The Jump (10 page)

It was almost like none of it had happened. Ellie stood in her kitchen like a normal wife and mother, making green tea and wiping the surfaces. Ben was sitting at the table staring at his phone. He always had a screen in his face, ever since Logan, the twenty-first-century addiction afflicting him in his grief, his search for answers.

Ellie dunked her teabag, squeezed it out with a spoon then dropped it in the bin. She needed this time, the quiet, familiar order, to work everything out. Libby was back at home. She’d been on the phone to Sam, apparently she was reported absent by the school, but they didn’t have Alison’s mobile number, so the automated system left three messages on their home phone. Alison was out at work so Libby erased the messages when she got in. Not exactly a foolproof system.

Sam was back in the Porpoise. Ellie had come straight home after leaving Libby, packed up some more food then jogged along to the warehouse. Dropped off the provisions, handed him the key to the cabin padlock and told him to wait until the sun went down before heading over to the boat, baseball cap down. Part of her wanted to stay with him, keep him close, her maternal instinct kicking in, but she needed time and space alone to think.

Sam had texted an hour ago to say he was on the boat. She liked that he trusted her now. She missed that. But she imagined him on his own, lonely in that cramped berth at the bow of the boat, the rattle of masts and rigging keeping him awake, that and the worry. At least he didn’t seem suicidal any more.

She wondered about that. Every case was different, she knew from her research after Logan jumped, you couldn’t generalise about suicides and suicide attempts. Some were cries for help, some were spur of the moment things, some were well planned out. Some were the culmination of years struggling with serious mental illness. People who survived all reacted differently too. Weeping with grief that they hadn’t managed to end it all, or overwhelmed with relief that their momentary lapse hadn’t been successful, realising they had so much to live for. Some found God, some went deeper into a hole, some just walked away seemingly unscathed.

How would Sam be? It was less than two days since she found him on the bridge. But since then he seemed to have pulled himself together, mainly because of Libby. What had he been thinking, trying to kill himself, when he had a little sister who loved him, who needed him around to look after her? But ‘what was he thinking’ was the stupidest question of all, it presumed a rationality that doesn’t exist in the mind of someone contemplating killing themselves.

For a while Ellie buried herself in facts, essays, reports and books that looked at suicide from every side – the social aspect, the cultural angle, the mental-health issues, the reaction of others. But none of it meant anything really, none of it explained away the bare, monstrous fact that her son was no longer around, that he wasn’t sleeping in till lunchtime at weekends, hogging the shower at inopportune moments, being sarcastic to her and Ben in a comfortable, familiar way, taking a pretend huff over not being allowed out until he’d done homework or chores around the house.

Ellie thought about Libby, what she’d gone through. If anyone had the right to feel suicidal it was her. Ellie’s insides itched at the thought of what Jack had been doing to her. How could anyone do that to any young girl, let alone his own daughter? It was beyond comprehension. Was it just evil, did such a thing really exist? Was it about power? How did a grown man get to the place in his life where making his daughter suck his dick was something to even consider? She wanted to speak to Jack. It was too easy just to brand him a monster, dehumanise him, that’s what the liberal in her was thinking. But another, deeper part of Ellie’s psyche wanted to destroy him, make him pay for what he’d done.

And what about Alison? Ellie realised she’d been skirting round Alison, leaving her until last in her thoughts. Libby said she’d tried to bring it up with her mum, but Alison had sidestepped it. Could that be true? Did Alison not know anything, or did she suspect in her darkest mind, but refuse to confront it? How could you live with someone half your life and not know they were capable of something like that. Or maybe Alison knew too well what her husband was capable of, maybe that was the problem. Maybe she was scared.

Ellie looked at Ben. How could you live with someone for twenty years and not even know them? She and Ben had seemed like soul mates, whatever that meant, for so long, but Logan, their foundation together, had been destroyed. What did they have in the aftermath of that, did they even know each other now?

‘You’re in a dwam.’

Ben was looking at her. He was right, ‘dwam’ was the exact word, she’d been daydreaming, but not the pleasant kind. She smiled apologetically.

