by Heleen Kist
As she made a beeline for her iPad, I got stuck in, reminding myself to ask later for her advice on getting new personal training clients through social media. They hadn’t been as loyal as I’d hoped.
Because I’d cleared a stinky mess from the fridge before, I remembered the system for where the different fresh foods were kept. There seemed to be no such schema for the small storage room, its shelves housing inbred families of condiments, tins and cleaning products. My hands itched at the prospect of restoring harmony. Exactly what I needed.
‘Have we got any labels?’ No answer. ‘Never mind. I’ve got some labels at home. I’ll bring them in.’
Once the shelves had been redistributed, I started unpacking and placed the new items face forward in the correct spot, behind any older ones so that they would be used in the right sequence. My shoulders became lighter and my movements flowed as I bent and stacked, lifted and folded, and hummed an airy tune as blessed order prevailed.
When the pile was down to four, I noticed a series of black stars drawn with permanent marker pulling my attention to a box of paper napkins. I swooped it up and fixed it against my chest as I picked at the tape to prise it loose. The paper inside seemed an odd colour at first, but when I lifted the flap further, all five litres of blood dropped to my toes and the room swirled.
No.
No more.
Please.
Chapter Sixteen
All the hot water bottles on Earth wouldn’t make my stomach ache go away. Bloated with stress, I had spent two hours contorting myself, seeking relief by concocting stories that would somehow make collecting boxes of cash look okay. But it was hopeless. This situation stank, whichever way I looked at it.
What were you up to Gi? And who are these guys?
When Dave came round, I was sprawled on my sofa, partially undressed, pressing a heat pad to my belly. He fixed a gentle kiss on my forehead. ‘Can I make you a hot chocolate?’ he said, in the hushed and understanding tone men put on for ‘women’s issues’. I saw no point in setting him straight.
‘That would be great.’
I was slowly getting used to letting someone do things for me, even if it had made me uncomfortable at the start, when I needed him to understand I wasn’t some delicate flower that needed caring for. But he knew I wasn’t weak. He was just nice. And mine—something that also required getting used to.
He stroked my hair and disappeared. I listened to his footsteps padding into the kitchen, the hum of the kettle, a cupboard door banging, the clinking of a spoon ... followed by silence. Despite the smell of cocoa, he returned not carrying my drink, but the napkin box.
‘Grace? Why is there a box full of money by the sink?’
He stood. Silent. Blinking. Like an owl. For some time. When I could stand it no longer, I confessed. ‘There’s another one in the bedroom.’
‘Did you ... win the lottery?’
I squirmed with each step Dave made towards me. I hadn’t planned to discuss with him what I’d found. Had my subconscious left the box in plain sight to force the issue? After all, if I ever intended to live with this man, I had to discover if I could trust him.
‘Sit down. I need to tell you something,’ I said.
He kept his gaze on the box glued between his hands, as though the answer would pop out like a Jack-o’-lantern. I zipped my trousers up and sat facing him.
‘I believe Glory was doing something fishy. Today, a there was a delivery at the café and the invoice had a lot more items than they brought. And then when I was packing stuff away, I found ... that.’ I nodded in his direction.
‘Okay, who—’
‘There’s more. Stay here.’ I got up and retrieved the Jimmy Choos from the other room. ‘This one I found in her closet at home. Three thousand pounds stuffed in between her shoes in neat little rolls. Dad thinks she was leaving Stephen, but that’s news to me. Also ... apparently, she’s been squirrelling money away for the kids in special bank accounts with trusts and everything, but I can’t find them. And then the accountant told me the café’s making lots of profit but there are hardly any customers.’
‘Once thing at a time, babe. Take it slow.’ He caught my hands. ‘This delivery, who was it from?’
‘A wholesaler called Excelsior. This guy snared me in the park on Tuesday, saying how I needed to open the café or they wouldn’t be happy. I didn’t understand then. I thought maybe he was looking for Glory, you know? But now I can see why he needed someone there.’
‘Wait. Some strange guy accosted you in the park and you didn’t tell me? Why wouldn’t you tell me that?’
