Текст книги "The Jump"

Автор книги: Doug Johnstone

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

28

Ellie strode fast, the Forth to her side as she cut along Society Road, past the old house and the handful of new-builds by the water. She wondered if more developments would spring up in the shadow of the new bridge, or if people would stay away, put off by traffic and noise.

She cut down the back way on to Shore Road and came to the marina from the west end. The disused lane was blocked to traffic, old concrete tank-defences placed across it, but still accessible on foot.

She emerged at the harbour still thinking of Jack. She put herself in his shoes, what would it be like to be accused of something like that by your own kid?

It came down to trust. Did she trust Jack? Why should she? But he hadn’t seemed like a man who would do something like that, he’d seemed like one of life’s losers, just like her, struggling to get by, trying to keep his family together. He was right, she could relate to that. But what about Libby and Sam, she trusted them, didn’t she? Libby had been visibly upset, in tears when she spoke about her dad. And where did Alison fit into all this – did she suspect and cover up for her husband, or was she really in the dark? Maybe there was nothing to know, maybe Jack was telling the truth.

She walked past the warehouse where Sam had decamped, turned towards the pier. The wind was up, the rigging clattering away on the boats rocking in their berths. She took the stairs three at a time down to the pontoon then along to the Porpoise.

She scanned the horizon as she clambered on board, but there was no one in sight, the place shutting down for the day.

She went below deck. Sam and Libby were sitting either side of the table. Strewn across the surface were a half-finished loaf of bread, empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers, juice bottles. Ellie realised that she yearned for Sam, her arms ached to hold him. Her heart swelled at the sight of him, still wearing Logan’s clothes, flicking his hair out of his face. Libby was slouched on the opposite bench, shoving the last of a crisp sandwich into her mouth. Ellie was overwhelmed with something, the ordinariness of this, kids being kids, the three of them on a boat, snacking and chatting, normal, boring family shit. Except it wasn’t her family.

Sam stood up. ‘What are we going to do?’

Ellie put a hand on his forearm.

‘I spoke to your dad,’ she said.

She’d only given Sam the thinnest detail on the phone, just enough for him to warn Libby to get out the house.

‘How is he?’ Sam said.

He said it blankly, and Ellie couldn’t work out what he meant, was he worried about him, or sorry he wasn’t dead?

‘He’s in pain, but OK I think.’

‘I wish you’d killed him,’ Libby said.

Ellie looked at her. She was so confident about life, no concept of mortality yet.

‘And what if he had?’ Ellie said. ‘Then your brother would be a murderer. Is that what you want?’

Libby lowered her head.

‘Take it easy,’ Sam said, putting a hand out. ‘How did he get out of hospital so quick?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t know, maybe he checked himself out. He’s heavily bandaged around the stomach.’

A brief look passed between her and Sam, acknowledging his role in that.

‘He seemed exhausted,’ Ellie said. ‘I don’t think he should be out of hospital.’

‘How did he find you?’ Libby said.

‘He met me when I came out of the police station.’

Sam frowned. ‘Why were you in the police station?’

‘They asked me in for questioning. Just routine.’

‘Routine?’

Ellie sighed. ‘I went to see your mum.’

‘What did you say to her?’

Ellie showed her palms. ‘I wanted to speak to her about what’s been going on, about Libby and your dad.’

Libby’s face fell. ‘Oh my God, you didn’t tell her, did you?’

‘I thought that’s what you wanted?’ Ellie said.

Libby shifted on her seat, agitated. ‘Things are going to be so much worse now.’

‘Why?’

‘They just are,’ Libby said. ‘I can’t go back there.’

Sam looked at her. ‘You don’t have to go back there, don’t worry.’ He turned to Ellie. ‘She can stay here, right?’

Ellie rubbed at her forehead. ‘For tonight. But tomorrow we have to sort this out.’

‘How do you mean?’ said Sam.

Ellie paused for a moment. ‘Libby, you have to go to the police, tell them what your dad’s been doing to you.’

‘No.’

‘You have to,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s the only way this can be finished.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

Libby rubbed at her arm. ‘I told you already. He’s one of them, they won’t believe me.’

‘They will.’

‘They won’t. And then things will be a hundred times worse. They won’t do anything, and I’ll have to go back home and live there with him and Mum, and they’ll both know I told on him.’