Ben put his phone down and got up, walked over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and she was relieved that she didn’t flinch like yesterday. Instead she let him rub at the knots and strains, realising how tense her body was. She used to do yoga, before Logan. She used to do a lot of things before that day, none of it made sense now. Her body was a mess of tight muscles and saggy skin, her flesh covered in ink, her joints achy, as if she was already old. Her son’s suicide had turned her into an old woman overnight. Not a widow, something much worse.

She put her tea down and turned to face Ben. Put a hand to his cheek, felt the stubble, pushed two fingers through the grey hair at his temple, looked in his eyes. She always got annoyed in books when people saw things in each other’s eyes – recognition, despair, understanding, all that. They were just eyes, the eyes of the man she still loved.

‘Are you OK?’ she said. ‘After today on the boat, I mean.’

He laughed and placed a small kiss on her lips. ‘I’m fine. Is that what you were worried about?’

‘A little.’

He shook his head. ‘I love you.’

She smiled, looked into those eyes again. ‘I love you, too.’

She looked at the water below. Forty-five metres roughly, depending on the tide. The light today was diffuse, high cloud cover making everything matt and dull. There were no sharp sunbeams bouncing off the water, meaning she could get some sense of the depths below, a feel for the swell of the waves.

The traffic noise thundered at her back, as always. She wondered if the day would ever come when she wouldn’t have to come up here. She pulled a pebble out her pocket and dropped it over the side of the railing, watched as it tumbled and turned until she couldn’t make it out against the grey below. She waited for a splash but of course it was too small, too insignificant to see from up here. She wondered what kind of splash Logan made as he hit the water, as his body was smashed on impact.

She looked over to the Binks where she’d picked up the pebble earlier. Every day like a pilgrimage. Down there, up here, down there, up here.

She looked at her house. Her bedroom window had the curtains closed, Ben still in bed. The curtains were open in Logan’s room, as always. She imagined him standing there in his underwear and T-shirt, stretching and yawning, getting himself together for school before bounding down the stairs in three leaps and shovelling toast into his face while he stood in the kitchen. He never sat down in the morning, there was no calm family breakfast, not for them. Instead they had the typical modern-family rusharound, two parents late for work, trying to find keys, shoving stuff into work bags, finding a moment to talk about bills or tonight’s tea or something on the television news in the corner of the room. Their teenage son, their anchor, scurrying between them, mouth full, deflecting enquiries about his day, homework, football training after school.

So ordinary, so boring.

She looked at her watch, almost nine o’clock. She turned from the view and pulled her phone out her pocket. A truck roared past, the bridge rocking under her feet as she leant the small of her back against the railing. She swiped to Sam’s number and called, cars blurring past her eye line.

‘Hi, Sam,’ she said when he picked up.

‘Hi.’

‘You OK?’

‘I guess.’ His voice was thick, maybe she’d woken him up.

‘Sleep OK?’

There was a pause. ‘Not really.’

‘Me neither,’ Ellie said.

She stretched on to her tiptoes. Past the wash of traffic she could see the cranes at the new bridge. Down to her left was the marina, obscured from view. She imagined Sam under his duvet, cosy in the rocking boat.

‘I have a few things to sort,’ she said, ‘then I’m coming for you. Just stay put.’

‘I don’t know how much longer I can do this,’ Sam said.

‘Try not to worry,’ Ellie said. ‘I said I’d take care of everything and I will.’

‘Do you have a plan?’ Sam said.

Ellie looked up, her gaze following the sweep of the suspension cables as they curved in a parabola to the tower above.

‘I think so,’ she said.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ she said. ‘Have you spoken to Libby this morning?’

‘Just got a text. Said she was on her way to school.’

‘Good.’ Ellie had told Sam to get her to act as normal as possible.

‘I’m scared, Ellie.’

‘It’s OK, sweetheart.’ As it came out her mouth she realised it was one of the words she used for Logan.

There was a pause, maybe as Sam digested the word.

‘This will all be over soon,’ Ellie said.

She hung up, took a last look at the firth. The size of the sea made her stomach knot. What was the point of doing anything in the face of such enormity?

Ellie pressed the doorbell a second time and waited. Maybe Alison was already at work. The car sat in the drive, but that didn’t mean anything, it was probably Jack’s. Ellie felt bile rising in her throat. She breathed carefully, pressed a knuckle to her ribs, shifted her weight.

