He opened them to find himself outdoors. The cottage was gone. He stood with his thumbs holding open his zipper and peed into empty space as the last of the passengers got on the bus, looking back at him, along with all the others who watched from the two tiers of windows. Today, he didn’t care. He smiled at them and finished his business, shook, then tucked himself away and zipped up. He was going to see Peter, and nothing else mattered. Unfolding the timetable from his pocket, he figured out another route to Her Majesty’s Prison, Saughton. He headed down the street in the direction of the bus stop for his new route. He’d had the whole morning to prepare, he chided himself, yet here he was, running late. He hitched the small backpack full of clothes higher on his back and jogged.
A shop caught his eye and he stopped. Its whitewashed front was trimmed with shiny black paint, and its large windows, hand-painted with gold lettering, were filled with thousands of candies and chocolates. He realised they were all hand-made, something he’d never seen before. That would be nice, he thought, to bring Peter some candy.
He opened the door, startled when it rang a bell. He stepped inside and looked around. The tiny shop was filled with glass counters, each of them displaying endless variations on a sugar theme. There were drops of orange, green, yellow, and red, fudges in white, pink, beige, and brown, and endless rows of chocolate rosettes, circles, squares, and ovals. He leaned across a counter to look at a price list, then heard a smacking noise and gasped, realising he wasn’t alone.
Two women sat in the corner of the room with boxes on their laps, their bodies thin and shrivelled as if they once held much larger people who’d deflated as they aged. Their hair looked like ashtray-flavoured candy floss. They took turns putting chocolates into their mouths, one after the other. As their lips parted, Stefan saw that one of them had three remaining teeth, black and spaced far apart, and the other had two.
Stefan smiled at them. “Hello,” he said.
“What d’yeh want?” asked the three-toothed crone.
“Uh, I’m visiting a friend. I wanted to buy them a gift.”
Their eyes opened wider. “D’yeh want t’bring a spaycial gift?” asked Two-Teeth, standing up slowly, interested.
“Eff she’s en the hohspital, we kin give yeh sumthen t’make ’er baytter—eff yuu tell us wot she’s got,” said Three-Teeth, joining her.
“Mibbe yeh want sumthen t’make yersel irresistible. Ivryone aroond will notice yeh, want t’get to know yeh, ask yeh quaystions aboot yersel—mibbe luvv yeh even.”
Stefan laughed. “I don’t want that—not where I’m going!” He thought for a moment. “Wait a second. How about the opposite? Do you have anything that would make people ignore me, forget about me?”
The women smiled and their eyes crinkled shut. They scuttled out to the back room through a small wooden door. They returned a minute later with an aluminium pan held between them full of small chocolate knots.
“How much are they?” asked Stefan.
“Two quid each!” snapped Three-Teeth.
Stefan searched through his pocket. He needed bus-fare to get to the prison on time, but he could walk back, and not eat until he got home. “I can only afford one,” he said to the women.
Their faces crinkled as if they’d sucked a bad candy. Finally, Two-Teeth said, “Fine.” She deftly tore a piece of red tissue from behind the counter, plucked a chocolate from the tray, and, producing a piece of blue ribbon from somewhere, whirled everything into a small paper packet. She held it out to him and he took it carefully from her pointy-tipped fingers.
Stefan put his money on the counter, thanked them, and exited the shop, startled again by the bell on the way out.
~
The meeting room wasn’t what Stefan had imagined. He’d pictured a concrete room divided by a long glass wall with telephone receivers on either side. Instead, he found himself in a room with skylights and wooden accents. He might have considered it a cheery cafeteria if he hadn’t been body-searched on the way in. He left the backpack full of clothes with someone official, and had to unwrap the candy for inspection, as well as show his passport as identification.
The official noticed something written beside Stefan’s name on his list. “Someone will be here to ask you a few questions when you’ve finished meeting with Mister Hailes.”
“Okay,” said Stefan. They led him to a table where he waited.
