Num8ers by Rachel Ward; Rachel

Author:Rachel Ward; Rachel
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-01-27T01:15:41.428656+00:00

LONDON BOMBING — WHY DID THEY RUN?

And underneath, a grainy security camera picture of people standing in line in a shop. The camera must have been near the ceiling, because you were looking at them from above, couldn’t see their faces, except for one person who was glancing up, looking straight at the camera. It was me, of course. In that service station. On the front page of the paper.

Spider had put the last piece of French toast down on his plate.

“That’s terrible,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Rita nodded, acknowledging his sympathy.

“Here.” He held a grubby tissue out to her.

“S’alright, I’ve got a hankie somewhere.” She dug in her apron pocket, fished out a big, white, man’s hankie, and blew her nose noisily.

“Changes your life, something like that,” she said quietly. “You don’t like to go out, just in case the phone rings. You stop sleeping properly, always listening for that key in the lock. Think you’re going mad sometimes, when you see someone that looks just like him from the back, or hear someone behind you laughing just like he used to, and you turn ’round and it isn’t him.” Sweat was beading on her forehead again, and she lifted up her apron, completely covering her face for a second, and mopped it away. “You got someone, somewhere, going through what I’m going through — you give them a ring.”

I could feel sweat prickling at my armpits and forehead as well, but for a different reason. Her words drifted over my head as I read the story beneath the headline: These are the first pictures of the two young delinquents seen running away from the London Eye minutes before Tuesday’s terrorist bomb exploded. Police are stressing that at this time the two are considered key witnesses who may hold vital information about the terrorist attack. They have issued an urgent appeal for them to come forward.

Rita had stopped talking and was sitting, mangling her apron in her damp hands. Nobody spoke for a minute.

“Thing is,” said Spider, “people can trace phone calls, can’t they?”

“And you don’t want to be found.” Her eyes flicked between the two of us, not judging, and I thought that her Shaun must have been an idiot to leave a mum like that.

I clocked her number. Fifteen, sixteen years to go. Would she see her son again, or would it be fifteen years of missed birthdays, lonely Christmases? I tried not to think about it — not my problem.

“Tell you what. If you left a number, I could ring for you, after you’ve gone,” she said. “I could ring after a couple of hours, tomorrow if you like, just to let ’em know I’ve seen you and you’re doing OK.”

Spider nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’d be cool. Give us time to be on our way.”

“I’ll get some paper and a pen.” Rita hauled herself back onto her feet.

I leaned forward over the Formica table. “Are you crazy?” I hissed.

“What?”

“Giving her your nan’s number?”

“Like she said, she can ring tomorrow, when we’re long gone.

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