‘My God, Libby, this isn’t about telling on people,’ Ellie said. ‘This is child abuse and rape. Your dad is a criminal.’

‘I’m not going to the police,’ Libby said.

Ellie walked over and sat next to her. ‘I’ll come with you, I’ll be there the whole time. If you don’t want to continue at any point, then we don’t have to. There’s a nice policewoman there, I met her today, PC Macdonald, I’ll insist we talk to her. It’ll be fine.’

Libby shook her head.

‘It makes sense, Lib,’ Sam said.

‘I can’t do it.’

Ellie looked at her. ‘You want it to stop, don’t you?’

Libby stared at her. ‘Of course.’

‘Well?’

Libby sighed.

Ellie put her hand on the girl’s. It was bony, cold, poor circulation.

‘I know it’s hard to talk about these things, but you have to in order to make it go away.’

Libby didn’t speak.

Ellie thought about her conversation in the car with Jack. Steadied her hand.

‘Are you absolutely sure about what he’s been doing to you?’

Sam took a step towards them. ‘What do you mean? Of course she’s sure.’

Ellie looked up. ‘I’m just asking because it’s what the police will ask.’

Libby had her head down. Ellie felt Libby’s hand move under her own.

‘Libby?’

The girl began to sniff, precursor to tears. Was she turning on the waterworks, or was this for real? She nodded her head, keeping her face down.

‘I’m sure.’

Sam spoke. ‘What did he say when you spoke to him?’

Ellie looked up. ‘He denied it completely. Said it was all a misunderstanding.’

‘What a cunt,’ Sam said. ‘A misunderstanding? He was in her room. I know what I saw.’

Libby was crying now.

‘He said he was just comforting her, giving her a hug,’ Ellie said.

Sam snorted. ‘A hug? With his trousers down?’

Ellie kept her gaze steady on Sam, kept rubbing Libby’s hand.

‘He said that you’ve had some problems, Sam.’

Sam looked around, fists tight. ‘Fuck him.’

‘Mental problems.’

Sam looked like he was going to punch a hole in the wall. ‘I knew he’d use that against me.’

‘He said you’ve been hearing voices. Hallucinating. Said you were having trouble with different pills.’

‘I know what I saw,’ Sam said. ‘Ask Libby. This is not about hallucinations or anything like that.’

‘Take it easy,’ Ellie said. ‘Remember where I first met you, where I found you. What you were like.’

Sam’s neck muscles were straining but he reined it in, took a breath before he spoke. ‘That was different, that was after. Can you blame me, after what had happened? But I know what I saw. You think I’d just go around stabbing my dad for nothing?’ He looked at his sister. ‘Tell her, Lib.’

Libby wiped her tears on the cuff of her cardie, the material pulled down over her hands.

‘I told you already what he’s been doing,’ she said. ‘When you walked me back to the house. I wasn’t lying. I promise.’

‘That’s fine. I had to ask. I have to be clear, you understand?’

Libby nodded.

Ellie put a hand on her thigh. ‘We have to go and report this, though, you realise that? Nothing will change unless we get the police involved. It doesn’t matter that your dad’s a cop. If you tell them what you told me, they’ll arrest him, I promise.’

‘What about Sam?’ Libby said, looking up.

Ellie looked too. ‘That depends.’

‘On what?’ Sam said.

‘On what Jack tells the investigating officers.’

‘You mean he hasn’t told them that it was me who stabbed him?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. He said he hadn’t. And they never mentioned it when they questioned me. Obviously you being missing is suspicious, but there’s no law against leaving home and not getting in touch if you’re over sixteen. If Jack doesn’t drop you in it you could be OK.’

‘Will he drop me in it?’

Ellie thought about that. If Jack was arrested, what would he do? Fight it? Retaliate against Sam? Cut his losses and admit what he’d done? She couldn’t untangle it in her mind. He said he just wanted his family back. But he’d been raping his own daughter.

‘I don’t honestly know,’ she said. ‘I hope not.’

This was the only way forward. If Libby reported Jack, he’d surely be taken into custody, then Libby and Sam could go home. Ellie tried to imagine the atmosphere in that house, between the two of them and their mum, under the cloud of Libby’s accusations. It wouldn’t be easy, but whatever path they took now wouldn’t be easy.

