by Watson, S J
I went into the consulting room to get the leaflets; however, when I returned to the waiting area the girls had left.
Plan: When (if?) Zoe returns, attempt to get her to divulge her surname, and if possible talk to her alone about drugs and/or the possibility of sexual abuse. She needs to be handled with care, though. Consider a referral to social services and/or the police if appropriate.
Shreya Divekar, Sexual Health Nurse Specialist
Now
20
I wake, wet and shivering. My mouth is dry, I can’t breathe, and for a moment it’s like I’m drowning, my lungs full. But then I remember. I’m here in Hope Cottage. I’m Alex, I’m making a documentary. Everything is going to be okay.
I throw back the duvet. Soaked with sweat, but also too cold. My breath plumes in the moonlight. I reach out and check the radiator. It’s not even lukewarm.
I want to crawl back under the covers, to pull them over my head and cling to what’s left of their warmth. But I’m awake now and won’t sleep again. I’m certain, now. Daisy, Zoe, Kat. The girls are linked, all of them. Me, too, though I don’t know how. And every time I close my eyes I see Daisy in the dark, standing on the edge of the cliff. Is there someone behind her? Was she physically pushed, not goaded by circumstances alone? I have to think back; I have to remember.
David? Did he have anything to do with it? Geraldine was sure he didn’t. It’d been a moment of lucidity amidst the confusion; her memories had seemed real. But what does that mean, really? Of all people, I should know how unreliable memory can be. My phone buzzes on the table with a call from Dan. I watch it skitter across the hard surface but can’t bring myself to answer. Whatever he wants, it can wait. Even though he pushed me towards Blackwood Bay and the story, I feel close to the girls now, the missing ones in the past and the ones here now, and I want to make the documentary my way.
I pull on a chunky jumper, my jeans and the same pair of thick socks I was wearing yesterday, then pad downstairs. There’s a smell here, burnt toast and coffee, the crappy air freshener plugged into the socket in the living room that stinks of apple. Not unpleasant, but it reminds me of St Leonard’s. In the kitchen I fill the kettle and take a plate from the drainer. There’s a mark on it; it looks like ash, like a cigarette’s been stubbed out on the edge. I think of what Bryan told me about Gavin; and I think about the dead sheep, too, conveniently placed where it would send me spinning off the road, needing to be rescued. I need to find out more about my new friend. But that can wait.
I can’t stop thinking of Ellie and Kat. Kat’s tattoo, identical to Zoe’s; the fact they were filmed unknowingly, smoking a joint. In my mind, the two girls have merged with Daisy and me, though I’m not sure which is which. Sometimes, Daisy is Kat and I’m Ellie; at others, the other way round. But it’s always the same fate I see. They go the same way as we do: one dead, one disappeared. And even though I know it won’t help, not really, I can’t help believing that if I were to find out what’s happening to them, I’d also know what happened to us.
The snow has cleared. A thaw overnight, but the sky is overcast, more like late afternoon than almost lunchtime. As I reach the end of Hope Lane I see a tall, gangly figure lurking in the gloom on the other side of the road. It’s Gavin, I think, though I’m not sure. What does he want from me? Should I be more wary of him? He’s lied, and if he set out to ambush me … I cross the street, but when I look back he’s disappeared, vanished up one of the alleys, presumably. I climb to Liz’s café.
The lights inside are glaring, unflattering fluorescents, and I feel exposed. But my hunch was right: the girls are here. A group of them sits at one of the Formica tables in the corner, the lit Christmas tree flashing above them. I choose a nearby table and take out my phone so that I can pretend to be engrossed, but my spirits sink as I realise Kat and Ellie aren’t among them. I decide to wait anyway. I order tea from Liz, who’s friendlier today, but not by much. By the time it’s arrived, though, the door has opened again, and this time I’m in luck. Kat and Ellie walk in, along with an older boy. I watch them as they head towards the table next to the others, Kat shouting a greeting as she goes while Ellie and the boy are both silent.
