Craig shifted his weight from one foot to the other, that old nervous energy still trilling through his muscles. ‘I’m just trying to imagine you as one of the coffin bearers. Have you been working out?’
He reached out and pretended to squeeze her bicep. She thought about coffins, then her dad on the funeral pyre, his flesh melting away and his body fluids evaporating, the meat of him dissolving into ash and dust and blown away. She felt a knot in her belly then suddenly she was crying, covering her face with her hands, ashamed.
‘Hey,’ Craig said.
He wrapped his arms around her and she pushed into his shoulder, could smell the CK One he still wore after all these years, and the familiar smell of his sweat underneath. The combination made her dizzy as she sobbed and imagined her tears falling on stony ground, being evaporated by sunshine into the clouds to mingle with her dad’s atoms, combined forever in the water cycle, keeping plants and animals alive, keeping ocean currents flowing, passing through the bodies of whales and sharks and giant squids.
She lifted her head away from his shoulder, eyes still closed, and felt the stubble of his chin and his lips against hers, and she pressed against him, suddenly years younger, and he kissed her back and she pushed her tongue into his mouth and leaned her body into his and tasted her own tears which had slipped down her cheek and she was twenty years old and had her whole life ahead of her and she was kissing a boy and her dad was still alive and she had nothing to worry about, not a care in the world and everyone she loved would live forever.
After too long, she pulled away and stepped back. She looked at her feet.
‘That was a mistake.’ She couldn’t look straight at him, like he was the sun low in the sky.
‘Sure.’
‘I should go.’
‘Yeah.’
She nodded to herself, still tasting him on her lips, the echoes of his touch on her back, tear stains on her cheeks. She turned and went inside to see how the dead were doing.
33
HANNAH
‘Babes, you’re crazy,’ Indy said.
Hannah rubbed the back of her neck then ran a finger along the reception desk.
‘I lost it,’ she said. ‘He has to know something about Mel but the police don’t seem bothered.’
Indy came from behind the desk and hugged her. She felt Indy’s body against her own, smelled her perfume and the scent of lilies on the desk. Why do people associate cut flowers with funerals? They die a few days after, just to rub it in, the fact that nothing lasts forever. Memento mori and all that. She saw the catalogue on Indy’s desk for memorial jewellery, lockets and pendants holding a pinch of your loved one’s ashes round your neck. But what if you lost the necklace? She’d heard of people getting the deceased’s ashes tattooed into their skin and she liked that, making them a part of you. And there were also stories of people snorting the dead up with a line of coke, or having them fired into space in a rocket.
She pulled away from Indy’s embrace and looked at her tattoos, beautiful Hindu designs up her arms, snaking down and around her hands. She wanted to be a part of that one day, embedded in her lover’s skin forever. But nothing was forever except the elemental particles. All that ‘made of stardust’ stuff was true but meaningless. Better to think of it the other way – that future stars and planets would be made from you. Maybe one day some of her atoms would be part of a meteor that crashed into the home planet of an advanced civilisation, wiping them out. Maybe molecules from her and Indy would be part of a giant black hole, consuming its corner of the galaxy like a greedy baby, swallowing up gas giants and brown dwarves and neutron stars like spoonfuls of mushy peas.
‘I’m worried about you,’ Indy said.
‘There’s no need to be.’
‘I think it’s great you’re trying to find Mel, but you have to stay sane in the process. You know you can get obsessive about stuff.’
Hannah frowned, but that was true. She was the intense one in their couple. It was funny how relationships worked, you both start out as the exciting, spontaneous ones, but once the façades begin to drop you fall into more natural behaviour, like particles in a collider experiment, unable to act any way other than how the laws of physics dictate, a blend of your own innate properties and the forces applied to you. So Hannah became the organised and obsessive one, and Indy became the laid-back one, the emotional supporter.
They heard a clatter from the direction of the workshop, something large hitting the floor.
‘Archie’s gone home, hasn’t he?’ Hannah said.
Indy nodded. ‘And Dorothy’s upstairs.’
They shared a look then headed through the back, Hannah pushing the door open. She saw her mum’s arse in the air, Jenny bending over and trying to pick up a coffin lid from the ground.
‘Mum?’ Hannah said.
Jenny righted herself with the lid in front of her like a shield. ‘Sorry, I bumped into this a tiny bit.’
Indy went over and touched the edge of the lid where the wood had split.
‘This is useless now,’ she said.
‘It was an accident,’ Jenny said.
‘What were you doing?’ Hannah said.
Jenny looked around for an answer, then down at the lidless coffin on the workbench. She put a hand in and touched the lining as if stroking a cat. ‘Nothing, just thinking.’
‘And mucking about with the coffins,’ Indy said, taking the lid and resting it against the wall.
Jenny went wide-eyed with sarcasm. ‘Sorry.’
‘Are you drunk?’ Hannah said, stepping closer.
Jenny rubbed at her forehead. ‘I’ve had a couple.’
‘Is that why you didn’t answer your phone?’
‘What do you mean?’
Jenny fumbled her phone out of her pocket, took a second to key in the passcode, then raised her eyebrows. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hannah was arrested,’ Indy said with a smile.
