Final Cut(85)

I shake my head, but I’m sinking, too, slipping beneath the waves. I need to keep my secret, I think. I can’t be exposed. But now another voice comes in, loud and urgent. What’s the point? it says. Gavin knows anyway.

‘You don’t understand.’

‘Understand what?’

I can’t hold it in any more.

‘Sadie isn’t dead.’

‘What?’

I can’t stop. I know I should, but I can’t. It’s out before I can calm down.

‘She can’t be. She’s me.’

I’ve got her. She’s shaken. The incredulity on her face is genuine this time.

‘It’s true,’ I whisper. ‘I’m Sadie. I changed my name.’

‘No,’ she says. She stands up abruptly. The ashtray slides off her lap and hits the floor in a shower of sparks. She leans forward, looks at me strangely.

‘It’s true,’ I repeat. ‘It’s why I’m back.’

‘No.’

‘Daisy was my friend,’ I say. ‘I just want to understand what happened.’

‘Sadie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sadie Davies?’

‘Yes. I ran away. I lost weight, had surgery. I wanted a new start.’

Her hand goes to my cheek. Her touch is tender but still it burns.

‘But …’

‘What happened to me here?’

‘You don’t know?’

My hearts thuds. No, I think. No! Everything hangs on this, and I can’t remember. The airless room begins to spin and I feel myself pale.

‘Are you okay?’ she says, lifting her other hand to my cheek so that she’s cradling my face. The kindness in her eyes is more than I can bear and I begin to cry.

‘I keep … I keep remembering things … I’m not sure … it’s like something happened to me here, something bad, but I don’t know what. I’ve blocked it.’

She says nothing. I have to ask her.

‘Why did Daisy disappear? Really?’

Again, nothing.

‘Was it over me? Because of something I did? I mean, if it was something big, I’d remember, wouldn’t I? Please help me find her.’

She exhales, lifts burning eyes to meet mine. I feel like she’s looking inside me, reaching into my guts.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t explain. I just … I can’t.’

‘Then at least don’t tell anyone else, will you?’ I say. ‘About who I am? No one else can know.’

She regards me for a moment, then her face seems to melt.

‘I won’t tell. I promise.’

I thank her and get to my feet. I’d thought she could help me, but now I know she can’t. No one can. I wipe away my tears. I’m on my own.





50


Bluff House is in darkness, just as I left it a few hours ago. The fire is out; the fire engine I summoned anonymously must’ve departed. Beneath me the streets are empty and The Ship quiet and still. The streetlamps sputter in the gloom.

I have to do this. I can’t walk up Slate Road, head down, and get in my car, turn left instead of right, foot down all the way home. I’d be back in my little flat by morning, my housemate still asleep, washing-up not done, bowls sitting in the sink, crusted with breakfast cereal and pasta. I can’t go back with no film, though even that doesn’t matter now. I have to find out the truth. Break the cycle.

It’s begun to snow once more. The flakes meander as they fall and melt as they land in my hair and on my face. When I look up at the clouds it’s like they’re rushing towards me, or I’m zooming through them, firing into space. I can feel her watching me. She knows I’m here.

I knock gently on the door. My apology is ripe on my tongue. I’ll plead with her to tell me the truth about what happened, to let me make it right. I’m ready, I think, for whatever she wants to do.

When there’s no answer I try again, and again, until I’m certain she’s not going to come to the door. I retreat and tread carefully towards the edge, lost and uncertain. There’s a boulder here and I sit on it, gazing out to sea, as if the waves might tell me what to do.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Gavin.

‘Where are you?’

‘The Rocks.’

‘Why?’

I hesitate, then tell him. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but Daisy got in touch. I was supposed to meet her at Bluff House.’

‘And?’

‘She’s not here.’

‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ he says. ‘I got that camcorder working. There was a clip on the tape. I’m sending it through.’

‘What is it?’

‘Watch it. Watch it now.’

I end the call, and a moment later my phone vibrates with a message. As I press Play my stomach contracts, balling itself into a fist. The screen resolves into a view of The Rocks, the very spot I’m sitting. It’s night, but bright, the moon is full; it gleams on the shimmering water, glittering the depths. The viewpoint is high, almost like a crane shot. But it’s not, of course. It was shot from inside David’s house, an upper room. His bedroom, most likely. A song begins, hummed quietly by the person with the camera. David, I suppose. It has to be.