The Art of Not Breathing(64)

“Go. Now.”

Tay wipes his eyes as he forces his diving gear into a rucksack. He stumbles through the panel, and I listen to his footsteps on the pebbles fade away. Every part of me feels broken. The only thing that’s left is a tiny part of Eddie.

“Eddie,” I whisper into the darkness. “Are you there?”

“Down here,” Eddie says. But I can’t see him anywhere.





6



A MEMORY. A VERY OLD ONE. EDDIE AND ME LYING ON THE sofa together after one of his hospital visits. He has a bandage on his arm where they took blood.

“They put magic cream on it,” he says, holding his arm out for me to kiss it.

I kiss it.

I’m jealous that I didn’t have magic cream, or any blood taken.

Dillon lies on the floor by our feet.

“Do you want to watch a DVD?” he asks.

We say yes. Eddie wants Ice Princess.

“Mum,” Dillon shouts, “the twins want to watch a DVD. Can I put one on?”

Mum brings us hot chocolate and a blanket. She covers us.

“Yes. Then it’s an early night for all of you.”

Dillon joins us on the sofa, and Eddie snuggles into me.

“Ellie, if they take more of my blood, will I die?”

“I don’t think so. If they take more, you can have some of mine, because we’re the same.”

“Ellie, if I die, will you come with me?”

“Okay. And Dillon. You’ll come with us, won’t you?”

“Okay,” Dillon says. “Shhh, it’s starting.”





7



THE DAY AFTER TAY’S REVELATIONS, I DECIDE TO GO AHEAD with my plan and then leave the Black Isle for good. I have nothing to stay for. Dillon’s asleep when I go to say goodbye at the hospital. I tuck a note under his pillow saying “Sorry,” and leave my parents in the waiting room arguing about how often my mum stays at my father’s flat.

There’s no money for a taxi, so I have to take the bus back home. It’s gone midnight when I finally get back to the harbor. My legs ache from all the running around, but at least I have Eddie’s memorial cross from the Point. Another ribbon has disappeared, but I remove a shoelace from one of my trainers and tie it on tight. I have everything I need, except my headlamp because the battery has gone. Instead, I found an old flashlight in the kitchen drawer. I just hope it’s okay in the water.

The Black Fin is closed, but I want to take one last look at Mick and Danny. I peer through the window. My heart jumps.

My mother is sitting on a barstool drinking a glass of wine.

Thoughts race. Is she looking for me? Does she know everything?

Then it all becomes clear.

She slides off the barstool and walks to the end of the bar. Her curly hair is sprayed and set, and she’s wearing my Ruby Red. Mick reaches out, she reaches out, and then they are in each other’s arms. He bends his neck.

Uncle Mick. Affair. My father picking up a piece of clothing from the beach. Mum arriving without her jacket.

Mum was there that day, before we called her, before Eddie went missing. Dillon knew, and so did my father.

I run down the steps, across the pebbles, along the jetty.

I loop the slimy rope around my arm as I unmoor the Half Way.

The motor starts the first time.

The boat swings out in a sharp right when I move the throttle, pitching me to the floor. I scramble back up and adjust the tiller, keeping the boat steady until I’m clear out of the harbor. Then it’s full speed ahead with the lights off—my destination awaits. I don’t dare look back.

At the end of the Point I slow down so I can find the spot. I turn on the front headlights and see the buoy immediately, fluorescent in the lights, white foam spraying up around it. I sit for a moment, taking in my surroundings, soaking up the Black Isle horizon for the last time. There are streaky clouds high up in the indigo sky. Guillemots cluster around the top of the lighthouse, crying out for mates. In the distance an oil tanker chugs slowly out to the North Sea, into the darkness.

It takes me ages to tug on my wetsuit. The rubber feels tougher than usual, my hands clumsier, and I’m not able to grip it hard enough to pull the excess material up my thighs. The weight belt feels lighter than it should. I count the weights. There are three, but I can’t remember whether there should be four—my brain is foggy, but I’m sure I worked out that I needed fifteen pounds in total. I add an extra weight and fasten it around my waist. The zip on the wetsuit jacket gets caught halfway up. I yank it but it’s stuck fast. Everything feels wrong: lopsided, unbalanced. I shove Eddie’s T-shirt into the jacket pocket, then loop the flashlight around my wrist and turn it on. It flickers, then stabilizes. The light slices straight through the surface and makes the water underneath look green. It looks serene down there. Finally, I grab the cross and Jasper the frog and tuck them into my weight belt, then lower myself into the water. My body temperature instantly drops. I kick toward the buoy, aware that I’m using energy just to get to the start point. I take three deep breaths, and on the fourth suck in as much air as I can hold, making sure it gets into every inch of me, and then I go down.

The flashlight lights up all the tiny particles that you don’t usually see: translucent blobs that could be plankton, and all the disturbed sand from burrowing rays. The water swishes about my body as I guide myself down the wire headfirst, against Danny’s advice, but it’s the quickest way. The current tries to sweep me away. I keep going, feeling the water pass around me as I fall deeper and deeper.