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t,’ Hannah said. ‘I was detained then given a warning, it’s not the same thing.’
‘She hit Peter Longhorn’s wife in the face.’
Hannah gave Indy a stare. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
Jenny shook her head as if trying to dislodge something. ‘What am I missing?’
Hannah sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter, we’ll catch you up when you’re sober. Who were you drinking with?’
Jenny pulled at her earlobe. ‘The Hook woman. She doesn’t believe her husband is an artist. She thinks he’s up to something and wants to keep paying us to follow him.’
Indy went to the back door, which Jenny had left open, and locked it. ‘People are weird.’
Jenny lifted a finger. ‘That is so true.’ She turned to Hannah. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get your calls.’
Hannah rubbed her hands together. She wondered how Emilia Longhorn’s face felt.
‘Probably just as well, in this state.’
Jenny pushed herself away from the workbench and the coffin. ‘I’m not in any state.’
‘OK, whatever,’ Hannah said. ‘You know, maybe Gran was right about you, Mum.’
Jenny looked confused. ‘What about me?’
‘You always need to be fucking yourself up.’
‘I’m not fucking myself up.’
‘Han,’ Indy said.
Jenny took an unsteady step forwards, waving a hand. ‘No, let’s hear it. Let’s hear what the prodigal daughter has to say about her drunken mum.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Forget it.’
‘What?’
‘I said forget it,’ Hannah said. ‘There’s no point talking to you like this.’
Jenny moved her head and hands, exaggerated movements. ‘I’ll have you know I was just talking to your dad about you.’
Hannah stopped at that. ‘And?’
Jenny placed a finger to her lips and made a shushing sound.
Hannah sighed.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Indy said.
/>
‘Hannah.’
This was Dorothy standing in the workshop doorway. She had her phone in her hand and a look on her face that wasn’t good.
‘What?’ Hannah said.
Dorothy nodded at the phone. ‘It’s Thomas, the police have found Melanie. I mean they’ve found her body. I’m so sorry.’
34
HANNAH
The sun was bright and she hadn’t slept. The fact people were walking up and down Middle Meadow Walk as if nothing was wrong was an insult. How can everyone go about their business when the world has stopped? Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose and swallowed hard. She felt Indy rubbing her arm.
‘Babes,’ Indy said, voice full of hurt.
Hannah could smell the coffee on the table in front of them, and the almond pastries, and she caught a sniff of last night’s pizza and stale lager from the bin down the road from Söderberg.
‘I can’t get over it,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘I thought she would turn up, I thought this was all a game, like she was playing hide-and-seek or something. I never thought…’
They’d been round and round it between them into the early hours lying in bed together. But they had nothing, which was why they were here. Thomas had agreed to meet them for breakfast and fill them in on the case. Hannah had passed over Mel’s parents’ number, and she was selfishly relieved she didn’t have to make that call. She didn’t know how Indy or Gran ever got used to it with the funeral work, speaking to people in that moment of grief and shock. Dealing with death every day had to take its toll on your psyche, all that distress and emptiness and loss.
She saw Dorothy and Jenny walking from the park, sunglasses on, then she spotted Thomas appearing from between the uni buildings on George Square. She stood up and walked across the path without checking for cyclists.
‘Well?’
Thomas waved her back towards the café table. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind that,’ Hannah said. She was aware of Dorothy and Jenny arriving, Indy watching her with a cup in her hand. ‘I need to know details.’
‘Please sit,’ Thomas said, then indicated the other two. ‘All of you.’
They ordered tea and more things to eat, although Hannah wanted to slap the pastries off the table in disgust. The stench of them made her sick.
‘Where was she found?’
‘Hannah.’ This was Jenny, hungover.
‘I need to know,’ she said, turning on her mum.
‘I promised Dorothy I would tell you all I know and I will,’ Thomas said. ‘Melanie’s body was found at seven-forty p.m. last night in the thick undergrowth at Craigmillar Park Golf Course.’
Hannah sat up. ‘That’s next to the James Clerk Maxwell Building.’
Thomas nodded.
‘So it was probably Peter,’ Hannah said.
‘Hang on,’ Jenny said. ‘What about Bradley?’
‘And Xander,’ Indy said.
Hannah frowned. ‘How was she killed?’
‘Initial signs suggest strangulation,’ Thomas said.
‘Any sign of sexual assault?’ Hannah said.
Jenny touched her head. ‘Hannah.’
‘What?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘No evidence of rape.’
‘So what now?’ Dorothy said, voice calm.
Thomas waved a hand around the table. ‘We formally interview the people you’ve already spoken to.’
‘What about forensics?’ Hannah said.
‘There’s a team on the scene collecting evidence. Once they’re finished there, they’ll need to go through Melanie’s room in your flat. We’ll ask all our suspects for swabs, look for a match. Not just for crime-scene evidence, there’s something else.’
Hannah felt a thrum in her fingers as if the Earth was trying to send her a message.
Thomas looked around the table then lowered his eyes.
‘Melanie was pregnant.’