Kat is tall, coltish. She’s wearing the bottle-green school uniform and a puffa jacket. Ellie is dressed almost identically, carrying a pink rucksack that clashes with her red hair. The boy is older, at least eighteen, I’d say. Old enough to be shaving, not old enough to have grown out of the acne that must make it difficult. Pretty, though, in a kind of cocky, boy-band way. After a minute they stand up together, then order at the counter before returning to their table, each with a can in front of them. Kate and Ellie put their jackets and blazers on the vacant chair. There’s a tiny rip on the elbow of Ellie’s jumper; Kat’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, despite the cold. She fiddles absent-mindedly with one of the wrapped sugar cubes from the bowl in front of her. She reminds me of myself.
They settle and become absorbed in each other. I can only hear the odd word. It’s Kat talking, mostly. Something about another girl, it sounds like. Teenage gossip. She talks quickly, her leg bouncing under the table as if there’s a surplus of energy within her, too much to contain, while the boy is the opposite; he seems bored. At one point he mumbles something to Ellie, then laughs. She doesn’t join in but sinks further into herself.
I pick up my tea; it’s cold, but it was pretty awful anyway. When I glance up the boy has taken a half-bottle of vodka out of the pocket of his parka. He glances round, and we lock eyes. I look down at the bottle, then smile, just slightly, just enough to let him know I’ve seen but won’t be saying anything. I go back to my phone. Some things don’t change.
I wonder if I’ll get a chance to speak to them later. Alone. I don’t like the boy, he has an arrogance; he’s slouching on his chair, arm over the back, legs spread. A hand rests lightly on Kat’s shoulder, though it looks more like ownership than affection. I take a photo with my phone but they don’t notice. I’m invisible, so much so that I consider filming.
Suddenly, there’s a commotion at the other end of the room, raised voices. It’s the girls; a scornful cackling that reminds me of the gulls out on the cliff.
‘Get lost!’
‘I saw it! We all did!’
One of the girls is shaking her head. Laughing, but it’s obvious she wishes the spotlight would move on to one of the others. A second is swiping at her phone, while a third seems to be filming the whole thing.
‘Look!’
A phone is passed round.
‘That ain’t me.’
‘It so is! Amy! That’s so you!’
More laughter. A hooting, cawing; they do sound like the gulls, dive-bombing kamikaze-like over the rooftops.
‘What you even talking about?’
‘Look! You’re wasted!’
‘Am not!’ she says, almost shouting. One of the girls holds the phone straight up and I glimpse the film they’re playing. It’s an early one, one of the first, if I remember. A girl, falling on the beach as she runs towards the water. They’re in hysterics; it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen. Then the girl stands. She’s red-faced; now, it isn’t a joke. I watch to see what else she’ll do. Fight back. Defend herself. She won’t get far like that. But instead she slaps herself, bangs her own cheek, as if she deserves punishment. As she does, I notice Ellie sliding further down into her seat, as if terrified that at any moment the spotlight will move on to her.
She’s spared, though, for now at least. ‘Leave me alone!’ sobs the girl who’s the current target, but she’s ignored; there’s a chorus of sniggers. She snaps, grabbing her phone off the table, sending her chair scraping back over the laminate floor, then picks up her coat and leaves. Part of me wants to go and comfort her, part to confront the girls who’ve attacked her, part to stay with Kat and Ellie. The last choice wins; what comfort could I be, anyway? It’s my fault; the film of her falling wouldn’t have been public if I hadn’t made it so. It’s m
e who handed them the ammunition.
Still, part of me is glad. At least they’re watching the films. Joining in.
I look back over at Ellie. She’s staring at her hands. Kat’s still grinning, laughing at the other girl’s exit. Either she hasn’t noticed Ellie’s distress or doesn’t care. The boy isn’t ignoring her, though. He’s watching her, a creepy half-smile twisted on his lips.
