And here it came. Exactly as Leo had predicted. Was this, really, what this whole thing was all about?
‘We’ve discussed this, Meg.’
‘No, Leo, we haven’t. Not properly.’
‘We’ve said all we need to. Don’t you think? I know how you feel, you know how I feel. At the end of the day, it’s my decision. I’m not going to be swayed just because you . because of some . . .’ He gestured loosely towards the living room.
‘ Your decision?’ Megan seemed to wrestle for a moment with her fury. She closed her eyes and clasped her forehead. ‘Can’t you see?’ she said at last. ‘Don’t you realise how this hurting us? You, me. Ellie above all. And why? For some evil little . .’ She shook her head in lieu of the noun.
‘Evil? How do you know he’s evil? Christ, Meg, you haven’t even met him!’ ‘I don’t want to meet him! That’s the last thing I would want to do! And what’s evil, Leo,
if not what he did? What’s evil if not him ?’
Leo directed his disgust towards the floor. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘You can’t possibly understand.’
‘I understand perfectly. Better than you do, clearly.’ ‘Meaning what exactly?’
‘Meaning why you’re doing this. Meaning what it is you’re trying to prove!’ ‘Trying to prove? The only thing I’m trying to prove is that this boy – this child – needs
help, not a life in prison.’ Leo shook his head, forgetting for an instant that he was in the middle of an argument. ‘You should meet Daniel’s parents, Meg. In their way they’re as messed up as he is. I mean, it’s no wonder, when you think about it, that—’
‘I don’t care!’ Megan gripped the air. ‘I don’t know why you care! Why you seem to care more about a murderer than you do about your family!’
‘That’s not true! And he’s not a—’
Leo stopped himself. Megan stared. She did not speak but she did not have to. Leo coughed. ‘That . that’s not true,’ he said. ‘You and Ellie come first. You know you
do.’
Megan moved from her position by the counter. ‘Then put us first, Leo. Please.’ The track curved and the train tipped and the ground beneath them seemed to fall away. Out of one window reared a ragged cliff face; in the other, the bucking sea. A wave lunged and clawed the track, then slid back into the writhing mass. The water, in the winter sun, sparkled like a lunatic’s grin. It seemed joyous, heedless, unconstrained in its dementia. It launched itself again and this time lashed the carriage but the train seemed barely to judder. It sped on – lungs full, head down – and dived for the approaching tunnel.
The world turned black.
It had been Leo’s idea. A day out, just the three of them. To the coast. How about Dawl-ish? Megan had been averse, initially; suspicious, though of what specifically she probably could not have said. Leo had remained steadfast, however, acting as though her objections were grounded in the purely mundane. Agreed, he said: the weather wasn’t perfect but when, in this country, was it ever? The sun was out; it was just a bit windy. So let’s just go. Shall we? It would be good for Ellie. It would be good for all of us. Please, Meg. What do you say?
Ellie, it had turned out, had been even more reluctant than her mother. She had argued, to the point where Leo had nearly given up, when Megan had brought her convert’s zeal into the fight. Together they had convinced her – dragged her – and here, now, was their collect-ive reward. Fun, part one: the train ride.
And it was spectacular. In this final section of the journey from the city, the Riviera Line laced itself along the country’s edge. The ocean was beside them – beneath them, it felt like – and only the tunnels offered intermittent shelter from waves that were rising to the season. Even Ellie, in her withdrawn, anxious way, seemed – almost – thrilled. Seated on her own and facing sideways, her breath was steaming the glass. As they emerged from the tunnel a wave pounced and she recoiled in imitated terror. She even squealed, just as any child might. But then the wave receded and Ellie turned to Megan with a display of something more like genuine fear.
‘Isn’t this dangerous?’
Leo looked from his daughter to his wife. ‘Dangerous?’ He turned back. ‘What do you mean?’
Ellie answered but addressed her mother. ‘The waves. The train. What if we get knocked off the rails?’
There was a woman, Megan’s age, on the seats across from theirs and she caught Leo’s eye and offered a smile. Leo forged one back.