Hannah was turning the key in the lock when her phone rang. She bundled through the door, Indy following behind, and looked at the screen. Vic, shit. She stared at it for a long time then pressed answer as Indy disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Have you heard?’ Vic said. His voice was on the edge.
‘I’m so sorry, Vic.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I know.’
A long gap. ‘She had a baby.’ Vic was crying now. ‘Mum and Dad, my God, I don’t know how they’ll cope.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Hannah could only think to keep saying the same thing over and over until the end of time.
‘I need to find who did this,’ Vic said. ‘Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do the police know anything?’
‘They’re following leads.’
‘What does that mean?’
Hannah looked at the door to Mel’s room. She ran her finger along the wood. ‘We spoke to some people and passed our information on.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You can’t just bully them,’ Hannah said. She thought about the slap she gave Peter’s wife. ‘You need to let the police handle it.’
‘Is that what you did when you were investigating?’
‘It’s different.’ For the life of her, she couldn’t think how it was different.
Vic sighed, composing himself. ‘What about the second phone, did you find it?’
Hannah pushed open Mel’s bedroom door, the same layout of furniture, all her things still sitting where she left them. ‘No, I never did.’
‘That’s the key,’ Vic said.
‘I don’t know.’
Vic was in tears again, his voice a ragged mess.
‘Just find out,’ he said, sobbing. ‘Please find out who killed my sister.’
Hannah stared at Mel’s bed, her desk and wardrobe.
‘I will,’ she said.
She hung up and stood in Mel’s doorway. Then she heard something coming from the kitchen. Crying.
She went through and Indy was standing at the sink with the kettle in her hand and the tap running, her shoulders shaking. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her other hand and breathed deeply.
‘Indy.’
She turned.
Hannah was in such a mess about this, she hadn’t stopped to think about Indy. Her parents already dead, now another death up close. Maybe it was because Indy now worked at Skelf’s, Hannah always subconsciously assumed she could handle anything. But the death and grief of strangers is so different to your own, that’s what Dorothy always told her.
Hannah remembered the first time she laid eyes on Indy, a month after her parents’ funeral. She’d been answering the phones at Skelf’s when Hannah popped by to see Gran and Grandpa. It wasn’t exactly a thunderbolt of attraction, but she was so easy to talk to, God, that big smile, those dark eyes. She radiated something, a kind of self-respect and self-worth, which was easy to fall in love with. Which is precisely what Hannah did.
That smile and confidence made it all the harder to see her like this.
Hannah went over and took the kettle from Indy’s hand, placed it on the draining board and switched the tap off. She wrapped her arms around her and held on tight.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
She felt Indy swallow. ‘You don’t have anything to be sorry for.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Hannah said. ‘I take you for granted all the time.’
Indy pulled back and nodded.
‘You do,’ she laughed. ‘But it’s nice having someone who relies on you.’
‘Christ, do I rely on you.’
Indy sniffed and wiped her eyes, caught sight of the time. ‘Shit, I’d better get to work.’
‘Dorothy won’t mind,’ Hannah said.
‘No,’ Indy said with a smile. ‘She needs me.’
‘I need you.’
‘It’s nice to be needed, eh?’
Indy kissed her and pushed away. She gathered her stuff to
gether as Hannah watched, then left the flat.
Hannah looked out of the window for a time then went along the hall to Mel’s room. She stood there for a long time.
When she finally stepped over the threshold it felt disrespectful. Why should it feel different now that Mel was dead? The same room, the same view out of the window, the same pictures pinned to the noticeboard, the same neat bed with the plain bedspread, the same teddy bear Mel insisted on having in bed with her. Hannah had never seen Mel cuddle it or interact with it in any way. But maybe that wasn’t the point, maybe it was just good to know there was something familiar in your life you could rely on.
Hannah didn’t feel she could rely on anything at the moment. Indy had gone back to work, sitting at that desk dealing with death notices and flower arrangements and music for services and all the mundane pain and trauma. And then there was this, one of your friends dead, just like Grandpa. How many more people in her life would die? But that was selfish, making it about her. She tried to imagine Yu and Bolin, how they felt, but she couldn’t get her head around it.
She couldn’t catch her breath, anxiety creeping up from her stomach, freezing her heart and lungs, closing her throat, making it impossible to swallow. She put a hand against the door jamb and sucked in air, felt her legs weaken, leaned against the wall, blinked to get rid of the spots drifting across her vision.
The second phone was key, that’s what Vic said. She had no idea if that was true but it was an anchor to stop her being cast adrift. She walked to Mel’s bed, threw the teddy on the floor then the bedding, stripping the sheet from the mattress and the pillow cases too, shaking everything down, throwing it all into a pile in the middle of the room like a crumpled carcass. She threw the pillows down too, then flipped the mattress onto the floor, checking underneath the slats on the frame. She pulled the bedframe away from the wall, stuffing her hand into the dusty gap. She came out with tissues, a bookmark, a postcard from her parents in Venice that must’ve slipped down there. The bed had a low base and she heaved it onto its side, found some old running shoes under there, an empty suitcase, some boxes of first-year physics and maths notes. She flipped through the pages, hoping to find something, but it was all just handwritten equations and diagrams, study schedules, boring stuff.
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