Dead Man's Footsteps

‘Thank you.’
    ‘Right, I understand, you’ve been through a lot. Tell you what, I’ll pop back tomorrow with a photographer. About 10 tomorrow morning suit you? Not too early for you on a Sunday?’
    ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want any publicity.’
    ‘Good, well, I’ll see you in the morning then.’ He removed his foot.
    ‘No, thank you,’ she said firmly, then pushed the doorshut and locked it very carefully. Shit, that was all she bloody needed, her photo in the paper.
    Shaking, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts, she pulled her cigarettes from her bag and lit one. Then she walked through into the kitchen.
    A man seated in the rear of an old white van that was parked in the street below also lit a cigarette. Then he popped the tab of a can of Foster’s lager, being careful not to spray the expensive piece of electrical kit he had alongside him, and took a swig. Through the lens inserted in the tiny hole he had drilled in the roof of the van, he normally had a perfect view of her flat, although it was partly obscured at this moment by a parked fire engine blocking the street. Still, he thought, it relieved the monotony of his long vigil.
    And he could see to his satisfaction, from the shadow moving back past the window, that she was in there now.
    Home sweet home , he thought to himself, and grinned wryly. That was almost funny.

32
11 SEPTEMBER 2001
    Lorraine, still wearing nothing but her bikini bottoms and gold ankle chain, sat on a bar stool in her kitchen, watching the small television mounted above the work surface, waiting for the kettle to boil. The butts from half a dozen cigarettes lay in the ashtray in front of her. She had just lit another and was inhaling deeply as she held the phone to her ear, talking to Sue Klinger, her best friend.
    Sue and her husband, Stephen, lived in a house that Lorraine had always coveted, a stunning detached mansion in Tongdean Avenue – considered by many people to be one of the finest residences in Brighton and Hove – with views across the whole city, down to the sea. The Klingers also owned a villa in Portugal. They had four gorgeous children, and, unlike Ronnie, Stephen had the Midas touch. Ronnie had promised Lorraine that if Sue and Stephen ever sold the house, he would find a way to come up with the money to buy it. Yep, sure. In your dreams, my love .
    They were replaying the images of the two planes striking the towers again, and then again, over and over. It was as if whoever was producing or directing this programme couldn’t believe it either, and had to keep replaying them to be sure it was real. Or perhaps someone in shock thought that if they repeated these images enough times, eventually the planes would miss the towers and flypast safely, and it would be just a normal Tuesday morning in Manhattan, business as usual. She watched the sudden orange fireball, the dense black clouds, feeling sicker and sicker.
    Now they were showing the towers coming down again. First the South, then the North.
    The kettle came to the boil but she didn’t move, not wanting to take her eyes off the screen in case she missed Ronnie. Alfie rubbed against her leg, but she ignored him. Sue was saying something to her, but Lorraine didn’t hear because she was peering at the screen intently, scanning every face.
    ‘Lorraine? Hello? You still there?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Ronnie’s a survivor. He’ll be OK.’
    The kettle switched itself off with a click. Survivor. Her sister had used that word as well.
    Survivor .
    Shit, Ronnie, you’d better be .
    A beeping sound told her there was a call waiting. Barely able to contain herself she shouted excitedly, ‘Sue, that might be him! Call you straight back!’
    Oh, God, Ronnie, please be on the phone. Please. Please let this be you!
    But it was her sister. ‘Lori, I just heard that all flights in the US have been grounded.’ Mo worked as a stewardess for British Airways long-haul.
    ‘What – what does that mean?’
    ‘They’re not letting any planes in or out. I was meant to be flying to Washington tomorrow. Everything’s grounded.’
    Lorraine felt a new wave of panic. ‘Until when?’
    ‘I don’t know – until further notice.’
    ‘Does that mean Ronnie might not get back tomorrow?’
    ‘I’m afraid so. I’ll find out more later in the day, but they’re making all planes that are heading to the States turn back. Which means the planes will be in the wrong places. It’s going to be chaos.’
    ‘Great,’