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.’