‘No, I meant I don’t think I’m being pursued now,’ James said. ‘I just wanted to talk to someone at Kippen police.’

‘Can always go in there tomorrow, I’ll check what time someone is on, hang on.’

‘Aren’t you going to send someone over there tonight?’ James said.

The line went quiet while James calculated how long it would take for a police vehicle to get from Wishaw in an emergency. He heard the cop laughing with another voice that sounded like it was coming from a two-way radio, then hung up.

Adrenalin was still coursing through him, so he shook his hands until they stopped tingling. Over and over in his mind he mapped the distance from Tony’s flat to the toilets by the bridge. Despite his monumental sprint, it was possibly less than five-hundred metres in a direct line over the weir.

Fuck, Tony. What the fuck?

James pulled his knees up to his chin, gripped the phone tight against them and started searching for his father’s phone number. It rang out and clicked onto an answering machine, on which his father’s voice went through clipped platitudes about leaving a message after the beep.

It didn’t sound like anything was recording, which probably meant the machine was full, but James said: ‘Hi Dad, listen, I made it to Kippen in the end. Just drove through. I didn’t want to wake you, so I checked into a motel. Um... look, we need to talk. It’s about Tony. I think there’s something the coroner might need to take into account, I’ll-’

Repeated beeping interrupted him, followed by what sounded like a tape rewinding. James pressed the hang-up button and pushed the phone away into the middle of the room.

It was too late to take back anything he’d said. Maybe his father’s answering machine hadn’t recorded it? Maybe it had, and Dad would call back, and come and collect him if James asked him to? He’d feel a like an idiot, of course, but talking to his father felt like the safest option while he hid against the only inner wall of a place it would probably be really easy for someone to break into.

He pushed away all thoughts of walking anywhere that night, just as the phone screen went black, plunging the flat into complete darkness.

Back in town just twelve hours, and:-

I’m really scared someone might be waiting for me outside. He looks like a teenager, about my height but skinny. Black hoodie, black pants.

I can’t call Dylan because I’d have to explain going to the beat.

I wish Dad would pick up the phone (probably too pissed).

Tony obviously didn’t kill himself (but if not, what happened?).

Sitting here right now, I feel like they all know exactly what happened.

I’m texting this to myself in case something happens to me.

Six 1985

SIX
1985