Ellie put an arm around Libby, who hunched up under the touch.

‘The pair of you stay here tonight,’ she said. ‘Then first thing tomorrow I’ll come and get Libby, and we can go to the police station together. You won’t have to see your dad. We’ll talk to someone there and they’ll deal with it. OK?’

Libby nodded. ‘OK.’

Ellie stood up and walked towards the stairs. Sam walked with her.

‘Just sit tight,’ Ellie said, then turned to look at Libby. ‘Will she be OK?’

Sam nodded. ‘I’ll look after her.’

‘You’re a good brother,’ Ellie said.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, felt him flinch.

‘See you tomorrow,’ she said.

29

It was dark now as Ellie stood at her front door. She brushed the familiar black wood with her fingers. She’d lived here for so long she knew every knot and whorl, every grain in the surface, every loose floorboard in the hallway, every cracked tile in the bathroom. The dent in the living-room wall where the Wii remote had flown out of Logan’s hand, narrowly missing Ben and the television. The stiff drawer on the wardrobe in her room where he’d stuffed a piece of Lego into the mechanism.

Her home was made up of a million reminders, its character shaped by the people who had lived in it. The house at Inchcolm Terrace must be the same. What did Sam and Libby know about that place that no one else did, what secrets did they have from the world?

She closed her eyes and imagined the front door opening, Logan bustling past with his bag and a banana in his hand, in a rush to get to school. No time to chat, hardly even looking up, that eternal teenage hurry, locked in a world of his own importance.

She opened her eyes, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

‘Honey, is that you?’ Ben’s voice from the kitchen.

He appeared in the doorway. Dishevelled, still needing a shave and a haircut, his hoodie frayed and dirty. He was the love of her life, though, she just had to try really hard to remember how all that worked.

‘God, I was worried sick.’

It was the kind of thing they used to say as a joke if one of them was late back from work. Hamming it up for Logan’s benefit, an in-joke about being a real, proper couple who didn’t need to have overblown displays of affection. One of them would rush to the door, overdoing it, showing off, like something from Gone with the Wind. But this wasn’t a joke and anyway there was no one else here, no audience to appreciate it.

He came over and put his arms round her. He needed a shower, but the smell of his sweat was so comforting she was glad he hadn’t washed. She felt her shoulders shrug with the beginning of a sob, tears in her eyes as she reached round his waist and linked her fingers together.

‘It’s OK,’ he said.

But he was wrong, it wasn’t OK.

‘Come on through,’ he said.

She didn’t want to let go, but allowed herself to be led to the kitchen. The overhead light seemed too bright after the gloominess of the hallway, and she squinted.

He pulled a chair out for her then put the kettle on.

So much in their lives had happened in this kitchen. She remembered wandering around here in the night, half asleep, trying to measure baby powder into a bottle, boiling the kettle, shaking it together then cooling it down in a bowl of water. She remembered dabbing at Logan’s knee with antiseptic wipes, blood dripping on the laminate, soaking through the ineffectual plaster she put on, then grabbing her keys to take him to A&E when the cut wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The rush of the kettle boiling filled the room.

‘They kept you for hours,’ Ben said as the kettle clicked off.

Ellie turned to him. ‘Sorry?’

‘The police. It’s four hours since you went to the station. They weren’t interviewing you that whole time, surely?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘Lots of waiting around.’

He placed a mug of green tea in front of her then pulled out the chair opposite.

‘So,’ he said. He had a kind but worried look on his face.

‘What?’

Ben angled his head and narrowed his eyes. An expression she was so familiar with, like looking in a mirror.

‘I presume you’re going to tell me what that whole police thing was about, and why you didn’t want me to come with you.’

Ellie picked up her tea and brought it to her lips but it was too hot to drink. She blew across the top, watching the ripples as they pushed away from her. She clutched at the warmth of the mug with both hands, her thumbs through the handle.

She took a long breath. ‘It was about that police officer who was attacked.’

Ben looked confused.

‘The one up at Inchcolm Terrace,’ Ellie said.

Ben frowned, his mouth squint. ‘Yeah, I know, it’s not like we have loads of cops getting stabbed around here. But what’s that got to do with you?’

Ellie wanted to be somewhere else. Tucked up in bed, or at the bottom of the ocean, maybe. But she needed to be here and she needed to tell him.

