Final Cut(51)

Gavin clears his throat awkwardly. ‘Zoe didn’t run away.’

He sounds so certain it might almost be a confession.

‘I just know,’ he continues. ‘I can’t explain. I think you’re right, though. Daisy and Zoe are both dead. Sadie is the only one who got away.’ The air in the car is still. I can’t breathe. My teeth are chattering, but I open the window.

‘What is it with you and Zoe?’

He shrugs. ‘Nothing. I just … I suppose I thought I could find her. When I arrived, I mean. I thought … I don’t know. Maybe I thought the people here might accept me if I showed them that I cared.’

‘And? How’s that going?’

He ignores my question. ‘We should go to the police—’

‘No.’

Once again, he ignores me. ‘I mean, Sadie’s the one who’d know what was going on.’

But she doesn’t, I think. She doesn’t.

‘We should find her. You can tell them you were in touch with her.’

‘No!’

He looks at me. Into me. Through me.

‘No,’ I say, more gently this time, but more emphatically, too. ‘Sadie made me promise. And as for the grave, it’s nothing. It can’t be.’

‘But—’

‘You don’t understand, Gavin.’

I’ve hit a nerve. He knows he’ll always be on the outside, trying to understand. I’m soaked by another wave of guilt.

‘I thought you were worried about the girls. Ellie and Kat?’

‘I am,’ I tell him. I imagine myself buried back there on the moor. I’m alone, naked. It’s like I’m there, I can feel it, the soft earth, warm despite the weather, it’s surrounding me, engulfing me, swallowing me whole. But then it’s as if a cord running through my middle has been pulled tight. Surrounded by so much death, all I want is to live. The atmosphere in the car thickens. I realise, almost from a distance, how easy it would be to reach out, to put my hand on his leg, his thigh, to lean in close to him. He’d open his mouth, surprised. There’d be the smell of liquorice, not unpleasant. We’d kiss, and it would go on for a while, becoming more urgent as it does.

Something stops me, but only for a moment. I put my hand on his. Why not? Why shouldn’t I take what I want? You only live once, after all. I kiss him. He resists at first; I think he’s going to say, No, stop, and the shame begins to swell and bubble. But then he gives in. His lips are rougher than I expected; his mouth tastes of coffee. His kiss is hesitant and he keeps his hands to himself, and for that I’m glad.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, murmuring into his chest, but he shakes his head.

‘Do you mind if we don’t—?’

‘Don’t—?’

The familiar sting of rejection. I almost want to laugh.

‘I’m sorry. I just …’

I wait for him to finish, but he seems unable to. He opens the car door and steps out.

‘Gavin?’ I say. ‘Don’t tell anyone, will you? About today.’

He looks hurt. I realise he thinks I’m referring to our kiss.

‘About the graveyard, I mean. About me knowing Sadie.’

He smiles, then nods gently.

‘I won’t.’

I thank him, then get out of my car and walk down to Hope Cottage.





29


Once there, I can’t settle. I need to do something. I’ll shoot some more footage for the film, I decide. The village at night, maybe. From up top, the park for example. It’s nearly dark, so I set off. But as soon as I get to the bandstand and try to film I realise the memory card in my camera is spent and I’ve forgotten to bring another. I have to go back.

I feel eyes following me as I walk down Slate Road, pricking my skin. I scan left and right, and each time think I see a flash of movement, as if a figure is hiding in the darkness, anticipating my every move but slipping back into the shadows in the instant before I see them. I’m relieved as I duck through the alleyway that brings me to the courtyard, but still I feel under scrutiny. I fancy I see the curtains in Monica’s place move slightly, just a shudder, but when I look again everything is still.

I turn my key, but the door is open. I must have forgotten to lock it earlier in my haste, left it on the latch. I need to be more careful.

Rain to Stormy. My bag is in the bedroom upstairs, but a second before I switch on the light I realise something’s wrong. The door is ajar, the light from the landing shining in, illuminating a patch of the carpet and the edge of the bed, leaving the rest of the room in darkness. I hear the soft sigh of an exhaled breath and see a flicker at the edge of the shadow. The bed creaks as someone stands and steps towards me.

I see his feet first, his ugly black shoes, blue jeans, a black jacket. I freeze. His face is still in the shadows cast by the door, but whoever he is I can tell he’s staring at me, his hollow eyes burning.

‘Alex.’

He says my name as if it’s in quotes, and then I know I’ve been seen. I try to step backwards, away from him, but I can’t. I’m stiff with fear.

‘What the fuck?’

He steps forward. ‘Don’t … I’m not going to hurt you.’

I half recognise his paper-thin voice but my brain has slowed to a crawl and won’t process it, won’t make the connection. I’m not even sure I’ve tipped into fight or flight, since I seem to be able to do nothing but grip the door handle. A second later, I realise.