‘The tea’s stewed,’ he says, picking up the pot. It shakes in his hands, enough that the lid starts to rattle. ‘I’ll make some more.’
I take it from him. ‘It’s okay.’ I fill a mug and sit down. Take too large a swallow. Don’t slitter, Catriona.
‘Cat.’ Ross sits down next to me. His fingers are warm against mine. I try to tell myself their touch doesn’t help, doesn’t straightaway soothe a hollow place deep inside my chest. ‘Please don’t shut me out.’
I take back my hands, press them between my knees instead. ‘I need to see her.’
Ross almost recoils. ‘What? Why? The DNA—’
‘You’re the one who said she wasn’t suicidal,’ I say. Because just about the only thing still holding me together is that stubborn and enduring I’d know. That I would have felt the moment she died, the moment she drowned, the moment she left. That those hopeless, helpless, horrifying seizures of yesterday were only shock, only shame.
‘Maybe she didn’t mean to do it.’ He takes hold of my hands again, pulls them in hard against his breastbone. I can feel the too-fast thud-thud of his heart. ‘Maybe it was an accident. Maybe she just wanted me to notice she was in pain.’ His eyes are wet with unshed tears. And when I take back my hands again, he stands up, turns away from me.
I look down at the two tiles in front of the Kitchener. That cracked line of grout stained dark. My smile feels tight, like my lips might split and bleed. ‘Years ago, I read about this tribe. It was in one of Grandpa’s encyclopaedias. And it … it was one of those lucky tribes that had managed to avoid the rest of us for centuries. In South America somewhere, I don’t know.’
‘Cat—’
‘If a member of this tribe did something wrong, got caught doing something wrong, or even just thought they’d done something – anything, you know, from telling a lie to committing a murder – this tribe, this entire tribe, would take them into the centre of their village, and they would form this circle around them, so tight they couldn’t escape, couldn’t hide. And then they would tell that person everything that was good about them. Every good thing they’d ever done. Every good thing they’d ever been. Over and over. And they wouldn’t stop. Not until that person heard them. Believed them.’
My voice breaks. My eyes burn with tears I refuse to cry. My hands twitch to hold his. My body aches to lie down. To feel his hard, warm, sure weight against me, inside me. And all of me wants to look in a mirror and see only El. To stand on a freezing cold beach and say this is where I’ll stay. To never allow her to let go of my hand. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how many times she pushes me away.
CHAPTER 20
Marie stands on the doorstep inside a swathe of bright morning light. She’s holding a huge bunch of calla lilies, and tears are running down her cheeks.
‘Je suis désolée. C’est affreux. Je suis tellement désolée.’
I take the flowers – their antiseptic smell waters my eyes and stings my nose. ‘Thank you, Marie.’
She takes out a beautifully embroidered handkerchief and dabs at her skin. ‘I knew … I knew she had to be … mais …’
‘Sorry – I’d invite you in, but I’m just about to go out.’
She blinks at my denim jacket. Today, I can’t even look at the grey cashmere coat hanging on the stand behind me.
‘Is Ross here?’
‘No.’ I’m pretty sure she knows he isn’t here. That she waited until he’d left for Colquhoun’s before deciding to come over.
She leans close to me, her eyes suddenly sharp and dry. ‘Did you ask him? About what he said to me? How he threatened me?’
‘Marie—’
‘You are in danger.’ Her fingers close around my wrist. ‘Tu comprends?’
‘Marie! Stop.’ I snatch my hand back.
She shakes her head, takes a phone out of her pocket, and then thrusts it at me. ‘Regardez. Look what he says to me one week before Ellice disappears. Look!’
Stay away from her. Stay away or you’ll regret it.
It’s Ross’s number. I think. But I shove the phone back towards her, start trying to close the door. ‘I can’t do this now. I have to—’
‘You must! You’re in danger!’ She pushes back. Tries to grip hold of me again. ‘S’il te plaît!’
I’m glad of the fury that burns suddenly through me, laying waste to everything else. I drop the flowers and wrench the door wide, pushing Marie aside as I step out and slam it shut behind me.
‘Catriona—’
I battle to lock the door as her hands continue to touch me, pull at me. I want to scream. I want to run away from all of this, and never look back.
‘Catriona. Listen to me! You—’
‘I’m going to the morgue!’ My shout sounds, even to my own ears, more like a scream. Marie closes her mouth and steps back, drops her hands to her sides.
I can feel other eyes on me as I run down the steps and through the gate, along the road towards the number 49 bus that’s pulling in to the stop. But I don’t slow, don’t turn around. Don’t look back.
The City Mortuary is an ugly concrete block sandwiched between beautiful Victorian terraces. Logan is leaning against a set of double doors next to a big metal-shuttered garage. When he sees me, he straightens up, and his smile is solemn, fleeting. I fight the threat of another choking seizure by biting down hard on my bottom lip and pushing my fingernails deep into the fattest part of my palms.
‘Hi, Cat.’
A sign on the wall alongside him says EDINBURGH CITY MORTUARY. It’s a very grand, gold-coloured plaque, polished enough that I can see my face in it. I blink hard, look up at the sky instead. It’s white and heavy with the threat of spring snow.
‘You’re bleeding.’
I feel the heel of Logan’s palm against my cheek, the rough warmth of his thumb against my skin. I turn my head and pull my lip between my teeth.
‘I’m okay.’
He nods. Drops his hands down by his sides. ‘Okay.’
‘Logan.’ Rafiq is standing inside the double doors. Just looking at her sleek ponytail and intense stare transports me back to the house. I’m sorry, Catriona. It’s definitely her. It’s definitely El. ‘You’re needed back at the station.’
He doesn’t argue, but there’s some defiance in the way he steps closer to me, briefly squeezes my hand. ‘Take care, okay? You’ve got my number.’
Rafiq holds the doors open, nods at me as I pass her. The waiting room is a soft magnolia. It’s very warm and very empty.
‘Sit down a minute,’ she says. ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?’
I nod. Even though I’m not.
She sighs. ‘Would it help if I showed you the DNA report?’
I don’t know what she means by help. Although I do know that I want to see it enough to nod again.
She takes out her phone and hands it to me.
DNA ISOLATION TEST
Reference Samples:
ID 1551204: Soft-bristle toothbrush belonging to Ellice MacAuley (dob 01/07/86) [Collected 04/04/18]
ID 1551205: Wide-barrel hairbrush belonging to Ellice MacAuley (dob 01/07/86) [Collected 15/04/18]