Final Cut(46)

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to.’

He does, too. I can tell. He’s not just trying to butter me up. Or, if he is, he’s being very subtle. We sit for a moment, each regarding the other.

‘It seems we’ve both been telling lies.’

I scan the roof. There’s a bright green balloon way up in the rafters, half deflated. ‘Looks like it.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too.’

He lowers his voice. ‘I do want to help, you know. Find out what’s been going on here.’

I know, I think. He’s determined, I’ll say that for him.

‘I saw Liz,’ I say. ‘She climbed into my car. Virtually hijacked me.’

His jaw drops. ‘What?’

‘She wanted to show me something. Out on the moor.’

I watch for a reaction. There isn’t one, just a slight nervous twitch, patience as he waits for me to continue.

‘She thinks Daisy is buried there.’ I pause. ‘Or Sadie.’

‘Sadie?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Sadie ran away.’

I tell him Liz’s story and, when I’ve finished, he whistles.

‘It sounds crazy.’

‘I know. But what if they got to Daisy’s body? When it was washed up. Before the police, I mean. Buried it to cover the evidence.’

‘Who’s they? What did the police say?’

‘She hasn’t told them.’

‘Then we should tell them.’

I shake my head. I can’t have that. I can’t have the police involved. They’d find out who I am.

‘No.’

‘No?’ He stands up. ‘There’s an unmarked grave, for heaven’s sake!’

I need to backtrack. Quickly.

‘It’s not a grave, it’s just a sick joke. Some flowers under a bloody tree. It seems her father wasn’t making much sense, towards the end.’

‘But—’

‘Sadie can’t be buried there.’

‘Why?’

‘Just trust me.’

He looks at me quizzically.

‘So what’s your connection? To this place? Blackwood Bay?’ he asks.

I look down at my lap. My instinct is to deny it, to say none, nothing, but I know it’s too late. He would never believe me, not now. He’d never leave it alone.

I sit as still as I can. I scratch my forearm, but feel nothing.

‘I know Sadie’s alive. I knew her. Down in London. We were on the streets. Homeless. We met in one of the hostels. So one thing I’m sure of is that Sadie can’t be buried there.’

‘Unless she came back.’

‘She didn’t.’

‘You seem very certain.’

‘I am.’

‘Why? What happened to her here?’

She doesn’t know, I think. That’s the problem. She wishes she did. She thinks it might have something to do with why Daisy died.

But I can’t tell him that.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You never asked?’

I fix him with a stare. ‘No. I didn’t. People will tell you, if they want to, when they’re ready. You don’t push.’

I’m not sure he understands. This man, with his neatly pressed clothes and his career that I’ve no doubt he could return to if and when he wants to. He thinks little Sadie got fed up one day, a bit miserable, someone stole her pencil case or called her a nasty name, so she packed a bag and hitched first to Sheffield and then to London. One day, I’d like to tell him how it really is. I almost envy him his solidity, his certitude that there are clear moral lines.

‘You don’t know where she is now?’

‘We lost touch.’

‘I thought you were friends.’

‘I didn’t say we were friends. And anyway, it was a long time ago.’

He sits. Silent. I wish he smoked; I’d ask him for one. Now would be the time to start again. I close my eyes briefly and imagine it, the cigarette between my lips, the spark of the lighter, drawing that first, head-spinning drag, feeling it scour the back of my throat, gently abrasive.

He waits for a moment, then says, ‘Did Liz mention Zoe?’

I remember Tanya’s comment, her parting shot.

I shake my head. Gavin speaks softly. ‘We really should tell someone, you know?’

‘About the so-called grave? I said no. I said—’

‘No, I mean tell someone you’ve met Sadie. Her family—’

No, I think. No. I want desperately to find out what happened, why I ran, what I did to Daisy before I went, but I can’t go back. I can’t see my mother; there’s no way she won’t recognise me, and what can I possibly say to her when she does?

‘Her mother would want to know she’s okay.’

But she’s not, I think. She’s not.

‘I just … no.’

‘Alex,’ he says, softly. ‘That’s very selfish.’

Again, that certainty; he’s straight down the line. He’s right, I think. And maybe I’ve run out of options. Maybe she’s the one who can tell me why I ran, what happened between me and Daisy. She can finally give me the answers I need.