24.

■ At Heery’s house in Torry I was impatient to get under the covers. There were a few people there, including artists from the studio and a couple of their anarchist friends. They were drinking beer and looked guilt-ridden that they might be enjoying themselves in the presence of such a ghost as I.

“We’re sorry,” they said, and I looked down. The anarchists even looked sorry too, not a pretty sight. I wondered how they would behave if they knew that I’d let Liska go? Everybody was aware there was something they didn’t know, which made this worse.

“You’ve got a nice view of the harbour,” I said, looking from the pearly grey gable of Heery’s kitchen — and I realised that I was looking out once again on the ferry.

Heery walked me over a pile of clothes and children’s toys and when he got me to the bedroom, he closed the door. “You can stay for a week or so,” he said. “If I were you I’d get on to your agent woman.”

I said thanks but I wasn’t sure if Heery heard.

Heery left and I landed on the bed next to a fat teddy bear. I slept and dreamed of Liska’s face, floating in the lull of the sea, tempting me to join her, disappointed with my effort. When I woke, that bear was looking at me from the pillow and I managed to stop myself from tearing it up.

Later, there was a vociferous cheer from the lounge and I began another dream of weeds and pebbles, and Liska lying within. The afternoon advanced to evening, but as I was about to make a move for the door, I was anticipated by a visitor from the Procurator Fiscal’s office who picked through the clothes to reach me — a strange visitor who entered backwards and then turned around, every aspect of surprise clear on his face.

The man from the Fiscal was Mr Lash, a tidy official with two circles of heavy glass before his eyes. I felt like asking him to go home. None of it was going to make any difference, but still, a version of the truth would be needed.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked sleepily.

Lash looked at me with more than the expected official disdain. It was a silly question I’d asked, because they know where everybody is these days.

“Was it going to be a dual effort?” he asked.

Lash’s stare was about as hard as that of the teddy bear and so I pretended not to know what he was talking about.

“Were you both going to do it?” he said. “Had you both planned to jump?”

Inarticulate, I wasn’t even able to say the word no.

“Well,” said Lash, “I don’t know if it makes a difference. Does it?”

I remembered my story, the same lie I’d been peddling since the islands. In the face of Liska’s disappearance and the fact that I’d been sleeping for two days, I had even started to believe it.

“I didn’t know she was going to jump,” I said.

I looked at the spectacled Mr Lash while he wiped his head and shrugged. “It’s not the first time we’ve seen this,” he said, “only normally, one of the parties fails because they’re saved. I’ve not heard of one losing courage.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said and I pulled the covers up to my neck, a telling gesture. I hid in the bed-sheets and wondered what the script could be:

I tried to stop her really I did.

She’d already gone and I looked about for a life belt.

I wasn’t ready.

She took me by surprise.

We never agreed we would actually go through with it.

There was nothing I could do.

I wanted to and I tried.

cf. Andy Warhol : Suicide (They Won’t Let Them Die. Saved in Mid-Air, New York) (1963) Acrylic and silkscreen inks on paper.

“You know best,” said Lash. “I’m sorry that she’s gone. Sounds like she was a lovely girl.”

“She was,” I said.

I was choked but at least it sounded like despair and not guilt.

“You know, my son’s out there,” said Lash.

The door to the bedroom was part open. Lash looked from one darkness to the next, into the hall with a moment of expectation. I had no idea how many rooms this house had because I’d never counted them. There were constantly new spaces developing in Heery’s home, and people arriving to live in them.

“Our son doesn’t live with his family anymore,” said Lash, “he stays down here with you. He’s old enough and they say he’s very talented. I just hope he gets somewhere. This looks like a pretty exhausting place to live.”

“Yes,” I said, unable to render any hope. The teddy bear stared with such base knowledge of the situation that I wondered if there wasn’t something wrong with me.

“Is that all part of having talent?” asked the fat man from the Fiscal. “Why do artists have to live like this?”

“I don’t know,” I answered.

Lash sighed. He didn’t like the lethargy of the house that had sucked in his son. Heery’s old house was the anti-mirror of family life. But talent always goes south, I thought. Talent shies away from authority, especially after it’s been asked a certain amount of stupid questions.

“Maybe he’ll grow out of it,” said Lash. “He keeps telling me that he’ll make money. If he does I guess he’ll move away from here.”

I rested my head, tired by the caution of Mr Lash. Maybe Lash would keep off the obvious questions about Liska and myself so long as I offered some hope of explaining his son’s passion for the arts. Lash’s kid was an artist however, and it wasn’t the poor boy’s fault.

“You’d better think about it,” said Mr Lash. “Nobody’s going to charge you with anything if you tried to save Liska.”

He stared into my eyes as I reflected on this. “We all have unsound moments,” he said. “You just don’t want anyone to suspect you of lying — because if you lie — well then.”

I could hear the others talking next door, their voices rising above the clattering mugs.

“If they think you’re lying,” said Lash, “they won’t leave you alone.”

I nodded that I had understood, although Mr Lash’s attention was now elsewhere.

“He won’t talk to me, you know,” said Mr Lash.

“Who?” I asked.

“My son won’t talk to me anymore.”

I didn’t move. Lash was trying to make me say something but I didn’t know what. I knew that there would be more interviews — friends and family, and officials like I’d never seen — many anxious hours spent in the application of procedure.

“OK,” said Mr Lash, and he closed his folder. “I’ve made a note of what you did and didn’t say,” he added, and he moved the teddy bear to where it could better watch me.

When the door closed I got out of bed. I was putting my shoes on when Heery entered.

“Yeah,” he said, “that was heavy.”

“It had a certain mass,” I agreed and I went to work on the shoelaces.

Heery asked me if I was going somewhere.

“I need to get out,” I said. “Just give me a couple of hours.”

I knew that Heery wasn’t sure but I carried on with the shoes, and when I was done I walked to where the others were sitting in a heap with their drinks. Everyone fell to a dead hush when I entered.

I recognised the son of Mr Lash immediately, a pretty boy lost in the shabby circumstance of our local artists. “Your dad?” I said and the boy nodded.

He was a funny kid, handsome and teenage, and he had thin arms that looked like they were all rubber and no muscle.

“Nice man,” I said and the young Lash shrugged, and returned to the low conversation of the hearth.