by Heleen Kist
‘Okay,’ I said, since he wouldn’t budge.
As he strode away, I wondered how long it would take for him to trust again.
Chapter Sixty-One
Alastair requested I pop into his office between clients. Unable to find any nearby on-street parking and running late, I rerouted all the way to the NCP garage on Mitchell, hoping to God I could return within an hour, before the rate doubled to an eye-watering £8.
Large strides brought me to West George street within minutes, the streets clear of obstructive pedestrians given it was wet and windy out. The receptionist offered me a cup of tea in the small meeting room and subtly slid the box of tissues in my direction. I felt a pang of panic thinking she knew of bad news to come, but then understood she’d meant for me to dry my face.
Of course the receptionist wouldn’t know.
I became conscious of the drips from my ponytail onto the velour upholstery and slipped to the edge of the armchair to avoid soaking the back cushion. The purpose of the meeting was woolly. He’d only said he had news and some paperwork for me to sign. With the parking clock ticking, I ambushed Alastair with questions as soon as he arrived.
‘So? What’s the news?’
Such dispensing with social niceties took him aback, but he smiled and jumped straight in.
‘It’s excellent news. The key man insurance is paying out. It took a few emails and the police report, but they have accepted that Glory dying so soon after taking out the cover was nothing more than a statistical fluke.’
I felt elation like I’d only ever experienced racing down a zip-line before. I couldn’t believe my luck.
‘Oh my God. The hundred grand? You said I would be able to take it out of the business. Is that true?’
‘Yes. That’s a choice you can make. Since you’ve not yet transferred the shares to Glory’s estate.’
‘No, I haven’t. There’s been no time.’
‘This means it’s essentially yours to keep in the café or to pay out in dividends. If you do, you get eighty-five, in proportion to your shares, and Glory’s estate gets her fifteen percent.’
‘Wow.’
‘There will be tax implications, and I can talk you through how to mitigate…Oh.’ A glimpse of my wet eyes stopped him from divulging his accountancy tricks further. He got up and moved towards me. But tall as he was, no bending of his limbs could result in anything close to a hug so, instead, he stood next to me, with his hand on my back, as I hunched over and wept. ‘Please tell me these are happy tears.’
‘Yes, yes.’ I sniffed, wiped my eyes and regained my composure. ‘I’m just in shock, you know? This will make all the difference to Mum and Dad.’
And to my conscience.
‘Is that where it’s going?’
‘Yes, to give Mum the best care there is.’
‘That’s very generous of you. Good for you. What a lovely thing to do. I’m sure Glory would approve.’
Once the paperwork was signed by me as new director, I bounded down the hill, tripping over my feet as if in zero-gravity, the weight of weeks of guilt gone. I whipped out my Samsung when I entered the car and called home—parking rates be damned.
My parents were not in and I cursed as the line rang out, their technical ineptitude often disabling the answer-phone. Bursting to share our good fortune, I dialled Dave’s number.
‘Hello?’
‘Dave! It’s me. You won’t believe—’
He interrupted, sounding as though he was speaking from deep inside a cavern. ‘Babe, I can’t talk right now. I’m elbow-deep in sludge.’
‘Oh, okay. Sorry.’
‘But listen. Come by my flat at six. I’ve got a surprise for you. Gotta go. Bye.’
I let out a scream of frustration. My energy needed a release and when banging on the steering wheel wasn’t enough, I got out of the Panda and ran a lap of the parking structure’s third and second floors.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The Gorbals. Once known as the most dangerous place in the UK; an overcrowded area of social housing where unemployment and crime went hand in hand. Mouldy, concrete high-rises with limited outdoor space had given it the unenviable reputation of a lower life expectancy than Iraq. It was no wonder people from outside Glasgow—and many from inside—had an unflattering view of the area and its people without having set foot there. It was also no wonder Stephen had escaped as soon as he could.
What a place to grow up.
