Final Cut(32)

She hesitates. ‘You can have five.’

I thank her. ‘Can I come inside?’

‘No. Here’s fine.’

Zoe’s father breathes deeply. ‘Love,’ he says. ‘It’s freezing. Let’s let the lass in.’

Again she stares at me, but then she relents. I follow them through and into the living room.

‘Sit down.’

She indicates a chair. The room is comfortable; there’s an old-fashioned TV, a sideboard, china figurines. The two of them sit on the sofa. I feel like I’m being interviewed. Or judged.

‘Say what you’ve got to say, then.’

I open my mouth to begin but am interrupted.

‘I’m Sean,’ says Zoe’s father. ‘This is Jody.’

I nod in acknowledgement, but Zoe’s mother makes no sign she even heard what her husband said.

‘You must be sick of people asking questions,’ I say.

‘That we are,’ says Jody.

I look over at Sean. He’s chewing his lip. I realise what I’d thought was defiance might just as well be fear. But of whom? It can’t be me, surely?

He turns to his wife. ‘Let her speak, love.’

Not her, either, then. She fixes me with a glare.

‘I came up here to make a film,’ I begin. ‘But it’s not about Zoe. I promise you.’

‘So what is it about?’

I explain it to them briefly, aware of the five minutes I’ve been granted.

‘An’ what’s any of that got to do wi’ us?’ says Jody when I’ve finished.

‘Well,’ I reply, ‘I keep hearing about Daisy’s suicide, and then Zoe running away—’

‘Ha!’ She laughs, a mordant, hollow laugh, then quotes me, her voice rich with sarcasm. ‘“Suicide” …’

Sean shoots her a look of admonishment. ‘Love.’

She falls silent.

‘What?’ I say. ‘You don’t think Daisy took her own life?’

She pushes the hair from her face. ‘Who knows? Plenty of people had doubts. Until Zoe ran away.’

Again, the sarcasm.

‘You don’t think that’s what happened?’

Jody pins me with her gaze but says nothing. She looks like a still photograph; I can almost see her in black and white, half in shadow, half in the bright light from the window, a harsh chiaroscuro. She seems desperately sad, yet defiant, too.

‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

Sean takes her hand. ‘We talked about this,’ he says softly. ‘Remember?’ He turns to me. ‘Of course she ran away. What else?’

Jody snatches her hand away. ‘Or was driven.’

‘What?’

Sean jumps in before she can answer. ‘That’s enough!’ he says, but she won’t be deterred.

‘No,’ she says. ‘Why would she run? Away from us? Away from me?’

Sean looks at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, but I ignore him.

‘There was that other girl, too,’ I say. ‘What was her name?’

‘Sadie.’

‘Yes. She ran.’

‘So they say. They reckon she turned up, too. But I’m not the only one who has their doubts.’

‘No? Who else have you spoken to about it?’

Another warning glance from Sean, but again she ignores it.

‘Liz, for one. In the café?’

I remember her. She’d seemed unfriendly, suspicious. Of me. I wonder how I could get her to talk.

Something to worry about later, perhaps.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Well, as I said, I’m concerned, too.’ I hesitate. ‘And whatever drove Sadie to run away and Daisy to … do what she did … and then Zoe … well, I’m worried it’s still going on.’

Neither of them looks surprised.

‘Jody,’ I say. ‘What d’you think happened?’

Sean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but she doesn’t look at him. She sighs heavily.

‘I don’t know,’ she begins. ‘But for starters, back then there were folk who said Daisy wouldn’t have jumped like that. Reckoned something else was going on. And as for our Zoe? She changed. She weren’t our girl any more.’

Sean cuts in. ‘It were just typical teenage stuff,’ he says. ‘Started staying out, booze and fags, y’know?’

Jody turns on him, venomous. ‘Just tell the fucking truth.’

‘What?’

‘It was worse than that. She were such a good girl, ’til she met him.’

‘Who?’

‘Some boyfriend. She wouldn’t tell us. But she was skipping school. Staying out ’til all hours. Hanging around Blackwood Bay. Coming home drunk. Stinking.’

‘Stinking?’

‘Cigarettes. Weed. She even got a tattoo.’

‘So she was taking drugs. Where was she getting them?’

‘Him, of course. He was older than she was.’

I think of David.

‘How much older?’

‘No idea. We never saw him. She’d sneak off to meet him. We just know he wasn’t from school. One of the neighbours said she saw ’er with an older boy, but—’