‘I was hoping she’d calm down after a few days, realize what a mistake she was making. It might have worked, but a few days later Dad tried to talk her into going to hospital to get some help. Mum panicked and ran out of the house – I didn’t want to let her go on her own, so I got in the car with her. I didn’t even take a change of clothes.’
A man dressed as a Hobbit wanders past, talking loudly on his phone. Leah and I fall silent, watching the traffic crawl through the city below. It’s strange how much Leah’s voice has changed. It still has the same high pitch, the same light Highlands accent, but all the confidence that made it hers has gone.
‘So you joined the Edinburgh chapter?’ I ask, once the Hobbit has left.
Leah shakes her head. ‘Glasgow.’
My stomach flips as I remember the video of the Glasgow display I saw on the BBC website a few weeks ago, the same night Teacake fell. If my phone hadn’t cut out, I might have spotted Leah on the roof with the rest of them.
‘What was it like?’ I ask.
‘It was . . . tough. Boring too. We were staying in an old farmhouse outside the city, thirteen of us sharing a room. The food is really basic, just soup and bread. We only get to wash once a week. They don’t let us have any entertainment, no laptops or phones – I had to steal one every time I wanted to check up on you or my dad. Regretted it when I got caught, mind.’
I wait for her to elaborate. Instead, she pushes the sleeves of her hoody up. I let out a gasp. Her fingers are red and calloused, the edges of the nails black with dirt, and there are bruises all over her arms: some fresh purple, others yellow with tinges of pink.
The anger feels like hot coals at the back of my throat. I want names, I want to call the police, I want to storm over to the cult’s base and kick the crap out of whoever did this – but I can tell from the way Leah’s anxiously tugging her sleeves over her fingers that she’s already regretting showing me. Instead, I close my eyes and take a breath.
‘What are you doing in Edinburgh?’ I ask, trying to clean those purplish stains from my memory.
‘We’re staying at the base here. There are rumours—’
Leah breaks off as a couple of women – one in a cream headscarf, the other in a green – walk past to take photos of the skyline. She waits until they’ve gone before answering.
‘There are rumours that a Being fell here, but that it was caught before word got out,’ she says, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘Damien, the leader of Edinburgh chapter, wanted extra members to help out with the search. I persuaded my mum to volunteer us.’
My blood runs cold. ‘Have you found anything?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not that I’ve heard. Apparently the leaders are talking to some people online, people who say they found some feathers. Has your dad heard anything?’
‘No, nothing.’ I take a deep breath, hoping she can’t hear the tremor in my voice. ‘Nothing at all.’
Somewhere in the Old Town, a clock strikes six. Leah gets up sharply and, though it’s not raining, pulls her hood over her hair.
‘I should go. If they find out I was talking to you, they’ll . . . they won’t be happy.’
‘You’re not serious,’ I say, following her across the grass. ‘Why did you even bother phoning me if you’re just going to go back?’
Her eyes dart around the hillside for a moment, but finally she looks at me. Her eyes haven’t changed – the same pale blue I remember – and yet they’re completely different too. They seem duller now. Lacking.
‘Because I needed to see you,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think, since we left, and . . . I was awful to you. You were going through so much, with your mum’s accident, and then your dad . . . and I was just worried about people finding out about us, what they might think if they did. I should at least have told you where I was going. I should have said goodbye.’
There have been times over the past four months when I’ve wondered if I’ve been overreacting about Leah’s leaving; that whatever we had clearly didn’t matter that much to her if she could leave so suddenly; that my mind might have warped a few meaningless encounters into something resembling a relationship. When Leah finally says those words, I know that’s not the case. It was real.
It only lasts a moment, and then she’s running across the grass. I chase after her and catch her sleeve.
‘Leah, come on! You can’t go back there – look at yourself. Look at what they’ve done to you!’
She pulls away from my grip. ‘It’s not that easy. I can’t just walk out.’
‘Why not? You don’t owe them anything.’ I follow her down the steps, weaving through the group of tourists ambling upwards. ‘Look, let’s go to the police. They’ll help you. You’ll be safe—’
‘I can’t!’ She spins around to face me, eyes wild. ‘What do you want me to do? I can’t just leave my mum, Jaya.’
The words are like a punch to the stomach, so hard it brings tears to my eyes. I know it’s not about me, not some judgement on the fact I couldn’t save my own mother, but that’s how it feels. It feels like she’s telling me that I didn’t do enough. Leah sighs and swears under her breath.
‘I didn’t mean it like . . . Jaya, that’s not what I was saying.’
When I blink, fast, hot tears roll down my cheeks. As I reach up to wipe them away, Leah throws her arms out and hugs me. My eyes close briefly. Just for a second. And in that tiny moment, though her hair doesn’t smell like coconut any more, and I can feel bones I never could before, it’s just like it used to be.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘About everything. I really, really am. But I didn’t come here for you to save me.’
I look up just in time to catch a flash of dark blonde hair disappearing into a group of Wingdings. I run after her, shoving through the tourists dawdling at the foot of the steps. But I’m too slow, and by the time I reach the road, she’s slipped away from me all over again.
TWENTY-TWO
It took four months, two new friends and a Being to finally empty Leah from my head, and one twenty-minute conversation to fill it up with her again. That night I sleep only in fits and starts, each one interrupted by flashes from our meeting on Calton Hill. The way she flinched when I came towards her, the dull look in her eye when she described how they’d treated her. I don’t understand how they broke her so quickly. It doesn’t fit with the girl I knew.
She’s still in my head as we eat breakfast the next morning. I nod through a conversation with Dad, my cereal tasting bland in my mouth as he says something about going to Glasgow to meet his Wingding friends; they have a few last-minute touches to make to their plans. He kisses the top of my head, grateful that I’m not making a fuss about having to keep an eye on Rani this time.
‘Not long to go, pet,’ he says, as he shrugs his jacket on. ‘After tomorrow, things can start getting back to normal. I promise.’
Tomorrow. He thinks the Being is going to fall tomorrow. I feel a faint stab of dread that the day has arrived so soon, but it’s dulled by thoughts of Leah.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, I turn to Rani. ‘Let’s go and see Teacake.’
It’s not even eight o’clock: Calum is supposed to arrive at ten, and then we’ll take the afternoon shift, but I need something to take my mind off Leah. If I stay here, I’ll just keep staring at my phone all morning, hoping for – and dreading – another call.
Before we leave, Rani goes through Dad’s books. She squashes a dozen or so into her backpack, all hardbacks with titles like Rembrandt’s Angels or Celestial Creatures in Islamic Art.
‘I’ve got a plan,’ she says, grinning. ‘Something to get Teacake talking.’