The Space Between Us

1

LENNOX

He knew they were following him. A shift in the shadows as he entered Figgate Park. He pressed pause on the Self Esteem track he was listening to but kept the headphones over his ears. If he dropped them round his neck they would know he was onto them. He kept his stride regular, changed his grip on the skateboard from the deck to the wheel axis, so he could swing it better.

He heard whispers, the scuff of trainers. He sped up. The path split round the pond and he had to choose which direction. Left was quicker but darker so he went right, into the light overspilling from the railway sidings up the hill. He cut across the grass between trees, then left around the water. The sky was clear, sprayed with stars, full moon like a coin pressed into the dark. Lennox spotted the resident heron standing on one leg on the island, hunched over, waiting for prey. He sensed movement behind him, gripped his board tighter.

He reached the wooden platform for feeding the ducks, saw something ahead to the left, coming round the pond from the other direction. Two guys, and he knew them. He sped up but they were too close. They loped into a casual run to cut him off from the path by the burn. They emerged from the shadows. At the front was Blair, thick neck and shoulders, grey top and joggers. Behind was Kai, one of his simpering minions, taller than Blair, mouth-breather. Lennox turned and saw two more of Blair’s gang behind him, Carson and Cal, little and large. Lennox turned back and Blair was only a few feet away, scratching his chin and smiling.

‘Sup, Scarecrow.’

Lennox swallowed, didn’t speak.

Blair stuck his chin out and tapped at his ear. ‘Lose the cans.’

Lennox pushed the headphones down round his neck, felt his hair spring up where the headband had been.

‘That’s better,’ Blair said. ‘Let that beautiful mop free.’

He looked at the rest of them and they sniggered.

When Lennox started at high school he was self-conscious about his Afro, kept his hair buzzed short. But he gradually got more confident, helped by some girls starting to notice, and when he turned sixteen he grew it out. Most kids loved it, and girls like to touch it without asking, which made him feel weird. But it also attracted attention from bottom feeders like Blair.

These four were in Lennox’s year at Porty High, but not in his classes. Lennox wasn’t exactly academic, but he did OK. He liked physics and engineering, how things worked. But these guys were in the bottom classes, treading water until they could leave at the end of the year to become drug dealers or join the army.

‘You not saying hello, Scarecrow?’ Blair was performing, leading the gang. Without him they were nothing, he made them feel part of something.

Lennox shuffled his feet, looked at the path beyond Blair. ‘Hey.’

Blair smiled and held his hands out. ‘There you go. And where you off to so fast?’

Lennox shrugged.

‘We could hardly keep up with you, right, lads?’

‘Just heading home.’

Blair took a step forward. ‘Past your bedtime in the Kiddy House?’

The truth was it was hours after curfew at the children’s home where Lennox stayed, but he was almost an adult, they didn’t give a shit.

‘Watch out going through Junkie Town,’ Blair said.

This was what Blair called Northfield, which was fucking rich, given the number of junkies around where he lived.

Blair took another step forward and Lennox could smell his breath – weed and energy drinks. Lennox saw Carson and Cal closing in behind, Kai on Blair’s shoulder. He was used to getting shit from arseholes because of his hair, brown skin, the poor-little-orphan bullshit. But that didn’t make it any easier.

‘Leave me alone,’ Lennox said, and tried to walk past.

Blair blocked him, the rest closing in. Blair raised his hands like he was affronted. ‘We’re just talking, Scarecrow. Just talking.’ He nodded at the two guys behind.

Lennox began to raise the skateboard but felt a thud of pain in his ear knocking him sideways. His arms were pulled behind him and he dropped the board. Blair threw a fist into his stomach, winding him, then punched his cheek.

‘We’re just trying to be friendly, fuck’s sake,’ Blair said, punching Lennox in the gut again.

Lennox wheezed, tried to suck in air.

‘You think you’re fucking better than us,’ Blair said. This was his standard bullshit, anyone smarter or better-looking thought they were some fucking elite. Bullying 101, pick an easy target and find a reason.

Another fist to the face made Lennox’s knees buckle, and his shoulders burned as he slumped, still held by Carson and Cal. Kai was leaning over Blair’s shoulder, laughing, eyes shining.

