powder, the signal from mobile-telephone masts causing depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts.
She looked at the leaflet in her hand. This was his latest crusade, the Queensferry Crossing, as it had been named. The new road bridge across the Forth was being built just to the west of the current one, hitting land right next to the marina where Ben had worked until recently. He’d stumbled across the idea on some crackpot website that either something in their internal communication network was sending signals into the ether that changed the wiring of kids’ brains, or there was something in the building materials giving off a gas that poisoned everyone’s minds. It was ridiculous, of course, and she’d told him so umpteen times, but he never heard. She understood, it was hard to hear the truth, that Logan just killed himself and there was no answer, no resolution. No comfort. Easier to believe that the government or building contractors or phone companies were to blame.
Ben’s leaflet had quotes from building trade ‘insiders’ confirming that dangerous, cheap non-EU chemicals were being used, and that there had been other clusters of suicides at major building projects using the same method in the Far East.
Ellie closed her eyes and tried to remember their wedding day. Tight-skinned and happy, the two of them waltzing in a small marquee, their lives ahead of them, Logan not even an idea then, let alone a dead one. All she could see was Sam standing on the bridge, his hands tight on the railing, his body swaying back and forth. Her eyes went to the ceiling. Logan’s room was directly above them, if Sam walked around they would likely hear him.
Ben took another sip of tea and made a face at the taste. ‘I really need to get going, deliver these.’
Ellie wondered what the neighbours thought of Ben’s steady stream of lunatic leaflets through their letterboxes. To begin with maybe there was some sympathy, he’d lost his son after all. But now, six months later, wasn’t it time to move on? But it was never time to move on, that’s what she’d come to realise.
‘Stay a minute.’ She went over to him and touched his arm. ‘Sit down. I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.’
‘If you’re going to go on about the leaflets, I don’t want to hear it.’
‘I won’t.’
He sat down, the same chair Sam had been in a few minutes before. Ellie listened for noise from upstairs, but there was nothing. The washing machine chugged away in the corner of the kitchen, throwing Sam’s trousers and pants around.
She knew she should tell Ben. Keeping it to herself could only push them apart. But she had to figure out what it all meant, had to understand the gift she’d been given first, before she could share it.
‘Remember when we saw that porpoise, when Logan was little,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I remember.’
‘He was three, I think?’
Ben nodded. ‘Three and a half.’
‘He kept saying “dolphink”, “dolphink”.’
‘Then you said, “No, it’s a porpoise”.’
Ellie laughed. ‘And then he wouldn’t stop saying “purpose”, “purpose”.’
They were both smiling now. Their little purpose. Ellie tried to think when she’d last seen Ben smile.
‘Our little porpoise,’ she said.
Ben sighed, the smile gone. ‘Yeah.’
Ellie looked up at the ceiling, then out at the Forth. ‘What if we got a second chance?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Imagine we got to live our lives over,’ Ellie said. ‘What would you do different?’
‘Don’t, Ellie.’
‘Go on.’
‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to hear you talk like this.’
‘But if we got a second chance?’
Ben stood up, knuckles on the table. ‘There are no second chances. You know that. Stop talking this way, please.’
She got up too, hands out, pleading. ‘What are we going to do, Ben? There’s no end to this, is there?’
He shrugged and headed for the door.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It never
She looked at the leaflet in her hand. This was his latest crusade, the Queensferry Crossing, as it had been named. The new road bridge across the Forth was being built just to the west of the current one, hitting land right next to the marina where Ben had worked until recently. He’d stumbled across the idea on some crackpot website that either something in their internal communication network was sending signals into the ether that changed the wiring of kids’ brains, or there was something in the building materials giving off a gas that poisoned everyone’s minds. It was ridiculous, of course, and she’d told him so umpteen times, but he never heard. She understood, it was hard to hear the truth, that Logan just killed himself and there was no answer, no resolution. No comfort. Easier to believe that the government or building contractors or phone companies were to blame.
Ben’s leaflet had quotes from building trade ‘insiders’ confirming that dangerous, cheap non-EU chemicals were being used, and that there had been other clusters of suicides at major building projects using the same method in the Far East.
Ellie closed her eyes and tried to remember their wedding day. Tight-skinned and happy, the two of them waltzing in a small marquee, their lives ahead of them, Logan not even an idea then, let alone a dead one. All she could see was Sam standing on the bridge, his hands tight on the railing, his body swaying back and forth. Her eyes went to the ceiling. Logan’s room was directly above them, if Sam walked around they would likely hear him.
Ben took another sip of tea and made a face at the taste. ‘I really need to get going, deliver these.’
Ellie wondered what the neighbours thought of Ben’s steady stream of lunatic leaflets through their letterboxes. To begin with maybe there was some sympathy, he’d lost his son after all. But now, six months later, wasn’t it time to move on? But it was never time to move on, that’s what she’d come to realise.
‘Stay a minute.’ She went over to him and touched his arm. ‘Sit down. I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.’
‘If you’re going to go on about the leaflets, I don’t want to hear it.’
‘I won’t.’
He sat down, the same chair Sam had been in a few minutes before. Ellie listened for noise from upstairs, but there was nothing. The washing machine chugged away in the corner of the kitchen, throwing Sam’s trousers and pants around.
She knew she should tell Ben. Keeping it to herself could only push them apart. But she had to figure out what it all meant, had to understand the gift she’d been given first, before she could share it.
‘Remember when we saw that porpoise, when Logan was little,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I remember.’
‘He was three, I think?’
Ben nodded. ‘Three and a half.’
‘He kept saying “dolphink”, “dolphink”.’
‘Then you said, “No, it’s a porpoise”.’
Ellie laughed. ‘And then he wouldn’t stop saying “purpose”, “purpose”.’
They were both smiling now. Their little purpose. Ellie tried to think when she’d last seen Ben smile.
‘Our little porpoise,’ she said.
Ben sighed, the smile gone. ‘Yeah.’
Ellie looked up at the ceiling, then out at the Forth. ‘What if we got a second chance?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Imagine we got to live our lives over,’ Ellie said. ‘What would you do different?’
‘Don’t, Ellie.’
‘Go on.’
‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to hear you talk like this.’
‘But if we got a second chance?’
Ben stood up, knuckles on the table. ‘There are no second chances. You know that. Stop talking this way, please.’
She got up too, hands out, pleading. ‘What are we going to do, Ben? There’s no end to this, is there?’
He shrugged and headed for the door.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It never
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