When I finished, I handed him an envelope. The same classy, vellum type I had given May. I told Davey about Saskatchewan, about open prairies and hot summers and snow as deep as your chin in winter. I told him he should quit watching gangster movies and watch more Westerns.
‘Two friends of mine are moving out there. May and George. They’ve got a huge farm out there and they’ll need someone to help out. There’s a ticket in there for you to travel with them and five hundred pounds in sterling. That goes a long way in Canadian dollars, Davey.’
‘Why are you doing this, Mr Lennox?’
‘Because you’re a good kid, Davey, and I was a good kid once. Or I like to pretend to myself that I was a good kid once. You deserve something better than this …’ I gestured to the black, oily Clyde, to the cranes around us, to the dark city behind us. ‘I’ve put a letter in there as well. It gives my folks’ address and details in New Brunswick. I wired my dad and he said he’ll stand as sponsor for you if immigration need it.’ I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘But you won’t. Canada wants good kids like you.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Lennox. If there’s anything I can ever do …’
‘What I want you to do is have a good life. Marry one of those strong, pretty Ukrainian-Canadian girls with sky-blue eyes, rosy cheeks and butter-coloured hair they’ve got in Saskatchewan and have a dozen blond kids.’
Davey sat silently in the car on the way back, the white envelope on his lap. He didn’t speak until I pulled up outside his digs.
‘I’ll never forget this, Mr Lennox. Never.’ His face was determined. Almost grim.
‘Good,’ I grinned. ‘I don’t expect you to. Maybe one day I’ll come out and visit.’
*
After I left Davey, I drove back to Great Western Road. Something churned in my gut and I knew it was because, out there by the river, I had faced things with Davey that I hadn’t faced since the war. It had liberated me and burdened me all at the same time. But at least, for once, I knew for sure what my next move was going to be.
I parked the Atlantic outside my digs, walked up to the door, unlocked it and stepped into the hallway. But I didn’t go up to my flat.
Instead, without hesitating, I knocked firmly on Fiona White’s door.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to the following people for their help and support: Wendy, Jonathan and Sophie; my agent Carole Blake, my editor Jane Wood, as well as Jenny Ellis and all at Quercus; my copy-editor Robyn Karney; Louise Thurtell at Allen and Unwin; Marco Schneiders and Helmut Pesch at Lübbe Verlag, as well as all of my other publishers around the world; also to Colin Black and Chris Martin.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
The Long Glasgow Kiss Page 32