The Jump by Doug Johnstone Page B

meant that her research into the effect on marine life was bulletproof for now, but she couldn’t imagine ever going back to work. Sitting in that office, having meetings, taking minutes, working on action plans, giving presentations – it was meaningless now. Logan’s death had robbed her of any confidence that she knew what she was doing, so how could she sit there and tell others how to do their jobs? She had an appraisal meeting with HR coming up, assessing her fitness to return to work. She wasn’t fit, they would likely cut her loose, then she and Ben would be in much deeper water. Or maybe she would have to pretend to be capable, keep them afloat. Neither option held any appeal.
    Beyond the boats and the breakwater, giant yellow cranes sat on barges in the water. The new bridge supports were just breaking the surface of the Forth. Work had been carried out underwater for months, structures being built unseen by anyone. She couldn’t imagine what the engineering involved, the scale of it eluded her. She tried to picture the finished bridge arching away into the night, but couldn’t. She wondered if the new bridge would help the marina, if Port Edgar would get a new lease of life from its proximity, but she couldn’t see how.
    She wondered if Sam would take the pills, if they would work.
    She walked to the end of the pier clutching the plastic bag of Sam’s clothes in both hands. She’d thrown a handful of stones from the Binks into the bag and she felt the heft of it now. She checked the knot in the top was firm, then looked back along the pier. No one in sight. She narrowed her eyes looking for CCTV, but the only camera was down at the entrance to the berths, pointing at the gate. She heaved the plastic bag with both hands and watched as it landed in the water then sank, dragged to the bottom by the ballast inside. She watched the ripples where the bag had been then turned away.
    She looked at her phone, flicked to the picture of Libby. Zoomed in closer and she could make out spots beneath the foundation on the girl’s skin. She tried to imagine having a daughter, a female companion, but nothing came into her head. She wondered about those women on television who said their mums were their best friends. Had she been best friends with Logan? It never felt like it. She was always too much of a mother for that, too protective. And anyway, he didn’t live beyond the stroppy teen years so she would never know if they could’ve been grown-up friends. She liked to think so, imagined them going to gigs together, or out for a meal. Or maybe the three of them out for dinner, her and Ben proud parents, him keen to head off to meet his mates and go clubbing, her and Ben sharing a knowing, worn smile, this is what we made, between us, this one good thing.
    Thinking like this was destroying her. Or maybe it had already destroyed her.
    She walked down the pier, past the coastguard hut and the tumbledown storage buildings, cracked windowpanes, weeds tangled in drainpipes, crumbling brickwork.
    She stopped at a memorial stone, wreaths of poppies round it. It was the one thing in this place that was well kept. She’d walked past it many times and never paid much attention. She read it now. It was a remembrance stone for the Navy’s minesweeping service that had trained here during the Second World War, erected by the Algerines Association, whoever they were. At least somebody cared, it was obviously looked after. Across the top of the granite stone was a line:
    ‘Let there be a way through the water.’
    She stared at it for a long time, then turned and walked to Shore Road, heading towards town. She went the front way this time, past the police station then past her own house. The downstairs lights were on, so Ben was back. She’d been right to get Sam out of there when she did.
    She kept walking, past the Binks then the harbour, along the old High Street, charity shops and pubs, cobbles underfoot. She was striding by