She was reaching for the doorbell again when she saw movement through the bevelled glass. Someone coming downstairs. Whoever it was paused for a while behind the door. Ellie looked for a spy-hole but couldn’t see one.

The door opened a crack, still on the chain, and Alison appeared. The word ‘haggard’ sprang into Ellie’s head, unkind but that was the best way to describe her. Her skin was oily and blotchy, hair unkempt, eyes raw, and her downturned mouth made jowls out of her cheeks. She was wearing a baggy hoodie and joggers, frayed cuffs and stains, and she looked confused. Ellie smelt alcohol – last night’s or already this morning? Ellie wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter.

‘What do you want?’ Alison said. It wasn’t aggressive, just monotone. Sleeping pills maybe.

‘We need to talk,’ Ellie said.

‘No.’

Ellie looked at the chain on the door. Small metal links, like a bracelet. It was the kind of thing you got in B&Q for three quid, it wouldn’t keep anyone out. She imagined putting her foot against the door and kicking it in, Alison falling back into the hall, screaming.

‘Yes,’ she said.

Alison went to close the door and Ellie pushed her foot in the gap. The door rebounded on the chain, almost catching Alison on the chin.

‘I’ll call the police,’ she said.

‘Don’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve spoken to Sam.’

Alison stopped pushing on the door and Ellie felt the pressure ease on her foot. Alison raised two fingers to her forehead, rubbed at the lines there.

‘Where is he? Is he OK?’

‘Let me in and we’ll talk.’

Alison hesitated, her hand still at her temple. She rubbed at her eyebrow and looked down, then sighed.

‘Two minutes, then you’re out.’

Ellie took her foot from the doorway and Alison closed the door, slid the chain then opened it. She nodded towards the living room. Ellie walked through and heard the door close behind her.

The decor was like in a TV makeover show, large violet orchids on the wallpaper, mirror over a slate fireplace, black leather sofas and a chintzy mini-chandelier. There were framed pictures on the mantelpiece, school photos of Sam and Libby looking awkward in uniform, a snap of the whole family at a waterpark somewhere sunny. Alison was wearing a one-piece swimsuit, sarong wrapped round her waist, Libby flat-chested in a bikini. Jack had one arm around each of them, Sam on the other side of his mum, held close.

‘How do you know my son?’

Ellie turned. ‘I met him.’

‘Where?’

‘In the pub.’

‘Which pub?’

‘The Ferry Tap.’

Alison stared at her. ‘He was in the Ferry Tap on his own?’

‘Yes.’

‘And no one recognised him, no one realised we’ve been worried sick? I don’t believe you.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘It’s true.’

‘What were you doing in the Tap?’

‘Drinking.’

‘On your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do a lot of drinking on your own?’

Ellie looked around the room, then back at Alison. ‘Do you?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I can smell it on you.’

‘Fuck you.’

Ellie turned and nodded at the picture of Sam in his blazer. He seemed a lot younger in the photo, an innocent wee boy waiting for the world to happen to him.

‘Don’t you want to know about Sam?’

Something softened in Alison’s voice. ‘Tell me.’

‘He didn’t have any money so I bought him a drink.’

‘He’s only seventeen.’

Ellie nodded. ‘That’s old enough.’

‘Why won’t he come home?’ Alison’s voice wavered, real concern, her fists clenching at her side.

‘Why do you think?’

Alison rubbed at the back of her head. ‘I wish I knew.’

Her breathing was shaky and her body swayed.

Ellie suddenly felt sorry for her. ‘Maybe we should sit down.’

Alison nodded, moved backwards till her hand found the arm of the sofa, then lowered herself. It was the motion of a woman in trouble.

Ellie sat on the other sofa. ‘Look at me, Alison.’

Alison raised her head.

Ellie spoke. ‘What happened here?’

Alison’s eyes flitted round the room as if she might find the answers in a dusty corner.

‘You saw it on the news, you know what happened.’

‘I want you to tell me.’

‘What did Sam say?’

Ellie shook her head, stayed silent.

Alison took a deep breath. ‘Someone came into our home, that’s what happened, and they stabbed my husband and left him for dead.’

