She jumped off at the bottom of Mayfield and crossed West Mains Road. The Grant Institute was a brown 1930s block on the edge of campus facing over the road, home to geology and geophysics, including her, Halima, Brendan and the rest. Edinburgh Uni enticed students to come with the promise of vibrant student life up in George Square, bars, cafes and clubs, being in the thick of the festival in summer. Then after first year undergrad they shoved you out here with all the other science nerds, surrounded by posh houses and fields, half an hour on the bus from town.
She went through the front door and up the stairs to their open-plan department office. Somehow it always managed to be gloomy in here even on sunny days.
The room was half full, six folk checking social media or reading news on screens, one or two actually doing some writing or fiddling with data analysis. Halima and Brendan both smiled at her as she went to the kettle, but she didn’t stop. She spooned instant coffee into her mug and waited for the kettle to boil. She stared at Tom’s empty office at the end of the room. The door was open, but then the door was always open. That was one of the good things about Tom as a boss, there was no sense of superiority, no us-and-them.
Surtsey felt dizzy. Her eyes defocused then came back as the kettle switched off. She poured, splashing water onto the table.
‘Got some gossip.’
The voice made her twitch and she spilled more water, splats of it on the floor between her feet.
It was Halima. ‘Shit, babes, watch yourself, you nearly boiled your shoes there.’
Surtsey put the kettle down and stirred her coffee.
Halima grinned. ‘Apparently Tom’s gone missing.’
‘What?’
‘No one has seen our beloved professor since yesterday.’ Halima was mugging like a detective.
Surtsey looked at her watch and shook her head.
‘He’ll just be coming in late.’
Halima wagged a finger in the air. ‘His wife was here first thing this morning asking if anyone had seen him.’
‘Alice was here?’ Surtsey looked round.
‘Where were you, by the way?’ Halima said. ‘I thought maybe you’d pulled a sickie. That new grass is crazy.’
‘I went to see Mum.’
Halima’s goofball face faded. ‘Of course, sorry.’
Surtsey picked up her coffee but it was too hot to drink so she put it down again. ‘What did Alice say?’
‘She was frantic. He told her he was working late yesterday, that old line, but then he didn’t come home. She tried his phone, nothing. Still nothing this morning.’
‘Has she called the police?’
‘They can’t waste manpower on a search,’ Halima said. ‘No crime against going missing, they said.’
‘Really?’
Halima’s goon face was back. ‘He’s going to be in some heavy shit when he turns up.’
‘You don’t think he’s in trouble?’
‘What sort of trouble?’
Surtsey just wanted this to end. ‘Car accident? Heart attack?’
‘Someone would’ve found him, contacted the police. Anyway, Alice said she already phoned round the hospitals. Nothing. The plot thickens.’
‘Don’t, Hal, he could be in real trouble.’
‘Ach, he’s fine. He’ll be on a bender or shagging some daft undergrad. Minor midlife crisis. He’ll turn up sheepish, get a bollocking, then be welcomed back into the fold.’
Surtsey went to pick up her coffee again, but her finger slipped on the handle and liquid sloshed on to the floor.
Halima stepped back and narrowed her eyes. ‘You OK? That was some strong shit last night.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Iona clattering about with that guy didn’t help. Some girl.’
‘Yeah.’ Surtsey glanced at Tom’s office, then at her own desk. ‘I’d better get on.’
‘Still on for lunch, yeah?’
Surtsey nodded, went to her desk and logged in. First thing she did was a Google news search for ‘the Inch’ and ‘Tom Lawrie’. Nothing much, just some old puff pieces from months ago, when they got that research grant. A picture of Tom on the Evening Standard website alongside one of the iconic pictures of the Inch, bloody lava pouring along the crevice between volcanic vent and flat plain, white steam billowing in a column where the lava fizzled in contact with the sea. She had the same picture on a postcard next to her computer monitor. Those early aerial shots of the island were inspiration to everyone who worked here, the idea of newly created land emerging from the ocean depths. It was beautiful, like anyone could get a new start in life given the right circumstances.
Surtsey clicked the story away, brought up the department homepage. She went into her browser history and deleted this morning’s search.
‘Was Halima telling you about Tom?’
Brendan was next to her desk, running his finger along the edge of the wood. She had a pang in her heart, a rush of remembering why she’d fallen for him in the first place, the dark curly hair and freckles, the green eyes, bags of energy. Why had she bothered looking elsewhere? She should’ve spoken to him already, it must’ve looked weird not to when she came in, but she couldn’t face him just now.
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘Strange, eh?’ That soft Dublin sliver of voice.
‘I’m sure he’ll turn up.’
Brendan rubbed at his knuckles.
‘Up to much last night?’
Surtsey stared at her computer screen. The uni logo, the panorama of Edinburgh’s skyline, the castle along to Salisbury Crags, the edge of the Inch poking out behind the rump of Arthur’s Seat. The picture was taken from the observatory at Blackford Hill along the road, which meant if she could get up high enough, she could see the Inch from here. Edinburgh was such a small place.
‘Night in with Hal,’ she said.
Brendan nodded, puppy eyes. ‘Fancy doing something tonight?’
Surtsey touched her temple. ‘I’m feeling a bit shit at the moment, let me think about it.’
‘Sure.’
She could sense his disappointment and felt guilty.
Brendan shuffled his feet. ‘How about lunch?’
She nodded across the office. ‘Hal has stuff going on, man problems. I said I’d help her talk it out. Sorry.’
Brendan hovered for a moment. ‘Everything’s OK, yeah?’
Surtsey put on a smile. ‘Fine,
