Final Cut(38)

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?’

Life returns to my limbs, but still my breathing is loud in my ears. I try to focus, to stay present. I look down at the hugeness of the sea, at its quiet, unstoppable power. Spray hits my face and I’m on an unmapped road; I want to turn away, to go back, keep walking and never stop. But I don’t. I can’t. I watch my exhaled breath swirl and disappear, blown out like hope, and look up once more. Another meteor flies over and now I’m imagining Daisy, on the other side of the world, perhaps, lying on a beach in India, backpacking in Mexico, visiting Cambodia. She’d be doing the same thing, following the same stars, the same pieces of rock as they burn themselves up in the ether. Maybe there’s a man with her, a husband, a lover. She’s considering settling down. Children, perhaps. I wonder if she ever thinks of me.

Except she’s not. I know that. She’s dead. One way or the other – whether she jumped, or fell, or was pushed – she’s dead.

I turn round. David is still staring at the sky.

‘Who are you?’

He looks straight at me. His face is unreadable, shot through with pain, and hope, and defiance.

‘You know who I am,’ he says.





22


Bryan kneels at the top of the slipway, next to a motorboat that rests on a rusted metal trailer. It’s his own, I suppose, though it appears to be smaller than the one in the film, just a few yards long and with a tiny cabin at the front. When he hears me approach he looks up.

Alex!’ he says. He sounds pleased to see me. He glances back at his boat, his eyes glowing proudly. It’s sweet, a boy with his toys, but I hope he’s not getting it ready for me. Seeing it now, I’m even less keen to take him up on his offer; it seems minute, far too insubstantial to cope with the brutal water.

‘Always good to keep on top of repairs in the winter …’ He wipes his hands on an oily rag but in doing so seems to transfer more filth on to his skin than off it. ‘How’s it going?’

I pause. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’

‘The car? Everything all right?’

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘It’s David.’

‘David?’ He tosses the rag into the boat. ‘What about him?’

‘You said he was your friend. You trust him? With the girls?’

‘Aye,’ he says. ‘Why?

‘You know where they might be? Kat and Ellie?’

He glances at his watch. ‘Now? The arcade, maybe?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Want me to come with you?’ He looks hopeful. ‘We could get a drink?’

I hesitate. The girls may be more forthcoming if I arrive with a friendly face.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Come on.’

The place is garish and bright; a huge glitter ball hangs from the middle of the room, the pinball machines strobe and flash and, undercutting it all, there’s the sinister bass thrum of a rap song. It all seems to belong in another town, a different era altogether, and at the back of the room a guy sits in a change booth, looking down. He’s reading, I suppose, or staring at a screen, apparently unaware that anyone’s come in. There’s no sign of the girls.

‘We can wait,’ says Bryan. ‘I just need to have a word with Pete.’

I watch as he moves off and have the same frisson of recognition I had the other day, the same I had with David, and for a moment wish there was some way I could ask whether he remembers me, whether we knew each other before.

But I can’t, of course. I turn away, and a moment later there’s a voice at my side.

‘Alex!’

It’s Monica. She’s holding a bagful of twenty-pence coins. I greet her, forcing as much cheer into my voice as I can muster, and she asks how I am.

‘Listen,’ she says, glancing towards Bryan. ‘I’m glad I caught you. I hear you’ve been talking to Kat and Ellie.’

‘From who?’

‘They told me.’

‘You know them?’

‘Oh, aye,’ she says. ‘I just wanted to let you know there’s nothing to worry about. They’re fine. Kat was annoyed they’d been caught smoking and you’d made it public, but—’

‘Smoking a joint?’

‘Kat said it weren’t a joint.’

‘You believe her?’

She lowers her voice. ‘Not really. But it’s not like it’s that bad, is it? And anyway, the point is, they say there’s nothing to worry about.’ She looks up as Bryan returns. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’