local competitions. After the ‘tragedy’, as the episode was described, Kyle had involved herself in a campaign to keep the local youth club open. A photograph showed her standing in front of an ugly grey concrete building, talking to a local councillor. Kyle’s involvement seemed to Cat like a classic displacement activity; she was sublimating and displaying her grief at the same time.
Cat bookmarked the page about the funeral, then called up the missing persons files on the PNC. Apart from a few teens that had disappeared, run away to Cardiff or London before resurfacing, there were no local cases that still remained open in the five years between Kyle’s foster-daughter’s suicide and the three current cases: Esyllt Tilkian, Nia Hopkins and Delyth Moses.
Cat sighed, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Her history screamed at her not to do what she was about to do, but the case demanded otherwise. She made a canna roll-up, started to smoke, then began the next phase of her searches. She was looking for websites aimed at teenage depressives and potential suicides. There were a lot of them out there.
At the top of the Google list were responsible websites specifically aimed at parents and teachers. Young Minds, all pastel shades and informally blocky lettering, ran a service dedicated to counselling and advising children, teens, parents and professionals. There were links through to cosy public information notices issued by the NHS or semi-official bodies like EXIT. Concerned adults could sign up for a newsletter and an outreach programme. Another site, Battlefront, featured the subtitle, ‘You’re already involved’. Its ‘Teenage Suicide’ page contained videos and messages of support, mostly from teens who had lost friends, family members. There were links to Bebo, Facebook, Twitter, Myspace. It was earnest, dull, well-intentioned stuff.
Cat surveyed it then ignored it. She dug down through more sites, more pastel positivity, and soon started to get where she needed to be, the sites she knew would tell her the most, the ones she felt least prepared for. She would do it for Martin. Do it for her own past self.
These were created by the suicidal kids themselves. They had a more basic design layout, hinting at an underworld of suggestible teenagers reaching out to others from the privacy of their black-painted bedrooms, a network of emo kids. The format was always roughly the same: a black background with gothic lettering and morbid symbols – skulls, guttering candles, barbed-wire crowns. There was little sophistication here, no acknowledgement of advances in web design. This was like a trip along the internet’s memory lane. She scrolled down – through all the advice about seeking help, through all the tributes to famous victims like Kurt Cobain and Lee McQueen – looking for links to the sites that offered practical information. ‘How to’ pages for wannabe suicides.
These were more clinical, lacking the goth references of the previous webpages, but still basic, functional. They had no cosy public information notices issued by the NHS, no encouraging pastel colours, no chirpy think-positive crap. No names or contact info either. Cat guessed the sites had been set up on anonymous servers and wouldn’t be easily traced back to individuals. On one page, teen suicide was referred to as ‘going to the happy place’. The same unnamed author called it ‘catching a balloon’. Cat flicked to another site. Again, the reference to suicide as catching a balloon.
She recalled the glittery shape in the pithead tunnel, near the shaft where Nia Hopkins’s body was found, the glittery shape that had composed itself into a balloon as she had got closer. The balloon had jarred at the time, not fitting with the rest of the belongings. Maybe its being there was a sign of suicide, and so perhaps Thomas’s theory was correct. Maybe they were dealing with a suicide ring in Tregaron, whether inspired by Bridgend or
Cat bookmarked the page about the funeral, then called up the missing persons files on the PNC. Apart from a few teens that had disappeared, run away to Cardiff or London before resurfacing, there were no local cases that still remained open in the five years between Kyle’s foster-daughter’s suicide and the three current cases: Esyllt Tilkian, Nia Hopkins and Delyth Moses.
Cat sighed, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Her history screamed at her not to do what she was about to do, but the case demanded otherwise. She made a canna roll-up, started to smoke, then began the next phase of her searches. She was looking for websites aimed at teenage depressives and potential suicides. There were a lot of them out there.
At the top of the Google list were responsible websites specifically aimed at parents and teachers. Young Minds, all pastel shades and informally blocky lettering, ran a service dedicated to counselling and advising children, teens, parents and professionals. There were links through to cosy public information notices issued by the NHS or semi-official bodies like EXIT. Concerned adults could sign up for a newsletter and an outreach programme. Another site, Battlefront, featured the subtitle, ‘You’re already involved’. Its ‘Teenage Suicide’ page contained videos and messages of support, mostly from teens who had lost friends, family members. There were links to Bebo, Facebook, Twitter, Myspace. It was earnest, dull, well-intentioned stuff.
Cat surveyed it then ignored it. She dug down through more sites, more pastel positivity, and soon started to get where she needed to be, the sites she knew would tell her the most, the ones she felt least prepared for. She would do it for Martin. Do it for her own past self.
These were created by the suicidal kids themselves. They had a more basic design layout, hinting at an underworld of suggestible teenagers reaching out to others from the privacy of their black-painted bedrooms, a network of emo kids. The format was always roughly the same: a black background with gothic lettering and morbid symbols – skulls, guttering candles, barbed-wire crowns. There was little sophistication here, no acknowledgement of advances in web design. This was like a trip along the internet’s memory lane. She scrolled down – through all the advice about seeking help, through all the tributes to famous victims like Kurt Cobain and Lee McQueen – looking for links to the sites that offered practical information. ‘How to’ pages for wannabe suicides.
These were more clinical, lacking the goth references of the previous webpages, but still basic, functional. They had no cosy public information notices issued by the NHS, no encouraging pastel colours, no chirpy think-positive crap. No names or contact info either. Cat guessed the sites had been set up on anonymous servers and wouldn’t be easily traced back to individuals. On one page, teen suicide was referred to as ‘going to the happy place’. The same unnamed author called it ‘catching a balloon’. Cat flicked to another site. Again, the reference to suicide as catching a balloon.
She recalled the glittery shape in the pithead tunnel, near the shaft where Nia Hopkins’s body was found, the glittery shape that had composed itself into a balloon as she had got closer. The balloon had jarred at the time, not fitting with the rest of the belongings. Maybe its being there was a sign of suicide, and so perhaps Thomas’s theory was correct. Maybe they were dealing with a suicide ring in Tregaron, whether inspired by Bridgend or
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