69236538256563

RACHEL
They prised me up off the carpet, which had been so freshly laid that bits of blue fluff stuck to the
knees of my trousers and my forehead and my arms.
They escorted me up from the flat with a blanket wrapped around me and they put me in an
ambulance that was parked on the street.
The press were there too, of course they were. Only a few of them arrived quickly enough to
photograph me being wheeled into the ambulance, but one person with a camera is all it takes.
‘Rachel! Rachel!’ they shouted, as the shutters fired. ‘Are you all right? Can you tell us what
happened?’
Inside the ambulance a paramedic did checks and asked me questions. They said they were treating
me for shock.
I refused to lie down. I sat up, blanket wrapped around me. It was all I had the strength to do.
Shaking racked my body, like convulsions.
Then it was the turn of the police. They told me they were in pursuit of Joanna May. They said
nothing about Ben. Their faces were grim, and I found I had no voice to ask questions.
I had imaginings. I felt as if chunks of me were separating themselves from my body, falling off. I
imagined blood creeping in at the edges of my vision, a red tide. It was because I knew I was too late.
He had been there, and now he was gone, and what were the odds that she’d keep him alive?
I felt myself let go. I let go of hope.
And then cutting through the murmured voices, I heard the ambulance radio. The dispatcher was
calling for somebody to respond to a call in Leigh Woods. Precise location unknown. A young boy
found. Status unknown.
They had to sedate me. Blackness fell as swiftly as the blade of a guillotine.