Blair picked up Lennox’s skateboard and swung it against a park bench, splitting the deck, splinters flying. He threw the pieces on the ground in front of Lennox and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling his head back.

‘Try showing off your fucking tricks now, Darkie.’

‘Fuck you, Dick Breath,’ Lennox said.

Blair’s eyes hardened and he swung his fist hard into Lennox’s eye, a burst of pain and light in his mind, tears on his face and blood from a cut on his brow.

Then the light seemed to get brighter. Lennox closed his eyes, sensed brightness against his eyelids, opened them again.

The park was bathed in shimmering blue-green light, odd shadows moving round the trees. It was brighter than daylight, a hundred floodlights in weird colours, like they were underwater.

A crackle came from the west, above them, and Blair let go of Lennox’s hair. They all stared at the sky as a fiery throb of light swept over them. There was an enormous hiss, mixed with an underlying scream and rumble, and Lennox felt the air vibrate, the ground shudder. It was shimmering, impossible to say how high, and it was fast, shadows sweeping around the park, making Lennox dizzy. The noise and the blue-green wash faded as it thrust eastward, leaving a trail of colourful sparks which floated and danced in the air.

Everyone was still staring after the ball of light. In the silence the world seemed different, a residual throb in the air.

Lennox stood and Blair turned to the others.

‘What the fuck was that?’ He was met by shrugs.

Lennox smelled something, like baking or an experiment from his chemistry class, acrid but with an underlying sweetness.

Blair stared at him, shaking his head. ‘Where were we?’

Lennox braced himself. But Blair swayed like a sapling, lifted a hand to his temple. He cricked his neck and looked at the others, his eyes glassy.

‘What the fuck?’ he said, then his knees crumpled and he fell like a bag of sand, cracked his head on the concrete. Kai did the same, keeling over like a comedy pratfall. Lennox turned to see Carson and Cal reach out to each other then faint, falling hard on the ground.

Lennox looked at the four flat-out guys. He stared at the sky where the ball of light had gone then the world started spinning, trees spiralling, the park and the pond racing around him. He leaned over and vomited hard, hands on his thighs, then he slumped to the ground and let the darkness overwhelm him.

2

AVA

She lay in bed and held her breath so she could listen better. Michael lay next to her, his breathing ragged and slow. She wondered about the dosage she’d put in his food. Really, she had no idea. She’d been stealing pills from Rowan’s handbag in the staffroom at work, storing them up. She’d experimented with half a pill in his food for the last couple of nights, then crushed up three in tonight’s casserole, putting in too much garlic to cover it. He berated her about the food, but that was nothing new.

She stared at the swirling pattern on the ceiling, strands intertwined like the arms of some creature. His breathing slowed even more and she felt the baby kick in her belly. Ava was eight months gone, and the baby was letting her know she couldn’t wait much longer. It was one thing for Ava to be controlled and dominated by this monster, another to bring a new-born daughter into this home. That’s why she had to do this now.

Michael turned towards her, face slack in sleep. She flinched. How had it come to this, the sight of him making her cower? She was ashamed of who she’d become, coerced and bullied. No more.

She smelled stale garlic on his breath and stomach acid rose up her throat. If she puked now, he would surely wake up. He was normally such a light sleeper, aware of movement in the room even when he was dreaming. Some primal state of alertness, watching for anything that could threaten his world order.

She lifted her side of the covers, pulse beating in her neck. She listened to his breath as the baby pressed against her kidneys and bladder. There would be time to pee when this was over.

She moved her legs, feet onto the floor, rolled her body in a smooth motion until she was standing. Michael was snoring, hands above his head like he was fighting off birds. She stepped to the door, waited, opened it, heard it creak and froze.

Michael snuffled and wrinkled his nose like he was disagreeing with something. He muttered under his breath and fire flowed from her heart through her body. She imagined herself a marble statue, here in the bedroom doorway for hundreds of years, ignored by everyone. She heard a car in the distance, faint rumble of the boiler downstairs. He snuffled again, moved his arm to the empty side of the bed. His hand moved across the bare covers and she was sure it was all over. She began to think of excuses, needing to pee or she had to take another antacid.

