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‘What about their son, Charlie Bowness?’ asked Clemo in a tone that seemed carefully controlled to sound light. He adjusted his chair, moving it just a little closer to Nicky. She wouldn’t look at him. ‘Nicky?’ he asked. ‘You know who they are, don’t you?’ ‘You know I do,’ she whispered. ‘And you?’ he asked me. ‘Do you know?’ ‘I’ve never heard of them,’ I said. I was transfixed at the sight of my sister so vulnerable and defenceless. I was aware that I should probably move, and go to her, but there was a ghastly momentum in the room now, and it felt unstoppable. ‘She doesn’t know,’ said my sister. ‘She hasn’t got a clue and that’s the way it should be.’ Hatred had crept into her voice, and it was directed at Clemo. He persisted. ‘And what about Alice and Katy Bowness? Do you know who they are?’ Nicky began to shake her head violently. ‘Alice and Katy Bowness,’ he repeated. ‘Do you know who they are?’ He spoke slowly, giving each word space and a weight, as if it were a rock being dropped into water. She looked right at him, and it seemed to cost her an enormous effort to do that. Defiance and defeat waged war in her expression. She spoke her next words quietly. ‘I know who they are.’ ‘Have you heard of them?’ he asked me. ‘No!’ I said. ‘Who the hell are they? Have they got Ben?’ ‘Are you sure you haven’t heard of them?’ ‘No! She hasn’t! She’s telling the truth,’ said my sister. Clemo remained impassive. He contemplated me, and then my sister, in turn. I felt my chest tighten. ‘Will you tell her, or will I?’ he said to Nicky. ‘You bastard.’ Zhang started to speak but Clemo held a hand up to silence her. ‘Careful,’ he said to Nicky. ‘You’re frightening me,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand.’ Nicky turned towards me. I was sitting at right angles to her, at the head of the table. She wanted to take my hand and I let her. ‘Who are these people?’ I said. ‘Andrew and Naomi Bowness…’ said Nicky. It was hard for her to go on. A sob escaped her. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ she said. Her gaze flicked back to Clemo and he nodded at her, willing her to continue. She placed one trembling hand upon the other, so that my hand was buried beneath both of hers. I saw in her eyes that some kind of battle was lost. ‘Rachel,’ she said, ‘Andrew and Naomi Bowness are our parents. Our mum and dad.’ ‘What do you mean? No they’re not. That’s not what our parents are called.’ I tried to pull my hand away but Nicky was gripping it now. ‘It is. Those are the real names of our parents,’ my sister said. Her eyes were begging me to understand but I didn’t, not really, not yet. ‘And Charlie Bowness?’ I said. ‘He…’ She was welling up again, but she got herself under control. ‘He was our brother.’ ‘Brother?’ I’d never had a brother. ‘And the others? I suppose they’re our sisters are they?’ ‘Tell her everything,’ said Clemo. He’d broken Nicky, drained the fight out of her. In her expression I saw terrible suffering, terrible vulnerability and, most frightening of all, what looked like a plea for forgiveness.
