Final Cut(48)

‘This is it?’

Gavin seems surprised. I wonder what he’d expected. I lied and told him I’d done some digging, that it wasn’t hard to find Sadie’s address.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Looks very grand.’

I look out at the pots lining the driveway, ready for plants. All neat and tidy. I know what he means. It doesn’t look like the kind of house you’d want to run from. But what does he know? What do any of us?

‘I wonder if anyone’s in. No cars.’

The drive is empty, the house unlit, though it’s early, only just starting to get light.

‘Let’s wait here for a minute,’ I say, and stop the car opposite the house. I need to get my breathing down. Part of me wants to forget all about it, to stay as I am, lost memories and all. I don’t want to face it. But I can’t give in to that part. I’m in too deep; this isn’t even about the film any more, it’s gone beyond that, it’s about me now. Knowing who I was. What happened. How I’m connected to Daisy.

I look up at the house again. I wonder why so many of my memories of my time here are missing. I wonder what happened to me. Dr Olsen told me I was blocking the things that hurt the most.

It makes sense, I suppose. If you can’t remember it, then it didn’t happen.

‘Gavin? Maybe you could go in now?’

His eyes soften, just a touch. ‘Okay. I’ll go and see how the land lies, then, if she’s in, and if she’s happy to talk, I’ll report back and maybe you could go and talk to her then.’

I thank him. He opens the door, then looks back. His eyes are wide, expectant, and for a moment I think he’s going to try to kiss me, and know that if he does, I’ll let him.

‘Wish me luck,’ he says, then he gets out of the car. He walks up to the gate. That’s new, too. It was just a gap in the hedge when I was here last, big enough for the car. He unlatches it and I watch him approach the house. He rings the bell and after a minute a light comes on, a shadow appears, movement behind the frosted glass.

The woman who answers is young. She’s holding a baby. I watch – somehow both hugely relieved and bitterly disappointed – as they talk for a moment and then, without a backwards glance, Gavin goes inside.

I sit back in the seat. Dr Olsen told me once that it was common; people often didn’t remember the details of what had happened to them that made them run, just the generalities. But it seems I lost even those. I look again at the house. My bedroom was at the back, looking out over the fields, down towards the sea, though I couldn’t quite see it. At night, the lights of Blackwood Bay shone in the distance, the lighthouse visible beyond it.

But what happened in there? With my mother’s boyfriend? Was there anything? Why have I blocked it, overwritten every memory like a disk too full? And is it related to Zoe, to what’s happening now, to Kat and Ellie and the rest?

I slump down in my seat. I’m glad Gavin is here; I don’t feel so alone.

After only a minute or two, he reappears at the door, followed by the woman with the baby. He turns and says something to her, and she smiles sadly then waves him off.

‘What happened?’ I say when he gets into the car. My voice is barely a whisper. ‘Who was that?’

‘They’ve lived here for seven or eight years.’

A weight settles on my chest. I have to force the question out.

‘So, what happened to Sadie’s mother? Did she leave a forwarding address?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘We’re too late. She died.’

‘You sure you’re all right?’

It’s the third or fourth time he’s asked. We’re halfway back to Blackwood Bay, sitting in a café in a tiny village. He wanted to buy me breakfast and I couldn’t think of a decent enough excuse to refuse, but all I could face ordering from the brooding teenager behind the counter was toast. I pick up my knife as Gavin slides my food nearer. The scrape is loud, like a tomb being sealed.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, trying my hardest to sound it, to pull myself together. ‘Honestly.’

‘You look a bit pale.’

He’s frowning; he looks concerned. It’s nice that he cares.

I watch as he cracks the shell of his boiled egg and peels it from the top, placing it carefully on his plate. The sound seems too loud: the way the crisp shell breaks reminds me of a skull shattering and as he cuts through the hard, rubbery albumen I think of a scalpel slicing through flesh.

The room begins to shrink and I put down my toast, close my eyes. I can’t just sit here. Things are gathering momentum, I can feel it. I’m worried about Ellie. Kat. I can’t stay here another minute. ‘Can we go?’

‘What? Now? But—’

‘Can we just fucking go?’

He puts down his spoon and stares at me. I wonder what’s flashing through his mind, what to say, how to react. I now know he has a temper. He could tell me to get lost, that there’s no need to be angry. He could demand to know why, tell me there’s no way this is about my film, that much is obvious. I see him weigh it up, then decide.

‘Let’s eat,’ he says softly. ‘I bought you food. Eat it. Then we can go.’ He pauses. ‘I wish you’d tell me why, though. Really, I mean.’

‘I’m worried,’ I say. ‘About the girls.’