bee’s voice came through on the bluetooth. ‘Rachel wants an update on Bish.’

He looked at his mother. ‘Did you have to let them know?’

‘I can hear you,’ Bee said.

‘Daddy’s fine, sweetheart,’ he called out.

‘Then what’s going on?’

‘I’m coming down to see you.’

‘Why?’ He heard the alarm in her voice.

‘I’m fine, Bee. I’m not dying. I just want to talk to you and Mum.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘Listen,’ he said before she hung up, ‘did you take a photo of Lola and Manoshi dribbling while they slept on the bus the night before the bombing?’

‘No, Bish. I’m not thirteen! Why?’

‘I’ve found three versions of the same photo on three separate Instagram accounts. Just curious. Maybe you took one as a joke.’

‘Why would I think taking a photo of people dribbling is funny?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Why would the others?’

‘Because they’re thirteen! Aren’t you listening to me?’

She hung up and Saffron glanced at him. ‘Why don’t you close your eyes and have a bit of a sleep?’

‘No, Saffron. I’m not thirteen!’

She laughed. He couldn’t help laughing himself.

‘I’ll come down to the hospital if you don’t mind dropping me off at Bee’s on the way back,’ he said.

It was a pleasant drive down to Dover. They talked politics – local, national and international – TV and films. His mother had an awful habit of not being able to contain herself when it came to revealing endings. They shared a love of
Game of Thrones
and though he was two episodes behind, he already knew who had died in the past two weeks.

‘Between you and Elliot, I’ve never had a cinematic surprise. He used to give away the cliffhangers, you’d tell me about the deaths.’

‘Well, I wanted to prepare you for the worst.’

They were both quiet after that. Because nothing had prepared his family for the worst.

At the hospital, Iqbal Bagchi was playing cards with his daughter, and Sadia and Katherine had gone for a walk in town. When they returned twenty minutes later they looked animated but exhausted, the sort of exhaustion that comes from living out of a suitcase. The friendship that had developed between them was on the surface surprising, but Bish figured the two had more in common than first appeared. Katherine’s husband may have had all the money in the world and Sadia’s very little, but both women were controlled by the roles they played as wives. Not that they allowed their husbands’ hostility towards each other to affect their budding friendship. Saffron had filled Bish in on a couple of arguments she had witnessed between the two fathers. One blamed everything on Islam, the other blamed the problems of the world on Western dominance.

Bish ended up in the cafeteria with Sadia and Katherine drinking bad coffee and eating almond biscuits made by Iqbal’s aunt.

‘Would it be possible to see Lola and Manoshi’s photos from the trip?’ he asked.

Sadia told him that Manoshi wasn’t allowed on social media yet. It meant that all her photos had been stored on her phone, which was destroyed in the blast.

Katherine retrieved her iPad. ‘Most of Lola’s are very silly, so I don’t think they’ll be much help.’ She logged into an Instagram account and showed Bish.

‘Don’t you think it’s strange that the French haven’t asked for them?’ she asked. ‘Or even British Intelligence?’

‘I’m presuming they don’t have to ask,’ Bish replied. ‘Not if they’re investigating a terrorist attack.’

‘We’ve been able to collect some photos of Astrid and Michael to send to their parents,’ Katherine said. ‘Not much of a consolation, but those kids were very happy.’

Bish flicked through the screen while the women chatted. ‘Katherine and I have set up a blog,’ Sadia told him. ‘It’s been such a big job keeping everyone up to date otherwise. Family, friends, the other children on the tour, their parents. We even get letters from people on the foreign buses who were at the campsite that day. Everyone is desperate to know how Manoshi and Lola and Fionn are coping.’

Looking at the photos, Bish was even more convinced that the kids on the Normandy tour had enjoyed it, regardless of what Lucy Gilies had implied. Lots of tongues in ears. Pouts. A few ‘Blue Steel’
Zoolander
poses. Perhaps there may have been a touch of antagonism, hostility, indifference, but these shots showed a connection among the kids before the bomb went off.