‘Alice and Katy Bowness are us. Those were our names before they were changed. We were, we are, Alice and Katy Bowness.’ Clemo briskly pulled something from between the pages of his notebook. It was a newspaper cutting. If he hadn’t showed it to me there and then I’m not sure that I’d have believed any of them. I’d always been told that my parents died in a car accident. You could tell the story in an instant and I’d been doing that for years: our parents died in a head-on collision with a lorry. It had been nobody’s fault, just a tragic accident. The steering on the lorry was proved to be faulty. My parents were cremated and their ashes scattered. There was no headstone. End of story. Except that apparently it wasn’t. I wasn’t who I thought I was, and nor was Nicky. Clemo handed me a photocopy of a newspaper article from 30 March 1982, thirty years ago. There was a photograph of a couple that I recognised as my parents. My Aunt Esther had had one photograph of them on her mantelpiece and this grainy image showed the same two people. The difference was that in this image they were with three children. I recognised my sister. She stood beside our mother. I could see a baby, a chubby little thing of about one year old in a smocked dress, and I supposed that she could be me. I didn’t recognise the boy who sat in the middle of the picture. Around four years old, he was so like Ben it took my breath away. He had the same messy hair and balanced features, the same posture and the same grin, the one that could light up your day, and the same smattering of freckles across his nose. He was nestled between my parents. It was a lovely image, a perfect family. The headline beside it told another story: BATTEN DISEASE FAMILY IN FATAL DEATH LEAP I scanned the article, snippets of it jumping out at me: ‘Local couple Andrew and Naomi Bowness leaped to their deaths… driven to the act by lack of support for their terminally ill son… no grandparents surviving… friends and neighbours expressed surprise… had coped so well… feel sorry for their two surviving daughters… wanted to end his suffering.’ I looked at Nicky who was watching me, stricken. ‘They killed themselves?’ ‘And Charlie.’ The way she said his name, the tenderness in those two words, the loss, told me that it was Charlie who she mourned above all. ‘But what about us?’ Nicky looked away. ‘Why did they leave us?’ ‘Don’t you think I’ve been asking myself that all my life?’ ‘And why didn’t you tell me?’ She didn’t answer. I looked at the article again, and stared at the photograph. Clemo cleared his throat. ‘There was a report from the coroner. Would you like to know what it said?’ ‘I’ve read it,’ said Nicky. ‘I want to know,’ I said.
- Page 152 and 153: looking woman too: nicely dressed,
- Page 154 and 155: ‘Were there signs that the arm wa
- Page 156 and 157: accident. But we’ll check it out
- Page 158 and 159: To the insultingly practical: Don
- Page 160 and 161: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 162 and 163: FM: So apart from the negative pres
- Page 164 and 165: they’re focused on the job? FM: Y
- Page 166 and 167: DAY 4 WEDNESDAY, 24 OCTOBER 2012 Cr
- Page 168 and 169: RACHEL I slept only fitfully after
- Page 170 and 171: WEB PAGE - www.whereisbenedictfinch
- Page 172 and 173: JIM I spoke to Emma before I left f
- Page 174 and 175: say that he doesn’t play by the r
- Page 176 and 177: ‘Bye,’ Fount said to him. ‘Wh
- Page 178 and 179: thanked her for what she did for us
- Page 180 and 181: I sat on the bed for a long time, u
- Page 182 and 183: JIM Fraser and I had a pre-meet bef
- Page 184 and 185: ‘He’s got an alibi, doesn’t h
- Page 186 and 187: RACHEL Nicky phoned the police and
- Page 188 and 189: door in the middle of the night. Yo
- Page 190 and 191: an orange wash remained. It struck
- Page 192 and 193: RACHEL When I got back inside Nicky
- Page 194 and 195: JIM On the night of Wednesday, 24 O
- Page 196 and 197: DAY 5 THURSDAY, 25 OCTOBER 2012 You
- Page 198 and 199: RACHEL I slept the night in Ben’s
- Page 200 and 201: individuals closest to Ben, and he
- Page 204 and 205: He took another sheet of paper from
- Page 206 and 207: more imperfect than any version of
- Page 208 and 209: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 210 and 211: JC: She said she was knackered. She
- Page 212 and 213: It led swiftly to the fourth state.
