Her home was made up of a million reminders, its character shaped by the people who had lived in it. The house at Inchcolm Terrace must be the same. What did Sam and Libby know about that place that no one else did, what secrets did they have from the world?

She closed her eyes and imagined the front door opening, Logan bustling past with his bag and a banana in his hand, in a rush to get to school. No time to chat, hardly even looking up, that eternal teenage hurry, locked in a world of his own importance.

She opened her eyes, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

‘Honey, is that you?’ Ben’s voice from the kitchen.

He appeared in the doorway. Dishevelled, still needing a shave and a haircut, his hoodie frayed and dirty. He was the love of her life, though, she just had to try really hard to remember how all that worked.

‘God, I was worried sick.’

It was the kind of thing they used to say as a joke if one of them was late back from work. Hamming it up for Logan’s benefit, an in-joke about being a real, proper couple who didn’t need to have overblown displays of affection. One of them would rush to the door, overdoing it, showing off, like something from Gone with the Wind. But this wasn’t a joke and anyway there was no one else here, no audience to appreciate it.

He came over and put his arms round her. He needed a shower, but the smell of his sweat was so comforting she was glad he hadn’t washed. She felt her shoulders shrug with the beginning of a sob, tears in her eyes as she reached round his waist and linked her fingers together.

‘It’s OK,’ he said.

But he was wrong, it wasn’t OK.

‘Come on through,’ he said.

She didn’t want to let go, but allowed herself to be led to the kitchen. The overhead light seemed too bright after the gloominess of the hallway, and she squinted.

He pulled a chair out for her then put the kettle on.

So much in their lives had happened in this kitchen. She remembered wandering around here in the night, half asleep, trying to measure baby powder into a bottle, boiling the kettle, shaking it together then cooling it down in a bowl of water. She remembered dabbing at Logan’s knee with antiseptic wipes, blood dripping on the laminate, soaking through the ineffectual plaster she put on, then grabbing her keys to take him to A&E when the cut wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The rush of the kettle boiling filled the room.

‘They kept you for hours,’ Ben said as the kettle clicked off.

Ellie turned to him. ‘Sorry?’

‘The police. It’s four hours since you went to the station. They weren’t interviewing you that whole time, surely?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘Lots of waiting around.’

He placed a mug of green tea in front of her then pulled out the chair opposite.

‘So,’ he said. He had a kind but worried look on his face.

‘What?’

Ben angled his head and narrowed his eyes. An expression she was so familiar with, like looking in a mirror.

‘I presume you’re going to tell me what that whole police thing was about, and why you didn’t want me to come with you.’

Ellie picked up her tea and brought it to her lips but it was too hot to drink. She blew across the top, watching the ripples as they pushed away from her. She clutched at the warmth of the mug with both hands, her thumbs through the handle.

She took a long breath. ‘It was about that police officer who was attacked.’

Ben looked confused.

‘The one up at Inchcolm Terrace,’ Ellie said.

Ben frowned, his mouth squint. ‘Yeah, I know, it’s not like we have loads of cops getting stabbed around here. But what’s that got to do with you?’

Ellie wanted to be somewhere else. Tucked up in bed, or at the bottom of the ocean, maybe. But she needed to be here and she needed to tell him.

‘I went to see his wife,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘To speak to her.’

‘What about?’

‘About what’s been going on in her house.’

Ben shook his head, still not understanding. ‘What has been going on in her house?’

‘Bad things.’

‘How would you know?’ Ben’s face was crumpled. ‘You don’t know them.’

Ellie shook her head. ‘I didn’t, before all this.’

‘But you do now?’ Ben said.

Ellie nodded. ‘Kind of.’

She put her mug down and laid her hands in her lap. She rubbed at her thumb with her other hand. Ben reached over and placed a hand on top of hers.

‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’ he said.

Ellie hesitated then looked up and saw Ben’s face. She swallowed.

‘I met the missing boy,’ she said.

‘His son?’

‘Sam, yes. On the road bridge, a few days ago. He was about to jump.’

Ellie felt Ben’s grip on her hands tighten.

‘I brought him back here. He was all over the place. He had blood on him, not his own.’

‘His dad’s?’

Ellie nodded.

‘He stabbed him?’

Another nod.

‘You should’ve turned him in,’ Ben said.

Ellie took her hands away from his and stared at him. ‘I couldn’t.’

Ben held her gaze for a long time. Rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘But you should’ve told me.’

Ellie looked down, spoke under her breath. ‘I know.’

‘Why did he do it?’ Ben’s voice was soft, mirroring Ellie’s.

‘His dad has been abusing his little sister.’

‘Jesus. Are you sure?’

Ellie looked up. ‘Yes. I’ve spoken to both of them.’

‘The girl too?’

Ellie nodded again. It felt like all she ever did, nod in agreement.

‘They have to go to the police.’

‘I know,’ Ellie said. ‘They will. I’m taking Libby tomorrow morning, first thing. It’s just taken us a while to get to this stage.’

Ben frowned, thinking. ‘What did the mum say?’

‘She doesn’t believe it.’

‘Are you sure the kids are telling the truth?’ Ben said.

‘I think so.’

‘You think so?’

‘They are.’

‘Are they back home?’ Ben said.

Ellie shook her head. ‘Jack is out of hospital already. I couldn’t let them go back there.’

‘So where are they?’

Ellie looked past Ben to the black water out the window.

‘In the boat.’

‘Our boat?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Christ, since when?’

No point complicating things. ‘Just today.’

Ben shook his head. ‘What have you got yourself messed up in, Ellie?’

She put her hands on the table. ‘I know, it’s ridiculous. But you understand, don’t you? When I saw him on the bridge . . .’

She felt her breath getting short and the words caught in her chest.

‘It’s OK.’ He rubbed her hands. ‘You’re doing the right thing. You’re protecting them.’

She wiped at her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t thank me, I haven’t done anything.’

She stood up. ‘Yes, you have.’

He stood up too, and she put her arms around him, kissed him, nestled into his chest.

‘Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?’ he said.

She didn’t speak for a moment, weighing it up. ‘No, I’ll do it myself.’

‘If that’s what you want. But I’m here if you need me for anything. You know that, right?’

She looked him in the eye. ‘I know.’

30

The wind was up, whipping her hair into her face so that she had to pull a strand away from the corner of her mouth. She looked down.

She’d swithered this morning. For the first time in the months since she’d been coming to the bridge, she thought about walking out on the west side, not the east. The east was Logan’s side, the expansive spread of water out to the rail bridge, the North Sea and Norway beyond. But from the east side she couldn’t see the marina, the Porpoise. If she’d walked out the west side she could see the boat, imagine Sam and Libby curled up asleep in the forward cabin, unaware of the stress today would surely bring. Out west it was all industrial, the new bridge, the ferry port, the naval base, the oil refinery upriver. It was a diminishing view, the Forth getting narrower, the banks edging closer, squeezing the body of water, reducing it to a trickle.