Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
DOUGLAS
The Pit is bedlam, as usual—children roaring, parents calling after them, something always crashing or bouncing.
Rock pooling at a quiet cove is more my scene.
This? Not so much. But the kids love it here, and they always sleep well after running around like mad for an hour or two. So I put up with it. Reluctantly.
I catch a glimpse of Ellie crawling into a tunnel built for wee bodies and bendy limbs, not fully grown adults.
Poor woman. The twins like to get people involved in their games, and she was clearly too polite to say no.
She’s laughing, though, which means I don’t feel too guilty.
Not nearly guilty enough to swap places with her.
Glancing at her table, I realise her camera is sitting there unattended.
Ainsley’s also in the soft-play frame, with Lily, and Blair’s nipped to the café to get snacks.
Nobody’s going to nab the camera—this is Ardmara—but there are kids everywhere, and it only takes one curious pair of hands to yank at it and drop it.
I go get it and bring it back to the lads’ table, just so I can keep an eye on it until Ellie is back. As I’m taking my seat again, Struan leans forwards, one eyebrow raised. “So, you went for a walk with Ellie this morning, and now she’s here at the Pit?”
Bloody hell. Here we go. Typical Struan.
“The twins invited her on the walk,” I say. “And then Blair invited her here.”
Struan nods. “Right. Okay.” A pause. “Good walk, was it?”
I know exactly what he’s getting at, but I’m not rising to it. “Fine. We went along the coast. The kids had fun exploring the rock pools. She brought biscuits.”
Struan glances at Lachlan, then back at me.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing.” Struan shrugs. “Just . . . you should’ve seen your face earlier when Ellie walked in. Biggest, cheesiest grin I’ve ever seen. Right, Lachlan?”
“Well—”
“Bollocks!” I say, cutting Lachlan off. “You’re stirring the pot, Struan. Me, smiling in the Pit? Fat chance. Tell him, Lachlan.”
Lachlan glances between the two of us, then shakes his head. “Nope. I’m not getting involved.” He gets to his feet. “I’ll go see if Blair needs a hand with the snacks.” And with that, he’s off.
Struan watches him go, then turns back to me. He lets the silence stretch for a few moments. I take a sip of my coffee. It’s terrible, as always.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Struan says. “Ellie.”
“Actually, I think I’ll go help with the snacks too.” I push my chair back and stand, but Struan reaches across and clamps a hand on my forearm.
“Sit down.”
“Get off.”
“Sit. Down.”
I do, but only because I’m too weary for an argument.
He releases my arm, leans back, and laces his fingers behind his head. “Look, I’m just saying. She’s lovely. What’s the harm in seeing where it goes?”
“Did you miss what I said at the pub the other night? I’m married, Struan.”
“Aye, to a woman who—” He stops. Changes tack. “All right. When is the last time you heard from Leah?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just answer the question.”
I think but can’t immediately remember, which says something in itself. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my message threads. Leah’s is pretty far down. No new activity in a while.
The last message is from me—a photo of the twins taken on their first day back at school after Christmas. Mum snapped it in my living room before they left that morning. Big grins, Logan angling his foot out so you can see his new trainers. Rosie asked me to forward it to Leah, so I did.
Leah’s response? A heart reaction. Didn’t even type a message. No How are they? They look so grown up. Tell them I love them.
Just a heart. A tap of a finger. The absolute bare minimum.
I lock the phone and place it on the table.
“Three months ago,” I say. Closer to three and a half, actually, but there’s no need to be pedantic.
“That was just a text, though. Last time we actually saw her was at Christmas. She turned up on the twenty-third, did the big day, gave the kids presents, then she was away again the day after Boxing Day.”
I say it evenly. It’s just facts. This is what Leah does: appears, performs, leaves.
The twins used to get excited when they saw her, but not anymore.
Nowadays when she swans into our lives, they get quieter, clingier, out of sorts, almost like they’re bracing themselves for the moment she disappears again.
Struan exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “That’s not a marriage, mate.”
The words land, and I don’t have a comeback for them. Because he’s not wrong.
“Shit, sorry.” He rubs a hand over his face. “It’s not my place.” He pushes his chair back. “Anyway, I need a piss. Keep an eye on things?”
“Aye.”
He pats my shoulder as he leaves, and then it’s just me at the table. Me, and Ellie’s camera bag.
I glance towards the soft-play frame. No sign of Ellie or the twins at the moment. They must have dragged her deep into its depths. God help her.
