Afterwards

I see that Jenny’s eyes are closed, that she’s very still.

The cleaning fluid is still pungent on the Formica table.

‘I went into the school kitchen,’ she says. ‘They’d cleaned it all up. And it was steamy because the dishwashers had been running.’

In here there’s steam from newly washed cups and saucers being placed on a rack by the coffee machine.

‘I was feeling kind of excited,’ Jenny continues, ‘about going outside.’

I’m monitoring this closely, I won’t let her get too far along the memory corridor; won’t let her go through the last set of doors – or anywhere near them.

‘I got two bottles of water out of the kitchen,’ Jenny continues. ‘The really big heavy bottles with the carry handles? It was my job to bring out extra water at the end of sports day in case they didn’t have enough. The plastic handles are too narrow and they dig into my hands. I take them up those narrow steps, you know, the exit by the kitchen?’

Then she stops and shakes her head.

‘That’s it. I was going out of the school, definitely out. But I don’t know what happened then.’

‘The water bottles were outside at the side of the school, on that gravelly bit by the kitchen exit,’ I say, remembering that Rowena had used one to soak her towel before going in.

‘But why did I go back inside again?’ Jenny asks.

‘Maybe to help?’

‘But the reception children all got out fine, didn’t they? And Tilly? Everyone got out.’

I don’t know what to say.

‘Maybe that’s when I lost my phone,’ she says. ‘When I bent to put the water down. It was in that little pocket at the top of my red skirt. It’s fallen out before.’

‘Yes.’

‘You should go and see what Aunt Sarah’s up to,’ she says. ‘I’ll stay here if that’s OK. It’s the only place that’s halfway normal.’

‘You won’t try to remember any more, will you?’

‘Mum…’

‘Not without me. Please.’

‘OK.’

I leave Jenny in the cafeteria and go to ICU.

Ivo is standing in the corridor. Just seeing his narrow back-view and trendy haircut brings vivid memories of Jenny, a whole dimension of her that has been left behind since the fire – the exuberant, energetic teenager with joie de vivre and passionate good humour; Jenny walking on air. And a kind of helplessness as she fell in love, so trusting of Ivo to catch her.

He hasn’t gone to her bedside but neither has he run away.

I go closer. His face is white as he looks at her through the glass wall; tremors are coursing through his body and I see a boy lying on a pavement being beaten and kicked and punched.

I feel overwhelming pity for him.

Sarah is with him.

‘I spoke to her on Wednesday,’ he says. ‘And she sounded just like usual. Happy. And then we texted each other. The last one, from me, she must have got at just after three, her time.’

He turns away from looking at Jenny. ‘Will you tell me what’s happening?’

‘She’s very badly injured. Her heart failed yesterday. She needs a transplant to stay alive. Without one, she’ll only live for a few more weeks.’

Sarah’s words kick him over and over again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah says.

I think he’ll ask if she’ll be disfigured; if Sarah will tell him that we don’t know yet. He’s silent.

‘It was arson,’ she says. ‘We don’t know if someone deliberately targeted Jenny. Possibly it’s connected to the malicious mail. Do you know anything?’

‘No. She hadn’t got any idea who it was.’

His voice is quiet and shaken.

I see you leaving Jenny’s bedside and coming out into the corridor, but they haven’t yet seen you.

‘Someone threw red paint at her,’ Ivo says. ‘She phoned me. Said she’d had to get a friend to cut her hair. The paint wouldn’t come out. She was crying.’

Sarah jumps on this. ‘Did she see who it was?’

‘No. It was from behind.’

‘Any description at all?’

‘No.’

‘When was this, Ivo?’

‘About eight weeks ago.’

‘Do you know where it happened?’

‘In Hammersmith shopping arcade, just by Primark. She thought he must have run into a shop or a side exit to the street straight afterwards. She said a woman was screaming because she thought it was blood on her.’

I see you grappling with the information, no corner of your mind free to store anything else, but it’s forcing its way inside.

‘I should have made her go to the police,’ Ivo says. ‘If I had-’

‘I’m the police, Ivo,’ Sarah says. ‘No, look at me. Please. She should have felt that she could come to me. I’m her aunt and I love her. But she didn’t. And that’s my responsibility. Not yours.’

‘She said her parents would be so upset if they found out. She didn’t want to worry them. Maybe that was true for you too.’

‘Yes. I’d like you to give a statement at the police station to a colleague of mine. I’ll get a car to pick you up and drop you back again so it should be as quick as possible.’

Ivo nods.

Sarah gives him Jenny’s mobile. ‘Can you look through this, see if there are any contacts you don’t recognise? Or messages that seem strange to you? I’ve looked, but I can’t see anything odd.’

He takes it, fingers tightening around it.

‘Shall I look at the phone now?’ Ivo asks. ‘While I wait?’

Like you, he wants to be doing something.

‘Yes.’

Sarah sees you. ‘There was red paint, Mike-’

‘I heard.’

Maybe she expects you to be angry with Ivo. But you aren’t. Is it because you hadn’t gone to the police about the hate mail for two weeks? Your whole body seems caved in and your face gaunt.

‘Why don’t you go and see Adam?’ Sarah says. ‘I can stay here with Jenny for a while now.’

I think Sarah’s realised how much you need Adam, as well as him needing you.

‘Ivo has to give his statement,’ she continues. ‘And I’ve got a few things to read through which I can do here. I’ll call you immediately if there’s anything.’

Ivo comes up, interrupting.

‘I’m not sure if it means anything, but the last text I sent her on Wednesday afternoon has been deleted.’

‘She could have done that,’ Sarah suggests.

‘It was a poem. Not that bad. Even if it was, she wouldn’t have deleted it.’

‘Jenny’s phone was found on the gravel just outside the school,’ Sarah says. ‘Anyone could have tampered with it.’

‘But why would someone want to delete my message?’ Ivo asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Sarah says.

‘Have you found out yet why it was outside?’ you ask.

‘No. Not yet. And we couldn’t get prints because it’s been handled by the reception teacher and Maisie.’

‘Should I wait here for the ride to the police station, or down in the foyer bit?’ Ivo asks.