‘I went to see his wife,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘To speak to her.’

‘What about?’

‘About what’s been going on in her house.’

Ben shook his head, still not understanding. ‘What has been going on in her house?’

‘Bad things.’

‘How would you know?’ Ben’s face was crumpled. ‘You don’t know them.’

Ellie shook her head. ‘I didn’t, before all this.’

‘But you do now?’ Ben said.

Ellie nodded. ‘Kind of.’

She put her mug down and laid her hands in her lap. She rubbed at her thumb with her other hand. Ben reached over and placed a hand on top of hers.

‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’ he said.

Ellie hesitated then looked up and saw Ben’s face. She swallowed.

‘I met the missing boy,’ she said.

‘His son?’

‘Sam, yes. On the road bridge, a few days ago. He was about to jump.’

Ellie felt Ben’s grip on her hands tighten.

‘I brought him back here. He was all over the place. He had blood on him, not his own.’

‘His dad’s?’

Ellie nodded.

‘He stabbed him?’

Another nod.

‘You should’ve turned him in,’ Ben said.

Ellie took her hands away from his and stared at him. ‘I couldn’t.’

Ben held her gaze for a long time. Rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘But you should’ve told me.’

Ellie looked down, spoke under her breath. ‘I know.’

‘Why did he do it?’ Ben’s voice was soft, mirroring Ellie’s.

‘His dad has been abusing his little sister.’

‘Jesus. Are you sure?’

Ellie looked up. ‘Yes. I’ve spoken to both of them.’

‘The girl too?’

Ellie nodded again. It felt like all she ever did, nod in agreement.

‘They have to go to the police.’

‘I know,’ Ellie said. ‘They will. I’m taking Libby tomorrow morning, first thing. It’s just taken us a while to get to this stage.’

Ben frowned, thinking. ‘What did the mum say?’

‘She doesn’t believe it.’

‘Are you sure the kids are telling the truth?’ Ben said.

‘I think so.’

‘You think so?’

‘They are.’

‘Are they back home?’ Ben said.

Ellie shook her head. ‘Jack is out of hospital already. I couldn’t let them go back there.’

‘So where are they?’

Ellie looked past Ben to the black water out the window.

‘In the boat.’

‘Our boat?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Christ, since when?’

No point complicating things. ‘Just today.’

Ben shook his head. ‘What have you got yourself messed up in, Ellie?’

She put her hands on the table. ‘I know, it’s ridiculous. But you understand, don’t you? When I saw him on the bridge . . .’

She felt her breath getting short and the words caught in her chest.

‘It’s OK.’ He rubbed her hands. ‘You’re doing the right thing. You’re protecting them.’

She wiped at her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t thank me, I haven’t done anything.’

She stood up. ‘Yes, you have.’

He stood up too, and she put her arms around him, kissed him, nestled into his chest.

‘Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?’ he said.

She didn’t speak for a moment, weighing it up. ‘No, I’ll do it myself.’

‘If that’s what you want. But I’m here if you need me for anything. You know that, right?’

She looked him in the eye. ‘I know.’

30

The wind was up, whipping her hair into her face so that she had to pull a strand away from the corner of her mouth. She looked down.

She’d swithered this morning. For the first time in the months since she’d been coming to the bridge, she thought about walking out on the west side, not the east. The east was Logan’s side, the expansive spread of water out to the rail bridge, the North Sea and Norway beyond. But from the east side she couldn’t see the marina, the Porpoise. If she’d walked out the west side she could see the boat, imagine Sam and Libby curled up asleep in the forward cabin, unaware of the stress today would surely bring. Out west it was all industrial, the new bridge, the ferry port, the naval base, the oil refinery upriver. It was a diminishing view, the Forth getting narrower, the banks edging closer, squeezing the body of water, reducing it to a trickle.

Looking this way, east, the firth got wider and wider, endless possibilities out there in open water, the chance to get lost in the enormity of it all. It was that sense of freedom that had brought her on to the east side if she was honest, not the nagging dedication to the place Logan fell from. Or maybe it was both. She couldn’t let go of that moment, that instant when her life ended with his, one simple act reducing her to dust.

Up over the railing, drop on to the ledge, then step off.

That’s all it took.

