Billowing fog clouds hung over it as if by magic, lit with white lights. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Together we walked out from between the buildings on the dockside and it was awesome, just how I imagined it would be. As the tops of the clouds melted away into the night sky, more appeared from below, so when we stepped onto the bridge we were continually shrouded. Visibility was reduced to a few feet.
It was a special art installation that Mum had told me about. I’d seen pictures of it on Google, but these didn’t compare to the real thing. I hadn’t been able to visit it because I’d been in treatment, and I knew it would be removed in a day or two. It made me think of how my dad described being in the mountains in Nepal. “Shrouded in fog,” he’d said. I loved that.
“Wow,” Abdi said.
“See! Isn’t it worth it?”
The fog was disorienting and I lost my balance a little. Abdi grabbed my arm and guided me to the side. We stood there together and everything drifted in and out of view, changing all the time. You could almost taste the misty particles in the air around you, and the fog looked like big puffs of smoke against the darkness.
I was so glad we hadn’t just come in the day, like everybody else. This was so worth it.
Abdi got out his phone, but he said he didn’t want a fog selfie.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m calling my dad to pick us up. You look really sick, Noah.”
“Don’t!”
I had a crushing feeling of disappointment. First, because Abdi wasn’t into it the way I wanted him to be, and second, because I realized this wasn’t quite the right place for us to sit and have our drinks. I didn’t know before that there was a nightclub on the waterfront, but I could hear the music and see people hanging around outside it. The plan wouldn’t work properly if people saw us. Anybody seeing me with a beer would know I was underage. It could ruin everything.
We would have to move on, find somewhere a bit more private by the water. It wouldn’t take long. Not going through with it wasn’t an option at this point.
I saw Abdi tapping the screen of his phone, and I took hold of his arm to stop him. The phone fell and skittered across the floor of the bridge before dropping off the edge and into the water.
We both stared down at where it had fallen. We could glimpse the black water where the wisps of fog were lightest. The phone was gone.
“I’m really sorry!” I said. “I’ll get you a new one.”
He was blinking back tears, which wasn’t like him at all.
“It’s just a phone,” I said.
“Give me yours.”
“No.”
“Give it to me!”
Around us the fog kept billowing, but it didn’t feel so fun now. It was claustrophobic, and all the energy and excitement I’d felt earlier disappeared. It was time to get serious.
“Abdi,” I said. Often it worked to plead with him. I could rely on him to do the right thing.
“No! I’m tired of everything we do always being about you. I’m so tired of it. Give me your phone or call your parents yourself. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I felt very angry with him.
“Phone them,” he said. “Or I will.”
I took my phone out of my pocket, held it front of him, and then threw it as far as I could. There was loads of fog billowing around us, and the phone arced up high and disappeared into it. It went so far we didn’t even hear it land in the water. It was an awesome throw.
“What the hell?” Abdi stared at me like I was crazy. He shook his head and started walking away, toward home.
I went the other way.
I looked back after a few seconds, but I couldn’t see him through the fog. I kept walking anyway. On the other side of the bridge was a cobbled area that stretched all the way along the edge of the harbor, and coming off it, opposite the end of the bridge, was a dark alleyway. I stepped into it and leaned against the wall. The bricks felt icy cold against my back and my legs were tired, but I told myself I had to fight through it even though frustration made tears prickle my eyes. Tonight wasn’t going to be perfect anymore, but I was determined to salvage it as best I could. It wasn’t an option to fail. We would move on, find a quiet place, and finish the night properly.
I heard Abdi shout my name. I stayed completely still and waited until his voice got closer.
When I was sure he’d be able to see me, I stepped out of the shadows and walked down the alleyway as fast as I could, away from him. It was almost black in there, but dim light from a window high above fell in a jagged rectangle onto the cobbles ahead of me, showing me the way.
“Where are you going?” he called.
I didn’t answer.
“Noah! Stop messing with me!”
It was an angry shout, and I heard his footsteps pick up pace behind me.
On the way back from the school Woodley and I stop off at the floating harbor and watch as our dive team comes up empty-handed in their search for the phone, frustration evident in their body language even before they’ve stripped off the masks and wet suits.
A small crowd of bystanders watches, phones at the ready in case anything social media–worthy gets dragged up. They’re out of luck.
“Visibility’s really bad, and then you’ve got some currents here,” one of the divers tells me. “Plus, the frequent movements of the boats in and out could easily have dislodged a phone and allowed it to drift along the bottom and sink into the silt somewhere outside the search area.” Water drops hang from his eyelashes and the end of his nose.
When Woodley and I arrive back at HQ, he heads off down the road to revisit the scene, looking out for any CCTV that we might have missed and seeing if anybody is around.
There’s a note on my desk from the tech team to say that the iPad’s been collected by one of our team and they’ve had a look at it. They’ve attached a printout of Abdi’s school emails.
I pick up the phone and call them. “What about the audio recording?” I ask. “You were supposed to retrieve that.”
“We didn’t spot one.”
“Did you check if it had been deleted?”
Silence from the other end tells me they didn’t. I sigh loudly enough to make sure he can hear.
“Do it ASAP, will you?”
I take a look at the emails.
Mostly they’re straightforward communications about homework between Abdi and his teachers, nothing unusual, and some mass mailings from the school administration.
Only one exchange catches my attention. It consists of four emails sent between Abdi and a teacher by the name of Alistair Hawkes. He includes three titles as part of his electronic signature: Barker Scholarship Coordinator, Head of Year 11, and Teacher of Biology. It’s the first that interests me most.
The first email is from the teacher to Abdi: “Please could you come and see me at lunchtime to discuss a piece of work that you haven’t delivered to Mrs. Griffith. I’ll be in my office between 1:30 and 2:45.”
Abdi replies very quickly: “I’ve given the work in and Mrs. Griffith is looking at it. I’m working to see if I can improve it.”
Mr. Hawkes bangs back a reply: “That’s not the message I’ve got from Mrs. Griffith. Let’s talk about this in person.”