look from Sean, whose head had shot up at the tone of her voice.
‘What,’ said Alice, a statement not a question. She might as well have added . . . ever .
‘Nothing,’ Helen replied flatly. She had an awful feeling that if she started on Alice, she’d never stop. But even though she hadn’t said anything further, Alice, affronted, still pushed back her chair, its legs making a loud grating sound on the stone floor.
Sean jumped up too, and in the panicked way he had whenever Alice kicked off, ran across to her and wrapped her in the sort of huge bear hug that Helen wished he’d bestow on her, his own wife, more often.
Alice, however, wriggled out of his grasp. She was crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her pale face reddening with outrage as she faced Helen.
‘I know what you were going to say,’ howled Alice, working herself up into the full tantrum, fists clenched at her sides like a six year old. ‘You really don’t trust me at all, do you? In fact, I bet you blame me for Frankie being kidnapped, don’t you? Of course you fucking do! I was babysitting, it was my fault, that’s what you think, isn’t it? Why don’t you just have the guts to come out and say it, you horrible—’
‘Alice!’ said Sean and the FLO simultaneously. The FLO abandoned her tea-making mission and sprang into action, rushing over to try and calm her down. She had no idea what a futile gesture that was, thought Helen. Once Alice was in full-on meltdown, there was nothing anyone could do.
‘I just wanted you to swear on Frankie’s life that Larry didn’t come over that night,’ Helen said, taking the bull by the horns. At that moment she didn’t care if Alice never spoke to her again, or how cross Sean was with her for ‘upsetting’ Alice.
Alice made a frustrated sound, half scream, half angry expostulation, pulled the FLO’s hand off her, grabbed her phone off the table and stormed out, slamming the Russells’ front door. The FLO rushed after her.
Helen’s heart sank, hearing the commotion that this caused amongst the four or five paparazzi on the pavement outside the front gate. She could hear the cameras clicking from the kitchen, and the sound of male voices: ‘ Alice, what’s the matter?’ ‘Alice, how are your folks feeling about the news about Izzy?’
She turned to Sean, craving the security of his embrace, but his face looked like thunder.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he said flatly, when she came to him.
‘Oh come on, Sean! There’s something she’s not telling us, I know there is!’
He looked at her. ‘You know there is? What the fuck does that mean? Because what it sounds like to me is that you’re desperate to make Alice the scapegoat, so you’ve got someone to blame . . .’
Helen gaped at him. ‘Sean! That’s just not true, and I think it’s grossly unfair of you to be so unsupportive. I just can’t sit around here doing nothing while Frankie’s still missing, I can’t!’ Her voice rose. ‘Let’s go outside and make a statement of our own to those photographers. Come on. It’s got to help, surely.’
‘No,’ Sean said, putting his hand on her arm to restrain her. ‘No, Helen, it’s not the right way to do it. Maybe later, a formal press conference with that cop, Lennon, you know, the one who’s just done Isabel’s . . .’ He trailed off.
‘I haven’t seen the one about Isabel. I’ll watch it tonight on the nine o’clock news.’
‘Don’t,’ said Sean, his eyes filling with tears. ‘Don’t watch it, Hel. And please don’t go outside now. If you want to appeal on TV, let’s organize it properly. But I don’t want to go on TV so you’d have to do it by yourself.’
He sounded reticent, almost embarrassed. Helen frowned at him. ‘What? Of course I’m not doing it on my own. It would look so weird if you weren’t there! Why on earth wouldn’t you want to do it, if it might help us find Frankie?’
Sean just shrugged and turned
‘What,’ said Alice, a statement not a question. She might as well have added . . . ever .
‘Nothing,’ Helen replied flatly. She had an awful feeling that if she started on Alice, she’d never stop. But even though she hadn’t said anything further, Alice, affronted, still pushed back her chair, its legs making a loud grating sound on the stone floor.
Sean jumped up too, and in the panicked way he had whenever Alice kicked off, ran across to her and wrapped her in the sort of huge bear hug that Helen wished he’d bestow on her, his own wife, more often.
Alice, however, wriggled out of his grasp. She was crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her pale face reddening with outrage as she faced Helen.
‘I know what you were going to say,’ howled Alice, working herself up into the full tantrum, fists clenched at her sides like a six year old. ‘You really don’t trust me at all, do you? In fact, I bet you blame me for Frankie being kidnapped, don’t you? Of course you fucking do! I was babysitting, it was my fault, that’s what you think, isn’t it? Why don’t you just have the guts to come out and say it, you horrible—’
‘Alice!’ said Sean and the FLO simultaneously. The FLO abandoned her tea-making mission and sprang into action, rushing over to try and calm her down. She had no idea what a futile gesture that was, thought Helen. Once Alice was in full-on meltdown, there was nothing anyone could do.
‘I just wanted you to swear on Frankie’s life that Larry didn’t come over that night,’ Helen said, taking the bull by the horns. At that moment she didn’t care if Alice never spoke to her again, or how cross Sean was with her for ‘upsetting’ Alice.
Alice made a frustrated sound, half scream, half angry expostulation, pulled the FLO’s hand off her, grabbed her phone off the table and stormed out, slamming the Russells’ front door. The FLO rushed after her.
Helen’s heart sank, hearing the commotion that this caused amongst the four or five paparazzi on the pavement outside the front gate. She could hear the cameras clicking from the kitchen, and the sound of male voices: ‘ Alice, what’s the matter?’ ‘Alice, how are your folks feeling about the news about Izzy?’
She turned to Sean, craving the security of his embrace, but his face looked like thunder.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he said flatly, when she came to him.
‘Oh come on, Sean! There’s something she’s not telling us, I know there is!’
He looked at her. ‘You know there is? What the fuck does that mean? Because what it sounds like to me is that you’re desperate to make Alice the scapegoat, so you’ve got someone to blame . . .’
Helen gaped at him. ‘Sean! That’s just not true, and I think it’s grossly unfair of you to be so unsupportive. I just can’t sit around here doing nothing while Frankie’s still missing, I can’t!’ Her voice rose. ‘Let’s go outside and make a statement of our own to those photographers. Come on. It’s got to help, surely.’
‘No,’ Sean said, putting his hand on her arm to restrain her. ‘No, Helen, it’s not the right way to do it. Maybe later, a formal press conference with that cop, Lennon, you know, the one who’s just done Isabel’s . . .’ He trailed off.
‘I haven’t seen the one about Isabel. I’ll watch it tonight on the nine o’clock news.’
‘Don’t,’ said Sean, his eyes filling with tears. ‘Don’t watch it, Hel. And please don’t go outside now. If you want to appeal on TV, let’s organize it properly. But I don’t want to go on TV so you’d have to do it by yourself.’
He sounded reticent, almost embarrassed. Helen frowned at him. ‘What? Of course I’m not doing it on my own. It would look so weird if you weren’t there! Why on earth wouldn’t you want to do it, if it might help us find Frankie?’
Sean just shrugged and turned
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