The rest of the school day had been tough for George. They had asked him if he wanted to go home, reassuring him that someone from Hill House would drive over and get him but the thought of going back alone, facing questions from Cheryl and then from the rest of the kids when they arrived back on the minibus, it was all too much.
‘I’d rather go to class,’ he said. Hearing himself with disbelief. He was refusing the rest of the day off?
He could not now recall a thing he had done that day. He’d asked Miss Crick at afternoon registration what had happened and she said that Paul’s parents had arrived and taken him away. She said she thought they had gone to the hospital. George hoped so. He knew Paul’s parents wouldn’t be able to cope alone. He marvelled at the fact that he and Karen had coped as well as they had, a few pills from the doctor and the occasional sessions with a therapist the only help their mother had received over the years. They had rarely stayed long enough anywhere for her to get more consistent care.
‘What happened?’ Ursula asked as they walked back to meet the minibus. ‘It’s all over the school.’
‘He just lost it. It was scary, Ursula. It was really bad. I didn’t know what to do.’ She listened as he explained, making no comment, just nodding from time to time and he was again grateful for someone who knew not to ask questions when he needed them to be quiet.
Back at Hill House a surprise was waiting in the shape of a letter from Rina inviting both George and Ursula to come over that Sunday.
‘I think that should be fine,’ Cheryl said beaming at them both.
‘How does she know about me?’ Ursula asked.
‘I expect Mac told her. Tim has a job at that new hotel. He’s the magician?’
Ursula nodded, she remembered. ‘What else was in the envelope?’ she asked with a teasing smile. ‘I saw you tuck it back in.’
George chewed his lip. ‘A postcard,’ he confessed finally. ‘It’s from my sister, Karen. Look, I just want to go to my room for a bit. OK?’
She nodded her understanding, picked up both their bags and went through to the conservatory. George shot upstairs, dived into his room and shut the door. His heartbeat fast, pounding in his throat. At the end of a lousy day at least there was a bit of a prize. He flopped down on his bed and withdrew the card, laughing out loud as he saw the view of Frantham, read the message from Karen. It was all simple, almost predictable stuff but he could feel her smiling as she wrote the words and he thought how lucky he really was. He had lost so much but he still had people who cared about him. He picked up the photo that had pride of place on his bedside cabinet. Himself and Karen and their mother, all smiling, all happy in what had then been their new home.
He wondered where she was now. The postmark was smudged but he could just make out a few of the letters. C A R. Carlisle? New places, she’d said. George couldn’t remember them ever heading that far north.
‘Don’t stop until you’re safe,’ George whispered. ‘Just don’t stop.’
Kendal listened and Mac waited for him to finish the call, sensing that this was important.
Finally, he hung up and pocketed the phone. ‘I know why our man was a no show,’ he said. ‘He died, couple of miles up the road. RTA, car versus lorry, didn’t stand a chance.’
‘What?’
‘Come on, we’ll head back to the scene. Eyewitnesses say he didn’t stop, didn’t even look or slow down. He pulled across the dual carriageway, heading for the exit for Lyme. Lorry coming the other way, didn’t have a chance to stop. End of story. But there’s another thing. A witness says she’s sure he was being followed. Tailgated by a black saloon. Her passenger took down the registration number but I doubt it’s genuine. They reckon both Duggan and this car were going well over ninety when he tried to make the turn. If the lorry hadn’t got him he’s likely to have flipped the car.’
‘And the tailgater?’
‘Drove on by.’
‘Randall.’ Mac said.
‘Next stop after the crash scene I reckon,’ Kendal said.