by Jenni Regan
The scene had completely changed.
In its place was a dark world full of twisted metal and screams that were different than the screams of the hungry, tired child I had noticed sitting near me before. Those were to gain attention from the mother. These were screams of desperation, pain and shock. There had also been a deathly silence when it first happened, and I wondered, for more than a moment, if this was it—if we had all died and this was now my hell. For this, I almost welcomed the howls.
At first, I hadn't felt a thing, and I wondered how I had escaped this when I could see the twisted bodies and blood all around me, but then the pain started—a throbbing in my leg, a knife between my shoulders, the feel of liquid seeping down my face.
And then I was frozen, stuck to my spot on the floor as people moved around me. I wanted to get up, move away from the death and destruction, find help, give help, even start recording this, but there was no way my body would move. All control was whisked away from me. I was a pawn in a much bigger game.
So I sat and waited, watching the scene in front of me unfold as though it was yet another emergency medical drama or fly-on-the-wall documentary. It followed the formula, and eventually there were people in uniforms amongst the bloody and the broken. People were there to take control, to assess, to help.
Apparently, I didn't speak the entire way to hospital. I knew I was one of the lucky ones. Many hadn't escaped with their lives that day, but somehow this sent me into a prison, in my mind at least, one I almost wish I had escaped from instantly in a body bag rather than being catatonic in an ambulance.
At least at the hospital there was tea.
Tom
3 November 2018, 3 p.m.
Tom was sorting out his already spotless hotel room when he got a phone call from his new copper pal.
‘Hello, Mr Carmichael. After I spoke to you last and you told me about your mother being dead, I did more probing, and we have uncovered something a bit strange.’
Tom frowned in concern, although strange was good in his book for now. ‘In what way?’
‘It appears that someone has been taking money from your mother’s account, but it wasn’t Alice. Let’s just say we have a person of interest we are trying to locate!’
Tom couldn’t quite get his head around it all.
‘You mean that someone has robbed my mum?’ He tried to feel some anger, but in reality, he really didn’t care if his mum had been the victim of robbery.
‘We don’t know for sure yet, but our investigations threw up some unanswered questions, and we would like to question someone. I am liaising with my friends in the Met, and they are sending people to the address in question.’
‘That’s good news, I guess. Can you tell me anything more about this person?’
‘Not yet, unfortunately. We will tell you more if we decide to charge him.’
Tom was about to hang up and relay the conversation to Rachel when the officer asked a final question.
‘One other thing, Mr Carmichael. You mentioned that your mother had passed away. Do you have any more details about how and when this happened? We have tried to find her death record but have failed to locate it at this point in time. This isn’t unheard of, but it could show something slightly darker than just some fraudulent withdrawals. It could even show that your mother has been harmed intentionally and that the injury or death was unreported. Or, looking on the bright side, it could mean that your mother isn’t actually dead, in which case she potentially becomes a missing person.’
‘This may sound silly, but we only found out by looking on Alice’s Twitter feed where she described the funeral. We couldn't find the death record using the site we paid for.’
‘So you were informed of your mother’s death through a tweet?’ He sounded unbelieving.
‘I know it sounds terrible, but the truth is, we haven’t been in touch with our mother for years. You could say we are a pretty messed up family. Alice had lived with my mother, and I had kept in touch with Alice but had totally missed this information until it was too late, and then we stopped being able to contact Alice.’
‘I guess it would be a strange thing for someone to lie about, so we will keep an open mind. Did you say you have been to the house also? Is the house significant to you?’
‘Yes, it is where we grew up—me and Rachel in our hugely flawed unhappy family.’
Rachel glanced at Tom with a warning stare. If he was too negative about their mother, they might find themselves under suspicion.
Tom felt as though this was all the wrong way round and that it should be the police telling him this. The police should be the ones investigating.
‘Yes, we have been a couple of times but there is no sign of life. It looks like it has been abandoned for a while.’
‘OK, thanks. We will see how we get on with our person of interest, and if he sheds no light on the whereabouts of Alice or her grandmother, then we will send officers over to look inside.’
Tom didn’t like how the conversation had gone, going from a young girl nicking a few quid from her dead grandmother’s bank account to what he could only presume was a possible murder scene. Who may have been murdered and who may be the perpetrator were unclear at the moment.
Tom
3 November 2018, Midday
The trouble with the internet was that it was such a huge un-policed site. Moments after he saw the Just Giving page set up to honour Alice’s apparent demise, the news had spread like wildfire, with tributes coming in from around the world and even #RIPAlice trending in the area. He called the police immediately, using the direct line he had been given. As soon as he had got through to his contact, he started shouting.
‘Why is it we are finding about Alice’s death through the god damn internet? Surely you could have had the decency to inform her family first. I have reported her missing on two separate occasions, and you definitely have my contact details.’
‘Sir, can you calm down and tell me what this is about?’ the officer calmly responded. ‘You can probably guess it has been a very busy time for us here.’
