The Jump (7 page)

The lone clank of a hammer on metal greeted her from one of the boat sheds. She walked past the cafe and clubhouse, then the coastguard Portakabin, no activity there. She went past the Bosun’s Locker supply shop. Rumour was the rich owner was going to buy the marina from the council, reopen the sailing school. Ellie would believe it when she saw it.

She hurried past the boats in the dinghy park, their worn undersides exposed to the elements, then she turned on to the pier. Punched the code into the door lock and scurried down the stairs to the berths.

One or two old men were tinkering on their boats. This was the sailing fan’s equivalent of a shed, retired men came here and hid from their wives, women who were equally keen to get their husbands out from under their feet. The vast majority of boat owners were old men, partly because they were the only ones who could afford them, partly because they were the only ones who had the time to dedicate to such an all-consuming hobby. Not that they would call it a hobby, to these salty dogs it was a way of life, just as it had been for Ben before the sailing school had closed down.

Ellie had a sudden flit of tension in her chest – what if Ben had got up early and come here already? But then Ellie spotted the Porpoise in its berth, scruffier and smaller than the boats on either side, needing a paint job and a caulking coat. Ellie and Ben’s ability to focus on such things had evaporated in the last six months, no energy to think about anything other than their grief, so the Porpoise was in need of some serious TLC. Ellie resolved to take care of it once this was all over.

She was at the boat now, no sign of life. She tugged on a rope, pulled the vessel alongside the pontoon then climbed on board. She had a quick look round. Just the same old men fiddling with brass fittings, sails, ropes. She ducked below deck.

She knew straight away he was gone.

She rushed to the berth in the forward cabin, just a jumble of sheets. She flipped the covers over, picked them up and shook, as if he’d tumble out somehow. She lifted the pillow to her face and breathed in. His smell. She looked round the tiny cabin, checked the toilet. It had been used, water droplets around the sink. She opened the bin in the main cabin, just the remains of food packaging in there.

She glanced round the cabin one last time, picturing herself spotting something like a television detective, but it was just her little boat, giving away nothing.

She hurried up the steps and out on deck. Looked around, more urgently this time, watching for any human movement amongst the bobbing boats and swaying masts. The clack of rigging filled the air with a constant chatter. You got used to it down here, but suddenly it seemed like gossipers to Ellie’s ears, mocking her attempt to control this situation.

She saw old McNamara working on his keel boat a few berths down, and leapt off deck towards him.

‘Hey, Ronnie,’ she said.

He looked up and smiled. All these old guys felt paternal about Ellie, especially since what had happened with Logan. She liked that but also hated it a little, an uneasy mix of comfort and condescension. Ronnie had wild eyebrows and leathery skin, a lifetime of wind and waves toughening his face into a mask.

‘Ellie.’

‘Have you seen anyone down here this morning?’

‘You mean Ben?’

Ellie thought for a second. ‘Yeah, he said he was going to take the Porpoise out today.’

Ronnie shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen him.’

‘Have you been down here long?’

‘A while. I don’t sleep like I used to, like to come down and potter about.’

‘Have you seen anyone else come along this pontoon since you got here?’

‘Like who?’

‘Just anyone.’

Ronnie frowned. ‘Is there a problem with your boat? Has someone tampered with it?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that, I was just wondering.’

Ronnie gave it some thought. ‘No dear, there’s been no one near the Porpoise that I’ve seen. I was below deck for a few minutes, but I’ve mostly been up top.’

‘When did you get here?’

‘Are you sure everything’s OK?’

‘Fine,’ Ellie said. ‘Just, when did you get here?’

‘About an hour ago.’

‘OK.’

Ellie began to walk away.

‘Ellie?’ It was Ronnie behind her.

She turned. ‘Yeah?’

‘If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.’

Ellie nodded. ‘I will.’

‘Take it easy,’ Ronnie said.

‘Thanks,’ she said over her shoulder.

She walked along the pontoon and pulled her phone out, dialled Sam’s number as she went. Straight to voicemail. She hung up.

She jogged up the steps and along the pier then stopped and surveyed the scene. There were a million places to hide in the marina, boat sheds, yachts, the abandoned warehouses, but why leave the Porpoise if you just intended to hide somewhere else?

She skirted round the coastguard hut and popped her head into the sailing clubhouse. Empty. She went through to the changing rooms and looked into the men’s locker room. No one there.

