Free A Twist of Fate by Demelza Hart Page B

aisle and reached the steps. I thanked the captain warmly and took hold of the railing. ‘Don’t look up. Keep your head down and go straight into the car at the bottom,’ instructed Emma.
    The open back door of a black BMW awaited us at the bottom. I did as she said. From far off to my left I heard a faint mechanised rippling sound, which I later realised was hundreds of shutters going off over and over again. I hurried down the steps and into the car. Paul followed me.
    â€˜Bloody press. Can’t stand the lot of them,’ he mumbled.
    â€˜It’s understandable that they’re interested in us.’
    â€˜Yeah … interested in what, though?’
    I shrugged. ‘Never mind that now.’
    I strained forward, desperate to see where we were going, desperate for a glimpse of my parents. We were taken to a low military building just off the runway and away from the press. After being ushered through a few small corridors, we were shown into a large, bare room. Standing in the middle, her hands clutched, her face tense with anticipation, stood my mother. Beside her, just as strained but holding himself tall, was my father. I was back to coming home after my first day at school. I had never known relief and happiness like it. I screamed, ‘Mummy!’ at the top of my voice and hurled myself into her waiting arms. My father came around behind me and together they enclosed me completely.
    We stood like that for goodness knows how long, not speaking, just weeping and holding each other. Eventually, my parents set up a mantra of murmuring, 'My darling, my darling, my girl, my girl.’ I just carried on crying. When at last I pulled away and was able to look away from the reality of my parents’ faces, my gaze immediately fell on Paul. He was sitting quietly at the back of the room with an elderly man, frail and wearing a fading suit which probably fitted him fifteen years ago, but which now hung off his scrawny frame like a child dressing up. They were holding hands, and occasionally smiling or passing a couple of words between them. It must be his father. The quiet affection between them was heart-rending. I thought about how this man had denied his son the education he deserved, but there was clearly no resentment or bad feeling. Love for his father shone from every pore.
    â€˜Have you been drinking enough?’
    I tuned back into my mother’s voice. In her opinion, all of life’s woes could be solved if we all drank plenty of water. I nodded with a smile. ‘We had a whole catering trolley available to us. We were fine, and then we were picked up. I haven’t really suffered like that at all.’
    â€˜Like that? How else did you suffer? That man? The one you were with. Did he try anything?’
    â€˜No!’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Mother!’
    â€˜Hmm. He looks decent enough, I suppose. Still, you can never tell.’
    â€˜Mother! Paul’s lovely.’ Lovely . He’d hate to be called lovely. But he was. The loveliest. I tutted at my own weakness and turned fully away from him.
    My mother sighed. ‘They’re letting me take you home but I’ve got to put up with some bloody awful counsellor or something. Really. I can give you all the counselling you need. They keep banging on about stress debugging or something.’
    â€˜Debriefing. It’s standard procedure, has to be done.’
    â€˜And then there’s the media.’
    My father hadn’t said much but at this point cleared his throat disdainfully.
    â€˜What about them?’ I asked.
    â€˜I had This Morning on the phone the other day, and Sky and the BBC. Oh, and even the Gazette !’ Even the Gazette . The local rag. To my mother, if the Gazette was interested, then mega-stardom really did beckon.
    â€˜They can wait a bit.’
    â€˜Oh, but do talk to them at some point, darling. They won’t leave us alone. It’s all been somewhat