And this new boy sitting amongst it all.

She realised he was waiting for her to leave so he could get changed.

‘Oh sorry,’ she said, turning her back. ‘I won’t look.’

She felt him hesitate then heard him begin to untie his trainers. She looked at the television on the dresser. She could see his shape reflected in the black glass as he peeled his damp jeans off. She realised something and opened the drawer in front of her, pulled out a pair of Logan’s underwear. He preferred trunks, tighter than boxers but not as skimpy as briefs. Without turning, she held them out behind her back.

‘Here, you’ll need these.’

She felt him take the trunks, and caught a little of his deodorant smell. Not exactly the same as Logan’s, but in the same ballpark, and too much of it, like all teenage boys. Probably Lynx, that’s what they all wore because of the ads with the half-naked girls all over the guys who used it.

She looked back at the television. Saw Sam slip off his shorts, his back to her, pale buttocks in the glass of the screen. He wiped at his crotch and legs with his scrunched up shorts, then pulled on Logan’s underwear, stumbling to get his foot in the first hole, yanking them up, pulling the jeans over them. Ellie squinted as she watched him in the glass, imagining Logan.

She turned round. ‘Sorted?’

He nodded, looked at his clothes on the floor. Ellie picked them up without a fuss and rolled them up in a ball in her hands. ‘I’ll get these in the wash.’

Sam shook his head. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘It’s no problem.’ She moved to the door. She wanted to ask him so much, but didn’t want to scare him away. ‘Come on, I’ll put the kettle on.’

She went downstairs, heard his footfall behind her as she turned into the kitchen. She threw the jeans and shorts into the washing machine, poured some liquid in and switched it on. The machine shuddered as she took the kettle to the sink and filled it. When she turned back he was standing in the doorway. She pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, nodded at it.

‘Sit down, love.’

He took the seat and picked at his fingernails.

She switched on the kettle, came over and sat next to him.

‘Want to tell me what that was about, on the bridge?’

‘No.’

He began crying again. Ellie was starting to see a pattern, periods of near catatonia, followed by tears. He was getting himself het up now, his breath catching, like a panic attack. His shoulders shook with it. She got up and put her hands on his neck muscles, felt the tension and knots beneath her fingers.

‘Hey, it’s all right,’ she said, almost a whisper. ‘Whatever’s the matter is outside that front door, OK? Nothing can hurt you in here, you’re safe now.’

It was a litany, under her breath, the tone reassuring more than the words. She meant it, though, she would take care of this boy, never let any harm come to him.

He began to calm down. She made green tea for them both, and got a couple of pills out a drawer. A sleeping pill and a mood stabiliser. She couldn’t remember the brand names. She brought the tea and the pills over to the table.

‘Take these,’ she said. ‘They’ll make you feel better.’

He frowned.

‘They work, trust me,’ she said.

He picked them up and took them, sipping at his tea to wash them down. She sipped from her own mug as she sat.

‘What’s your surname, Sam?’

He hesitated, looked out the kitchen window. They were at the back of the house, the view of the bridges, the massive lines of them framing the whole world, pointing their eyes towards North Queensferry on the opposite bank.

‘Look at me,’ Ellie said. ‘I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.’

‘McKenna,’ he said.

‘Do you go to the High School?’

‘Just finished.’

‘Sixth year?’

He nodded.

‘So you’re seventeen, eighteen?’

‘Seventeen.’

Two years ahead of Logan, then.

‘Did you know my son, Logan?’

Sam shook his head.

‘But you know what he did?’

He nodded. It was the talk of the school for weeks, maybe months. They had a memorial for him, some words at assembly from the head teacher. Ellie was invited but hadn’t gone, couldn’t stand having all that youthfulness and vitality in her face.

‘It’s not the answer, Sam.’

She took his hand but he pulled it away.

‘You don’t know,’ he said.

Ellie sighed. ‘You think I don’t? What I’ve been through with Logan?’

He fiddled with the zip on his hoodie, head down. He jumped like he’d got a fright, then pulled the zip up to the top, hands shaking, eyes wide.

Ellie thought she’d seen something.

She reached out to his hand on the zip. ‘What’s that?’

He brushed her hand away, but she put it back a second time and he didn’t resist. His eyes looked around for something to distract himself.

She peeled his fingers away and pulled the zip down, pushed the material aside. His blue T-shirt underneath had marks spattered across it. Dark stains.

‘Is that blood?’

His breathing was erratic again, his body shaking.

She tried to unzip the hoodie the whole way. ‘What is it, Sam? Are you hurt?’

He knocked her hand away, hard this time, and pulled the zip up.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, through stuttering breaths.

‘Then . . .’

She heard a noise. A car pulling into the driveway.

Ben was home. Ellie looked at Sam. She didn’t want to share him, not yet. It was their little secret, Sam and Ellie. And there was the bloodstain to think about.

She heard the car engine switch off.

‘Come on.’ She took Sam’s hand and yanked him out of his seat.

She pulled him up the stairs and into Logan’s room as she heard the front door open.

‘Hi, honey.’ Ben in the hallway.

She pushed Sam on to Logan’s bed. ‘Stay in here and keep quiet.’

She heard footsteps coming upstairs. She backed out of the room, closed the door and turned.

Ben was halfway up.

‘Hi,’ she said, keeping her voice level.

‘Hey.’ Ben looked at her, then beyond at Logan’s bedroom door. ‘What were you doing in there?’

‘Nothing.’ She walked downstairs past him. ‘Just putting something away.’

He followed her into the kitchen.

‘Are you all right?’ he said.

‘Fine.’

‘Who’s that for?’

She turned. ‘What?’

He was pointing at the two mugs of green tea on the table.

‘You,’ she said. ‘The kettle boiled just as I heard you pull up.’

He frowned at her for a moment. She examined him. He hadn’t shaved in a week, the stubble greyer than it used to be, a white patch on the side of his chin that was never there before. He needed a haircut, messy at the sides, too long at the back. He looked tired, dark pouches under his eyes, hollow cheeks, and he seemed to be squinting into the light all the time. His checked shirt and jeans needed washed. She caught a little of his scent, the smell of nervous sweat. He always seemed to be nervous now, nervous about what shit life would deliver next. She knew that feeling well enough.

‘I can’t really stop,’ he said. He picked up Sam’s mug and took a sip. ‘I don’t know why you try to get me to drink this stuff, you know I can’t stand it.’

‘It’s supposed to relax you. Clean the system.’

‘I know what it’s supposed to do.’

She looked at him for a moment. ‘What are you up to?’

He patted at the satchel over his shoulder. ‘More flyering.’ He pulled a leaflet out, handed it to her.

This was how Ben filled the void since Logan. While Ellie had resorted to physical routine to blot out the blackness, Ben had jumped straight down the conspiracy-theory rabbit hole. It wasn’t Logan’s fault according to Ben, it couldn’t be, he was under some kind of external influence, something made him do it, no son of mine could ever think about taking his own life. Denial, obviously. He wasn’t stupid, though, deep down he must realise it was ridiculous, just as her swimming and running and walking to the bridge was a coping mechanism, nothing else.