in a bathroom or bedroom, wearing make-up in a haphazard way, always trying to look older, more sexual, hand on hip, chin out, the universal teenage pose for social media. Ellie wondered where they learned it. At that age Ellie had been a bumbling, childish mess, painfully shy, no social skills. She could never have imagined posting pictures of herself in a tight dress for everyone to see, opening herself up to so much hurtful spite, psychological damage. What was the obsession with being connected?
She flicked back to Logan’s page and posted quickly.
So missed, always, xxx
She clicked ‘like’ on Melissa’s comment then turned away from the sea and back into town.
12
The street looked normal. No flashing lights, no police cars, no news reporters hanging around. Ellie didn’t know what she was expecting, but maybe in the back of her mind she thought there would be a fuss, a sign that something out of the ordinary had happened here. But of course that’s not how it worked. Someone gets stabbed, taken to hospital, the police ask around then leave. That absence seemed the most obscene thing. When Logan died she wanted people to stay around forever, fussing about it, collecting information, seeking answers. As soon as they were all gone and she was alone in the house with Ben she thought she would die. She wanted to die. As long as other people were there, distracting her, she could keep breathing.
As she walked down Inchcolm Terrace she thought about being here earlier today, touching the front door, seeing Sam’s dad on the floor, running out the back door.
She approached Sam’s house making sure to keep her pace steady, one foot in front of the other. She walked past it, only glancing at the house casually, as if it was any old place. The lights were on all over the house, curtains closed. She pictured Sam’s mum sitting with her head in her hands. A large brandy at her side, maybe. How much did she know? Where did she think Sam was?
Ellie walked past two more houses until she was at one with no lights on. Without breaking stride she turned up the path, round the side of the house into the back garden. Over the wall, into a crouching run across the neighbours’ grass, then over the low fence into the McKennas’ place.
Lights were on at the back of the house, the kitchen where Ellie had been earlier. She pictured her fingerprints on the patio door. A movement inside the kitchen made her shift back into the shadow of an elm tree. Alison, a tousle of dark hair, hoodie and joggers, her face crumpled with worry. She held a large wine glass loosely by the stem, dregs of red in the bottom. She stood at the sink and stared out the window, then grabbed a wine bottle and filled her glass up, took a big swig.
Alison turned and Ellie saw Libby come into the kitchen. She was wearing an oversized Aran jumper and checked jammy trousers. Alison spoke but Libby ignored her, opening the fridge and taking out a can of Diet Coke. Alison moved towards her, spoke again. Libby closed the fridge and left the room without making eye contact. The silent treatment, not even a hard stare. Alison rubbed at her forehead and took another slug from her glass.
Ellie had seen enough.
She left over the back wall, landing in the same street she’d been in earlier, the approach road to the bridge just over the embankment. She began walking home past the bridge visitor centre, through the tour-bus car park. She stopped to watch the traffic on the bridge. It took on a different character at night, more lonely and somehow ominous, as if each vehicle carried an individual’s fragile hopes with it, people striving to get somewhere. The street light near her buzzed and she felt a thrumming energy through her body.
She checked the local news apps on her phone. No updates on Jack McKenna that she could find. She wondered about Twitter, if there might be more stuff on there. She should set up an account, get Ben to show her how it worked.
She
She flicked back to Logan’s page and posted quickly.
So missed, always, xxx
She clicked ‘like’ on Melissa’s comment then turned away from the sea and back into town.
12
The street looked normal. No flashing lights, no police cars, no news reporters hanging around. Ellie didn’t know what she was expecting, but maybe in the back of her mind she thought there would be a fuss, a sign that something out of the ordinary had happened here. But of course that’s not how it worked. Someone gets stabbed, taken to hospital, the police ask around then leave. That absence seemed the most obscene thing. When Logan died she wanted people to stay around forever, fussing about it, collecting information, seeking answers. As soon as they were all gone and she was alone in the house with Ben she thought she would die. She wanted to die. As long as other people were there, distracting her, she could keep breathing.
As she walked down Inchcolm Terrace she thought about being here earlier today, touching the front door, seeing Sam’s dad on the floor, running out the back door.
She approached Sam’s house making sure to keep her pace steady, one foot in front of the other. She walked past it, only glancing at the house casually, as if it was any old place. The lights were on all over the house, curtains closed. She pictured Sam’s mum sitting with her head in her hands. A large brandy at her side, maybe. How much did she know? Where did she think Sam was?
Ellie walked past two more houses until she was at one with no lights on. Without breaking stride she turned up the path, round the side of the house into the back garden. Over the wall, into a crouching run across the neighbours’ grass, then over the low fence into the McKennas’ place.
Lights were on at the back of the house, the kitchen where Ellie had been earlier. She pictured her fingerprints on the patio door. A movement inside the kitchen made her shift back into the shadow of an elm tree. Alison, a tousle of dark hair, hoodie and joggers, her face crumpled with worry. She held a large wine glass loosely by the stem, dregs of red in the bottom. She stood at the sink and stared out the window, then grabbed a wine bottle and filled her glass up, took a big swig.
Alison turned and Ellie saw Libby come into the kitchen. She was wearing an oversized Aran jumper and checked jammy trousers. Alison spoke but Libby ignored her, opening the fridge and taking out a can of Diet Coke. Alison moved towards her, spoke again. Libby closed the fridge and left the room without making eye contact. The silent treatment, not even a hard stare. Alison rubbed at her forehead and took another slug from her glass.
Ellie had seen enough.
She left over the back wall, landing in the same street she’d been in earlier, the approach road to the bridge just over the embankment. She began walking home past the bridge visitor centre, through the tour-bus car park. She stopped to watch the traffic on the bridge. It took on a different character at night, more lonely and somehow ominous, as if each vehicle carried an individual’s fragile hopes with it, people striving to get somewhere. The street light near her buzzed and she felt a thrumming energy through her body.
She checked the local news apps on her phone. No updates on Jack McKenna that she could find. She wondered about Twitter, if there might be more stuff on there. She should set up an account, get Ben to show her how it worked.
She
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