She got the first-aid kit out a cupboard and opened it. Rubbed at her hand with an antiseptic wipe. The cut wasn’t deep, a plaster would do, no need for a bandage. She raked in the box and pulled out the biggest one she could find, about half the size of her palm. She peeled the adhesive off the back and pushed the edges down on her skin, flexed her fist a couple of times to work the stiffness out.

She made mugs of tea, took them through to the kids in the living room like a normal day, two young visitors in need of sustenance. She put the mugs down on the coffee table. Sam stood at the back window, looking at the sea carved out between the bridges. He turned to stare at the road bridge.

Libby was looking at Logan’s most recent school photo on the mantelpiece.

‘Are you two OK?’ Ellie said.

They both turned and nodded but neither spoke.

‘I mean physically,’ Ellie said, squeezing her hand tight. ‘Are either of you hurt?’

Sam rolled and cricked his neck. ‘We’re fine.’

‘What about . . .’ Ellie didn’t know what to say. ‘You know, back there.’

Libby shook her head and looked down. Ellie put an arm round her. Libby flinched and shirked it off, and Ellie was left with her arm hanging in midair.

Libby touched the picture of Logan, lifted it from the mantelpiece.

‘Is this your son?’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said.

Sam spoke. ‘Libby.’

‘It’s OK,’ Ellie said.

‘The one who killed himself?’ Libby said.

Ellie nodded. ‘Jumped off the bridge.’

‘When was that?’

‘Six months ago,’ Ellie said.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Logan.’

‘He’s cute.’

‘Yeah, he is.’ Ellie was aware of the present tense.

‘You must miss him,’ Libby said, putting the photograph down.

‘All the time,’ Ellie said.

Libby looked at Sam, then past him out the window.

‘I won’t miss Dad,’ she said. ‘He was evil.’

Ellie wondered if it was as simple as that. Just decide someone is evil, then you never had to care. But Jack must’ve been nice to his daughter sometimes. Did the bad behaviour annihilate the good, wipe it away so all that was left was a monster?

Ellie thought about the fight on the boat. Jack had been aggressive, trying to reclaim his daughter, his family. Libby made accusations about him, he was stressed. Did that mitigate his aggression? Or theirs? They killed a man, and Ellie wasn’t entirely sure why. She knew what Sam said he saw, but what if Jack was right, what if Sam was unstable, imagining things? What if Libby was lying?

It didn’t matter now, it was done, they just had to deal with it the best they could.

‘I better go,’ Ellie said. ‘Stay in the house until Ben and I come back. Don’t answer the door to anyone. Understand?’

Libby stared at her for a moment.

‘We understand,’ she said.

34

Ellie took a lungful of air as she stood at the berth. This felt like it might be the last time she’d see the marina, her small world, before the weight would be too heavy on her shoulders, the pressure on her chest too much to breathe.

She was standing next to the Porpoise. She ran her hand against the name, painted in blue on the bow. It was faded and chips of paint fell away as she swept her hand along it, catching on her fingers. She turned to the sea and took in the size of it, the span of the bridges, the workmen on the new foundations in the distance.

She went on board and down into the cabin.

Ben was sitting at the table, head in hands. He turned when he heard her footsteps. He looked flushed, blood just under the skin, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wiped at it with his sleeve.

On the floor next to Jack’s body were a kit bag and two rucksacks.

Ellie nodded at them. ‘What’s going on?’

Ben got up.

‘Ballast.’

Ellie shook her head. ‘We use water ballast, I don’t get it.’

‘Not for the boat,’ Ben said. ‘For him.’

Ellie looked at the bags, then at Jack, then at Ben. She knelt down and opened one of the rucksacks. It was full of rocks and broken bricks. She opened the other two bags and they were the same.

‘Where did you get this?’

Ben lifted his head. ‘From the old warehouse over there. Took three trips.’

Ellie zipped the bags and stood up. ‘We’re going to dump his body in the firth?’

Ben nodded. ‘It’s the only way.’

‘We’ll have to make sure the weights stay attached,’ Ellie said. ‘If they come loose he could wash up anywhere along the coast.’

‘Let’s just make sure we attach them properly,’ Ben said. ‘We can tie knots, can’t we?’

Ellie laughed despite herself. She raised a hand to her face and covered her mouth, ashamed, then felt tears come.

‘This is fucking awful,’ she said.

‘I know.’

They sat like that for a few seconds in silence.

‘We’ll have to scuttle the boat,’ Ben said.

Ellie looked round the cabin and sighed. There was blood all over the floor, soaked into the boards, seeped into the hull. Forensic trail everywhere, there was no way it could be cleaned without leaving evidence.

‘I know.’ She looked at Jack. ‘But we do the body separately?’

Ben nodded. ‘If we leave the body in the boat and scuttle her, it’s too big a target to find. It can be spotted on sonar, or by diving teams. If we do the body first, make sure it’s weighed down, we can dump Jack further out in the middle of the firth, away from prying eyes, then bring the boat in closer to shore, so that we have a chance of getting back to land.’

‘But we’ll have the life raft,’ Ellie said.

Ben shook his head.

‘Draws too much attention,’ he said. ‘The coastguard would be called out. Then we’d have to explain what happened with the boat.’

Ellie stared at him. ‘You’re saying we swim to shore?’

Ben nodded. ‘Will you manage?’

Ellie was the better swimmer. ‘Will you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Ben said.

‘OK.’

They were both silent, thinking. Ellie looked at Jack’s body. Images flashed into her brain, the smell of his sweat as she tightened the kill cord round his neck. The sound of his breath catching in his throat. The red swill of blood around them. The scratch and scrape of his feet against the wall as his legs thrashed about.

She turned away. ‘We have to get this right.’

‘I know.’

They had to think it through. This was a logistical problem to be solved, nothing more, they couldn’t let it be anything else.

‘Do we wait until dark?’ Ellie said.

Ben frowned. ‘Too suspicious, who goes out on the Forth at night? It’ll draw attention.’

‘But it’s more risky in daylight.’

Ben went over to a drawer and pulled out the OS map of the firth. It was folded over at the area around the marina, the creases worn and weathered. He flattened it out on the table and they both studied it.

‘We have to get away from the bridges,’ Ellie said. ‘Upstream.’

Ben nodded. ‘Less traffic on the water.’

They were talking it through so they did it right. It was how they always planned sailing trips, back when they used to take trips together. The planning was the most important part, that way if anything unexpected happened, they were ready. It felt good to be doing this, like a proper couple again. Ellie touched Ben’s arm.

‘And we’ll need to go past the new bridgeworks, quite a bit past.’

‘But not too far, because we’ll have to walk home once we get ashore.’

Ellie nodded. ‘So not on the north shore either, obviously.’

She traced her finger along the south shore of the Forth.

‘But the coast road runs up here for miles,’ she said. ‘Anyone driving along it could spot us.’

Ben put his finger down on a little blue symbol.

‘Not here,’ he said. ‘The road goes inland round Hopetoun House. They’ve got all those grounds around the castle. We could come ashore at Bog Wood or North Deer Park.’