My eyes drift back to the camera bag. I’m curious how the photos from this morning turned out. Rosie with the starfish. Logan pulling that silly face. All the other shots Ellie took.
I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me having a quick look. She’d probably offer if she were here. They’re photos of my kids, after all.
I pull out the camera and turn it on. The screen lights up with the most recent image: Logan mid-chase, crab held aloft, Rosie a blur of outrage ahead of him. Well, I suppose it’s more like them than some staged smiling shot.
I scroll back. Ellie took loads of pics.
I stop on the photo of the twins crouched by the starfish, Logan’s arm around Rosie, the two of them beaming at the camera.
That’s the staged smiling shot. It’s a good one, though, even if the next image, of Logan with his tongue out, feels more like the truth.
There are detail shots too. A close-up of the starfish Rosie found, orange-brown against the wet stone, every texture sharp. A clump of dark mussels. Barnacles clustered on the rock. Some of this I’d have walked right past, but Ellie noticed these things, captured them.
I go through all the shots from this morning then find myself on the photos from her boat trip, the ones from just before she ran aground.
I saw a couple at the library, but there are others here, ones she decided not to display.
There are a few of the seals hauled out on the rocks.
Some alternative shots of Ardmara from the water.
I should probably stop—I’m just being nosy now. But for some reason I keep scrolling.
And then I land on a photo of the Mary Beth.
My boat, tied up at her berth. The light is low and warm—early evening, I’d guess—and there’s something about the angle that makes the old girl look . . . I don’t know. Noble, almost.
Ellie included a photo of the Mary Beth in the display at the library, but it wasn’t this one. Different shot, different day.
I scroll back. Huh, another one. A detail of my boat’s hull, the paint weathered and salt-streaked, the name picked out in white letters.
And then another. The wheelhouse and aerial against a grey sky, lines and cables in sharp focus, the clouds soft behind them.
And another. She’s got a lot of shots of the Mary Beth.
I should really stop going through these, but I don’t. And then I find a photo of me. I’m on the quayside, unloading catch, not looking at the camera. I didn’t know this was being taken.
I scroll back and find another one. I’m on deck, leaning against the wheelhouse, talking to Ben. He’s gesturing at something out of shot, and I’m listening with my arms folded.
Me and my boat appear again and again as I scroll through the photos. Different angles. Different weather. Morning light, evening light, overcast, bright.
I stare at the screen. My thumb has stopped moving.
Why does Ellie have so many photos of the Mary Beth? Of me?
Something makes me look up.
Ellie is climbing out of the play frame, her face flushed, hair coming loose from her ponytail, but she’s smiling. At least, she is until she spots me—or rather, spots the camera in my hands. Then the colour drains from her cheeks, only to flood back, bright and sudden.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The soft play still roars around us—kids shrieking, bodies thudding into padded walls—but it feels oddly distant.
There’s just Ellie, standing by the frame with her hair falling loose and her face on fire, and me, sitting here with her camera in my hands, caught red-handed.
Or maybe it’s Ellie who’s been caught red-handed. After all, she’s the one with some explaining to do.
She takes a step towards the table. Then another. Slow, careful.
I need to say something. But what? Hey, Ellie, I couldn’t help noticing you’ve got loads of photos of me and my boat on here. What’s that about?
Hmm, maybe something less blunt.
I open my mouth. “Er, Ellie—”
“Snack time!” Blair appears beside me, tray in hand.
“Right, kids! Grub’s up!” Lachlan calls, carrying a second tray.
“Food! Yes!” Logan bellows from the frame. Soon there’s a stampede of kids racing towards our tables: Logan, Rosie, Finn, Isla. Wee Lily takes up the rear, dragging Ainsley by the hand. And Struan picks this moment to come back from the toilet.
I close my mouth. Well, there goes my chance to have a private conversation with Ellie. We hold eye contact for a little longer, then I set her camera down.
She takes this as a cue. “Actually, Blair, I’m going to head off.”
“Oh, already?” Blair says.
“Aye, it’s just . . . I said I’d pick up a few things from the shops for my mum, but I’ll see you all another time, okay?
” She collects the camera, tucks it in its bag, and zips it shut.
“Thanks for inviting me. I really enjoyed my first experience of soft play.” She smiles, warm and composed, not a crack in it. “Bye, everyone.”
“Bye, Ellie!” Rosie calls through a mouthful of crisps.
Ellie lifts a hand in a quick wave that takes in us all, then walks towards the exit, calm as you like. You’d never guess anything had happened.
I watch her go. Then Logan shoves a juice carton into my hand and asks me to put the straw in.