She ducked out and strode to Karinka’s Kitchen, the greasy spoon. It wasn’t always open, but the sign was out and she smelt burnt fat and coffee. She opened the door. A couple of old timers were getting bacon rolls for breakfast, a guilty little secret from their wives after their bran flakes at home. Ellie could ask Karinka behind the counter but she was already wary of arousing suspicion, so she turned and left.

She’d known she wouldn’t find him in either of those places, they were long shots. She thought she knew where he’d gone, and began running as she headed away from the marina towards town.

She rang the doorbell, the same button she pressed yesterday, and stared at the door. She was out of breath from jogging up the hill to Inchcolm Terrace. She felt a thin smear of sweat on her forehead and wiped it with her sleeve. Her armpits and groin were wet from the exertion. She hadn’t thought this through. She’d broken into a run leaving the marina and got into a rhythm, the repetitive pound of her feet on the tarmac soothing her mind, the physical superseding the mental.

But now she was standing at the McKennas’ house, waiting for the door to open. Her heart pounded and her lungs made her chest rise and fall. She rubbed her hands on her thighs, trying to wipe them dry. Thoughts crept in, and she was about to turn and leave when there was a noise behind the door, then it opened.

It was Libby. She looked younger than in the pictures Ellie had seen. Ellie could see the spread of acne between her eyebrows, her jaw set in a pubescent overbite. The way her left ear stuck out a little more than her right reminded Ellie of an untrained puppy. She would most likely grow into this face, that body. She would be beautiful one day, probably soon, but not quite yet.

Her blonde hair was tied up in a rough knot to the side of her head, roots showing. She wore the same outfit as last night, jammy trousers and a jumper. Ellie wondered if she’d slept well. She didn’t look frightened or distraught, but she had that mask, the sheen kids that age have, a barrier to the world made of disinterest, boredom and disgust. Ellie knew from Logan at the same age that it was a front, and there was a scared human underneath.

‘Hi, Libby,’ Ellie said.

Libby had one hand on the door frame, the other on her hip, a nonchalant stance but also on guard.

‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘I’m a friend of your brother.’

That got her attention. ‘What are you on about? You can’t be Sam’s friend, you’re like forty or something.’

‘I’ve been helping him,’ Ellie said. ‘Have you seen him since yesterday?’

‘None of your business.’ Libby was already closing the door.

Ellie put her hand out. She thought for a moment then placed her fingers on the door handle and smeared her palm around it.

‘Let go of the door,’ Libby said.

Ellie took her hand away.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I just need to know if you’ve seen Sam, that’s all.’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I know,’ Ellie said. She opened her eyes wider, gave Libby a look she’d used a hundred times on Logan, a look that meant she wasn’t pissing about, she was to be taken seriously.

Libby shrugged, pretended not to care or understand, but it had got through, Ellie could tell.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Libby said.

‘Yes, you do.’ Ellie looked up and down the street. ‘Has he been in touch since yesterday? He was trying to call you all day.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He’s been worried sick about you.’

‘I can take care of myself.’

Ellie tilted her head and made a show of sizing the girl up. ‘I’m sure you can, but he’s your big brother and he was trying to help you. You know what I’m talking about.’

Libby shook her head. ‘I really don’t.’

Ellie moved closer, put a foot on the doorstep, and lowered her voice. ‘Listen to me, I found Sam on the bridge yesterday, did he tell you that?’

The look in Libby’s eyes said that he hadn’t.

‘He was going to jump because of what he’d done. Do you understand?’

Libby’s eyelids flickered.

Ellie continued. ‘I talked him out of it and took him somewhere to pull himself together. Away from anyone who might be looking for him. So you see, I am his friend, I’m looking out for him. And I’m looking out for you too.’

Libby was softening, Ellie saw it in her face.

‘I need to know where he is,’ Ellie said, ‘so that I can protect him properly. You understand, don’t you?’

A slight nod from Libby. She was working out how much of what Ellie said could be true, how much tallied with what Sam told her, if he’d even been in touch. It suddenly occurred to Ellie that Sam might’ve just handed himself in to the police.

‘So has he been in touch?’ Ellie said.

Libby looked down at her bare feet. ‘He was here earlier, but he’s gone.’

‘Where?’

Libby was about to speak when a voice came from behind her.

‘Who is it, Lib?’

Libby’s eyes widened. Footsteps padded down the wooden stairs as Libby let go of the doorframe and stepped aside.

