Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

‘Send her my best wishes,’ Connor said, and Sam promised he would, and made his goodbyes. Moments later, his phone beeped. A text from Connor. ‘Let me know how she gets on.’

Sam sent a thumbs-up emoji.

There was another beep. ‘Wife’s gone into labour at last!’

Sam was amused. He did not know the guy but was probably the first person to receive his exciting news.

For something to do, he swiped through the photos on his phone. There were several of Kitty. Here she was at Paul’s engagement party, hugging her dad, and here, astride the motorbike. Swiping down, Sam found a snapshot of the newspaper report that had announced Max’s release. In it he could make out a small picture of the man himself. Sam enlarged it with two fingers. It became blurred, but he could distinguish an attractive, lean male in his thirties. He wondered if he could find a better picture of Max in the Mauritian news report. It must have been good to enable the old fisherman to identify him. Finding the article might take a while, but Sam was glad of the distraction. He logged on, and for the umpteenth time, marvelled at the power of the internet. In the brief time since the invention of the Worldwide Web, it was staggering that one could type in ‘Mauritian newspapers’ and receive a list of the most recent editions of several publications? He sent emails to the English language ones, asking to see papers from the period in question; then he went again to his painting and was soon at work for what he hoped would be the last time.

When the light faded, he turned the painting to the wall and cleaned his brushes, then flicked on the kettle leaving a grey thumb print on its switch. He wiped his fingers on a towel, already covered in an abstract pattern of colours, which would never come out in the washing machine.

Without expectation, he flipped open his laptop to check his emails, and to his delight spotted one in good English from the Mauritius Times:

Dear Mr Roman,

Thank you for your enquiry. We have an extensive archive of past editions of the Mauritian Times, and I have included links to several, hoping you can find the particular one you seek.

Best wishes,

Lucile.

There were six files, each containing one edition of the weekly paper.

Tea forgotten, Sam sat at his machine and flicked through the documents, seeking a front-page headline. Sure enough, there it was: ENGLISH NEWLYWEDS IN CLIFF TRAGEDY. Underneath was a shot of a smiling Fee, and the story of the surprise wedding and romantic honeymoon. Another photo showed Fee and Max with Kitty outside a building that looked like some kind of chapel. Sam enlarged it and studied the small Kitty, all curls and ribbons, clutching a posy of flowers. What, he asked himself, had become of that feminine little creature with the open face and the ready smile? He shifted his attention to Max, handsome in his suit and looking genuinely happy. The story continued on page two, and he scrolled down to read it. There were details of Paul’s arrest and Max’s release. And another picture. Sam stared at it. He opened a new tab and typed a few words into the search engine, and when he found the email address he sought, he attached a photo, added three lines of text and clicked send.

55 SAM

The response from Mauritius arrived by email at six fifteen in the morning, and the ping of its arrival woke Sam from a ragged sleep. He blinked his phone into life and peered at the words on the screen with bleary eyes. What he read did not, by now, surprise him. It was the reason for his fitful night’s sleep. Now that he had confirmation, he had work to do but first he must visit his girl.

~~~

In the hospital, Sam leaned over the desk at the nurses’ station and addressed a stern faced, petite nurse in her late forties. The mug of congealed coffee and half eaten cereal bar beside her on the desk, suggested that she had been on the go through her break. ‘Any news?’ was all he said.

The nurse broke into an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Kitty’s already got three visitors. They haven’t been here long. It’s her dad and mum and I think her sister.’

‘Father, Step-mum and step-aunt,’ Sam said. Not that it even mattered.

‘Oh. Sorry; I didn’t realise.’ The name on the woman’s badge was Maureen.

Sam shrugged. ‘How is she today?’

‘Much improved. She’s saying more and seems to recognise her dad at last.’

This was fantastic news, and Sam longed to go in. He approached the door to Kitty’s room and craned his neck. Cerys was there, holding Kitty’s hand while she slept. Sitting next to Cerys, Anwen was engrossed in a shiny new mobile phone. Paul, who according to Kitty hated hospitals, was behind the door. Only his hands were visible, flipping over pages of what looked like a glossy car magazine on his knees.

Sam glanced at the clock. It was ten sixteen. ‘I’ll sit over here and wait until they’ve gone,’ he said to Maurine, and lowered himself into a seat. Ensuring first that he was alone, he punched out a text message.

~~~

The minute hand on the clock behind the nurses’ station had travelled through one hundred and eighty degrees when two police officers, a man and a woman, both in their thirties, both dark-haired, strode into the ward, their deep blue/black uniforms vibrant in the pale presence of the sick. The ward grew quiet with expectation.

Sam got to his feet to greet them, and at the same time, Maureen, all business, bustled to intercept. ‘Staff Nurse, Maureen Child,’