Gone Again (20 page)

The beach was chaos.

Environmental health vans, coastguard vehicles, police cars and fire engines were all on the prom. Three news-crew vans were parked further along. Mark could see one reporter interviewing someone in a luminous yellow jacket, while the BBC woman was doing a piece to camera, the backdrop of the beach behind.

The whales were the story.

Mark, Ruth and Nathan’s little adventure hadn’t made it to the news yet. Ferguson said forensics had done a quick, clean job down on the sand, and it was assumed by early dog walkers and joggers that the police cordon was for the whales.

But their story would get out soon. Two men killed in Portobello on a single night. Two more with gunshot wounds. Another one in intensive care. The guy in the blue hoodie was alive. He was still heavily sedated because of his injuries. Mark might well be charged for that too, depending on what the guy had to say when he came round. Mark wondered if he was really the one who killed Lauren, like his partner had said. For all it mattered now.

For the moment, Mark, Ruth and Nathan had all been released without charge, but they’d been warned the situation might change. Just another thing to deal with in the coming days and weeks. For the rest of their lives. There would be press intrusion. He thought about the
Daily Record
journalist from yesterday. There might be court cases. There would be a funeral and counselling and grief and horror and nightmares and sorrow.

But not just now.

For now the beached whales were the story.

A crowd had gathered around the cordon, swollen by schoolkids let out of Towerbank, their red uniforms flashing between the grown-ups as they jostled to see.

Mark traipsed on to the sand and joined them, Nathan gripping his hand tight, staying close. There were forty-two whales, he heard an official saying to a reporter. The largest mass beaching ever recorded on Scottish shores. No one knew why. People never knew why. Sometimes bad things just happened.

Someone next to Mark mentioned the stench. All Mark could smell was bleach and blood.

How do you get rid of forty-two whales?

Mark thought about himself and Ruth scrubbing away at the floorboards in the flat.

He guided Nathan to a different part of the crowd, drifting round the outside. He spotted someone from the picture desk at the
Standard
snapping away. One of the new kids, eager to please and willing to work for next to nothing. He looked at the shot the guy was taking, it was all wrong, you’d get much better depth and contrast from further round. He tried to imagine taking pictures again, going back to work.

Mark and Nathan stood looking at the whales for a long time.

Eventually Nathan spoke.

‘Where was Mummy found?’

Mark looked at him. ‘What?’

‘Where did they find Mummy?’

Mark turned and pointed in the other direction. ‘Over there.’

‘Can we go?’

‘Why?’

‘I want to see.’

‘There’s nothing to see.’

Nathan shrugged. ‘I just want to.’

Mark thought for a long moment, looking at Nathan. Then he shrugged too.

‘Come on.’

They walked away from the dead whales and the people and the noise and headed along the beach.

They climbed across a groyne, Mark lifting Nathan up and over the weathered wood, the pair of them heading for where Lauren had been washed up.

Mark saw her face clearly, marbled blue skin, pale lips, straggly hair.

They got to where it was and stopped.

‘Here?’ Nathan said.

Mark nodded. ‘I think so.’

He glanced the way they’d come. The whales looked like little rocks from here, nothing more.

He turned back. They were close to the water’s edge, ten feet. It was calm out in the firth, the sun bouncing on the flat surface like hammered tin.

Nathan was scuffing in the sand with his shoe. Mark wondered what was going through his head.

The boy went into his pocket and took something out. It was the piece of sea glass. He sat down on the sand and dug a small hole. Put the glass in the hole and covered it over.

‘Don’t you want to keep that?’ Mark said.

Nathan shook his head. ‘I’m showing it to Mummy like I wanted to.’

Mark sat down next to Nathan and pulled him into a hug.

‘I’m sure Mummy loves it,’ he said.

He sat there holding the boy, looking out to sea, trying not to think of anything at all.

Huge thanks to Angus Cargill‚ Katherine Armstrong‚ Eleanor Rees‚ Hannah Griffiths‚ Alex Holroyd‚ Lisa Baker‚ Sam Brown‚ John McColgan and everyone else at Faber for their continued belief and support. Thanks also to fellow writers Allan Guthrie and Helen FitzGerald for inspiration and sound advice. And the biggest thanks to Trish‚ for putting up with it all.

Doug Johnstone (@doug_johnstone) is the author of four previous novels‚ most recently
Hit and Run
(2012)‚ described by Ian Rankin as ‘a great slice of noir’ and by Irvine Welsh as ‘a grisly parable for our times’. Writer-in-residence at the University of Strathclyde from 2010–2012‚ he is also a freelance journalist‚ a songwriter and musician‚ and has a PhD in nuclear physics. He lives in Edinburgh.

www.dougjohnstone.wordpress.com

Also by Doug Johnstone

Hit and Run

Smokeheads

The Ossians

Tombstoning