‘Were there any signs of a break-in?’

Alison pressed her lips tight and frowned. ‘No, but the front door was unlocked, they could have just walked in.’

‘And why would a stranger do that?’

‘How should I know? Jack is a police officer, maybe some maniac criminal had it in for him.’

‘And what about Sam?’

‘What about him?’

‘Why do you think he’s been missing for two days?’

Alison’s head went down. ‘I don’t know. He’s my little boy and I don’t know where he is.’ She was almost crying. ‘Maybe he saw something and got scared. I just want him to come home. Where’s he been since Monday?’

‘He told me he was sleeping rough.’

‘Whereabouts?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘He didn’t say.’

‘Does he have his phone? I’ve tried it a hundred times. Why doesn’t he answer? Why would he speak to you and not me?’

‘Maybe because I’m a stranger. Maybe there’s stuff at home he can’t face.’

Alison wiped at her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘How’s Libby?’

Alison stared at her hands.

‘I came here yesterday to see her,’ Ellie said. ‘Did you realise that?’

Alison pulled a hand over her face, rubbed at her skin.

‘Sam asked me to check on her,’ Ellie continued. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he cares about his little sister.’

Ellie looked round the room, at the doorway. ‘Maybe he thinks she’s in danger here.’

Alison stood up, her hands balled tight. ‘What are you getting at? Why would Libby be in danger?’

Ellie stayed in her seat. ‘You tell me.’

Alison took a step forward. ‘I think you’d better leave.’

‘Then you’re not going to hear from Sam again.’

Alison hesitated.

Ellie nodded at the sofa. ‘Sit down.’

Alison obliged.

Ellie played with the wedding ring on her finger.

‘Sam told me about something that happened here, in this house. Your home. Libby told me as well.’

Alison frowned. ‘When did you speak to Libby?’

Ellie ignored the question. ‘Do you know what I’m talking about?’

Alison shook her head.

‘Try harder,’ Ellie said.

‘I can’t,’ Alison said. Her hand gripped the arm of the sofa.

Ellie sighed and looked at the family photos on the mantelpiece. ‘I understand what it’s like, that feeling of the kids getting away from you. Trust me, I know. One day they’re toddlers following you from room to room, asking for snacks or needing their noses wiped. The next minute they’re monosyllabic zombies, locked away in their rooms, faces buried in their phones. Then the next moment they’re gone.’

She stopped, regained her composure.

‘But how could you not know?’ she said.

Alison shook her head but didn’t speak.

‘How could you not know?’ Ellie repeated.

Alison’s eyes were wet. ‘Know what?’ she whispered.

Ellie felt her heart in her chest, a trapped animal. ‘That your husband is abusing your daughter, right here under your roof.’

Alison’s eyes widened. ‘No.’

Ellie nodded. ‘Upstairs, in her bedroom.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Alison said.

‘He goes into her room and plays with her until he gets hard, then he makes her suck his cock.’

Alison shot out the sofa. ‘How dare you . . .’

Ellie cut her off. ‘He’s been doing it for years. When you’re out, when he’s alone in the house with her. How does that make you feel?’

‘Get out,’ Alison shouted. ‘Get out of my fucking house.’

‘Are you proud of your good policeman husband now?’

‘I said get out. Now.’

‘Standing by your man, that’s nice.’

‘He would never do anything like that,’ Alison said, voice shaky. ‘My Jack would never harm a hair on Libby’s head.’

‘Ask him.’

‘I don’t need to ask him, I know.’

‘Ask Libby,’ Ellie said.

‘You’re sick,’ Alison said. ‘That’s what this is. You’ve seen our story on the news, you’ve somehow found out about my kids, and you’ve come here and made all this up for attention. Get the hell out of my house, I’m calling the police.’

‘Just ask Libby.’

‘Get out.’

Alison came towards Ellie, reached for her arm but Ellie shrugged her off. She stood looking at Alison, staring at her.

‘Get out,’ Alison said again.

‘I’m going.’ Ellie walked out the room to the front door, opened it, Alison behind her.

Ellie turned before she took a step outside.

‘Open your eyes, Alison,’ she said. ‘Before it’s too late.’