Final Cut(56)

‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s Ellie. She’s disappeared.’

A strange sense of something like relief washes over me. The thing I’ve been dreading has finally happened. ‘When?’

‘She was supposed to meet Kat,’ she says. ‘She never turned up. And she’s not at home.’

‘They called her?’

‘Kat did. Her phone’s off.’

‘And the police … ?’

‘They said it’s too soon.’

‘Too soon? They told them about Daisy? And Zoe?’

‘Aye. They said she’ll probably turn up, but they’re sending someone over anyway. Her father is on his way. A few folk’re already talking about going out to look for her.’

I feel weak; my shoulders sag. I was too late to save her. Beverly slides over the glass of whisky I ordered earlier.

‘Drink this, love.’

I take a deep gulp, savouring the burn in my chest. This can’t be happening. Not again. Suddenly, I want nothing more than a cigarette. I almost ask Monica for one but manage to resist. There’s a commotion in the far corner, raised voices, not quite in anger but on the edge of it. One penetrates the rest.

‘I don’t give a fuck! I know what I saw. What we waiting for?’

‘No!’ comes the response, a voice I recognise. Bryan. He sounds imploring, frustrated, trying to keep control. ‘Guys! C’mon …’

Beverly shouts across the crowd. Her voice flies, silencing the rest of the pub.

‘Fellas!’ she says. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Well, go on, then,’ says someone from the depths of Bryan’s huddle. A guy steps forward; it’s Pete, from the arcade. The rest of the room is more or less silent.

‘I were just saying,’ says Pete, surveying the room. ‘We know ’e were filming ’em. So it stands to reason. We should go up there.’

I freeze. A few people glance in my direction. I know who he’s talking about. I know which film.

‘How d’you know it was him?’

Now Pete stares straight at me. For a second I’m not sure why, it’s as if I’m missing a few frames of footage, but then he asks me what I mean and I realise it was me who’d spoken. I cough and repeat my question.

‘How do you know it was David? Filming the girls?’

Another guy steps forward, from over by the door.

‘I saw him.’

Everyone turns to look.

‘He were down the way,’ he says, pointing out towards the slipway. ‘Had some kind of camera. He were acting weird – y’know how he does. Then a bit later I saw the girls. Kat and Ellie, and he started filmin’ ’em. Out o’ sight, like. Up Smugglers.’

He means the alleyway just beyond the pub.

‘An’ what were you doing there?’ comes a voice from the back.

His reply is instant, and sharp. ‘Minding me own fuckin’ business. Like you need to, eh? The point is, it were him filming ’em. Why would he do that, eh? And what with what happened with Daisy an’ all, it stands to reason.’

‘What does?’ Again people look at me. ‘You think he’s taken her?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘C’mon now,’ says Monica. ‘She’s on’y trying to help.’

‘Yeah, well no one asked ’er ’ere.’

Eyes burn into me. I don’t know what to say.

‘He knew Zoe, too.’

As soon as I’ve said it I know it’s the wrong thing. There’ll be questions; I’ll have to tell them that I know she was raped by an older man, one she still called a boyfriend. A murmur ripples through the crowd.

‘Shouldn’t have done that,’ says Monica in a whisper. Not unkindly, but still it’s an admonishment. The place falls silent for a moment, but a decision has been made. There’s a shift towards the door.

‘Come on, then,’ says someone near the front, a short guy with cropped ginger hair. ‘Let’s go and sort this out.’

‘Wait!’ says Bryan, but he’s near the back and most ignore him. ‘Let’s just think about this—’

The crowd splits. About a dozen people troop out, led by the ginger guy. They seem energised by purpose; they think they know where Ellie is, they’re going to get her back, and perhaps avenge Daisy and Zoe, too.

I imagine them with pitchforks. The blanket of guilt falls over me, heavy and oppressive and weirdly familiar. I did this, I think. It’s my fault. I glance over to Bryan, as if he can stop them, bring them back, calm them down, but he doesn’t notice. He comes over, speaks to Monica. ‘We’d better go,’ he says. ‘It’s gonna get nasty.’ He turns to me. ‘Come on.’

We reach The Rocks and begin the climb towards Bluff House. The air is charged, it’s raw in my throat, but when I look over at the others they show no sign of it. Bryan forges on up the path until Bluff House is in front of us, somehow still darkly malevolent even in daylight. I take out my camera with another wave of guilt, but I remind myself it’s what I do, tell myself I’m not here to make friends, I never was. The crowd has arrived ahead of us, swollen now by a few others they must’ve picked up on the way. Most are standing back, gossiping in urgent murmurs, but the ginger-haired guy is at David’s door. He bangs on it, once, twice, then stands back, calling out as he does. ‘Get out here, you fucker!’ he shouts, his voice raw with anger and burning with hate. I zoom in as he does. There’s part of me that can’t help being pleased that I’m here to film this, though I’d give even that up to bring Ellie back safe.