‘We’ll be fine, darling,’ said Megan. ‘They wouldn’t let the train run if they didn’t think it was safe.’
But then another wave broke and this one, Leo would have sworn, wrapped itself over the roof. Megan gave a start and, perhaps forgetting herself, turned to Leo with a school-girl’s grin. Leo was too surprised, in the instant he had, to react. He thought belatedly about reaching for his wife’s hand but hesitated and lost his chance.
‘Mum.’
Megan crossed from Leo’s seat to Ellie’s. She slid an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and Leo felt a pang. Even though it was with her mother that Ellie had argued, Leo remained the focus of her ire: his punishment, as far as Leo had deduced, for having complained to his daughter’s school.
‘It’s fine, darling, I promise.’ Megan smiled and Ellie sank into her mother’s embrace. Leo smiled too and waited for Ellie to look towards him – to include him. She did not. The stranger was still watching and Leo turned away to conceal his flush. He had not expected it to be so busy. The village, he had assumed, would be deserted. One or two hardy tourists, perhaps; local dog-walkers moseying along the beach. But crowded cafes, packed-out pavements: they were not part of Leo’s plan.
They had stopped at the corner of the central green. Leo had, rather. Megan and Ellie were already several paces further on.
‘What?’ Megan said, turning.
‘All these people. It’s just . . . I thought the idea was to get away for the day.’ ‘The idea was to have a day out. The three of us.’ Megan glanced at Ellie, who was star-
ing anxiously at her father. ‘Leo,’ Megan said, when Leo did not answer. Her tone – her expression – was a warning.
Leo considered the crowds. He considered his daughter. How would you like it, Leo? ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s just stay together, that’s all. No wandering off.’
They wandered off.
Leo twisted, turned on tiptoe – and finally spotted them at the window of a clothes shop. He snapped and Megan scowled and proceeded, in retribution, to lead their daughter inside. Leo made to follow but settled on waiting outside the door. He studied the people passing by. They were grouped in families mainly, just like theirs. But cheerier, less uptight. Some bore ice creams, others shopping bags, others just a flush on their cheeks from the winter wind. There were people by themselves, too: an older woman, a younger man, two black-clad teenagers in quick succession. None, though, seemed a threat. None seemed even to notice that Leo was there. It was just this breeze, that was all; the expanse of sea. He felt exposed because they were not locked away at home. Which was foolish too, in a way. Il-logical, because if someone really wanted to find them – to watch them – their home was the obvious place to come looking. Here, amid the crowds, was about the safest place they
could be.
By the sackload, Leo. Remember?
He was on edge but there was no need to be. Had he not already decided that? When Ellie and Meg came outside he would see about setting this day of theirs back on track.
‘Ready?’ he said as they emerged. He noticed they each held a bag. ‘You bought something.’ Naturally they had. Something, no doubt, they would never wear. But, ‘Great. What say we find somewhere to get ice cream?’ Somewhere quieter, he did not add, won-dering in spite of himself how much of the day a day trip was supposed to take up. Leo led and the girls trailed. Megan seemed cheered by her purchase and that was something. She did not speak directly to Leo but she attuned herself to his enthusiasm. She seeme
d, if nothing else, to remember the reason they had come.
‘Ellie.’ Megan nudged her daughter and pointed across the square towards the beach. The waves were storming the sea wall, breaking with the force of a battering ram and hurl-ing up a spray that crackled, as it landed, like sparks. ‘Look at that. Look at those people!’ A crowd had gathered along the promenade but had ventured too close to the shore. Anoth-er wave broke and there was screaming, bodies diving for the dry.
Ellie watched but without any evident delight. ‘Will the train still be running?’ she said. ‘Will we still be able to get home?’
Their daughter, this time, had turned to Leo. He started to respond, to reassure – but his words, barely formed, withered. He cast his attention over the top of his daughter ’s head.
Who was that?
