there beside him and they found Bee with a hand against a tree, bent over.
‘Don’t come closer. It looks vile,’ she said miserably, turning around and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Bish and Saffron waited a short distance away and when Bee reached them he put his arm around her shoulder.
‘You’ll be home with Mum soon, Honey Bee,’ he promised softly.
She held on tight to both of them and when she let go the always prepared Saffron had wipes.
‘Can we just sit here?’ Bee asked. ‘I feel sick at the idea of getting back into the car.’
Twenty minutes later they were on the road to the port of Calais. Bee was tense, flinching at every sound, every siren. Bish wondered how much she’d actually seen of the dead and injured. Would the memories return now or in weeks to come? He reached out to take her hand and she let him. He thought of those families travelling home without their loved ones and it made him hold her hand even tighter. Bish hadn’t felt blessed in three years. At this moment it was all he could feel.
Driving through Calais he saw the hunched way that people walked. Regret. Guilt. Children from other countries had died in their own backyard. Had been killed so savagely.
Bee was quiet all the way through French immigration, but when they were asked to hand over their passports by the UK Border Force she was telling the officer everything. That she’d been on the bus that blew up and her father was a chief inspector for the Met and he was helping out with the investigation, and that the capitaine of the police wouldn’t give them back their luggage and all she wanted was to get home. And then she burst into tears.
The officer was sympathetic.
‘She’s in shock,’ Saffron said, placing an arm around Bee and leading her away.
‘Is it as bad as they say?’ the officer asked Bish.
He nodded, collecting Bee’s documents.
‘Lucky you’re driving your daughter home then,’ the man said, his voice low enough for Bee not to hear.
From Dover to Ashford Bish tried conversation with Bee. Saffron had insisted on taking the backseat again and he could see she was fighting sleep.
‘Were you close with any of them?’ he asked Bee quietly. ‘The kids who were taken to hospital?’
She shrugged. ‘Fionn Sykes wasn’t exactly the most social person in the world. He spent most of the time on his own. He was a birdwatcher.’
Glancing across, Bish caught a flash of pain in her expression.
‘Michael Stanley and Astrid Copely had a crush on each other. The day before . . . the day before yesterday, everyone was making fun of them because they were caught kissing. Two Geeks in Love, we called it. Lola Barrett-Parker and Manoshi Bagchi took a photo of them. They took photos of everything. Lola was the biggest pain in the arse and Manoshi was a show-off cynic. Thirteen going on forty.’
‘Do you think Violette LeBrac and Eddie Conlon bonded because they seemed to have the same cultural background?’
‘Her name’s Violette Zidane,’ Bee corrected. ‘She’s Australian and he’s from Kent. I wouldn’t exactly call that the same culture.’
‘You know what he means, Honey Bee,’ Saffron said from the backseat.
‘Eddie’s mum died about a year ago so they must have bonded over lost mothers,’ she said. Her tone was callous, but there was something else in it too. ‘Violette thought she was too above it all to tell anyone anything.’
‘Why didn’t the other kids like her?’
‘What makes you think they didn’t?’
‘No one seemed to be concerned about her being locked in a cupboard, Bee.’
‘We didn’t know, okay?’ she shouted. ‘We didn’t know.’
She turned to stare out the window. Bish caught Saffron’s eye in the rearview mirror.
‘She played with people,’ Bee said after a while. ‘And that accent. It was hideous. It was like watching a really bad episode of Neighbours .’
‘And Eddie?’
‘I think he had a big crush on her.
‘Don’t come closer. It looks vile,’ she said miserably, turning around and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Bish and Saffron waited a short distance away and when Bee reached them he put his arm around her shoulder.
‘You’ll be home with Mum soon, Honey Bee,’ he promised softly.
She held on tight to both of them and when she let go the always prepared Saffron had wipes.
‘Can we just sit here?’ Bee asked. ‘I feel sick at the idea of getting back into the car.’
Twenty minutes later they were on the road to the port of Calais. Bee was tense, flinching at every sound, every siren. Bish wondered how much she’d actually seen of the dead and injured. Would the memories return now or in weeks to come? He reached out to take her hand and she let him. He thought of those families travelling home without their loved ones and it made him hold her hand even tighter. Bish hadn’t felt blessed in three years. At this moment it was all he could feel.
Driving through Calais he saw the hunched way that people walked. Regret. Guilt. Children from other countries had died in their own backyard. Had been killed so savagely.
Bee was quiet all the way through French immigration, but when they were asked to hand over their passports by the UK Border Force she was telling the officer everything. That she’d been on the bus that blew up and her father was a chief inspector for the Met and he was helping out with the investigation, and that the capitaine of the police wouldn’t give them back their luggage and all she wanted was to get home. And then she burst into tears.
The officer was sympathetic.
‘She’s in shock,’ Saffron said, placing an arm around Bee and leading her away.
‘Is it as bad as they say?’ the officer asked Bish.
He nodded, collecting Bee’s documents.
‘Lucky you’re driving your daughter home then,’ the man said, his voice low enough for Bee not to hear.
From Dover to Ashford Bish tried conversation with Bee. Saffron had insisted on taking the backseat again and he could see she was fighting sleep.
‘Were you close with any of them?’ he asked Bee quietly. ‘The kids who were taken to hospital?’
She shrugged. ‘Fionn Sykes wasn’t exactly the most social person in the world. He spent most of the time on his own. He was a birdwatcher.’
Glancing across, Bish caught a flash of pain in her expression.
‘Michael Stanley and Astrid Copely had a crush on each other. The day before . . . the day before yesterday, everyone was making fun of them because they were caught kissing. Two Geeks in Love, we called it. Lola Barrett-Parker and Manoshi Bagchi took a photo of them. They took photos of everything. Lola was the biggest pain in the arse and Manoshi was a show-off cynic. Thirteen going on forty.’
‘Do you think Violette LeBrac and Eddie Conlon bonded because they seemed to have the same cultural background?’
‘Her name’s Violette Zidane,’ Bee corrected. ‘She’s Australian and he’s from Kent. I wouldn’t exactly call that the same culture.’
‘You know what he means, Honey Bee,’ Saffron said from the backseat.
‘Eddie’s mum died about a year ago so they must have bonded over lost mothers,’ she said. Her tone was callous, but there was something else in it too. ‘Violette thought she was too above it all to tell anyone anything.’
‘Why didn’t the other kids like her?’
‘What makes you think they didn’t?’
‘No one seemed to be concerned about her being locked in a cupboard, Bee.’
‘We didn’t know, okay?’ she shouted. ‘We didn’t know.’
She turned to stare out the window. Bish caught Saffron’s eye in the rearview mirror.
‘She played with people,’ Bee said after a while. ‘And that accent. It was hideous. It was like watching a really bad episode of Neighbours .’
‘And Eddie?’
‘I think he had a big crush on her.
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