Final Cut(54)

‘How’s it going, pet?’ says the landlady as I approach. She seems subdued.

‘Not too bad. Can I get some water?’

‘That all?’

I consider for a moment. It’s early, but so what? ‘Actually, I’ll have a whisky.’

She pours it for me. It clings to the glass like blood, oily and viscous.

‘Has Monica been in?’ I say as I hand over my cash.

‘Over there, love.’

She points to one of the tables tucked into the corner. Monica sits alone and, when she notices me, beckons me over. As I sit down she closes the book in her lap.

‘Everything okay?’

Her head tilts, and I wonder if she heard us last night. The walls are thin, after all, thin enough for me to hear her moving around.

‘Is it true?’ I say.

‘What?’

‘You saw Daisy jump?’

Her face falls.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘David told me.’

She seems surprised. ‘He did, did he? And why were you talking to him? And about that?’

I don’t want to answer. ‘So?’

She sighs, then glances around the room. ‘Not here. We’ll go upstairs.’

She stands and we move towards the bar. Monica asks Beverly if she minds, and when the landlady says no, she leads me towards a door in the corner. As I approach, a deep fear begins to burn like smoke in my gut, unnameable but alive.

‘Come on,’ says Monica. The doorway yawns, black and cavernous, and there’s a strange smell from above, salty with a sulphurous edge. I’m gripped with the desire to run, but I know I’m being ridiculous. I force myself to follow Monica up the steps.

At the top, she flicks a switch and the feeble bulb overhead glows dully. We’re on a narrow landing, the yellowing wallpaper peeling, doors off to the left and right. We go through one and into a messy living room. Old coffee cups litter the furniture, there’s a huge TV playing in the corner, the sound muted. The whole place smells of stale cigarettes and I begin to feel sick; my heart hammers in my chest like a wild thing desperate for release.

Monica sits on the sofa and indicates the chair opposite.

‘Bev lets me come up here,’ she says, even though I haven’t asked. ‘When I want a cigarette.’

‘Right.’

She smiles and pulls one out. ‘So. David told you I saw Daisy jump.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

My voice sounds weak, reedy and pathetic. I cough, but it makes no difference.

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘No reason.’

‘What did you see?’

‘What d’you mean? She jumped. That’s what I saw.’

Sometimes, I see it, too, I want to say. I see her standing there in a long, flowing dress; it catches the moonlight, whipped by the wind. She resembles a ghost, ethereal in the blueish light. I see her walk forward, towards the edge of the cliff, almost floating. There’s no pause. She takes one step too far, then, soundlessly, disappears.

But I know it wasn’t like that. She was wearing jeans. Boots. A jacket. Nothing ethereal about that. Nothing delicate and fragile. Nothing poetic.

‘Where were you?’

‘Just out for a walk.’

She lights a cigarette and the sound is like gunfire. I recoil, and when I glance up there are two of her; my vision is split.

‘Alex?’

I blink and the room resolves itself once more. I have to say something. I have to stay present. I dig my nails into my palm but feel nothing.

‘What exactly did you see?’

She shakes her head; either she’s reluctant to tell me, or it’s the pain of remembering. When she speaks, her voice is quiet.

‘She were just up there. Standing. I didn’t recognise her, not at first. She were too far away. Right on the edge. Just sort of looking out.’

‘She was definitely by herself?’

‘Yes. It were just her.’

She’s lying. She has to be. David killed her. He was about to confess.

‘Did she see you?’

‘No. She looked round, just once, but she were in a world of her own. I shouted out to her, I think. Then she jumped.’

She states it simply, matter-of-fact. She jumped. That’s all. As if it were no more nor less than stepping off a kerb to cross the road.

‘And?’

‘And what?’

Did she scream? I think. Did she cry out? Didn’t you do anything else to stop her?

But what could she have done? Dived off the cliff herself? Sprouted wings and caught her on the way down?

‘What did you do then?’

‘Well, I ran, of course. There were nothing else I could do.’

She blows smoke through her nose.

‘I looked over the edge. I shouted, I suppose. I can’t really remember.’

‘Did you bang on David’s door? The caravan?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘David said he’d been in bed. Reckoned I woke him up.’

‘Did you believe him?’

She hesitates.

‘What? What is it?’

‘I’m not sure. You can tell, can’t you? I dunno. He was yawning and all that, but it kind of looked …’