Final Cut(35)

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!’