*

Back home and the water was calling her as she stood in the kitchen gazing out the window. She had a note from Ben in her hand, he’d gone out flyering again, somehow convinced after their boat trip yesterday that something was up with the new bridge.

She jogged upstairs, stripped and got changed into her wetsuit, stretching the material and pulling her limbs into it. There was a little more room than before from the weight she’d lost, the rubber rippling and bunching at her stomach and thighs.

She went out the back door, not bothering to lock it, pulling the cap over her head, pushing stray strands of hair under the silicon. She didn’t stop to think, just dived in, the best way to acclimatise, the body used to the cold within seconds. She began stroking straight away, stroke and push, stroke and kick. She was already tired from the run but she had to feel empty, wanted to keep going until there was nothing left inside her. Swim until you can’t see land.

She concentrated on her breathing again, in out, in out, angling her head to the side, then face in the water, up to the side, down, pushing the slick Forth behind her, overwhelmed by the grey swells, the waves making her adjust her stroke, constantly monitoring her body, checking her strength, her muscles talking to her.

Before she knew it she was two hundred yards out. She pictured a huge ocean liner or ferry bearing down on her, the sharp edge of the bow splurging the water aside as it thundered over her, pummelling her body, whipping in the force of the undertow, ripping her to shreds in the wake of the engines. She imagined Logan falling from the bridge directly on top of her, the two of them spiralling downwards with the force of it, held in each other’s embrace, tumbling to the silt and sediment of the bottom, sucked into the mud, unable to break free, kissing each other one last time before they let the ocean into their lungs.

She stopped and treaded water, taking in her surroundings. It felt so free to be out here, unshackled from earth for a moment. But then she began to think about Sam and Libby, Ben and Logan, Jack and Alison, all of them leaking in through the cracks. She started swimming back to shore, breath shortening, limbs stretching, muscles screaming. She concentrated on staying alive and moving, always moving forward.

She was a hundred yards out from shore, arms and legs burning, a good burn. She had slowed down but that was fine, she was still going forward, pushing the past behind her, pushing the waves behind her, pushing her life behind her one stroke at a time.

She spotted Ben standing on shore, cup of coffee in one hand, towel in the other. She couldn’t make out his face yet, too far away, as she pummelled through the water, the surface splash salty on her lips, the taste of it like sweat and fish and freedom.

Then she was only twenty yards out, able to put her feet down and wade the rest of the way. She stumbled on the pebbles underfoot, her legs jelly from the exertion, and wiped her eyes. She saw now that Ben was frowning. He held out the towel and stepped to the side, his head nodding back to the house, where two uniformed police officers were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

26

‘This is not a formal interview, Mrs Napier, we just want a little chat.’

Ellie looked around. This wasn’t an interview room, didn’t look anything like she’d seen on television crime dramas, they were just sitting in the corner of a regular open-plan office, computer and paperwork on the desk, spreadsheets and forms pinned to a noticeboard, a couple of framed awards mounted on the wall.

They were at the back of the police station, so the view out the window was of someone’s garage and an overgrown lawn. Round the front of the station were the Forth and her house, where Ben was waiting.

She’d told him not to come. The police wanted to talk to her about her visit to the McKennas’ house, and Jack’s attempted murder. They seemed happy to talk at her kitchen table but she wanted them out, wanted to distance the whole thing from what was left of her family. So she told Ben not to come to the station. He’d mentioned getting a solicitor but the female officer said there was no need, it was strictly informal. And anyway, Ellie thought, they didn’t have a solicitor. Who has a criminal lawyer in real life?

She’d gone upstairs, dried off, changed into her clothes and walked with them to the station. Now she was sitting in this ordinary office, facing the two cops. She didn’t recognise either of them, she’d thought she might, from Logan’s suicide, or just from around town. She was surprised about that, it couldn’t be much of a police force in such a small station.

The female officer was about the same age as her, maybe a little younger, auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, sleek, well conditioned. Her nails had been done recently, she took care of her appearance. Ellie saw a wedding ring and wondered if she had kids. The male officer was younger, just a kid really, mid-twenties, confident, sharp haircut, smelling of cologne, expensive, chunky watch on his wrist.

‘Ellie.’ It was the woman officer, a sympathetic note in her voice. Were they going to do good cop, bad cop, did police really do that?

‘My name is PC Macdonald, this is PC Wood. Do you know why you’re here?’

‘No.’

‘Alison McKenna contacted us,’ Macdonald said. ‘You know who I mean?’

Ellie nodded.

‘She said you’ve been round to see her.’ Macdonald had a notepad and pen at the ready. Ellie noticed she’d already written Ellie’s name and the date at the top of the page and underlined it. ‘Have you visited her home?’

Ellie nodded again.

‘Why?’

Ellie rolled her wedding ring round her finger. She felt something like tears beginning to well up inside her, felt her stomach lurch, bile rise in her throat.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ This was the young guy, Wood, incredulous. He got a look from the woman. Ellie wondered about the power balance between these two. He would resent having a woman as his boss. They were the same rank but she was older, more experienced, in charge.

Ellie kept looking at her hands in her lap.

Macdonald stared at her. ‘Mrs McKenna says you made accusations about her husband, Police Sergeant Jack McKenna. Is that true?’

Ellie lifted her head and looked at the certificates on the wall.

‘Mrs Napier?’

Ellie shook her head, sniffed. ‘No, I never said anything about her husband.’

‘Do you know PS McKenna?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know Mrs McKenna?’

‘No.’

‘Then why go to her house?’ Macdonald flicked a page back in her notebook. ‘She says you’ve visited twice in the last two days, is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said.

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to offer sympathy.’

‘Sympathy?’

Ellie rubbed at her palm with her thumb. ‘I know what it’s like to have trouble in the family.’

Macdonald cocked her head to the side. ‘Your son Logan.’

Ellie nodded.

‘But this is very different,’ Macdonald continued. ‘This was a violent assault, attempted murder. What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Nothing,’ Ellie said. ‘I just felt . . . I get confused. I’m on medication, you see. Since Logan.’

Wood leaned forward, he’d had enough. ‘Alison said you made accusations about her husband. A good cop.’

Ellie shook her head.

‘She also said you’d been in touch with her son, Sam. Is that true?’

Ellie shook her head again. ‘I made that up.’

‘Why would you do something like that?’

Ellie felt tears well up in her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know,’ Wood said. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Have you been in touch with Sam McKenna?’ Macdonald said, voice softer.

‘No.’ Ellie sniffled as she spoke. ‘I made it all up.’

‘Why?’

‘I saw in the news that he was missing,’ Ellie said, tears down her cheeks now. ‘I imagined what it must be like for him, alone out there somewhere, not wanting to go home.’