‘This is Tom Carmichael. I spoke to you days ago about my missing niece Alice, who may have been caught up in the Bournemouth attack. In fact, I have been speaking to your officers over the past two months. However, you not only told me that this wasn’t the case but further that there was little you could do to help because of her age.’
The penny seemed to drop for the officer, and he could hear her tapping away on a keyboard.
‘Then today I find out that not only was she actually killed but that a whole load of really kind strangers have raised over twenty grand to give her a good send-off.’
He could hear more tapping and a deathly silence.
The officer’s voice finally returned. ‘Sorry, Mr Carmichael, I wanted to double-check a couple of things. We haven't released any more names of people caught up in the attack. We have located everyone now, and I am pleased to say that I can confirm, beyond doubt, that Alice is not amongst them.’
Tom almost collapsed onto the chair behind him, and Rachel immediately thought the news had been confirmed.
The woman continued kindly. ‘Look, sadly there are a lot of horrible people out there who will stop at nothing to make a few quid—those who exploit situations like this for their own gain. We will look into this for you and get this page shut down. Is there any reason that Alice would have been targeted in this way?’
‘Well, I did put feelers out for her, saying she was missing,’ Tom said, suddenly embarrassed that his concern could have triggered this.
‘Don’t worry, we know of at least ten other cases similar to this from this attack alone. Usually they are people who are not even alive or at least not living anywhere near the attack. The trouble is we often have problems prosecuting people as they are hidden behind their desktop somewhere in a remote part of the world. But we will get it shut down as soon as we can.’
Tom was about to hang up when the off
icer spoke again. ‘You mentioned before that it was Alice and her grandmother you were looking for. Have you had any luck using any of the lines of enquiry I suggested?’
‘We found out that my mother had died, but it as if Alice has disappeared off the face of the Earth. If I hadn’t had spoken to her a couple of weeks ago, I would have doubted that she had existed.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your mother and that you have had no success with Alice. Considering the current situation and the page you have found, let me see if there is any more we can do here. Will you leave it with me?’
As soon as Tom got off the phone, another terrible thought crossed his mind. What if Alice was actually behind this terrible fundraising? After all, she had practically begged him for money for her birthday. He hated himself for having these thoughts and not being grateful and relieved that she hadn’t been shot in cold blood by a murdering extremist, but he couldn’t get away from the fact she had lied to him about his mum.
He quickly turned to hug Rachel, pushing his horrific theories to one side. ‘It’s OK, Rach, it was a hoax—someone trying to make a few quid. She definitely didn’t die in Bournemouth.’
The two were on such a rollercoaster together, they wanted to sit it out and draw breath, but the uncertainty was pushing them forwards. They had no idea where this particular ride would end.
After lunch, they checked into a nicer hotel, one that was faceless and corporate enough for them to feel invisible. They had discussed heading back to London after spending a wasted day getting no further in their search, but they both felt as though they should stick around. Tom had phoned his office and extended his compassionate leave, giving his mum’s death as a reason, and Rachel told her ex and current partner that they would have to deal with things without her for a while.
Their first visit of the afternoon was to the bank on the high street where their mother had banked when they were children, and since she was very set in her ways, they hoped she had continued to bank there until her death. They were also hoping that Alice had followed in her footsteps.
Once they arrived, they asked to speak to the manager, hoping they wouldn’t have to make an appointment. Luckily, this seemed to still be a bank with a human face, and the manager emerged a few minutes later and ushered them off into a side room. Tom recognised him immediately as the same man who had been behind the counter when he was a child and used to come in to deposit his very rare pocket money. The fact he had only ever saved enough to get one of the deliciously kitsch piggybanks they handed out was testament to how tight his parents had been. Still, in a way, it had driven him, and he was out earning as soon as possible. He actually still had the ugly ceramic pig in his apartment and threw his loose cents in there. The manager was, of course, a lot older now, with half-moon glasses and a bald head disguised badly with a comb-over, but he still looked like a kind man.
'Good afternoon. I am Mr Williams, the manager of this branch. How can I help you?'
‘We are trying to find my daughter who is missing and wondered if we could ask you a few questions,’ said Rachel.
‘Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. Of course I will help if I can. Did she use this bank?’
‘Well, we are not certain,’ Rachel admitted. ‘She lived with her grandmother, Josie Carmichael, for many years, and we really hope that she was still banking here.’
There was a sudden flash of recognition. ‘Of course. You are Mrs Carmichaels’ kids! I thought I recognised you. I never forget a face! Even though it must be, what, twenty-odd years? Remind me of your names?’
‘I’m Tom and this is Rachel,’ explained Tom smiling, secretly pleased.
‘Oh yes, little Tom and Rachel. I used to see you come in here during the school holidays with your mum and your little books. Tell me, are you still good savers now?’
‘I am, but it’s all automatic now, so it just gets scooped away each month before I notice it,’ said Tom proudly, flashing back to the earnest ten-year-old he had been.
Rachel blushed and Tom guessed that she had little disposable income let alone savings. This was like being back at school.