- Page 214 and 215: Quick response appreciated, obvious
- Page 216 and 217: WEB PAGE - www.whereisbenedictfinch
- Page 218 and 219: I didn’t know what to say. I look
- Page 220 and 221: RACHEL Zhang agreed to come and giv
- Page 222 and 223: sensation. Then she spoke to him of
- Page 224 and 225: abstract shapes floating within it,
- Page 226 and 227: JIM I got one of the DCs to pick up
- Page 228 and 229: RACHEL This time, I made no attempt
- Page 230 and 231: dog, black and white like Skittle,
- Page 232 and 233: FM: I’m not intending to. That’
- Page 234 and 235: everything that had happened. But I
- Page 236 and 237: JIM We worked closely with John Fin
- Page 238 and 239: DAY 7 SATURDAY, 27 OCTOBER 2012 An
- Page 240 and 241: RACHEL In the early hours of the mo
- Page 242 and 243: school year, but I started to work
- Page 244 and 245: tight. A hospital band was visible
- Page 246 and 247: cancer himself. The whole family, w
- Page 248 and 249: Another page. A different drawing:
- Page 250 and 251: ‘The blog.’ I was slow; I didn
‘What about their son, Charlie Bowness?’ asked Clemo in a tone that seemed carefully controlled<br />
to sound light. He adjusted his chair, moving it just a little closer to Nicky. She wouldn’t look at him.<br />
‘Nicky?’ he asked. ‘You know who they are, don’t you?’<br />
‘You know I do,’ she whispered.<br />
‘And you?’ he asked me. ‘Do you know?’<br />
‘I’ve never heard of them,’ I said.<br />
I was transfixed at the sight of my sister so vulnerable and defenceless. I was aware that I should<br />
probably move, and go to her, but there was a ghastly momentum in the room now, and it felt<br />
unstoppable.<br />
‘She doesn’t know,’ said my sister. ‘She hasn’t got a clue and that’s the way it should be.’ Hatred<br />
had crept into her voice, and it was directed at Clemo.<br />
He persisted. ‘And what about Alice and Katy Bowness? Do you know who they are?’<br />
Nicky began to shake her head violently.<br />
‘Alice and Katy Bowness,’ he repeated. ‘Do you know who they are?’ He spoke slowly, giving<br />
each word space and a weight, as if it were a rock being dropped into water.<br />
She looked right at him, and it seemed to cost her an enormous effort to do that. Defiance and<br />
defeat waged war in her expression. She spoke her next words quietly. ‘I know who they are.’<br />
‘Have you heard of them?’ he asked me.<br />
‘No!’ I said. ‘Who the hell are they? Have they got Ben?’<br />
‘Are you sure you haven’t heard of them?’<br />
‘No! She hasn’t! She’s telling the truth,’ said my sister.<br />
Clemo remained impassive. He contemplated me, and then my sister, in turn. I felt my chest tighten.<br />
‘Will you tell her, or will I?’ he said to Nicky.<br />
‘You bastard.’<br />
Zhang started to speak but Clemo held a hand up to silence her.<br />
‘Careful,’ he said to Nicky.<br />
‘You’re frightening me,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand.’<br />
Nicky turned towards me. I was sitting at right angles to her, at the head of the table. She wanted to<br />
take my hand and I let her.<br />
‘Who are these people?’ I said.<br />
‘Andrew and Naomi Bowness…’ said Nicky. It was hard for her to go on. A sob escaped her. ‘I’m<br />
sorry, Rachel,’ she said. Her gaze flicked back to Clemo and he nodded at her, willing her to continue.<br />
She placed one trembling hand upon the other, so that my hand was buried beneath both of hers. I saw<br />
in her eyes that some kind of battle was lost.<br />
‘Rachel,’ she said, ‘Andrew and Naomi Bowness are our parents. Our mum and dad.’<br />
‘What do you mean? No they’re not. That’s not what our parents are called.’ I tried to pull my hand<br />
away but Nicky was gripping it now.<br />
‘It is. Those are the real names of our parents,’ my sister said. Her eyes were begging me to<br />
understand but I didn’t, not really, not yet.<br />
‘And Charlie Bowness?’ I said.<br />
‘He…’ She was welling up again, but she got herself under control. ‘He was our brother.’<br />
‘Brother?’ I’d never had a brother. ‘And the others? I suppose they’re our sisters are they?’<br />
‘Tell her everything,’ said Clemo.<br />
He’d broken Nicky, drained the fight out of her. In her expression I saw terrible suffering, terrible<br />
vulnerability and, most frightening of all, what looked like a plea for forgiveness.