‘Our readership has doubled in two days,’ Katherine said. ‘We get comments from people in Australia. They’re quite upset there about the treatment of Violette, apparently.’

‘Well, their government should have taken a strong stance earlier,’ Bish said.

‘Astrid Copely’s sister wrote a beautiful piece in her honour,’ Katherine said. ‘Of course we’d never ask her parents for anything, but teenagers are used to expressing their every thought on social media. She wrote about the fear she has that Astrid will be remembered as a tragedy, when she was such an annoying prankster.’

Katherine burst into tears. It took the others by surprise, and seemed to surprise Katherine even more.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Sadia took Katherine’s hand, squeezing it.

‘An aisle. That’s all it was,’ Katherine said. ‘This side of the aisle said our girls lived and the other side said their children died.’

‘There but for the grace of God. That’s what Fionn’s mother says.’ Sadia was nodding.

‘Then she’s visited him?’ Saffron asked.

Sadia made a clicking sound that said no. ‘She rings every day and we speak often. But she’s a recluse.’

‘They miss each other,’ Katherine said. ‘The doctors are doing everything to get Fionn well enough to transfer him up to Newcastle.’

‘If they miss each other, then she should be here with her son,’ Bish said.

Sadia and Katherine exchanged a knowing look. ‘It’s about her size,’ Sadia said, with a confirming nod. ‘She’s a big woman.’

They returned to Manoshi’s room and Iqbal went to get some fresh air, which meant a cigarette. Saffron volunteered to go with him.

‘Can I speak to the girls together?’ Bish asked Katherine and Sadia. Moments later, Katherine guided Lola into Manoshi’s room, an arm hovering close to her daughter, who was trying to get accustomed to reduced vision. Lola had been walking unassisted for a day now and seemed pleased with herself. They spent the next half-hour looking through their fellow campers’ photographs on Instagram and Facebook. The girls hadn’t seen most of them before. Now and then the images elicited a giggle, even from Manoshi. When Bish saw they were looking at a photo of the Ramsgate twins asleep in their seats he asked them about it.

The two girls glanced at each other. ‘Anyone who fell asleep on the bus had a photo taken of them,’ Lola said. ‘The older kids used to get really angry about it.’

‘It was funny.’ Manoshi made a face, mouth gaping open, head tilted to one side, and there was more giggling.

‘So everyone tried not to fall asleep,’ Lola said. ‘Because the photo always ended up on Snapchat or Instagram.’

Bish eyed them both with mock suspicion. ‘Bee as well?’

They looked at each other again. Lola made a snorting sound, nodding.

‘We held out the longest,’ Manoshi said.

‘But we fell asleep on the bus the day before . . .’

‘Before the bomb went off,’ Manoshi finished for her.

They both seemed relieved that one of them had said it. As if no one had yet dared used the word.

‘
Everyone
took photos of us,’ Lola said.

‘It was big payback,’ Manoshi confirmed.

‘If anyone sends you one of these photos, can you forward them straight to me?’ Bish said. ‘Your mums have my email address.’

There were quite a few photos of kids in another bus. In a car park, it seemed. Same bus each time, but not the Boulogne car park. Bish recognised Marianne Attal in all of them.

‘We shared the same campsite three times,’ Lola said.

Manoshi pointed to Lola. ‘She had a crush on a boy from the French bus who did magic tricks.’

Lola covered her face, embarrassed. Laughing.

‘You didn’t tell me about a boy, Lola,’ Katherine said. The mothers were enjoying their daughters’ frivolity.

Bish came across a photo of Bee sitting on her own, staring out the window of the bus. She cut a lonely figure.

After he had said his goodbyes to the girls, Katherine and Sadia stopped him outside the room.

‘Could you write something, Bish?’ Sadia asked. ‘For our blog.’

‘We’re asking all the parents,’ Katherine said. ‘Perhaps a piece from the point of view of a father who is also investigating.’

‘I’m not really investigating.’

‘When we share experience, it becomes cathartic,’ Sadia said. He liked the way she said it. Cathartic. All pronounced and full of meaning.