Final Cut(92)



David puts the soup gently down on the bedside table. ‘Eat up.’

‘I’m scared.’

My voice is weak. I sound like the little girl I am deep down, and I hate myself for it.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘But you’ll be fine. There’s help out there. You’re a strong person.’

He’s always believed in me. It’s his voice I heard when I felt like jumping for real. His voice telling me I’m a good person, underneath it all. That he’s always known it.

‘You think I’ll make it?’

He puts his hand on my arm. ‘I know you will.’ He’s gentle, kind. The kindest any man has ever been to me. Kinder than I merit. ‘You’ve written your note?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll make sure it’s found.’

‘You’ll show Mum?’

‘We have to. She’ll have to tell them it’s definitely your writing.’

‘But you’ll tell her? Later? You’ll tell her I’m all right.’

He nods, softly. ‘I’ll try. But it might be too dangerous.’

I thank him. I wish I could tell him why I really need to get away, why convincing them I’m dead is the only way to stop them coming after me. I wish I could tell him how Bryan lied at first, told me I’d just have to pretend, it wasn’t going to be real. ‘We just need to scare her,’ he’d said, and by the time I realised he was lying, it was too late. He made me pull the belt tighter, even once she’d stopped crying and her whole body went limp. He made me.

Yet it was me who did it. Me who wasn’t strong enough to refuse, to fight back, to tell him how evil he was. I wish more than anything I could go back and change everything. I wish I could undo the moment I introduced her to Bryan, the moment I met him myself. Then Sadie and I would still be friends, rather than one of us buried in the cold ground and the other about to either fake her suicide or die in the process.

‘So, when you jump …’ says David, ‘you know what you have to do.’

‘Yes,’ I say. I know the tunnel leads back into the rock, and up into David’s cellar. ‘And you’ll film it? Just in case.’

He says he will. We’ve discussed this. My body won’t be found; I’m going to take off my trainers and my jacket in the water, but it may not be enough to convince them. If it ever comes to it, he needs to be able to prove I really went over the edge.

‘And we’ll wait? We’ll wait until there’s someone to see?’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ll look through the telescope until I spot someone coming. You’ll have plenty of time. Then we can be sure there’ll be a witness. All you have to do is jump and then swim back into the cave.’

I tell him I’m ready. The plan is I’ll wait in the tunnels. We’ve put towels and a change of clothes down there, a torch, blankets and some food. It’s too risky for me to go up to David’s straight away, in case they search the area, but when the time is right he’ll come for me. He’ll get me out.

‘Where will you go?’ he says.

I answer straight away. I’ve been thinking about it for days.

‘London.’

‘You can’t use your real name.’

‘I know.’

‘You’ve decided what name you will use?’

Sadie, I think. For a long time I used to wish I was her, imagine it was me who lived over in that big house with her mum, rather than in that shitty caravan with mine. I used to pretend I was clever like she was, and good at school, and had prospects. It became a habit, so that, even when her life started to fall apart, I couldn’t stop. Every time one of those men forced themselves on me, every time I had to lie there at one of their parties while one after another after another came through to have their turn, I would detach. I would convince myself I was her. At home, watching TV or with a boyfriend who really loved her rather than just saying he did until she was sufficiently in his debt. Even just doing her homework, or helping her mother bake. Living a normal life. It’s become a habit, this pretending to be Sadie whenever things get bad, so that the real me, Daisy, doesn’t have to feel anything.

I was jealous, I realise now. Otherwise, why, when Bryan said it was my turn to bring in someone new, did I choose her? Now I know I can’t bring her back, but I can try to live the life she’d have lived. To honour her, if nothing else.

I open my mouth to tell David what name I’ll use, but he interrupts me.

‘No,’ he says. ‘It’s better I don’t know.’

‘But—’

He shakes his head sadly. ‘We can’t stay in touch, Daisy.’

I stare at my hands.

‘Okay,’ I say.

He passes me the spoon. ‘Eat.’

I try a mouthful, but it scalds my tongue.

‘Will you find Sadie?’ he says, and I realise people are believing the story that Bryan has put out, that she ran away, that she was seen hitching a lift, heading down south.

I can’t do it after all, I can’t lie to him. I lower the spoon.

‘She’s dead.’

He falls quiet. I expect him to be angry, shocked at least, but he doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he suspected it all along. For a second I think he’ll tell me I can’t go through with it, I need to go to the police.

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