A man, standing on his own in the square, watching them – was he? – when everyone around him was watching the waves. He seemed young but from Leo’s distance it was hard to be sure. The man was slight, and slightly stooped. He held his chin level with his shoulders, as though his overcoat was leaking the chill. There was something around his neck – a camera? – and a baseball cap covering his crown. Leo raised himself onto his toes to get a view of the man’s face but, as he did so, the man tucked himself into the crowd. Leo shifted but a hand on his wrist tugged him round.
‘Dad? Will they close the line? What’ll we do if we can’t get home?’ Leo stared at his daughter, conscious of the question but unable, at that moment, to asso-
ciate it with an answer. He looked again towards the man but the man, this time, was gone. ‘They won’t close the line, darling.’ Megan slid an arm around Ellie’s shoulders. She
coaxed her daughter towards her. ‘If they do, your father will just have to pay for a taxi.’ Megan led her daughter along the street. Leo, with a final glance behind, could only follow. ‘And marshmallows. Can I have marshmallows?’ Ellie looked left, right, and met assent on both sides. The lady behind the counter garnished the tub of ice cream and speared it with a plastic spoon. She offered it across the counter and returned Ellie’s smile.
‘And for you, madam?’
Megan drew a hand to her waistline. ‘Nothing for me. Thank you.’ ‘Sir?’
Leo checked again through the glass door. There was a man in a windcheater blocking his view, moving one way, back again, so that Leo had to shift in unison to try to find a gap.
‘Sir?’
A tug on his sleeve. ‘Leo.’
‘Sorry? What?’ He turned and his wife was glaring. ‘This was your idea, Leo. Don’t you want one?’ ‘Sorry. Yes. Just . .’ He pointed at a tub of something yellow. ‘Just vanilla. Thanks.’
The man was still blocking the door.
‘That’s cheesecake, sir. This one’s vanilla: over here.’ ‘What? Fine. Whichever.’
‘So . . . cheesecake then? Or vanilla?’
Move! Why would he not just move?
‘Sir? I . . . There are people waiting, sir.’
‘Leo!’
‘What?’ Leo snapped as he spun. The woman behind the counter was still waiting. ‘Cheesecake. Cheesecake’s fine.’ He dug out some change from his pocket and slapped it onto the counter. The woman handed over his cone and Leo ushered his frowning daughter from the shop. He heard, vaguely, Megan apologising to the owner in their wake. There was no one out there. Just the same drifts of visitors parading around the square, groups here and there huddled beside the benches.
Leo trailed. Megan was up ahead and Ellie midway between them. Their daughter’s en-thusiasm for her raspberry ripple seemed to have abated and she prodded half-heartedly at the contents of her tub. Leo, similarly, only licked his cone once in a while when he felt the cold slipping in tendrils across his fingers.
So much for ice cream.
There was a single bench unoccupied, damp and in the shade, and Megan seemed to be leading them towards it. They were in no hurry. When they got there they would poke some more at their ice cream and shiver for a moment in silence and then one of them – Megan – would suggest that they head back home. Which was something. Better that than any more of this. Better to be home, safe, warm at least, with their own corners of the house to inhab-it and no obligation to pretend.
‘Hey!’
Leo’s hand drooped and the scoop of ice cream toppled from the cone. ‘Hey!’ he said again. ‘You!’ He lengthened his stride and bumped his daughter as he
passed her. He heard her exclamation but did not turn to it. He focused on the man ahead and continued his march. ‘Stop right there!’
Leo expected the man to run and for an instant he seemed to consider it. He turned to his right but found his path blocked by the tree behind which he had been hiding. He turned the other way but there was a barrier now of people who had slowed on the pathway to watch. Leo, more to the point, was closing. Even were the man to run, there was no way he would get far. And so he waited, camera in hand, feet shuffling in a nervous dance.
‘Leo? What’s the matter?’ Megan diverted from the bench but stopped when Leo passed her.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
The man was indeed young. Below his cap his hair was cropped and he wore his stubble the same length. His overcoat seemed too big, as though he had borrowed it from his father. Even Leo would have had to admit, the man looked more like a student than a stalker.
Even so: ‘Well? Let’s hear it.’