He scratched his nose then shifted his weight and went back to snoring.

She watched him for a long time then crept out of the room and downstairs, feet on the outer edges of the steps because some creaked in the middle. She reached the bottom and walked across the hall to the cupboard full of raincoats and boots. She shifted a pile of old jumpers she’d placed there weeks ago, lifted out a small suitcase full of all the things she would need. Change of clothes, money she’d been siphoning from the shopping, toiletries, the passport she’d taken from the locked drawer without him knowing. She could sort everything else once she was free.

She wore loose pyjama trousers and an old St Andrews Uni sweatshirt of Michael’s, warmer than she would usually wear in bed this time of year, but she would be outside soon. Her feet were bare. She had trainers in the suitcase, there would be time to put them on once she was out.

She went to his jacket hanging near the door and rifled through the pockets. Keys for his New Town office, ID, wallet. She’d read about human-trafficking cases where women were locked in cages or basements, brought there as sex slaves. She wasn’t in that situation but she was still imprisoned by him, by his fucking gaslighting, demeaning her, always making her more reliant on him.

Everyone at the school thought she lived a happy life. Her mum thought she was in love with a wonderful husband. Everything looked good from outside this expensive Longniddry house. How could she be in a prison with a handsome, rich husband and a baby on the way? But that’s what had changed, the realisation that it wasn’t just her anymore. She’d become used to her situation, excused it and normalised it. But a daughter made everything different and she needed to get out.

She found the car key and took the cash from his wallet. She lifted her case and went to the front door. The alarm was on, he always set it before bed. He changed the combination regularly but she’d found the note on his phone with the most recent number. She just hoped it was up to date. She punched in the numbers, cringing at each beep, holding her breath. Waited a moment, expecting the loud wail. But silence. She glanced upstairs, waited for him to shout out or appear.

Nothing.

She opened the door and walked across the driveway to the Mercedes. She unlocked it and cringed again at the blip of the lock, the flashing lights. She placed the case in the passenger seat then took off the handbrake. She didn’t want to start it here with the engine noise, so she heaved at the car, door open, hand on the steering wheel. Eventually the car wheels nudged forward. She leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, felt the baby squirm, did a little pee into her pyjama trousers but kept pushing. She turned the wheel to angle the car through the driveway and climbed in, closing the door as quietly as she could. The car had some momentum on the road and she waited until it was another thirty yards down the street then put her foot on the clutch and pressed ignition. It kicked into life, a ping warning her she didn’t have her seatbelt on.

She pulled it on and drove away, expecting something to happen – Michael to run down the street, the police to turn up, lights flashing. She drove past the big stucco houses, everyone safe and warm inside. She looked in the mirror. The street was dark and she laughed, feeling the release, then the baby kicked.

She turned left then left again, looping round to Links Road. She didn’t want to take the A1, if he woke and found her gone, it was the first place the police would look for the car. She drove along the coast, Firth of Forth to her right. She saw clear skies, stars bulleting the blackness, the full moon. She thought about the distance to that rock, how far she might need to run to really escape.

She reached the Port Seton caravans, beach alongside, moonlight shimmering across the water. She glanced in the mirror again, nervous, still waiting for him to somehow appear.

A bright light appeared in the sky, blazing an eerie blue-green, streaking overhead in front of her. There was a hiss and a roar, a trail of sparks behind. It seemed to be descending, heading for the sea to the east. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. The sound penetrated her skin, the car shuddered and rocked, then she smelled something sweet and salty at the same time, tasted it in the back of her throat. The road in front of her rose up and spun round and she felt dizzy, unable to get her bearings. Bile rose in her throat then she puked down her sweatshirt. She pissed herself as the car drifted and she couldn’t control it, didn’t know which way was up. The car mounted the pavement and went over the grass verge to the rocky beach where it thumped into the sand and she passed out.

3

HEATHER

She stood with her toes pushed in the sand and tried to make sense of the lighthouses. Just offshore was the Fidra lighthouse, sticking up from the small knuckle of land that inspired Treasure Island. Beyond that was the blinking light from the Isle of May, then to her right was the beacon on the Bass Rock, a shadowy lump in the gloom.

