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 use 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 recognized 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 Bish had said his good-byes 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, Bish, it becomes cathartic,” Sadia said. He liked the way she said it. Cathartic. All pronounced and full of meaning.
“One of the parents from Canterbury wrote about the role of schools,” Katherine said. “In providing community. Counseling. 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 organizers have let these kids down, Bish.”
“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’ll 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.”