‘It’s fine. He didn’t hurt me. He was just creepy. He made no real physical threat. But then again he didn’t need to.’
‘Did he say anything at all? Or whoever it was that made the delivery?’
‘No. It’s like I’m supposed to know what to do, but I don’t. Maybe they thought I was Glory. But now they know: Sascha told the delivery guy about the accident.’ I sagged forward and landed face down on his lap, wishing I could block out the last few weeks. ‘I have no idea what’s going on.’
‘Well I do.’
I jerked my head up. ‘What?’
‘I hate to say it, Grace, but your sister was into dodgy shit. I think she was laundering money through the café. Easily done. That’s what this box is.’ He rattled it for identification. ‘And when you launder money, you get to keep a share of the profit. And that, I expect, will be in that one.’ He pointed at the Choos.
‘How do you know this?’ I was careful not to angle too much for tales from his past, to not insult his underprivileged background again.
‘I watched Breaking Bad.’
‘What?’
‘On Netflix. It’s about a chemistry teacher who sells drugs but ends up with too much cash. So he buys a car wash to launder it with his wife.’
Astonished at this ridiculous admission, I launched onto my feet. ‘TV? You’re expecting me to believe something from TV is happening in my life? For Christ’s sake Dave, it’s my sister we’re talking about, not some cartoon criminal mastermind.’
‘Calm down. Listen, we’ll work through this. We don’t know why she did it, but the priority is for you to make it stop and not get involved.’
‘But how? If what you’re saying is true, these guys are criminals. What if they want their money? What if they come after me?’
‘Then we inform the police. Plain and simple. I know that lands Glory in it; but she is dead and you did nothing wrong. We have to focus on you.’
I pressed my fist against my eyes to prevent the tears from coming, but they came. Boy, did they come: gushing like an exploded tap, spraying circular fountains round my hands. ‘I can’t go to the police.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I own the café. For some reason, Glory put most of the shares in my name. The cops will never believe I didn’t take part. I’ve even been paid dividends somewhere, according to the accountant.’
He rose slowly, his voice nothing more than a hiss. ‘That bitch. That holier-than-thou, self-absorbed, scheming bitch.’
‘Dave ... no.’
‘No what? She gets to be sweetness and light and everything nice, and somehow buckets of money accidentally appear wherever she goes? Come on!’ He paced like a lion, venting his frustration into the air. ‘And to think all this time I was the one who wasn’t good enough. Oh yes. God forbid this lowlife would come anywhere near their precious children, carrying the putrid stench of the lower classes.’ He shook his head. ‘Bloody hypocrites. And all this time I was the one you wouldn’t trust. Ha! Face it Grace, your sister was a cow and she has landed you in it ... on purpose.’
‘I knew it was a mistake to tell you,’ I shouted and slammed the door behind me extra hard.
Chapter Seventeen
In hindsight, storming out of my own apartment was probably not the best idea. It was dark and without a coat, the wind burrowed through my jumper’s twisted fibres
and nipped at my bare arms. As I walked, the occasional gust shoved me from behind, propelling me like a parent coaxing a dawdling toddler. Move.
Where to?
My loose hair wrapped itself around my face and I was lucky to avoid a red van as I careened, blind, across the road. The current of air thrust me along Dixon Avenue towards Holy Cross Church, a Romanesque red sandstone with tall stained-glass windows bursting with symbolism. Lost and wounded, I wondered whether I would find solace in my long-abandoned Bible. Then I remembered that with Mary and Martha, Cain and Able, and Joseph and his conniving brothers, the gospel was hardly an authority on sibling harmony.
Dave’s outburst had been unacceptable. I should have kicked him out. But I’d been so shocked by his vitriol, this angry side of him I had never seen, that my instincts jumped to ‘flight’ rather than my usual ‘fight’.
How can I fight for you, Gi, when so much of what he said is true? What am I supposed to think? The evidence is all there.