Peter emerged from a door, wearing a plain, loose outfit Stefan figured was a uniform, and carried a crinkled supermarket carry-bag filled with something. He smiled when he saw Stefan and rushed over. Stefan was happy to see there were no leg-irons and that there were no signs of any kind of beating.
They hugged, then sat down at the table. For the next minute, they could do little more than grin and laugh at each other.
“I brought you some clothes,” said Stefan. “I left them with the inspection people. They said they’d get them to you.”
“Thanks, Ste.”
“Don’t you have to wear this uniform thing, though?”
“No, it’s just ‘cause they sent my clothes and shoes off for inspection. They had paint on them. So did my hands. At first I was only supposed to be committed for a few days, but when they matched that up to the paint on the sign, and—well, add that to my running away then surrendering, and there’s a pretty solid case against me.”
“It’s still not over, Peter. Fiona’s got a lawyer lined up. How long is it until you get a trial?”
“Could be a few months. Maybe up to a year.”
“Peter, if you just tell them about—”
Peter grabbed Stefan’s hand and looked over his shoulder. “But I’m not going to. I’m not what’s important here. You’ve seen what’s happening. You’ve got to stop it somehow. Maybe you should talk to our friend and see if he can help.”
Stefan mouthed Rab’s name.
Peter nodded. He laughed and leaned back in his seat, still holding Stefan’s hand. “I can’t believe you came here, you daft bastard.” Stefan looked at their clasped hands. “Och, stop worrying. Nobody cares. It’s a prison, for Chrissakes.”
“So nobody—?” Stefan nodded his head from side to side. “You know, showers and stuff?”
“Ste, I’m not technically in prison yet, I’m on remand. It’s pretty crowded in here, so they’ve got me stuck in a dank old wee cell.”
“So it’s not all like this?” he tilted his head at the skylights above.
Peter laughed. “No. This is just nice PR. Or maybe it’s for the sake of people’s families. Ach, it’s not so bad.”
“Peter, come on. We’re going to get you out of here somehow.”
“So who’s going to pay for this fancy lawyer?”
“It’s a friend of your brother’s, and I’m going to pay him.”
“With what?”
“With money from my show.”
“I thought that was gone.”
“The Edinburgh money is gone, but it’s been selling out all over the place. Last night I heard about a riot in Chicago, so that means there’s more than one theatre company doing it now. There’ll be residuals coming in from that, so I just have to call my mother.”
“You’re going to call your mum? That’s quite a change of heart.”
Stefan smiled. “That’s exactly what it is, Peter. I think I have you to thank for that.”
“Ach, you didn’t need me. You could have got over your thing with her anytime.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I actually want to call her now. With everything that’s been going on, you being in here and all, I kinda feel like I need her. She’s the strongest person I know.”
“I’m happy for you, Ste,” said Peter, giving Stefan’s hand a squeeze.
“Oh,” said Stefan, “I brought you something.” He pulled out the opened tissue with the chocolate inside.
“It’s opened. Couldn’t you have waited till you got here? What is it? Looks like a chocolate pretzel.”
“I bo
ught it from these women who said that it would make people forget who you are. If you ate it, you could just walk out of here.”
“And how far do you think I’d get? Where would I go? They still don’t know anything about you, do they?”
“No,” he admitted.
“So it’s yours. You’ve got things to do.”
Stefan nodded. Peter was right. He took the chocolate from the crinkly red paper. “Here goes.”
“Wait,” said Peter, “this is for you.” He held out the poly bag. Stefan took it and reached inside, pulling out handfuls of paper curls. “They’re from your dad.”
“Holy—”
“Yeah, he’s been keeping busy. I still have no idea what they are, but they’ve been there every morning. Then two days ago, they just stopped. I guess that’s all of it.”
“Whatever it is.”
“Okay, better eat your thing and get out of here. I just—I don’t want to forget that you visited.”
“I have an idea,” said Stefan, popping the chocolate into his mouth. He leaned over the table and kissed Peter. The warders looked alarmed and started toward them, but Stefan stayed where he was, letting the chocolate melt and flow down his throat. A second later, the guards stopped and looked around distractedly.
Stefan broke contact with Peter’s lips. “I love you,” he whispered.