But my boyfriend had stayed put, loyal to the origins that shaped him. Having learnt the trade from his father, he’d set up his own plumbing business aged nineteen to prove that he could stand on his own two feet and be the kind of man his father was. Humble. Industrious. Traditional, but with a respect for women that would have been uncommon in those days; instilled by Mrs Baker as she juggled raising her two children, her work at the launderette and helping her Women’s Aid group run a refuge for battered wives.
Nowadays, the place wasn’t as bad. The Glasgow Housing Association demolished the worst, most poisonous structures and was in the midst of a big redevelopment. Though judging from the weathered tarpaulin lining the construction sites, it was progressing at a snail’s pace.
I’d been to Dave’s flat a few times when our relationship began but had used an early act of vandalism on my windshield wipers as an excuse to make him come to mine instead. Unlike most other structures, his place looked out onto something green: the Gorbals Rose Garden. With only a small patch of blooms it was undeserving of its name.
As I secured my car—with gear stick lock—I noticed the park was otherwise well-maintained and the two mothers pushing prams were not teenagers, for once. There’s hope, I thought.
His red brick and grey metal building had four floors and Dave lived at the top, which an estate agent with a sense of humour had called ‘a penthouse.’ The black door shone with fresh paint and for once the doorbell button did not stick when pressed.
He opened with a wide grin on his face. ‘Welcome, honoured guest.’ A kiss later, he gestured for me to enter. The first thing that struck me was the clean window. There was actual sunlight coming through. But as I took off my shoes, I saw the new flooring and a pair of immaculate magnolia walls.
‘Surprise!’ he said.
‘You’ve redecorated? Wow.’
‘Yes. Come look.’ He pulled me by the arm into the lounge, where I had a clear view of the open-plan kitchen, a gleaming worktop framing a polished steel hob.
‘It looks amazing. When did you do this?’
‘I’ve been working on it ever since we started talking about moving in together. But it was going very slowly. With the extra work for Tam at weekends and evenings, I’ve had the money to speed things up.’ While his trusted worn-out kettle bathed the new cabinets in steam, he showed me the smooth closure of the drawers. ‘I tell you, I’m knackered. I’ve been at it every given opportunity, for months.’
‘What a transformation. I’m really proud of you.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
An uncomfortable silence hovered as the tea bags brewed, him gazing at me in expectation, and me worried he wanted me to move here.
‘So? You had news…when you called,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ So that’s what he was waiting for. We’d need to have ‘the chat’ at some point but for now I was delighted with the change of subject. ‘You won’t believe it. I hadn’t mentioned it to you before because, to be honest, what with everything else, I forgot. And the accountant had managed my expectations to be so low it hadn’t really registered, you know? But turns out Glory took out a hundred-grand insurance through the business and they’re going to pay out…and there’s nothing to stop me using it for Mum’s care.’
‘Jesus, Grace. That’s insane. Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’ I could hardly contain my glee. And when Dave spoke again, I knew I had most definitely found my man.
‘Wow.
That’s wonderful. I’m so happy you get to help your Mum. Sure, it would have been awesome to get to keep it for a better flat when I sell this one, but this is such a wonderful gift.’
After we kissed, and all the trouble he’d gone through, it would have been rude not to sleep in the freshly refurbished flat. But that did mean getting up extra early in the morning to swing home for clean clothes.
Come that time, sunlight streamed into the room through the thin blinds, and despite appearing to be asleep, Dave managed to clutch the rim of my pants as I stepped out of bed.
‘Stay.’
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Nooo. Stay.’
‘I’ve got the café and two clients this morning.’ I pried myself loose and he sat up as I covered my breasts with a T-shirt.
‘Can we do something fun later, in the afternoon? You’re always off taking care of others…’
‘Great idea. Why don’t we go up Ben Lomond? It’s meant to be a nice day and there won’t be many tourists yet.’
‘Sure. What time?’
‘I need to pass by Glory’s house to pick up my boots. Why don’t you pick me up there at one o’clock? We’ll stop for a sandwich on the way up. It’s only about an hour’s drive.’
