Final Cut(86)

Dai-sy, Dai-sy, give me your answer, do.

We pan down; at the very bottom of the frame a girl appears, walking away from the house. She’s wearing a short black jacket, blue jeans and a pair of white trainers. Her hair is wild, whipped by the wind as if it’s trying to escape, or strangle her. She has her head down. She crosses the path on to the grass, then steps down nearer the edge. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t look round.

Dai-sy, Dai-sy, give me your answer, do.

I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.

She pauses. I lean in, so close to the screen that my breath mists its surface. No, I think. You don’t jump. You take off your trainer and toss it into the waves. Your jacket, too. You turn around, go back to the house, to the note you’ve written. You’ve already persuaded Monica to tell people she saw you jump – how, I don’t know. It’s all set. I’ve seen through your game. If you jump, how can you still be here?

As I watch, she crouches, almost as if she’s praying, or looking out over the edge, seeing how far down it is, how far she has to fall. Or maybe she’s taking off her trainer.

She stands. The light of the moon catches her. She glows in the dark; she looks like a ghost. Her head falls. She doesn’t glance back. She takes one step forward, then another, until she’s right at the edge.

And then she jumps.

I watch it again. Over and over, and each time I press Play I think maybe she’ll turn back this time and it will be different. But she doesn’t. She walks. She pauses, crouches, stands. Then she disappears.

Was I wrong? I thought her suicide wasn’t real, she was still here. But this? This is the proof of what Monica saw. Her, alone, jumping off the edge of the world.

I think of David. Why did you film this? Why didn’t you help her? There’s no panic after she jumps, either. No dropping of the camera, no exclamation of shock or horror. The shot doesn’t even wobble. He was expecting it, watching it. The image is static for a few seconds, then it ends, the screen sliding effortlessly to black just as her body must have hit the water.

No, I think. No. It can’t be right. And yet, what other explanation can there be? She jumped. It’s as simple as that. She wasn’t pushed; it was no accident. She didn’t invent the whole thing. She walked to the edge of the world and let herself fall into nothingness.

So what’s going on? Who attacked me? Who’s been sending me the messages, if not her? How can she have sent me footage of her own abuse, her own fear? How did she send me the postcard that lured me up here in the first place?

Could she have survived the jump? I imagine her body, hidden in the darkness along with the fish, clinging to the rocks with the limpets and crabs, swimming under the surface.

But to where? Even if she survived the fall, the currents are strong; it’s a long way to swim alone and at night. Unless …

I stand and walk to the edge of the cliff. I take a step nearer and look down. Is it possible?

The water is black, flecked with white foam shining in the moonlight. It broils. And yet, it’s not that far away, not really. Liz is right: it’s not that high. A little way out of the village the coast curves sharply, and beyond that the edge begins to rise, gently at first, but with an increasing slope. She wouldn’t have had to go far to find a cliff much higher, a drop much more precipitous, and on to rocks. Why choose here, right outside David’s place?

What was it Liz said? Seems there are better ways, if you really want to die. Unless she wanted to make a statement.

Daisy. You’re a clever girl.

I fall to my knees and shuffle closer still. I dig my hands into the soil and peer over, shifting my weight as far forward as I dare. The winds shrieks in my ears, the water rages below, and I wonder what would happen if I leapt, too. But it’s no good, it’s too dark. I can see nothing.

I need to get closer.





51


I wait for daylight. It promises a beautiful winter’s day, exactly ten years since Daisy disappeared. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence.

I worked it out last night. David helped her, like he helped Kat and Ellie. And Zoe. He filmed Kat and Ellie eating chips and smoking a joint to try to let me know something was going on, and he filmed Daisy’s plummet from the cliff in case anyone ever doubted she jumped. And that’s why he wanted to see me, the night I found him by the lighthouse. He wanted to give me the film from his camcorder. The proof.

So Daisy isn’t dead. The only missing piece is how. How she survived. That, and why she’s back, why she’s skulking in the shadows and why, if she wants to kill me, she doesn’t just get it over with.

I turn over and look at my phone. It’s eight thirty and I’ve arranged to meet Gavin at ten. I’ve told him we’ll go to the police and tell them what we’ve found, that he’s right, it’s the only way.

But there’s something else I need to do first.

I meet Bryan by the slipway. The tide is in, the boat already on the water. It looks smaller than I’d remembered it, more fragile.

‘You okay?’ he says as I approach.

‘Fine,’ I say, even though I’m not. My hands are shaking, my voice cracked. I’m hoping he’ll think it’s the cold.

‘Figured anything out about Daisy yet?’

I fake a smile. ‘Still working on it,’ I say.