Looking this way, east, the firth got wider and wider, endless possibilities out there in open water, the chance to get lost in the enormity of it all. It was that sense of freedom that had brought her on to the east side if she was honest, not the nagging dedication to the place Logan fell from. Or maybe it was both. She couldn’t let go of that moment, that instant when her life ended with his, one simple act reducing her to dust.

Up over the railing, drop on to the ledge, then step off.

That’s all it took.

She got her phone out of her pocket. Couldn’t resist. Flicked to Videos. There it was, the footage of Logan jumping from the spot where she was standing.

She pressed play, her stomach cramping, chest tight.

She watched the empty walkway on her phone, glanced up to check the CCTV camera was still there, watching her right now. It was. Same camera, same walkway, same bridge.

She stared at the clock running at the bottom of the screen, knew exactly when Logan appeared. Seventeen seconds. And yes, there he was, sauntering, not in a hurry, why would you be in a hurry to kill yourself, you’ve got the rest of your life to do it, once it’s done you’ll never be in a rush again.

Step, step, step, so easy, one foot in front of the other, a quick glance at the traffic out of sight from this angle, then another glance out to sea, two more steps then he slowed and turned, rested against the railing with both elbows, just another tourist or local taking in the view, feeling the size of the planet under his feet, his insignificance in the face of it all, the kind of feeling everyone gets in the presence of something big. That simple factor of scale can make a human being feel like an insect, a microbe, a virus, can make them ponder their own existence, the meaning of it all. Or maybe Logan was standing there thinking nothing at all, his mind blank like a Zen master, an empty bowl waiting to be filled with ideas. Or maybe he was tormented, a million thoughts jumbling his brain, voices telling him to jump or not jump, evil, paranoid devils, convinced that his mother and father hated him, all his school friends were laughing at him behind his back, the voices telling him he was a worthless individual who didn’t deserve to live, constant mental anguish and pain and the best way to escape was to end it all, stop existing.

Logan pushed his elbows away from the railing and hoisted his feet sideways on to it. A slight hover there, his body in equilibrium, his poise, like a gymnast preparing for the dismount, then he was over on the wrong side of the railing, standing on the ledge, facing out, the toes of his shoes at the edge, almost dangling over the drop.

Ellie pressed pause. The two thick vertical lines of the pause sign flashed up in the middle of the screen, partially blocking the view of her son. Logan, at the moment of decision, the split second before it was all over, the infinitesimal increment of time before his life blinked out of existence.

Ellie took a shaky breath and looked away from the screen. Cars roared at her back, strangers she would never meet going places she would never visit. The surface of the Forth was choppy with the wind. The water was sepia today, a thin muddiness, white smudges of waves everywhere. It gave the impression of constant movement. She spotted a train heading south across the rail bridge, a small two-carriage affair, and beyond that three oil tankers were lined up at the fuelling depot. Ellie imagined pressing pause on the world, two vertical lines flashing in front of her eyes, the train freezing on the track, waves stalling, traffic behind her suddenly motionless, caught in that instant, the glorious moment before everything went to shit. She imagined the silence of it, no traffic roar, no rush of the ocean, no clack of train wheels. No thoughts in her head, none whatsoever.

She looked down at the screen.

Pressed play.

Logan stepped off the bridge and dropped out of view of the security camera.

She closed her eyes. Counted in her head.

One elephant.

Two elephants.

Three elephants.

Four elephants.

Five elephants.

Six elephants.

He had hit the water.

She went online months ago and found out how long it took. Easy enough to get an answer. Falling from a forty-five-metre bridge took approximately 5.6 seconds. Less than six elephants.

What went through his mind? Happy and serene as he plummeted through the air, or full of regret? Panic and terror, or his mind still racing with all the clutter and debris that we each carry around with us? Maybe he passed out, pissed or shat himself, screamed until his throat was torn.

She looked out over the firth and breathed. Put a hand against the railing to steady herself as a gust of wind swept up the walkway.

She looked at her phone, swiped off Videos, opened Facebook, went to his page. Two messages since last time, both girls, just kisses and hearts. Girls were better at that than boys, better at remembering, not caring about looking soft. She didn’t recognise either of the girls who’d posted. That was Logan’s world, not hers. They had the same world to begin with, but we all make our own worlds as we grow up, create our own universes, propagate our way through the madness alone.

She typed quickly:

Miss you more every day. Love you always. Mum xxx

It was pathetic and insignificant and inadequate.

She stared at the words for a few seconds then typed Sam’s name into the search box, clicked through. Checked his page for messages then flicked through his pictures. Zoomed in on a few. He had a cute smile, beautiful eyes that he hid behind that fringe. He would be a handsome man someday soon.

Ellie put her phone away and strode off the bridge. It was time for action.

31

The marina was quiet. After the roar of the bridge Ellie always felt an emptiness, a vacuum in her waiting to be filled. She walked past the Bosun’s Locker, not open yet, then Karinka’s Kitchen, no one inside. The door to the sailing clubhouse was padlocked, and the only place she spied activity was in the coastguard Portakabin where a guy was hanging up his bulky jacket, starting his shift.

She pictured Ben back in bed. She liked being up and about while he slept, enjoyed being awake before the world, something about the isolation gave her power, a subtle authority. She imagined Sam and Libby in the boat, still wrapped in bedcovers, maybe just coming round. She tried to picture Jack and Alison at Inchcolm Terrace. Had Alison believed anything Ellie told her? If so, surely she couldn’t share a bed with him. Or maybe she’d ignored the accusations, put them to the back of her mind. Maybe she’d brought it up but Jack had talked her round. He was persuasive, Ellie knew that from the car yesterday, he could make you feel sorry for him, as if he was the victim. She was glad she went straight to Sam and Libby afterwards. The look on Libby’s face wiped away any sympathy she might’ve had for Jack, any doubt she harboured about what had happened.

She was at the gate to the pier now. Keyed in her number, Logan’s birthday, reminders everywhere. The door clicked open and she walked down the steps. She wasn’t looking forward to today. Libby would have it tough, but Ellie would be there, support her. She wouldn’t let any harm come to Libby or Sam.

She made her way along the pontoon, the ebb of the waves making it rock underfoot. The wind was stronger at sea level, a westerly straight down the Forth into her face as she walked, twenty knots maybe. Decent sailing weather, as long as it didn’t get any stronger.

She got to the Porpoise. No sign of activity on deck. There was one old-timer on his dinghy further up the pontoon, someone Ellie knew to say hello to, and she nodded and raised a hand in reply to his greeting.