Fact: I’m stuck in the middle of your criminal activity, with no concept of why you have done this, what you were planning with all that money, or why you’ve made me an accessory.
Fact: Dave wasn’t welcome in your home and that was horribly unfair.
As I looped back along Queen’s Park, face-on to the wind now blowing my eyes dry, I reflected on how forgiving Dave had been about this, much more so than me. My jaw tightened as I replayed in my mind the awful conversation when Glory and I had coffee at Veg&Might some eighteen months ago.
‘I told Stephen about your man Dave and it turns out they know each other,’ Glory said. She stirred the foam on her cappuccino into a brown-and-white swirl, licked the edge of the spoon, stalling for time. ‘Were you aware?’
‘No, it hasn’t come up. Not sure I’ve shared Stephen’s last name.’ I wondered why she didn’t sound more pleased about this coincidence. ‘How do they know each other?’
‘You don’t know this, but Stephen’s from the same part of town as Dave. He doesn’t like to talk about it.’
‘Oh. I knew he was from Glasgow, but you wouldn’t guess the Gorbals from his mild accent. Where are you going with this?’
‘They went to the same school. Were in the same year.’ She stirred the foam again, pulling little peaks from the surface. ‘But they weren’t friends.’ She let that phrase linger.
‘Just spit it out. What’s wrong?’
‘Thing is, Stephen doesn’t want to see Dave. Doesn’t want me to see Dave. Or the kids.’ She took a sip of her drink, burying her eyes in the cup.
‘What? Why? That’s ridiculous.’
‘He’s worked hard at erasing that part of his past. You know he was in foster care, right? His parents died when he was little.’
‘Yes, you’ve told me that before, but I don’t understand what that’s got to do with anything. Are you trying to tell me something about Dave here? Is there something I should know?’
‘No, Gi, I like him. He’s nice, and he’s got a great smile. Those teeth! But Stephen and Dave have some sort of history that Stephen doesn’t want reminded of. And he doesn’t want him in his life. I accept it’s not fair. And I’m happy to come see you guys at your place once in a while. Hang out. It’ll be fun.’ She smiled sweetly and my hackles rose.
‘Well, I think Stephen’s being a dick. Unless there’s something specific that Dave did to offend him, I think he’s being an utter cockwomble and I can’t believe you’re taking his side.’
‘If your man’s done something, then Stephen’s too much of a gentleman to say. And—no offence—it’s not like you’re the best judge of men, are you?’
I walked out, and we didn’t speak for two weeks after that. I’d later confessed to myself that even though I was furious she’d given into her husband, part of my resentment stemmed from not knowing enough about my new boyfriend, and worrying this was yet another guy I shouldn’t trust.
Because you were right, then. I did suck at men. I did and I do.
As if on cue, the image of Dougie Campbell sprung into my head. A repressed vision of the square-jawed, fifteen-year-old hunk who broke my heart. Smitten, I’d been in thrall to his football skills, cocky charm and the attention he showered on me—even in front of his friends! My sister had warned against him. She told me he was trouble, but I wouldn’t listen. ‘You’re jealous,’ I’d said, chuffed to be the desired one for once. But it was her instinct that saved me from humiliation. Turns out, Dougie had taken bets he could get under my shirt at Alice’s party and had been planning to dump me straight after. Having heard rumours, Glory flirted with him that night and, guiding him upstairs with a promise of getting into her pants, she took his off instead and threw all his clothes out the window.
While the party-goers laughed and pointed as he fetched his underwear from the garden, I celebrated his very public punishment— but my heart still bled. Glory left her applause to console me. ‘I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was the only way I could think of to prove to you he’s a shit.’
It hurt, though, Gi. I ached for a long time. But you’d only been looking out for me and for that I was grateful. It was always you and me against the world and now ... now I don’t know what to do.
I searched the sky and strained my ears for an answer that didn’t come. I yearned to hear her explain how everything she’d done had been in my best interest. An ‘honest, just wait and see.’ The alternative was too unbelievable, too unbearable. Feeling abandoned in the evening silence, I headed home. I would make up with Dave when I saw him again—he was unlikely to have stayed at my flat—but for now, I had bigger problems to deal with.
