After she left I started to think back to those days, tried to work out if I’d missed something. Her moods changed dramatically, I know that much. Paul said it was probably hormones but I suspected she was taking drugs. She became withdrawn and secretive. She stopped going out and started locking herself in her room for hours on end. But now I wonder if it wasn’t drugs – what if it was just me?
I found the internet searches one night a few months later. She’d googled him. His name was Frankie Echevarria. Kate said it sounded like ‘itch of your rear’. That always made me laugh. But the fact that it was an unusual name made the search a bit easier. Hannah had found out that he was a teacher now and living in Brighton. He had a family of his own; he was settled.
I didn’t want her to get hurt, so I tried to stop her.
‘He won’t want you contacting him out of the blue,’ I told her. ‘Just leave it alone.’
‘He’s my father,’ she yelled at me. ‘I need him.’
‘You don’t need him,’ I yelled back. ‘You’ve got me and Paul.’
‘I don’t want you. I want a proper parent.’
And she looked at me so defiantly that something inside me snapped.
My words come back to me now. ‘That man didn’t give a damn about me and he certainly didn’t give a damn about you. He wanted me to get rid of you. And I told him that I’d never do that. I told him to leave me alone and I’d deal with our mistake.’
Why did I say that word? I regretted it as soon as it left my mouth but it was too late.
‘Mistake?’ she said. Her voice was so bitter it scared me. ‘Is that what I am? A mistake. Jesus, Mother, you really are something, aren’t you?’
I turn on my side and look out of the window. I can smell garlic coming from downstairs. Paul will be cooking another meal that I won’t eat. We’ll sit in front of the telly and then I’ll come back up here, try to sleep, then it will start all over again. Another empty day. But as I lie here I see Kate’s body lying in some morgue in a foreign country. I’ve got to face the truth. My sister is not missing, she’s dead and she needs a proper burial. I jump up from the bed. I might have let Hannah down but I still have a chance to do the right thing by Kate; give her a decent send-off. As I pull on my dressing gown and go to the bathroom, my head feels a little clearer.
It’s time to bring her home.
34
Paul looks shocked when I walk into the kitchen. I’ve washed my hair, changed into some clean clothes, and I now smell of lavender instead of sweat and booze.
‘Hello, love,’ he says, kissing me on the cheek. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come down. I’ve made a lasagne. Would you like some?’
‘Just a little bit,’ I say, pulling out a chair to sit down.
‘I bet you feel better for having a bath,’ he says as he flits about getting plates and cutlery together.
‘I feel clean, not better,’ I reply. I’ve only been in the room for a couple of minutes and already he’s making me feel tense.
‘Clean is a good start,’ he says, putting a plate in front of me. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
I look up quickly but he’s offering fizzy water not Chardonnay. I nod my head and he pours it into my glass.
‘I wanted to discuss Kate’s body,’ I say as he sits down in the chair opposite me. ‘What do we need to do to get it back?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he says, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘There’ll be a repatriation process to go through and that could take weeks. If they find her body, that is.’
‘They haven’t found her body?’ I say, sitting up in my chair. ‘So there is still a chance she could be alive?’
‘Sally,’ he says, putting his hand on my arm. He always does this if I raise my voice even slightly. ‘She’s not alive.’
‘How do you know?’ I cry, pushing his hand away. ‘She could be out there, injured, in need of help, and we’re sitting here eating bloody lasagne.’
‘There were no survivors,’ he says. ‘The place they were staying in took a direct hit. When they say missing . . . well, I didn’t want to go into detail because it’s not something you want to hear.’
‘You didn’t want to go into detail?’ I cry. ‘I’m not a bloody child, Paul. Of course I want to know what happened to my sister. Stop pussyfooting around and just tell me.’
He puts his fork down and sighs.
‘Are you sure you want to know?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, my stomach churning.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘The MoD said that the explosion was so huge a lot of the bodies would have been . . . obliterated.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying there may not be a body to bring back.’
His words are like bullets tearing into my skin. My sister; my beautiful, brave sister. I try to imagine her final moments and hope it was quick, that she didn’t suffer.
‘So we can’t give her a funeral?’ I say as I sit watching Paul spoon a heap of meaty stodge on to my plate. ‘We just have to leave her out there in . . . in bits?’
He puts the spoon down and rubs my arm again.
‘You’ll have your memories,’ he says. ‘She’ll always be alive up here.’ He taps his forehead and smiles and it’s such a stupid, patronizing smile, I want to rip it from his face.