‘Oh yes, everything is automatic now, which makes it a lot easier, I guess, but I still think it meant more when you had to come in and hand it over in person,’ Mr Williams said wistfully. ‘Anyway, how is Mrs Carmichael? We haven’t seen her in ages. One of our best customers, she is; never signed up to any internet or even telephone banking. She was in here like clockwork every Thursday. Prefers the human touch. We haven’t seen her for a few months though. I hope everything is OK?’
Tom and Rachel looked at each other in surprise. ‘Actually, she died a few weeks ago,’ Tom said. ‘We thought you would know this. We actually wondered if Alice Carmichael, my niece and Rachel’s daughter, had an account here. It’s her we are trying to find.’
‘Oh gosh, I am so sorry to hear that. What a shame. She was such a lovely woman—always had the time for a chat. I’m sure the accounts have been closed, but that often happens through some faceless call centre, so we may not have been told directly.’
‘And Alice?’ Tom prompted.
‘I do remember Mrs Carmichael bringing in her granddaughter a few times when she was quite young. How old would she be now?’
‘Twenty-one. I mean, twenty-two,’ answered Rachel.
‘Well, I haven’t personally seen her in here for years, but she probably has one of those new-fangled internet accounts. I can check for you if you like.’
‘That would be great,’ answered Rachel.
The manager left the room, and when his investigation seemed to take hours, Tom and Rachel joked that he must be going through a filing cabinet letter by letter. Finally, he opened the door.
‘We can see that Ms Carmichael had a savings account here that, in fact, a Thomas Carmichael had set up. I guess that is you?’ He looked towards Tom who had completely forgotten that he had done this and had therefore neglected to pay into it for years. ‘However, after taking a quick look, it doesn’t look like she has touched it for a good five years. I suppose she must have gone to a rival bank that probably offered free CDs or something!’ It was clear from this assumption that poor Mr Williams didn’t have much contact with young people.
‘OK, thank you so much. I guess there are no clues here then.’ Tom collected his belongings.
‘No, I’m sorry. I hope you find her. You know what kids are like though; they are in a world of their own. My daughter was forever running away when she was a kid. Now she would love to run away from her own kids!’ Tom and Rachel smiled at the joke and immediately felt sorry for his grandkids who probably received yoyos and wooden toys for presents each year.
‘There was something strange though. You said your mother passed away in August, but the account is still active and has been used since then. Of course, it is often the last thing people think about when a loved one passes, but legally, on death, the money in the account goes into probate, so it shouldn’t really be touched. Anyhow, now that you have told me, I will need you to bring in her death certificate so I can put a stop to the accounts and the card.’
‘This has been really useful,’ Tom said. ‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr Williams, and it was really nice to see you again.’ Tom handed him a business card and shook his hand.
They were almost through the front door when he called out to them. ‘I forgot to say also that I spoke to Lisa behind the till, and she told me she knew your mum was ill because her nephew came in to do some of her banking a while ago and said she was in hospital. I’m only sorry we forgot to send fruit or a card!’
‘Does she mean her niece? That was probably Alice then,’ said Tom, thinking this was actually the first sighting they had of her in the real world.
‘Oh, yes, that is probably what she means. A bit forgetful, that Lisa. I was taking my wife to the hospital for her hip that day, or I would have remembered. I never forget a face!’
Tom and Rachel thanked him again
and set off out the door.
Alice
As well as sharing the shinier side of life, the online world was also an occasional source of support for me—not that this was ever public. As I knew more than most, even people with picture-perfect lives on the surface had their demons.
I had found incredible support groups dealing with all sorts where I could be anonymous. Grief, trauma, abuse, even addiction, although that wasn’t really relevant—well, not directly. I was mainly a bystander, watching and quietly supporting as others poured their hearts out. It actually made me feel better, even though I never had to talk about anything. Talking would mean opening many cans of worms. As a family, we liked to keep it all locked away.
That didn’t mean I didn’t share my feelings with my online friends. They knew when I was happy, sad, annoyed or angry. But this was the sanitised version, presented up with a cool gif and relevant hashtag. No one wanted to know what had really happened over the years. Well, no one had really cared up until now.
Rachel
1 November 2018, 11 a.m.
Rachel had enjoyed the buffet—she was such a sad cow that she still got a thrill out of ‘free’ food—but as soon as she had wolfed her plate down, she felt an instant wave of nausea. She could no longer put this one off. She had made excuses of tummy bugs, hangovers and even dodgy kebabs in the last few weeks, but she knew what this was.
She wasn’t really one for religion, but the guilt side still shone through occasionally, drilled in through draughty churches and serious teachers all those years ago. Was this god trying to punish her? She had lost her firstborn, possibly forever. Her relationship was at a breaking point, and she was worried she may have discovered something terrible about her partner, and it was NOW she was blessed with a pregnancy.
For now, she was happy to put her head in the sand. With the others, she hadn’t shown until she was at least three months gone. If she could keep her sickness hidden, no one would know at this point, nor did they need to, at least until she knew what she would do. She made the best of rinsing her mouth out in the hotel toilet and headed back out to join her brother with a fixed smile on her face.
