Dead Tomorrow

her favourite singers. Amy liked her too.
    ‘Hi, darling!’ he said, trying not to dazzle her.
    There was no response.
    Something lurched inside him. ‘Darling? It’s OK, Dad’s here.’
    Then he felt a restraining arm on his shoulder.
    ‘Sir,’ Glenn Branson cautioned.
    Ignoring him, he hurried across, dropping down on to his knees, putting his face up close to his daughter’s.
    ‘Caitlin, darling!’
    He cupped her face in his hands and was shocked how cold she was. Stone cold.
    He raised her face gently, and then he saw that her eyes were open wide, but there was no flicker of movement in them.
    ‘No!’ he said. ‘No! Please, no! No! NOOOOOOOOO!’
    Glenn Branson raised his torch, stared into her eyes, looking for any movement of the pupils or lids or lashes. But there was nothing.
    Desperately, Mal laid Caitlin gently down, pressed his lips to his daughter’s and started giving her the kiss of life. Behind him, he heard the voice of the female detective radioing for an ambulance.
    He was still frantically trying to resuscitate Caitlin twenty minutes later, when the paramedics finally arrived.

123
    Ten days later the kindlywoman PC and the female translator walked Simona across the apron at Heathrow Airport, towards the British Airways plane.
    Simona clutched Gogu tightly to her chest. The officer had rummaged through all the wheelie bins at Wiston Grange and recovered him for her.
    ‘So, Simona, are you happy to be going home in time for Christmas?’ the PC asked chirpily.
    The translator repeatedthe question in Romanian.
    Simona shrugged. She didn’t know much about Christmas, other than that there were lots of people around with money in their bags and wallets, making it a good time to steal. She felt lost and confused. Shunted from place to place, room to room. She did not know where she was and did not want to be here any more. She just looked forward to seeing Romeo again.
    She looked down at the ground, not knowing what to reply, and it still hurt to talk. It was from the breathing tube, they had told her, and it would get better soon.
    She didn’t understand why they had put the breathing tube down her, nor why she was being sent back now. The translator told her that bad people had planned to kill her and take her insides away. But she did not know if she believed her. Perhaps it was just an excuse to send her back to Romania.
    ‘You’ll be fine!’ the PC said, giving her a final hug at the foot of the gangway. ‘Ian Tilling has arranged for someone to meet you at Bucharest Airport and take you to his hostel–he has a place for you there.’
    The translator repeated the assurance.
    ‘Will Romeo be there?’ she asked.
    ‘Romeo is waiting for you.’
    Simona climbed the steps forlornly, unsure whether to believe them.
    Two stewardesses greeted her cheerily at the top, checked her boarding card, and led her to her seat, then helped to buckle her in. She stared in glum silence at the rear of the seat in front of her for most of the flight, clutching the passport document she had been told to present at the other end, and left her tray of food untouched. She just thought about Romeo constantly. Maybe he would be there. Maybe, when she saw him, things would be OK again.
    Maybe they could find a new dream.

124
    This had always been RoyGrace’s favourite walk, underneath the chalk cliffs, east from Rottingdean. As a child it was almost a Sunday ritual with his parents, and recently, at least on those Sundays when he didn’t have to work, it was becoming a ritual for himself and Cleo.
    He loved the sense of drama, particularly on rough days, like this afternoon, when there was a blustery wind and the tide was high, and occasionally the sea surged right up the beach and sent spray and pebbles crashing over the low stone wall. And the signs that warned of the danger of falling rocks added to that drama. He loved the smells here too, the salty tang and the seaweed and the occasional whiff of rotting fish that would be gone in an instant. And the sight of cargo ships and tankers out on the horizon, and sometimes yachts, closer in.
    Today was the last Sunday before Christmas and he knew he should be feeling free, and looking forward to some time off with the woman he loved. But inside he felt as churned up as the roiling, spuming, grey Channel water to his right.
    They were both wrapped up warmly. Cleo had her arm comfortably looped through his and he wondered, suddenly, if they would still