When she was indoors, she slumped into the sofa. The room was spinning and a fuzzy blur was creeping into the side of her vision. She blinked, looking around the small living room. The blur moved with her vision. She felt her stomach contract and she ran to the bathroom, only just making it as she threw up in the toilet. She kneeled and retched, and threw up again. She flushed and washed her mouth out in the sink, having to hold on to its sides as the floor seemed to lurch and sway underneath. The reflection staring back at her was gruesome: sunken eyes, her skin tinged white-green. The blurry patches were growing, spreading in the centre of her vision. Her face was now a blur in the mirror. What was happening to her? She staggered back through to the living room, holding on to the wall, the doorframe, then making a dash for the edge of the sofa. The centre of her vision was now flooded with a blur. She tilted her head, having to use her peripheral vision to locate her leather jacket, half-hanging over the armrest. She found her phone in one of the pockets, and tilting her head, she saw it was still switched off from the press conference.

Blood roared in her head and nausea and panic rose in her. She was dying. She was going to die alone. She found the button on the top of her phone and switched it on, but a spinning disc on the screen told her it was booting up. She slumped forward, face on the sofa. She was terrified; a powerful headache was forming at the back of her skull. She realised that this could be the start of a migraine, just as the room seemed to give an almighty spin and then everything went black.

29

Erika felt she was moving through darkness, fumbling towards a far-off ringing. It seemed to move closer, and then her ears popped and it was close to her head. The side of her face was pressed against something soft with a faint smell of fried food and cigarettes. Her knees were against a hard wooden floor. She sat back on her heels, and lifted her head, realising she was in her new flat. Her phone was ringing. It dark outside and the street light was shining through the bare window.

The phone glowed and vibrated on the coffee table and fell silent. Her mouth was dry, and she had a terrible headache. She pulled herself up unsteadily and went to the sink and drank a large glass of water. She put the glass down and it all came flooding back. One glimmer of hope was that her vision had returned to normal. Her phone rang again, and, thinking it was Marsh, she answered, wanting to get it over and done with.

A familiar voice said, ‘Erika? Is that you?’

She bit back tears. It was Mark’s father, Edward. She’d forgotten how much he sounded like Mark, with his warm Yorkshire accent.

‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said, finally.

‘I know it’s been a long time – well, I’ve phoned to say I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘I said things. Things I regret.’

‘You had every right, Edward. I can’t bear to look at myself half the time . . .’ Her diaphragm lurched and she was sobbing, hiccupping, the words coming out in a jumble as she tried to tell the man who she’d loved like another father how sorry she was, that she had failed to protect his son.

‘Erika, love, it wasn’t your fault . . . I read a copy of the transcript from the hearing,’ he said.

‘How?’

‘I requested it. Freedom of Information Act . . . They hauled you across the coals.’

‘I deserved it. I should have dug deeper, could have triple-checked things . . .’ she started.

‘You can’t live your life by should and could, Erika.’

‘I will never forgive myself. If only I could go back again, if only. I would never . . .’ she said, wiping hot tears away with the heel of her hand.

‘Now, that’s enough of that, I don’t want to hear another word, or there’ll be hell to pay!’ he joked.

The joke felt forced. There was a silence.

‘How are you?’ Erika asked. Stupid question, she thought.

‘Oh. I’m keeping busy . . . I’m playing bowls now. Never thought I would but, well, you have to keep busy. I’m a mean bowler for an old duffer . . .’ He trailed off again. ‘Erika love. There’s now a gravestone. I’ve had the stone put in for Mark. It looks grand.’

‘It does?’ said Erika. She closed her eyes. She thought of Mark underground, and morbidly wanted to know what he looked like. Just bones, bones, in a nice suit.

‘And you are welcome to come and see it. You’re welcome anytime, love. When do you think you’ll be coming home?’

Home. He called it home. Erika had no clue where home was anymore.