It was Alison. She was the same height as Libby but stocky, broad shoulders, heavy breasts, a thick waist. Her features weren’t unattractive but her face was getting jowly and she wore a lot of her life in the lines around her eyes and across her forehead. She had bleary eyes and Ellie could smell stale wine on her breath.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

Ellie took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, my name is Eleanor, I live down the road. I hope you don’t think I’m intruding, I just heard about what happened here on the news and I wanted to say how sorry I was for your trouble. If I can help in any way?’

It was pathetic but maybe Alison was hungover enough to buy it.

Alison turned to Libby. ‘Go and get dressed.’

Libby didn’t move and Alison turned back.

‘What did you say your name was?’ she said.

‘Eleanor.’

‘Thanks for your concern but this has nothing to do with you. Unless it was you who stabbed my husband in the stomach?’ She spat the words out, sarcasm and hatred in them.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Ellie said. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘That’s right,’ Alison said, ‘you shouldn’t have.’

She was closing the door.

‘It’s just . . . I know what it’s like,’ Ellie said. ‘To have trouble in the family, I mean. My son was the boy who jumped off the bridge six months ago.’

Alison stopped. ‘You’re his mum?’

Ellie tried to speak but was surprised to find the words stuck in her throat. She nodded.

Alison sized her up. Ellie must’ve weighed two stone less than Alison. She wondered what Alison thought of her, the mother who couldn’t keep her son from killing himself.

‘Well, I’m sorry for you,’ Alison said. ‘Thanks for your concern but this is totally different. My husband was stabbed by a burglar and my son is missing. We don’t want people intruding on family business.’

‘Of course.’ Ellie nodded. ‘I completely understand. I don’t know why I came, I’m sorry.’

Alison had a look of pity in her eyes. ‘Just go.’

She stepped back to close the door and Ellie got a better view of Libby behind, looking confused.

‘OK,’ Ellie said, ‘sorry to have bothered you.’

She looked over Alison’s shoulder as the door closed. Libby was mouthing a word to her. ‘Hospital.’

Ellie smiled. ‘And goodbye Libby, it was nice meeting you.’

She was doing eighty-five round the bypass, Radio Forth blaring, trying to keep the thoughts at bay. Lorde came on, that song that was everywhere at the moment. Logan had been into her early on, before the song had broken through and become a hit. He’d downloaded her first EP on to his iPod, she’d heard it through the wall and was surprised at his taste, how good it was. To his credit, he hadn’t abandoned her once she became famous, something Ellie might’ve done in her teenage days. Back then selling out was to be avoided at all costs, now it was an aspiration. The musical landscape was so different for kids like Logan, but good stuff still crept through, like this girl. Some teenage New Zealander selling millions, imagine that happening before the internet. She had a whole lifetime of making music ahead of her, a career Logan would never see.

Ellie turned off at Sheriffhall and up Old Dalkeith Road as the new Rihanna tune came on. She was so glad Logan was never into her, at least not that he admitted to. Ellie was all for female empowerment and women should be allowed to do whatever the hell they want, but dancing naked for the titillation of others wasn’t her idea of empowerment. Maybe Logan secretly wanked off thinking of Rihanna writhing around, but Ellie hoped not. She didn’t mind the idea of him wanking. She knew other mums would have wrinkled their noses up at the thought, but it was a natural thing for a teenage boy to be doing, it meant he was developing a normal sex drive. She was more worried about what went on in his head. She hadn’t cared one way or the other whether Logan was gay, straight, bi, whatever, the key thing was respect. Show other people respect, and hope that it comes back your way. But it was so hard to teach boys about respect. Women were depicted everywhere as objects or sluts, often by other women, so how do you get through to your son that girls and women were equal in every way? How did you make a boy emotionally literate? It was all a million miles from her strident feminism of the eighties as a young woman.

But having Ben as a dad had helped, a good male role model made all the difference. Ellie saw the reverse in the playground, then later with some of Logan’s friends. Their dads spouted the usual sexist drivel, jokes and slights, unintentional or otherwise, and the boys mimicked them. She was proud to see Logan squirm at some of the comments of his mates. She would’ve been prouder still if he’d spoken out against them but that was asking a lot of a fifteen-year-old boy, drowning in peer pressure, the emotional chaos of hormones and all the rest. She was confident he would grow into a good man.

‘Would’ve’, she corrected herself, not ‘would’.

So much for the radio drowning out her thoughts.

