His back was against the ledge and he was sweating. He had no experience of this, hadn’t ever had to fend off a sexual advance, an unwanted hand, an accidental squeeze of your breast that wasn’t accidental at all.

‘Come on,’ Jenny said under her breath. ‘Get your cock out.’

He tried to puff out his chest. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

She grabbed his crotch, felt his bollocks in her grip, squeezed.

‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘You’re crazy.’

He went to pull away but she squeezed tighter and he winced.

He was so tall that she had to go on tiptoes to whisper.

‘No woman on the planet is interested in seeing your scabby junk,’ she said. ‘Got that?’

He nodded, eyes wide.62

‘Now,’ Jenny said, calming her voice. ‘Do you know anything about Mel’s disappearance?’

She put more pressure on his crotch.

He shook his head, tears in his eyes. ‘I don’t know anything, I swear.’

She stood deciding whether to believe him or not. Still gripping his balls, still angry. She heard a golf club hit a ball, then a man swear.

‘Please,’ Bradley said. ‘Let me go.’

63

13

HANNAH

She wandered round the exhibition waiting for Vic. She liked The Fruitmarket, the natural light here on the first floor, and the art was always nuts. Next to her were thousands of cigarette papers stuck to the wall in precise order, while in the far corner were some oversized foam sculptures that looked like the bones of a giant extinct species. She wanted to touch everything but the staff were watching.

‘Hannah.’

Mel’s brother was in a tight black T-shirt showing off his tattooed arms, Celtic and Canton swirls from the wrist to the bicep. She hugged him. He smelt zingy and felt very solid indeed. He had every right to be showing off that body. His hair was precisely side-parted and gelled, rectangular glasses that might’ve been for show.

‘Shall we grab a drink?’ he said, ushering her downstairs to the café.

They took a table far from the baristas and the noise of the espresso machine. Hannah wasn’t sure what Vic did here, something to do with community engagement, but he always looked at home amongst the design books, weird art and warehouse décor. The café was busy with young arty types and the older gentry of Edinburgh, red trousers and pashminas. This was one of the spots in the city where elderly bohemians would gather as if responding to a call only they could hear.

A tall waitress with bright-green hair and matching eyes took their order and slunk behind the counter.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Vic said. A brief smile, replaced by a worried look.64

‘I was glad you called,’ Hannah said. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘I spoke to Mum and Dad,’ Vic said. His hand went to his hair, a nervous move, checking his parting, sliding his fingers along the scalp.

‘How are they?’