She decided to get his uniform washed and ready for him. He would need it for his shift on Tuesday evening. She was sure they would understand about him missing today, as he was normally very diligent. He was never late; he worked hard; never, normally, dropped a shift, even if he wasn’t feeling well. He was a good employee. He was a good son. She had to have faith.
Holding the bundle of washing to her chest, Shazia walked back downstairs, along the now-empty hallway. Nihal had had the extension built as a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary present for her three years ago. He still hadn’t lived that one down. The romance! Who needed a weekend in Paris when they had extra space for a tumble dryer and an ironing board? Her friends had teased her about it, whilst at the same time revealing glimpses of envy.
Instinctively Shazia looked left into the kitchen as she made her way towards to the back of the house. Mo wasn’t there; of course he wasn’t, because he wasn’t anywhere. Her chest felt cold, the damp from the towel had seeped through her shirt. She unlocked the door into the utility room and that’s when she saw them – a pair of Nikes, no longer pristine, sticking out of the gap between the dryer and back wall.
Chapter 15
IT TOOK Shazia and Nihal a few minutes to wake Mo. When he did eventually come round, he was groggy. He struggled to his feet, stiff from having spent so long curled up in such a small space. He cracked his elbow against the dryer on his way up, but he didn’t seem to notice. They both studied him, looking for signs of injury. There were none. He was just rumpled. Close up, Shazia could smell the sweat on him, an acrid tang that reminded her of the homeless man on the bridge who she sometimes said ‘hello’ to on her way to work.
‘Why on earth didn’t you call us? We’ve been frantic.’
He hung his head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t have my phone. I had to walk home, and it was really late. I came in the back, but the inside door was locked. I didn’t want to wake you, so I decided to kip down in here. I’m sorry – I thought you were in bed.’
‘We’ve been at the hospital all night. We thought you were in the car.’ As he said it, Nihal realised that his son didn’t know what had happened. He and Shazia exchanged a look of concern, and confusion. What the hell was going on?
They shepherded Mo through to the kitchen. Wanting to be somewhere safe and warm before they broke the news to him. Habit dictated that Shazia put on the kettle and Nihal fetch the cookie jar. Once the water had boiled, Shazia passed them each a mug of hot, sweet tea and they sat round the table, as they had thousands of times before.
Calmly and clearly Nihal told Mo about the crash, the police and the dreadful night they’d spent at the hospital, thinking he was one of the casualties.
Mo looked like he was going to cry. ‘How badly hurt are they?’ His voice wavered.
Nihal shared what little they knew. Most of their information was coming from Anita’s texts.
‘Harry’s okay – apparently. Minor injuries, cuts and bruises. A bit of a miracle actually. Jake’s been more badly hurt. His right leg took a lot of the impact. Multiple fractures. Some broken ribs as well.’
Mo looked wild. ‘And the girls? What about Tish and Jess?’
Shazia gently touched his sleeve. Nihal spoke softly, as if whispering would somehow lessen the blow. ‘They’re both in intensive care. We don’t know any more than that.’
For a while the only sounds were the hum of the fridge and Mo’s uneven breathing. They waited, watching their son struggle to absorb what had happened to his friends.
The tale, when he did eventually start talking, came out in a series of disconnected chunks, which was confusing, but they knew their son well enough to follow his circuitous route to the truth. It was a rush of stumbled words and emotion, which began with, ‘We were having such a good night.’
‘At the party?’ Shazia prompted. The frustration of not knowing what had happened was eating her up, but Mo’s glazed expression worried her. She didn’t feel able to demand answers; not like she would normally have done.
‘Yeah. At Alice’s. It was the usual crowd.’
‘Were you drinking?’ Nihal shot Shazia a warning look, but they needed to know.
‘No.’
They wanted to believe him – Mo wouldn’t lie about something like that, though an unfamiliar flicker of doubt rippled through Shazia.
‘We were just hanging out, dancing, talking.’ He even swayed a little, as if the music still echoed through him. ‘I got hot…with the dancing. I went out into the garden. Harry was there, with Jess, chilling. It was nice. I don’t know how long we were out there. It was Harry who decided we should leave. I don’t know why. It wasn’t late.’
‘What time was it?’ It was Nihal this time, edging the story forward.
‘I’m not sure; about twelve, maybe earlier.’ Not late in the teenage play-book. ‘We went back into the house to find Jake and Tish. Jake was going for it – jumping around like a loony. Tish kinda appeared from somewhere. I don’t really remember. Jake wouldn’t come at first. He was having too much of a good time. He had a bit of a standoff with Harry, nothing major. Just the usual banter, but he was being a bit of a prat. In the end Harry said we were going, and if Jake didn’t come, he’d have to get home on his own. That got through. Jake followed us out and we all got in the car.’
At the mention of the car Shazia’s stomach knotted. So Mo had been in the car. ‘Then what?’ she asked.
‘We drove to McDonald’s.’ They both blinked, thrown by the banality of his answer. Mo went on. ‘That was Jake, again. He said he was starving. Once he’d started banging on about cheeseburgers, we all wanted something.’
It was called ‘the munchies’; Shazia wasn’t stupid, she knew the effect alcohol – and drugs – had on appetites. Mo experimenting with drugs? No. He wouldn’t. Would he? But he would always – normally – text, to let them know where he was and what time he’d be back. He was a good like that. Normally. Mo and drugs? No. It didn’t compute. She decided to stick to the chain of events. ‘The McDonald’s near the roundabout, on the ring road?’
‘Yeah. Harry wouldn’t do the drive-through. Said he didn’t want his car stinking of food, so we parked up and went in.’
‘At that time of night?’ Shazia wasn’t sure why she was questioning his story.
‘Yeah. It’s one of the twenty-four-hour ones.’ Mo stopped and looked round the kitchen. He registered his tea, picked it up and drained it in a series of long, deep swallows. Without a word, Nihal swapped the empty mug with his own full one. Mo drank half of that as well.
Why was he so thirsty? Drinking made you thirsty. This doubting Mo’s word was a new and wholly horrible feeling. Shazia tried to concentrate on listening to, not mistrusting, her son.
‘Harry said he’d do the order. Tish and Jake stayed with him, at the self-serve machines. Jake kept changing his mind about what he wanted. Me and Jess went and sat down. It was all fine. Me and Jess talked about the party. Then I went to the loo.’ He stopped.
‘And?’
‘And when I came back, they’d gone.’