She turned into the ERI’s car park and struggled to find a space. This was where Jack had been brought, and she presumed Sam had come to see him. What was he thinking, coming here after what he’d done?

She strode to reception and gave Jack’s name. The man behind the desk was almost pension age, thick hands, heavy eyebrows and a tremor in his neck that made his head judder. His nametag said George.

‘Are you a relative?’ he said.

Ellie nodded. ‘Sister.’

That seemed to be all he needed.

George punched his stubby fingers at the keys, squinted at the screen.

‘Your brother’s in Ward 107, G.I. general surgery.’

‘G.I.?’

‘Gastro-intestinal.’

‘He’s not in intensive care?’

‘No.’

That meant it wasn’t too serious, he was going to be fine. He would survive and get out of hospital. Then what?

‘Which way?’ Ellie said.

George looked at his watch. ‘You’re a bit early for morning visiting.’

‘Which way?’

George pointed at the floor. There were a dozen different coloured lines painted on it, heading in different directions.

‘Follow the yellow line to the lift, then up one and look for the signs.’

‘Thanks.’

George called after her. ‘They might not let you see him, depends what mood the ward sister is in.’

Follow the yellow brick road, thought Ellie, as she ducked along corridors and round corners. Eventually she found the lift and went up. Came out and followed the signs. By the time she got to Ward 107 she’d lost her bearings completely, had no idea where she was.

She went through the double doors and was spotted by three nurses chatting around the reception desk.

‘I’m here to see Jack McKenna,’ she said.

‘You’re early,’ said the nearest nurse, Gibbs on her breast badge. Judging by her uniform, she was in charge.

‘Just a few minutes,’ Ellie said. ‘I’m his sister, I’ve driven a long way, I came as soon as I heard about the stabbing.’

Gibbs narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. ‘I think he’s sleeping.’

‘Can I just see him for two minutes?’

Gibbs turned to one of the other nurses. ‘Carol, take this lady to see her brother.’

Carol smiled and got up, waved at Ellie to follow. Past four doors then in to the right, a small room with four beds. The two beds at the window were empty. To Ellie’s right was a woman in her eighties, half wasted away, skin hanging loose from her neck. To her left was Jack.

Ellie turned to Carol. ‘Thanks.’

‘Two minutes,’ Carol said, turning to leave.

Ellie walked over to Jack’s bed. His eyes were closed, he was on a drip and he had the covers pushed down to his waist. His stomach was heavily bandaged, thick layers of wrapping, his body rigid.

Ellie watched his chest rise and fall.

She wondered if Sam had been here. Surely he couldn’t say he was Jack’s son, the nurses must watch the news, they would know he was missing and would report it. Would he have lied to them? What if they recognised him anyway? Maybe he sneaked in. She looked at the door, no police presence. She’d thought maybe there would be an officer on guard, but presumably they didn’t think it was necessary.

She had no idea what she was doing here or what she hoped to achieve. She imagined lifting a pillow from one of the empty beds and pushing it into Jack’s face, picturing a hundred clichéd murders on television and in the movies. Was it really as easy as that?

She crept closer. Jack’s eyes remained closed.

She leaned in and whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’

Nothing.

She thought about the last time she’d seen him, on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. She wondered if he’d seen her then, could identify her.

‘I said, can you hear me?’

She saw movement under his eyelids and his breathing became less deep. She knew from years as a mum what it looked like when someone was pretending to be asleep.

‘I know you’re awake,’ she said in his ear. ‘I know everything. I know who stabbed you and why.’

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she took a breath.

‘Listen carefully,’ she said. ‘If you implicate Sam in any of this I will expose the kind of man you are. I have evidence. Do you understand? Then I will kill you. I’m a guardian angel to your children, protecting them, and I’ll be watching you every minute of every day.’

His Adam’s apple rose and fell.

‘Do you understand?’

His eyes moved under the lids, he swallowed, his breath came in and out of his nostrils.

‘I will come for you,’ Ellie said, patting his hand. ‘Don’t think I won’t. I have nothing to lose.’

She straightened up and took her hand away, then turned and smiled at the old lady in the other bed, who didn’t seem to see her at all.

On the way out she stopped at the reception desk.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s laid my mind to rest, I’ll be back soon to visit.’

Gibbs nodded.

‘Just one thing,’ Ellie said. ‘Has anyone else been to see him this morning?’

Gibbs shook her head. ‘No, why?’

‘Just wondering.’

Ellie walked away, taking her phone out her pocket and dialling Sam’s number again.