Final Cut(36)

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 me 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?’