Final Cut(60)

‘How old was she?’

‘Fourteen.’

She turns to her officer. ‘It’s a bit early for a full CRA,’ she says. ‘At least until we’ve talked to the friend and the parents. But start the ball rolling, just in case. Let’s try and get hold of the girl’s computer, and track her phone, if we can. Are people out looking for her?’

Monica answers. ‘A few.’

‘Good. Someone should be coordinating that.’

It looks as though Gavin is about to volunteer, but then Bryan steps up, barely disguising his eagerness. ‘I can. We can do it from the pub.’

‘Or here?’ says Gavin.

‘The pub is better,’ says Monica. ‘More people down there than up here this time of year.’

Butler looks at the three of us, waiting for us to decide. After a moment, Gavin backs down.

‘Right,’ she says. ‘That’s settled.’ She turns to her officers. ‘Let’s set up base here. Now. Where the hell is the father? Are they crawling here?’





34


I get up quietly, before dawn, leaving Gavin snoring gently. We were out until late last night, searching the cliffs, looking for clues. When we returned, empty-handed, to The Ship, we found we weren’t alone. Maps had been spread on the tables, sectioned off with marker pen; areas allocated to different groups. No one had found anything; she’s vanished without sight. Her parents told Butler that it was out of character, Kat said Ellie had never failed to turn up without letting her know, and finally, late last night, an alert was issued.

In the kitchen I pour myself a glass of water before texting Monica to ask for news. I sit at the table to wait for her reply, watching the sky. I think of Ellie, as if by doing so I can somehow bring her back, but, when it comes, Monica’s reply is brief. Nothing yet. People are going back out soon. I’ll let you know.

No body, at least. No clothes washed up on a distant beach. Or none that have been found yet. I put down my glass. I need to move.

I take my tripod and walk on to The Rocks, past Bluff House. I angle my camera back towards the cliff and look through the viewfinder. Crag Head is just visible out to the right, at the very edge of the frame. If I pan left, Malby shimmers in the distance. I focus instead on Bluff House itself and the edge of the cliff, just a few yards from the front door. Five steps down to the path, a few more past it and to the edge. Then there’s nothing but the sea, black as tar, thrashing with secrets, with bodies, with death.

Is this the view that Monica saw that night? Is Ellie down there, too? I press Record, then hesitate for a moment before stepping away from the camera and walking into shot. One step, two, three. I keep my head down, my arms wrapped tight around my body. I walk up to Bluff House. I try to imagine I’m Daisy. I begin to walk towards the cliff – four steps, five – further and further, towards the vertiginous drop, towards endless death. But why? Why am I here? What happened to me? Who is making me do this? A boy in a leather jacket who won’t tell me he loves me? A friend who let me down? A man who took advantage?

Six, seven. But Monica saw her. And there was a note. Eight. Nine. The note that Daisy’s own mother told me means nothing. Ten, eleven, twelve, and I’m over the shingle path, on the other side, the springing grass.

But how can it mean nothing? Is she telling me Daisy never wrote it? But it was she who identified it, she who told the police it was her daughter’s handwriting. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

Why would she do that, if it wasn’t true?

Sixteen. I’m there, now. I can look straight down, over the edge. Another step and I’d be on unstable ground. Tufts of wet grass, loose rocks, hard mud. If it weren’t for the thaw, it’d be icy here, another hazard, another thing to send me tumbling. I want to turn and run, but I don’t. I peer over, into the waves below. It’s like looking backwards, through the white crests of the present, and down into the blackness of the past. The truth hangs just out of reach. It hovers in the air; I can almost touch it. If only I could go forward, one more step, or two. Then I’d know, I’d know how she felt, I’d know what happened. I’m almost tempted to, for a moment. Almost.

‘Alex!’

The voice is distant, harsh, the name it’s calling alien. It takes me a second to understand it’s mine and another before I look up to see who’s come after me. Further along the path back towards the village a figure has emerged, still too far away to be recognisable but running towards me.

‘Alex!’ he shouts again. ‘Stop!’

Stop, I think. Stop. I look into the water. I imagine Monica calling out to Daisy. Why didn’t she listen?

‘Don’t!’

I step backwards. Arms go round me, I’m gripped, lifted, and for a moment I think whoever it is might be about to push me forward, to throw me in. It’s Gavin, I think, come after me. He was lying. He’s the one who took Ellie, after all.

Or David, back from the station, knowing I’m the one who pointed the finger and wanting revenge. I prepare myself to fall, but I’m spun round until I’m facing the house. Only then does whoever it is holding me let me go.

It’s Bryan. His face is red; his spittle lands on my face and lips. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

He holds me at arm’s length. His nostrils are flared, his voice quivers: he looks terrified.