Nineteen Seventy-Four Read Online Free PDF Page B

the TV. “There was a lovely view before they put them new houses up.”
    I looked out of the window, across the road, at the new houses that had spoilt the view and no longer looked so new.
    Mr Ridyard came in with the tea on a tray and I took out my notebook. He sat down on the sofa beside his wife and said, “Shall I be mother?”
    Mrs Ridyard stopped staring at the photo and turned to the notebook in my hands.
    I leant forward in my seat. “As I said on the phone, my editor and I thought that now would be a good…It’d be interesting to do a follow-up piece and…”
    “A follow-up piece?” said Mrs Ridyard, still staring at the notebook.
    Mr Ridyard handed me a cup of tea. “This is to do with the little girl over in Morley?”
    “No. Well, not in so many words.” The pen felt loose and hot in my hand, the notebook cumbersome and conspicuous.
    “Is this about Susan?” A tear fell on to Mrs Ridyard’s skirt.
    I gathered myself. “I know it must be difficult but we know how much of your time you’ve, er, put into this and…”
    Mr Ridyard put down his cup. “Our time?”
    “You’ve both done so much to keep Susan in the public’s mind, to keep the investigation alive.”
    Alive , fuck.
    Neither Mr or Mrs Ridyard spoke.
    “And I know you must have felt…”
    “Felt?” said Mrs Ridyard.
    “Feel.”
    “I’m sorry, but you have no idea how we feel.” Mrs Ridyard was shaking her head, her mouth still moving after the words had gone, tears falling fast.
    Mr Ridyard looked across the room at me, his eyes full of apologies and shame. “We were doing so much better until this, weren’t we?”
    No-one answered him.
    I looked out of the window across the road at the new houses with their lights still on at lunchtime.
    “She could be home by now,” said Mrs Ridyard softly, rubbing the tears into her skirt.
    I stood up. “I’m sorry. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Mr Ridyard, walking me out to the door. “We were doing so well. Really we were. It’s just brought it all back, this Morley thing.”
    At the door I turned and said, “I’m sorry but, reading through the papers and my notes, the police don’t seem to have had any real leads. I was wondering if there was anything more you felt they could have done?”
    “Anything more?” said Mr Ridyard, almost smiling.
    “Any lead that…”
    “They sat in this house for two weeks, George Oldman and his men, using the phone.”
    “And there was nothing…”
    “A white van, that’s all they bloody went on about.”
    “A white van?”
    “How, if they could find this white van, they’d find Susan.”
    “And they never paid the bill.” Mrs Ridyard, her face red, was standing at the far end of the hall. “Phone almost got cut off.”
    At the top of the stairs, I could see the heads of the other two children peering over the banister.
    “Thank you,” I said, shaking Mr Ridyard’s hand.
    “Thank you, Mr Dunford.”
    I got into the Viva thinking, Jesus fucking Christ.
    “Merry Christmas,” called Mr Ridyard.
    I leant across to my notebook and scrawled two words only: White Van .
    I raised a wave to Mr Ridyard standing alone in the doorway, a lid on all my curses.
    One thought: Call Kathryn.
    “It was a fucking nightmare.” Back in the bright red phonebox, I dropped in another coin, hopping from foot to foot, freezing my balls off. “Anyway, then he says well there was this white van, but I don’t remember reading anything about a white van, do you?”
    Kathryn was flicking through her own notes on the other end, agreeing.
    “Wasn’t in any of the appeals for information?”
    Kathryn said, “No, not that I remember.” I could hear the buzz of the office from her end. I felt too far away. I wanted to be back there.
    “Any messages?” I asked, juggling the phone, a notebook, a pen, and a cigarette.
    “Just two. Barry and…”
    “Barry? Say what it was about? Is he there now?”
    “No, no. And a