Plans made, I left to fulfil the morning’s duties with a spring in my step.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Ben Lomond’s 3196 feet beckoned, with its rewarding views along the loch and far into the hills to the North. All morning, I was energised by the prospect of an afternoon of fresh air and physical activity, and the bagging of my fourth Munro. Even my client in Bearsden couldn’t dampen my spirits with her excuses to avoid actual-heart-rate-raising routines and her habit of ordering miraculous no-effort body-shaping gadgets she’d bought online. I was going to climb a hill with my gorgeous boyfriend. What wasn’t to love?
I dropped the Panda at home and walked to Glory’s. The billboards outside Sainsbury’s Local bore images of picnics and summer berries, which seduced me in, and I stocked up on goodies to power today’s ascent.
By the time I reached the house, my arms had been outstretched with the weight of two brimming plastic bags for so long, I struggled to bend them back. I rubbed the strained inside of my elbows once at the gate to punch in the code, and noted the nice definition on my biceps.
A narrow plank of wood lay nearby, which I placed against the sensors to keep the gate open for when Dave came. The gravel crunched twice under my feet before triggering Blue’s welcome. The walks no longer a daily burden, I confessed to myself I missed his unwavering enthusiasm. I considered taking him climbing with us, but remembered he now had a dog walker whose unknown schedule I did not want to disrupt. Maybe we should get a pet, I thought. After all, we’d soon have our own place, which I mentally filled with puppy paws and floppy ears.
My trusted greeter jumped against the door as I unlocked it, practically throwing me off my feet.
‘Calm down, boy.’ I quickly placed the bags onto the worktop to prevent them ripping as he stuck his face in. ‘Hello, buddy.’ I shook his furry cheeks. ‘Miss me? I’m only here real quick. For my shoes.’
He cocked his head as though interested.
‘Yes, that’s right. My boots. Have you seen them? Go look!’ That set him off, which in turn set me off laughing, shaking my head as he hopped about the room like a rabid animal.
His dopiness stopped being fun when his tail wagged the seemingly permanent pile of post off the side table, sheets sliding down like a waterfall. I used one hand to dam the chute and the other to assemble the paper spread across the floor. The collection had at least all been opened by now, but I grumbled it was time for Stephen to file this lot away.
The golden logo of the Highland Arms crossed my sight, and I let out a melancholic sigh.
Aw, your spa day. I’m sorry you missed it, Gi.
I lifted the letter to place it back, but the one underneath caught my attention. It was from the NHS, addressed to Glory and inviting her for her three-yearly cervical examination.
I guess they haven’t updated your records.
I didn’t feel it was appropriate for this to be lying around where the boys could find it, even if they wouldn’t understand what it meant. In fact, this pile really had no place in the kitchen at all and I picked the whole lot up to bring it to somewhere grown-up: Stephen’s study.
As I bent over to pick up a letter I missed, I saw that it was from the Clydesdale bank, sending Noah a new authorisation code for online banking. Noah, who was too young for a regular bank account. In a flash, I figured this must be the trust. And as it was dated after Glory’s death, it could only have been Stephen who requested it.
So he knew.
What else did he have?
A nagging feeling of unease washed over me. Why had he not mentioned it when I’d come clean about the money laundering?
His study was at the front of the house, a somewhat hidden, tiny former pantry behind the guest toilet. Glory had instructed me early on it was off limits.
Sorry, Gi, not today.
I ventured into the windowless room and saw a compact desk and a wall with three shelves carrying books, boxes and lever arch files. A large grey jumper hugged the chair, and I imagined him in here, late at night, catching up on work; the electric heater angled to blow warmth in his direction.
On the table, multiple heaps of paperwork bordered a clear area narrowly big enough to fit a laptop, but currently populated by chewed-off nail fragments. I wondered if this was a recent habit, as I’d not had him down as a biter. The overflowing bin further showed the cleaner avoided this room. As I moved to set the letters I’d brought in on the desk, I tripped over a bag. It was a blue holdall. Glory’s PE bag.