She got her phone out of her pocket. Couldn’t resist. Flicked to Videos. There it was, the footage of Logan jumping from the spot where she was standing.

She pressed play, her stomach cramping, chest tight.

She watched the empty walkway on her phone, glanced up to check the CCTV camera was still there, watching her right now. It was. Same camera, same walkway, same bridge.

She stared at the clock running at the bottom of the screen, knew exactly when Logan appeared. Seventeen seconds. And yes, there he was, sauntering, not in a hurry, why would you be in a hurry to kill yourself, you’ve got the rest of your life to do it, once it’s done you’ll never be in a rush again.

Step, step, step, so easy, one foot in front of the other, a quick glance at the traffic out of sight from this angle, then another glance out to sea, two more steps then he slowed and turned, rested against the railing with both elbows, just another tourist or local taking in the view, feeling the size of the planet under his feet, his insignificance in the face of it all, the kind of feeling everyone gets in the presence of something big. That simple factor of scale can make a human being feel like an insect, a microbe, a virus, can make them ponder their own existence, the meaning of it all. Or maybe Logan was standing there thinking nothing at all, his mind blank like a Zen master, an empty bowl waiting to be filled with ideas. Or maybe he was tormented, a million thoughts jumbling his brain, voices telling him to jump or not jump, evil, paranoid devils, convinced that his mother and father hated him, all his school friends were laughing at him behind his back, the voices telling him he was a worthless individual who didn’t deserve to live, constant mental anguish and pain and the best way to escape was to end it all, stop existing.

Logan pushed his elbows away from the railing and hoisted his feet sideways on to it. A slight hover there, his body in equilibrium, his poise, like a gymnast preparing for the dismount, then he was over on the wrong side of the railing, standing on the ledge, facing out, the toes of his shoes at the edge, almost dangling over the drop.

Ellie pressed pause. The two thick vertical lines of the pause sign flashed up in the middle of the screen, partially blocking the view of her son. Logan, at the moment of decision, the split second before it was all over, the infinitesimal increment of time before his life blinked out of existence.

Ellie took a shaky breath and looked away from the screen. Cars roared at her back, strangers she would never meet going places she would never visit. The surface of the Forth was choppy with the wind. The water was sepia today, a thin muddiness, white smudges of waves everywhere. It gave the impression of constant movement. She spotted a train heading south across the rail bridge, a small two-carriage affair, and beyond that three oil tankers were lined up at the fuelling depot. Ellie imagined pressing pause on the world, two vertical lines flashing in front of her eyes, the train freezing on the track, waves stalling, traffic behind her suddenly motionless, caught in that instant, the glorious moment before everything went to shit. She imagined the silence of it, no traffic roar, no rush of the ocean, no clack of train wheels. No thoughts in her head, none whatsoever.

She looked down at the screen.

Pressed play.

Logan stepped off the bridge and dropped out of view of the security camera.

She closed her eyes. Counted in her head.

One elephant.

Two elephants.

Three elephants.

Four elephants.

Five elephants.

Six elephants.

He had hit the water.

She went online months ago and found out how long it took. Easy enough to get an answer. Falling from a forty-five-metre bridge took approximately 5.6 seconds. Less than six elephants.

What went through his mind? Happy and serene as he plummeted through the air, or full of regret? Panic and terror, or his mind still racing with all the clutter and debris that we each carry around with us? Maybe he passed out, pissed or shat himself, screamed until his throat was torn.

She looked out over the firth and breathed. Put a hand against the railing to steady herself as a gust of wind swept up the walkway.

She looked at her phone, swiped off Videos, opened Facebook, went to his page. Two messages since last time, both girls, just kisses and hearts. Girls were better at that than boys, better at remembering, not caring about looking soft. She didn’t recognise either of the girls who’d posted. That was Logan’s world, not hers. They had the same world to begin with, but we all make our own worlds as we grow up, create our own universes, propagate our way through the madness alone.

She typed quickly:

Miss you more every day. Love you always. Mum xxx

It was pathetic and insignificant and inadequate.

She stared at the words for a few seconds then typed Sam’s name into the search box, clicked through. Checked his page for messages then flicked through his pictures. Zoomed in on a few. He had a cute smile, beautiful eyes that he hid behind that fringe. He would be a handsome man someday soon.

Ellie put her phone away and strode off the bridge. It was time for action.