The man did his best impression of an innocent bystander. ‘Who?’ He looked about. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you!’ Leo took a step forwards. He was an arm and a half ’s distance now from his quarry. ‘I saw you! You’ve been following us!’
Don’t be ridiculous, read the man’s expression. But there was uncertainty – guilt – in his eyes and he glanced again as though seeking an escape route. ‘Why would I be following you? I’m just . . .’
Leo waited. The bystanders – a dozen strong now – waited too. ‘Just . .’ The man smiled, incredulously, and gestured to the sea, the square, the sky.
And then he ran.
Someone screamed. Megan? Leo tensed and almost darted but in the end there was no need. The man managed barely a second step before he stumbled, tripping on the protrud-ing wheel of a pushchair. He fell gracelessly, his instinct to save his camera. Someone in the crowd laughed. Before the man could recover his footing Leo was looming over him.
‘What’s on the camera?’
The man tried to wrap the camera in his overcoat. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Pictures of the sea.’
‘Give it to me.’ Leo took a step and reached. The man scrabbled backwards on his heels. ‘What? No!’
‘Give me the camera!’ Leo made to lunge but felt a hand grip his arm. ‘Leo! What are you doing? What’s going on?’
‘I said, give me the . . .’ Leo shook off his wife and swiped. The man was quicker. He rolled and staggered upright and held the camera aloft.
‘They’re just pictures! I’ll delete them! Just mind the camera, will you!’ Leo grabbed and the man lurched. The camera floated out of Leo’s reach. ‘What kind of pictures? Who are you? Why are you taking pictures of us?’ ‘I don’t know. They just said for me to get pictures!’ The man’s eyes darted across Leo’s
shoulder. Leo turned to track his gaze but saw nothing. But then he did: Ellie, standing alone and watching, listening.
Leo whirled back. ‘My daughter? You were taking pictures of my daughter?’ The man took a step away. ‘I’m just doing what I was told. Okay? It’s just a job!’ ‘Leo! What’s going on! Will you please—’
‘You’re a photographer.’ Leo stopped his advance. ‘You work for a newspaper?’ The man gave Leo a look, like why the hell else would he be here? ‘The Post ,’ he said.
‘But it’s only a gig. I’m freelance really. I’ll delete the pictures, I promise. I’ll tell them I lost you at the station.’ The man backed through the boundary of onlookers.
‘Leo. Leo!’
Leo turned slowly towards his wife. He was aware, vaguely, that the people around them were dispersing, all except for a man in a woollen hat who was clearly holding out for something more climactic. But even he, when he noticed Leo glance, tucked his chin be-hind his upturned collar and fell into step with the rest of the crowd. Leo and Megan were left alone.
They were alone.
Leo looked left, right, then back at his wife, who was watching him with something like fear, something like disgust. Until her expression changed too, even before Leo could ask what they were all of a sudden both thinking.
‘Where’s Ellie?’
They found her discarded tub of ice cream atop a bin at the edge of the square. The contents had turned to soup, the raspberry ripples into streaks like blood.
From the square, at Leo’s suggestion, they split up. She had gone home. Of course she had gone home. She would be at the railway station or already aboard a train. And she was fifteen, not a child: it was not like she had never caught public transport by herself. Yet Leo did not want Megan to see his rising panic. His wife, anyway, seemed happy to go her own way. She seemed delighted, in fact, at the prospect of being able to escape the sight of him.
Megan headed straight for the station. Leo, they agreed, would retrace their route and then meet them, hopefully, on platform two. And so he rewound their day, pacing from the site of one minor failure to the next. None proved any more fruitful on Leo’s second visit, which meant his first instinct had obviously been correct. And so he sprinted, as best he could around pedestrians who refused to part, and braced himself for the prospect of his wife and daughter braced for the prospect of seeing him. He almost missed them. The train to Exeter was at the platform and there were enough bod-ies interlacing through the doors that Leo struggled for a moment to distinguish his wife and daughter’s. Then he spotted them, finally – but even as he did, he thought for a second that he must have been mistaken. Because they were getting on. His wife, his daughter ahead of her and with Megan’s hand at the small of her back: they were about to board the train.
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