That’s it!
Like Mum said, you were always hiding it. Why hadn’t I looked for it before?
There were lots of papers inside. I held a manageable stack in my hands and, like a flip-book, let the pages fall from under my thumb, stopping at the red ink of the Clydesdale. As my fingers tried to extract the red from the rest, I spotted a troubling image and my heart jumped. It was a colour print-out of a photo. A photo of Glory and Mike deep in conversation. Why did Glory have this? Or was it Stephen’s? Had this been part of the blackmail? To prove Glory’s money laundering? It wasn’t the same one as on her phone. I searched for more pictures. There were none.
That lech Brian Scott’s face popped into my head and I shuddered, a bitter taste flooding my mouth. It had never been my plan to have him killed, but I’d grown comfortable with the fact that he’d deserved it. Like the wholesaler getting caught. Even though he didn’t kill Glory, he had still crossed her. He was still scum.
I examined the red logoed bank statements and, as I’d suspected, discovered they belonged to the children. And they had way too much money in them to be a simple savings account. No wonder I hadn’t been able to find them. They were here all along. Or were they? Maybe he’d only just found the bag. All this proved was that Stephen knew of the trusts. But the proof I needed was not that Glory had been hiding things from him, but when. And as my brain alternated between the ‘before Glory’ and ‘after Glory’ scenarios, I realised that’s what mattered the most.
I plopped into the chair with the statements to check their dates, buzzing with the prospect of a discovery that could change everything, but the spit-out nails in the middle of the desk distracted me. I wiped the disgusting, flaky body remnants with a sheet of paper, trying to catch them with another so I wouldn’t need to touch them. A few fell on the ground. I stooped under the desk to collect them, their uneven ridges snagging on the carpet as I picked them free. That’s when I noticed, through the mesh of the metal bin, the unusual letter formation ‘Zolp’ on a folded piece of paper midway down. Reaching inside with care, I managed to extract the square without letting anything else fall out.
Once I saw what it was, waves of nausea rolled in from the swirling pool i
nside my stomach and I had to build up breath after breath, like sandbags, to stem the flood. Memories of that first night raced through my mind: Stephen’s despair; how he’d crumbled; how he’d clung to me for help. The next morning: how he’d explained Glory’s sleeplessness and his concern. It all seemed so genuine, so plausible and yet…The delivery note from Pharmacy4U.com for a pack of sleeping pills was in his name.
Why the pills?
What did I miss?
What did he do?
I wracked my brain for any indication that would fit a new theory brewing and it spat up ‘Marius.’ Marius had warned me against him and I’d dismissed him. I grabbed my phone and dialled the mobile number they’d given him in the safe house.
‘Hello?’
‘Marius, it’s Grace.’
‘Hello. Good to hear from you. Are you—’
‘Sorry Marius, I don’t have much time. I need to ask you something, Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘When you told me you saw Stephen with the bad man. The big boss. Was that at the Prince William?’
‘No. I do not know a Prince William.’
It was, by now, what I’d expected to hear.
‘So where did you see him?’
‘At the Royden Tavern. Why Grace? Is there problem?’
‘Why do you say they’re bad men?’
‘Oh, they are. I have new friend here, Mihai. He is also in safe house. He worked there and tell me bad stories. They had slaves and prostitutes. They break legs of people.’
‘Would they kill someone? Would they run someone off the road in a car?’
‘Like in Glory accident?’ The penny had dropped. ‘I do not know. I ask Mihai. Please wait.’
The silence lasted an eternity. I heard muffled noises. Questioning voices. Insistent tones.
‘Grace?’
‘Yes, Marius, I’m here. What did he say?’
‘Mihai says yes. Mihai say they kill people for money. With guns. And with accidents. But Mihai say he not want to. His boss not happy. He punish. Mihai did not do these things.’