Nurses, doctors, paramedics all whirl in front of me as curtains whip closed around Kayleigh almost as soon as we’re inside. And suddenly I’m alone, alone in this strange whirring lobby of a hospital, the only evidence of Kayleigh ever being here a bunch of shoes and a flash of silver foil moving around in the gap between the curtains and the floor of a cubicle. Everything starts to darken at the edges as I put out a hand to steady myself, except there’s nothing to hold on to, nothing except air and more air, whooshing between my fingers as I clutch at it, falling backward into even more air until the scratchy edges of uniformed arms catch me from behind, folding my body into the seat of a chair, which cradles me like all of my bones have melted into skin, and there’s nothing, nothing left inside me to turn me back into a whole person ever again.

106

Marie ~ London ~ 2006

‘The commissioner!’ Heads swivel as Dominic screams at us, hysteria amplified by the soaked neon-yellow waterproof clinging to his entire body. ‘Apologised! For Andromeda! The commissioner herself…’

I unfold an umbrella over his head like a robot, the mass of cameras, cables and tripods around us a blur save for the sharp edges of New Scotland Yard’s iconic sign revolving mercilessly over the commotion. Fat raindrops splat on its surface with every new question clanging around inside my head. Victims were failed … Who? And how? We all know not everyone got caught. They never are, are they?

‘She’s got some front, that’s for sure,’ Jemima says, squaring up to him. ‘It’s her first term, she’s making a point … You are going to take that off, aren’t you? You’ll look like bloody Pac-Man on screen if you don’t.’

Water cascades off his jacket as she yanks at it.

‘No one has ever apologised for Andromeda before,’ Dominic spits, pulling his coat open so hard the zipper flies off into a puddle. ‘No institution, especially not the Metropolitan Police, apologises for anything. Ever.’

I look back at the line-up, a platoon of media spread out along the street, all repeating the press statement for the eightieth time. To reopen the case against that general, what must they have? And who must have given it to them? Victims were failed. I blink away the rain in my eyes, trying to zone out as the sign still circles mindlessly above the commotion.

‘Well, they wanted every front page—’107

Dominic swears so loudly that the reporter closest to us has to wave him away, even as she keeps talking into her camera.