Chapter Eighteen
The wholesaler sat on the edge of Govanhill, within a concentration of semi-industrial outlets. I knew the area from visits to the Polmadie recycling centre and languishing in traffic on game days when football fans flooded the streets to Hampden Park.
I parked twenty yards away, near the car wash for McGraft’s private hire cabs. Everyone said the firm was run by the mob, but with Glaswegians caring more about saving cash than their safety, it still enjoyed a near monopoly. Supposedly, they kept fares low because the cabs were merely a front for money laundering. Like I was now, it seemed.
The box lay on the passenger seat. I had struggled half the night with what to say and half the morning with what to wear. Pathetic. As if your outfit matters when quizzing gangsters about your dead sister. A visitor exited the shop and drove off, leaving the parking lot empty. The building’s yard was also quiet. It was time. I picked up the box and walked towards the entrance, my resolve to end this nightmare growing with every step.
‘Can I help you?’ said a voice the second I entered. The woman behind the payment desk examined me. She wore a garish golden blouse that matched her over-sized hoop earrings. Her hair was that shade of black you only get from home dyes, her roots disclosing that she was in her fifties while her cosmetic-laden face tried to pretend she was a young thing.
‘I need to see the manager.’
‘Is that so?’
So much for service with a smile.
I craned my neck and looked for a door or staircase leading to the office but saw nothing. Every inch of the place heaved with pallets of goods, aisles so narrow that any customer would volunteer to pay the additional Pick & Deliver charge not to manoeuvre a trolley through them. A clever ploy to increase takings, no doubt.
‘There’s a matter I can only discuss with the manager, so would you please say where he or she is?’
‘Oh, an important matter is it? Aren’t we special. You’re still gonna to have to deal with me, hen. So what can I do you for?’
Should I run? I could reach the rear of the store before the woman had squeezed her pudgy shape around the desk, let alone taken a step in what I guessed would be improbably high-heeled shoes. I stared up at the cameras mounted on the walls, their red lights blinking at me. Chances were security would be on me in seconds. Plus, I didn’t even know
where to go.
‘Yes, I am very special and I’ve got a problem with a very special delivery I want to talk to him about. So if you don’t mind ...’ I nodded to the phone.
‘What’s yer problem?’ She narrowed her eyes, het tone a curious cross between question and threat.
I decided I would not get far without coming clean. ‘I don’t like the napkins you delivered.’
‘What wrong with them?’
She’d taken the bait.
I plonked the box onto the desk, removed the tape in one swift pull and spread the flaps out, exposing the pile of cash. ‘They’re a little on the luxurious side.’
‘Jesus wept, woman, close that up!’ Shaking her head, she grabbed the phone and pressed a red button. ‘A ginger lassie calling for Mike.’ A pause. ‘Okay.’ Turning to me, she said, ‘They’re coming for you.’ That tone again.
My insides screamed for me to leave. I hoped the flush of nerves wasn’t visible on my face as the woman held her false-lashed eyes on me. Christ, didn’t she have work to do? I swallowed hard as I felt a burning drop of stomach acid raise to my throat.
After a minute or two, a young man wearing a shiny track suit approached from the rear of the store. A classic Scottish ‘ned’, pasty white, with a skeletal body belying a diet of bacon rolls and Irn Bru. He strolled through the middle aisle, playing with his keys and kicking aside loose pieces of cardboard along the way.
‘Alright?’ he asked the cashier.
‘Aye, love.’
The boy-man moved in and stood too close. He jutted out his chin, like a pit bull ready to pounce. ‘Alright, hen?’ The scars on his cheek underscored a capacity for violence. I took a breath and feigned nonchalance.
‘Aye.’
He grabbed my elbow. ‘Let’s go.’
The young chap nudged me to the rear, up the metal stairs and along a narrow corridor with open doors on either side. As we neared the end, I could hear raised voices. Judging by the lack of reaction from the workers we passed, this seemed to be nothing new.