I’m shoved from behind as one of the girls barges past me. Tea slops out of my cup and on to the saucer. ‘Fuck,’ she says, though it’s not by way of an apology, more an exclamation of annoyance that something was in her way. A moment later there’s the screech of chairs and the babble of excited voice as the rest of the girls prepare to leave, too.
And then we’re alone. Just me and the teenagers on the table in the corner, plus Liz in the back. The whole place seems too silent, too still. The moment stretches, then the boy looks at Kat. ‘Stay here,’ he says, and then he leaves, too.
I seize my chance. Without thinking, I switch my phone to Record and slip into the chair he’s just vacated. Ellie flinches; Kat’s pupils are wide.
‘What—?’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say, interrupting her. ‘I just want to talk.’
Kat glances towards the door, no doubt hoping her boyfriend will return to rescue her. I hold my phone casually in my hand, hoping it won’t look like I’m filming her.
‘To talk?’
‘Yes.’
‘About what?’
‘I just wondered … are you all right?’
‘All right?’ She laughs, but it’s empty and humourless. Her face is pale and bloodless, the colour of porridge. She holds my gaze for one second, then two. In that moment she seems much older than her years and I begin to suspect the reason she can’t seem to keep still.
‘Are you on something?’
She laughs once more. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Ellie?’
The younger girl glances at her phone on the table between us, as if she wants to call for help, then looks up.
‘What?’
Her voice is high-pitched, tiny. It seems to belong to a much younger girl than her face would suggest. It’s as if both girls have seen things they shouldn’t have seen, been to places they shouldn’t have gone.
But Ellie? She seems so timid. Button, Bryan told me they called her. Yet someone this timid wouldn’t have filmed her parents as they grounded her. Something must have happened since.
‘Are you okay?’
She shrugs. The other girl answers.
‘Why?’
‘I’m asking her, not you. Ellie?’
‘Of course she’s okay. Aren’t you?’
The younger girl glances up at her friend. Something passes between them. It looks like it might be love, though if so, a desperate sort. A plea for rescue, perhaps, or maybe forgiveness. I reach out my hand, but she shies away.
‘I’m not here to hurt you.’
‘Then why don’t you just get lost, then?’
I stare at Kat. I can’t work her out. She’s definitely on something, or coming down from it. Speed, maybe? There’s clearly no point in asking her again, or asking her who’s selling it. Again, I look at Ellie. She must be a year or so younger than Kat and looks it, until she makes eye contact and tries to smile, at least. Is it possible she’s taken something, too? I’m about to ask when Kat reaches forward to pick up another sugar cube. The sleeve of her shirt rides up and I see her tattoo. That perfect circle, inked in black.
‘Your tattoo?’ I say. ‘What does it mean?’
She sneers, but it’s false. She’s rattled. She tugs down her sleeve.
‘Get lost.’
‘I’m trying to help, you know?’
‘Who says we need it?’
‘You know David?’
‘David?’
Her response is quick – too quick, if anything – and urgent. But her eyes tense, momentarily. She’s scared.
‘Yes. David. Up at Bluff House.’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t know David’ – but she’s too late. I’ve seen her fear. I know she’s lying.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yeah,’ she says, her voice laced with mock disgust. I realise now there’s no point in telling her I’m on her side; she’d never believe me. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Ellie? Do you? Does he give you drugs?’
The other girl shakes her head, but I catch her looking at Kat, as if for confirmation.
‘What is it, then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Ellie!’
I turn to Kat. ‘Just let her speak. Ellie?’
‘Please,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t hurt him.’
‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘I promise. I’ll just talk to him.’
Her face clouds; I think she might erupt into tears.
‘No! No, don’t tell him we’ve spoken to you!’
Kat grabs the younger girl’s arm. ‘Ellie, that’s enough!’
I lean forward. ‘I can protect you. Both of you.’
Kat laughs. ‘How?’
Before I can answer, she grabs Ellie’s jacket and shoves her friend towards the door. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’re leaving.’
