there.’
‘When?’
‘Depends on the workload, but hopefully soon.’
Workload. To some knife-wielding arsehole in scrubs Lauren was just workload. Another day at the fucking office.
‘And then what?’
‘Depends on the result of the post-mortem. Whether they declare it an accidental death or . . .’
Mark looked up and held her gaze. ‘Or?’
‘Suicide. Or murder.’
Mark pulled his hand away from hers and gripped his knees.
‘I don’t think I can handle this.’
He could sense Ferguson’s eyes on him and felt like he was suffocating. He could hear the police officer breathing through her nose and had a sudden urge to choke her.
‘I need to know what happened to her,’ he said.
‘We’ll do our best to find out, I promise.’
It was empty, just words. She didn’t care, why should she? Just another person clocking in and clocking out. Lauren was another addition to the workload.
‘I’m going to find out what happened,’ Mark said.
‘Please leave the investigating to us.’
Mark concentrated on his own breath, suddenly aware of the particles of air being sucked into his lungs, reacting in there, absorbed into his bloodstream.
Ferguson spoke again. ‘Do you have anyone you need to call? A relative?’
He felt his blood sing in his veins, every cell active and alert to possibilities.
‘Lauren’s mother.’
‘Do you want me to inform her about what’s happened?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘If you’re sure.’
He stood up and flicked through his phone. Pressed ‘call’. Ruth picked up after two rings. Mark didn’t wait for her to speak.
‘She’s dead,’ he said.
20
The Beach House was a mistake. Young mums with toddlers and babies filled the cafe, like some upscale lifestyle advert. The affluent middle classes of Portobello out enjoying their frappuccinos while their hubbies were off earning, mums swapping gossip and calmly managing the chaos of their kids. It seemed to Mark as if it was all an elaborate front, they weren’t really human at all, like Invasion of the Body Snatchers .
Ruth sat opposite him. She seemed older than when he’d last seen her, but then so did the rest of the world. Everything was broken or decaying now, without purpose.
He felt an urge to speak, but at the same time he couldn’t think of a single thing worth saying.
Ruth’s face was puffy from crying. They’d hugged awkwardly when she came in, holding on to each other for dear life, a release of tears from them both. Mark didn’t know how long they stood like that, but there were plenty of strange looks from the staff and the mums as the sobs escaped.
That release was eventually replaced by numbness as they sat down and ordered drinks. As if their worlds hadn’t just ended.
Mark looked around him. Cute little seascapes lined the walls in deliberately distressed white wood frames, artificially weathered. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the window. He had a similar weather-beaten look himself.
Ruth nursed a peppermint tea. Mark had a black coffee untouched in front of him, stone cold.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Ruth said. ‘My little girl.’
Mark couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t insulting to the universe.
Ruth looked out the window with a tissue pressed to her nose.
‘How, Mark?’
Mark shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘They’re waiting on the post-mortem.’
Ruth turned to him. ‘Do you think she . . . ?’
Mark knew what she was asking. Did her only daughter kill herself. He wished he could give an answer that wouldn’t break her heart even more.
‘I don’t know.’
Ruth was in tears again, head in her hands, sobs escaping.
‘I have to know what happened,’ she said.
Mark stared at her for a long time.
‘I’ll find out.’
He looked out the window. Far away, halfway to Inchmickery island, he could see the coastguard speedboat. He tried to remember it from two days ago, when he
‘When?’
‘Depends on the workload, but hopefully soon.’
Workload. To some knife-wielding arsehole in scrubs Lauren was just workload. Another day at the fucking office.
‘And then what?’
‘Depends on the result of the post-mortem. Whether they declare it an accidental death or . . .’
Mark looked up and held her gaze. ‘Or?’
‘Suicide. Or murder.’
Mark pulled his hand away from hers and gripped his knees.
‘I don’t think I can handle this.’
He could sense Ferguson’s eyes on him and felt like he was suffocating. He could hear the police officer breathing through her nose and had a sudden urge to choke her.
‘I need to know what happened to her,’ he said.
‘We’ll do our best to find out, I promise.’
It was empty, just words. She didn’t care, why should she? Just another person clocking in and clocking out. Lauren was another addition to the workload.
‘I’m going to find out what happened,’ Mark said.
‘Please leave the investigating to us.’
Mark concentrated on his own breath, suddenly aware of the particles of air being sucked into his lungs, reacting in there, absorbed into his bloodstream.
Ferguson spoke again. ‘Do you have anyone you need to call? A relative?’
He felt his blood sing in his veins, every cell active and alert to possibilities.
‘Lauren’s mother.’
‘Do you want me to inform her about what’s happened?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘If you’re sure.’
He stood up and flicked through his phone. Pressed ‘call’. Ruth picked up after two rings. Mark didn’t wait for her to speak.
‘She’s dead,’ he said.
20
The Beach House was a mistake. Young mums with toddlers and babies filled the cafe, like some upscale lifestyle advert. The affluent middle classes of Portobello out enjoying their frappuccinos while their hubbies were off earning, mums swapping gossip and calmly managing the chaos of their kids. It seemed to Mark as if it was all an elaborate front, they weren’t really human at all, like Invasion of the Body Snatchers .
Ruth sat opposite him. She seemed older than when he’d last seen her, but then so did the rest of the world. Everything was broken or decaying now, without purpose.
He felt an urge to speak, but at the same time he couldn’t think of a single thing worth saying.
Ruth’s face was puffy from crying. They’d hugged awkwardly when she came in, holding on to each other for dear life, a release of tears from them both. Mark didn’t know how long they stood like that, but there were plenty of strange looks from the staff and the mums as the sobs escaped.
That release was eventually replaced by numbness as they sat down and ordered drinks. As if their worlds hadn’t just ended.
Mark looked around him. Cute little seascapes lined the walls in deliberately distressed white wood frames, artificially weathered. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the window. He had a similar weather-beaten look himself.
Ruth nursed a peppermint tea. Mark had a black coffee untouched in front of him, stone cold.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Ruth said. ‘My little girl.’
Mark couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t insulting to the universe.
Ruth looked out the window with a tissue pressed to her nose.
‘How, Mark?’
Mark shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘They’re waiting on the post-mortem.’
Ruth turned to him. ‘Do you think she . . . ?’
Mark knew what she was asking. Did her only daughter kill herself. He wished he could give an answer that wouldn’t break her heart even more.
‘I don’t know.’
Ruth was in tears again, head in her hands, sobs escaping.
‘I have to know what happened,’ she said.
Mark stared at her for a long time.
‘I’ll find out.’
He looked out the window. Far away, halfway to Inchmickery island, he could see the coastguard speedboat. He tried to remember it from two days ago, when he
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