Final Cut(61)

Or angry. For a second I think he’s about to shake me, to draw back his fist and slap me. I resist the urge to fight, to lash out, dig in, go for the eyes; a knee in the balls, if nothing else. It’s a primal response, instinctive. I don’t know where it comes from.

‘Nothing,’ I gasp, and his hands fall limply to his sides. For a brief, shocking, moment I want them round me again.

‘You scared me! I thought …’

I look at him. It’s just Bryan, anxious and worried. I know what he thought. I know what it looked like. ‘I was just looking.’ I point out the camera. ‘Filming … why?’

‘I need to speak to you.’

‘What about? Oh, God. Is it Ellie? Has she—?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘No. She’s still missing.’ He glances up at the windows of Bluff House. ‘Look. It’s … can we go somewhere else?’

‘How did you find me?’

‘I went to Monica’s place. I spoke to Gavin. He said you’d be here.’ He coughs awkwardly and puts his hand out once more. It rests on my arm. Solicitous this time, but still I find myself resisting. I wonder if it’s because he wants to get me away from the edge of the cliff, if he wonders what I might do.

‘Are you coming? We can talk about it on the way back down.’

‘No!’ I say again. ‘Tell me what’s happened!’

He lowers his voice, even though we’re alone. He sounds nervous, and I try to imagine what he’s scared of.

‘I’ve had a postcard,’ he says.

A nervous excitement judders through me.

‘A postcard? From who?’

‘David.’

A weird stillness descends. Even the wind seems to have died away. I was right, then. It was David who sent the card to Dan, luring me up here. But why?

‘David? What did it say?’

‘Look.’

He fumbles in the pocket of his jacket and fishes it out.

‘Here. It was put through my front door.’

My hands shake as I take it. On one side is a photo of the lighthouse on Crag Head.

‘But he’s still at the station. Isn’t he?’

‘They let him go. I don’t know where he is. Read the card.’

I turn it over. I’ve got something that will prove everything, it says. She can have it. Tell her to meet me tonight. 8.00. Alone. Don’t tell anyone else. Please. I’m sorry.

‘Have you shown the police? That Butler woman?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘I still … I don’t believe David’s involved—’

‘But this card! It sounds like he wants to confess.’

He glances up towards the clouds. ‘If he has got Ellie, then she’s probably fine. Let’s just see what he’s got to say.’

‘But—’

‘If he knows we’ve involved Butler, he’ll run. Or worse.’

I remember what he told me about David’s breakdown. Maybe he’s right.

‘You’re sure it’s even from him?’

‘It’s his writing.’

I look again. The letters are small and neatly formed. It doesn’t match the card sent to Dan.

‘Meet him where?’ I look up at Bluff House. ‘Here?’

‘No,’ says Bryan. ‘I reckon he’s too scared to come back here, after what happened.’

‘Where, then?’ I flip the card over. ‘The lighthouse?’

‘I suppose.’

Apprehension envelops me. What does David have for me, and what will it prove?

‘Will you come with me?’

‘He says to come alone.’

No.

I try again – ‘He sent you the card. He knows you know’ – and he nods reluctantly.

I have to go, for Ellie, but David knows the truth about me, something I don’t know myself, and I’m not sure I can hear it.

But I’ve been through this before, I remind myself. I woke up in Deal, not knowing why I ran. I was in the hospital, then they transferred me to the memory clinic, to Dr Olsen. I became Alex there, found Alice in the squat behind Victoria and, gradually, I pieced it all together. Or some of it, at least.

That’s why I went back there, I suppose, why I made Black Winter.

And I suppose that’s why I’m here, too. To discover the truth. About then, and about now.





Then





35


It was at a party in the squat, a few weeks after I moved in. I was exhausted; I felt constantly bloated, yet I couldn’t stop eating. That afternoon, one of the others – a girl who called herself Krystal-with-a-K – had asked me whether I was eating for two. I’d shaken my head but couldn’t be sure; my periods had become so irregular that being late was something I’d long since stopped worrying about. I’d spent the rest of the afternoon googling signs of pregnancy, and by the time Dev’s mates arrived with vodka, beer and who-knows-what-else I felt anxious and belligerent.

Gee – whose real name was Glenn – cornered me in the bathroom. ‘Sadie!’ he said, almost as if he was surprised to see me. He was wasted, his words slurred, his movements sluggish. He began to sing – ‘Sadie, Sadie, Give me your answer do … ’ – then leaned in for a kiss. His mouth looked like a wound and I told him I’d rather die. He looked like I’d slapped him.