Ellie glances back as she goes, her expression identical to that of her friend as she left Ink and Steel, her new tattoo still wrapped in plastic.
There’s no point in giving chase. They’re lying, I can see it. Lying, and scared. Both of them. If I’m going to help them, I need to speak to David.
21
I find him by Smuggler’s Way, the alley just past The Ship. It’s like I knew he’d be there. He’s standing in the near-dark, motionless, head cocked, as if waiting.
I watch from a distance but, abruptly, he moves off. I follow as he squeezes up through a narrow alley to a row of cottages, beyond which steep steps lead up and on to the southern cliffs. I take them carefully – they’re slippery and the light is failing – and at the top see that David is a little way ahead of me on the overgrown path.
I keep him in my sight. After a minute he leaves the track to disappear down another tiny path that drops sharply towards the edge of the cliff. I follow it, pushing through the undergrowth, and after a few paces it opens up.
He’s standing with his back to me in the half-light. Beyond him the sea wall, built to stop the cliffs eroding, I suppose, drops precipitously to the water. He’s looking over it at the waves beyond.
I freeze. For a second it seems like he’s going to throw himself over, down and on to the beach. But he doesn’t. He raises something to his eyes and I remember what Sophie told me. They’re binoculars.
I crouch in the shadows and film him for a minute or two, but then I can wait no longer. I stand up and stride out.
‘David.’
The word clings to my throat. He recoils. The binoculars fall round his neck. ‘Who—?’
He sounds scared, and I’m glad. It gives me the power.
‘I need to speak to you.’
He peers through the dim light as I move closer.
‘It’s Alex.’
His breath catches. ‘You!’
I’m a couple of yards from him now. He’s even paler in the gloaming. His ashen skin is translucent and I almost imagine I can see the veins beneath squirm and pulse.
‘Leave me alone,’ he says. ‘Please.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t. You know Kat.’ He doesn’t react. ‘And Ellie.’
Now there’s a twitch, I think. But, really, it’s too dark to tell.
‘Admit it.’
‘I never …’ he begins, but then his sentence seems to swerve, to take a different route. ‘No. I don’t know them.’
‘If you’ve hurt them—’
‘No!’ he says. He sounds desperate. ‘You know that. I’d never …’
‘They’re taking drugs. You know that, right?’
He says nothing.
‘Where are they getting them? You?’
�
��Me?’
He sounds genuinely shocked, as if it’s the last thing he expected me to say, the very idea is preposterous.
‘No. Not me. You might want to talk to your friend.’
My friend? Who does he mean?
‘Gavin?’
He says nothing. It can’t be; when would he have seen us together? But who else?
‘Why him?’ I say. He doesn’t react. ‘Who are you?’
He ignores me.
‘What’s happening here?’
‘You know what’s happening. Better than anyone.’
He steps forward and I think he’s going to reach out, but then he says, ‘Look.’
‘What?’
He motions towards the sky. ‘Look.’
I can’t help it. I follow his gaze. Something streaks overhead, too fast to be a plane. A meteor.
‘Is that—?’ I begin, but he interrupts.
‘The Geminids.’
I look at him. He’s scouring the sky. ‘Another! Look!’
I look up and just catch another flash. It’s debris, burning in the atmosphere. A shower. I think of the photo of Zoe with the telescope and see David scouring the sky with his binoculars and something happens. I’m losing control of my body. My limbs have become gelatinous, like I’ve smoked too much dope.
‘Amazing. Isn’t it?’
‘You hurt Zoe,’ I say, my voice barely a whisper. I step forward and grip the sea wall, but David mistakes it for awe. He rubs his hand through his hair.
‘No. I didn’t.’
He says it softly, but determinedly. I can’t work out whether to believe him. I can’t understand why I seem to want to so badly. He tips his head again and I seem to recall the gesture, but from a very long time ago.
‘She ran away. You know that. I never hurt her. I never hurt anyone. Why don’t you believe me?’