She’d spent plenty of time on Yellowcraigs Beach over the years, living up the road in Dirleton. Tonight she was in her usual spot, away from where kids sat and got stoned round campfires. In all her visits, she’d never managed to get the lighthouse signals to synch up. She had a feeling they would mean something if she could just decode their timings and ratios, some great truth would be revealed. She’d looked up their patterns online, but that information didn’t correlate with what she saw.

Four flashes spaced out to her left, longer blinks from further away, a more hesitant glimmer from the Bass Rock. She opened her eyes wide, maybe the light would go directly to her brain and solve it. Cure her. But that was a fantasy, nothing would cure what was spreading through her synapses. She’d been offered chemo and radiotherapy treatments, aggressive invasions trying to stop her cells from killing themselves. But she’d seen how that was for Rosie, still felt the visceral sickness at the memory of her daughter, bald and sunken-eyed in a hospital bed, defeated.

She breathed deeply, tried to calm her heart. She had to pull herself back to what she was doing here. She looked at the sky. This far away from streetlights it was bristling with stars, shimmering freckles above the Firth of Forth, the moon blazing a trail across the water. She spotted Jupiter and maybe Saturn, the peachy tinge of Mars. So beautiful, yet so far away.

The gentle shush of the sea brought her back to earth. She saw the rockpools in the sweep of the Fidra beam, like shadows of sea creatures hunching their way onto land. She turned to the heap of large stones next to her.

She crouched and began placing the stones in her pockets. She wore loose yoga pants and felt stupid as the pockets started to bulge. She tied the waistband tight to make sure they didn’t fall down. She stuffed rocks into her hoodie pockets too, then zipped them up. The weight was already making her hunch. Over the hoodie was a fleece, three more zip pockets, one each side and one on the left breast. She filled them in turn, closed them. They would be hard to open in a panic.

She felt stupid with the weight, an ancient lumbering beast, soon extinct. She walked with a cumbersome gait to the water. It wasn’t far but each step was slow progress.

She stopped at the edge of the water, heard the ripple and slurp. She looked at the expanse of sea, the yellow lights of North Berwick to her right. She looked behind her at the beach where she’d been most days for the last twenty years. Single, married, pregnant, a mum, a grieving woman, divorced, a terminal brain tumour patient.

Now she was just Heather, ready to go. She’d had enough.

She stepped into the icy water, the material of the trousers clinging to her skin. The shock jolted her chest but she breathed through it, kept walking, felt her trouser pockets enter the water, the weight pulling her down. She was up to her waist, then her hoodie and fleece were soaked. She felt so heavy, like she was a rock herself, part of the rockpool alongside her. She’d been here for millennia, waiting for this. Anxiety rose in her chest but she stepped forward, the sand soft under her feet as she sank but kept going, up to her chest, neck. It got deep quickly in this stretch, that’s why she’d chosen it. She instinctively raised her chin to keep her mouth above the surface, kept walking and stretching her neck.

Between the flashes from Fidra, she sensed another light to her left, a glow shifting from aquamarine to teal, getting brighter until it was fierce. She saw a glaring ball of fire streak across the sky, ripping between her and Fidra, a crackle and fizz in her ears, a glimmering trail of sparkles in its wake as it tore into the sea a hundred yards away.

She waited for waves or steam or an explosion, but the night was silent and dark. She stood like that for a long time, the pull of the rocks in her pockets, the push of the water against her body. Then she stepped forward and there was no more sand under her feet. She tried to swim, arms beating the water, but the weight made her head sink under. She thrashed back to the surface, gasped in air, sank again. She stretched her toes, feeling for the seabed to kick against, but there was nothing. She began trying to remove her clothes, but her fingers fumbled. She tried to unzip a pocket, but the zip stuck as she yanked. She heaved her arms and legs in the water and rose for a moment, gasped in air, smelled something like scones which confused her, then sank again.

She opened her eyes underwater and they stung, the sand and seaweed she’d kicked up making it like she was drowning in soup. She felt dizzy, unsure which way was up, then vomited, the bile drifting away from her face as she sucked in sea water against every impulse in her body.

She lost all energy and stopped thrashing, her vision