Read Online Fifty-First State by Hilary Bailey - Free Book Online Page A

terrible time, but I’d appreciate it if you would let me come back with you to your home. There’s a good deal to discuss.’
    Matt Arthur looked at him blankly. Kim’s mother, tightening her grip on Rory’s hand, asked, ‘Discuss what?’
    â€˜The accident – and, more importantly now, what to do about the media intrusion.’
    â€˜We just want to take Rory home,’ said Katherine.
    â€˜Ma’am,’ he said, ‘if you think about it, I’m sure you’ll see the need for some help in protecting your privacy—’
    The door of the waiting room banged open and another man entered. He was tall, tanned and wearing a cream linen suit. Acknowledging the presence of the other man he said, without pleasure, ‘Captain Struthers.’ He advanced on the little group – the grandparents, trying to contain their grief for the sake of the weeping boy, Rory himself and the doctor. His hand extended as he moved towards them. ‘Mr and Mrs Arthur,’ he said, ‘my deepest condolences. This has been a most terrible event.’ As they shook hands he said, ‘I know this is a dreadful time for you. What we want to do is minimize the pressure from the media…’
    â€˜I want to go home!’ cried Rory. ‘I want to go home! Take me home!’ He wrenched his hand out of his grandmother’s and ran to the door. Mrs Arthur said, ‘All we want to do now is take Rory home.’ She went to the door to talk to the boy.
    â€˜Mrs Arthur…’ said the Englishman.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ said Rory’s grandfather. ‘We have to take Rory home. Then we’re going to stay with family in Brighton.’
    â€˜For your own comfort and protection…’ said the American, Captain Struthers.
    Mr Arthur spoke with an effort, ‘No,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your offer, but you – all of you – have already done enough.’ He went to the door and picked up his grandson.
    When they got to the small red-brick house where Kim and her son had once lived, but would live no longer, Rory and his grandparents got out of the car. Dr Mehmet, the driver, remained in the vehicle, watching the little group standing on the pavement.
    In the car, Rory’s crying had stopped. He sat between his grandparents, staring forward. They had not seen any alternative to taking the hysterical child back to his home, but both were afraid that in one part of his mind Rory had not accepted his mother’s death and dreaded that he thought, perhaps, he would find her when they got back, as if nothing had happened. They had tried to find out why the boy wanted to go home. ‘You won’t be able to live there any more,’ Mr Arthur had told him.
    â€˜I know,’ he had responded angrily. Now they stood on the pavement. Kim’s mother glanced up at the windows, where their daughter had hung curtains when she moved in with the baby, Rory. Beyond the gate was the little patch of lawn with its round, central bed. The roses Kim had planted were in bloom. Below them, in the ground, were the bulbs she had put in, which had flowered in the spring and would flower again in the following year.
    The Arthurs were both looking at Rory, so only Dr Mehmet observed a man walk up the road, duck into the garden opposite the house and start taking photographs. He also noticed a car slide into a parking space down the road. Two men got out, and stood on the pavement looking towards the Arthurs.
    Rory ran to the part of the pavement where he had thrown the bird’s egg. He knelt down and tried to pick up the small blue fragments, most of which were stuck to the pavement.
    â€˜It’s my fault,’ he shouted. ‘I said to go there! I said to go there!’ He had three little pieces of bird’s egg stuck to his palm now.
    â€˜What are you doing, Rory?’ asked his grandmother. ‘What do you mean?’
    Still