Peter opened his eyes. He blinked, then smiled. “I love you, too,” he whispered back.
Stefan grabbed the plastic bag, waved, then let himself out the exit.
~
Stefan tried to call home again. The money he’d borrowed from Fiona was getting low, and he didn’t want to leave another message. He was about to hang up, but there was a click on the line: someone picked up the receiver on the other end.
“Hello?” said Stefan.
“Stefan,” said a voice. It wasn’t his mother. Cerise. “Stefan, you have to stop calling here. You’re upsetting Delonia terribly.”
“I just need to talk to her. Could you put her on?”
“Stefan, she—she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“But I need—”
“She told me to tell you to call Helen.”
“Okay, I will. But could you—”
“I’m sorry,” said Cerise, and she hung up.
Stefan uncrumpled the sheet of telephone numbers Charlene had printed out for him months before. He’d accepted it at the time, embarrassed that she’d even put his mother’s telephone number on it. He traced his finger along and found Helen’s number, along with the international dialling code he’d need. You’re brilliant, Charlene, wherever you are, he thought. He popped the rest of his coins into the telephone and dialled Helen’s work number. Doing some quick addition, he figured she would have just started work.
“Hello?” asked her familiar croaky voice.
“Hello, Helen,” he said.
“Oh my God!” she said. “It’s you!”
“It’s me,” he said, laughing. It made him happy to think of Helen, to be talking to her. “My mother won’t speak to me. She said I should talk to you.”
“Yes, it’s damn well time you did. Hey, you’re a wealthy man, did you know that?”
“I swear I did not.”
“This play of your father’s—it’s like a revolution. People are walking out all over the place. There are protests and rallies and parliamentary debates—and best of all, there are residuals pouring in from all the different productions around the world. Your mother doesn’t want the money. She set up an account and asked me to put all the residuals into it for you, because she figured that at some point you’d run out of money.”
“Well, she’s partly right—I am out of money—but not because I’ve pissed it away like she probably thinks.”
The electronic pips told Stefan he was running out of time. He fumbled through his pocket for a pen.
“Helen, I’m running out of time. Could you maybe give me the numbers for that account?”
“You bet. Let me just find them. They’re here on my desk here somewhere.” She found them and barely finished reading them out when the final pips came.
“ThankyouHelenbyebye!” he said as they were cut off.
I’m broke, he thought as the coins fell inside the telephone. I’m rich, he countered, looking at the piece of paper in his hands. Once that would have made him very happy. All he cared about now was trading that money for Peter’s freedom.
Twenty-Two
Expansion and Contraction
“Ow,” said Mairi, pulling back her finger. She stuck it into her mouth to suck away the blood.
Morton didn’t break his stride. “All good lobby-art,” he said, “is dangerous and extremely expensive. It lets everyone know you’re serious.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mairi.
He stopped and faced her. “Do you know why I hired you as my personal assistant?”
“Em, to—”
“To ensure that my time is used to maximal efficiency. I am this company’s most valuable and most expensive resource.” He ran a hand through his swept-back hair. “Since this is your first day, I’ll give you some leeway. Beginning tomorrow, though, I’ll expect nothing less than perfection in your handling of my details. Do you understand?”
“Yes I do, Mister Morton.”
“Good, because if you slip up, I’ll have you killed.”
Mairi held her clipboard to her chest. “Sir?”
“What?”
“You just said you would have me killed.”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t. I said I would have you fired.”
“Em, yes, of course.”
Morton strode away toward his private office lift. Mairi followed a few steps behind. The door closed behind them, sealing them in what felt like an industrial refrigerator. When the door opened again, Mairi squinted in the morning light that shone into Morton’s office through a vast wall of windows. Below were the spires, steeples, and angled roofs of the Old Town.
“Look at that,” he sneered, “the decay of it. In its time, it was a wonder, but then the progress all just stopped.” He turned to her. “We need to bring this city up to speed. We can make it relevant again, the envy of all Europe. Nobody has done anything with any—if you’ll pardon the expression—with any balls in centuries.”
Mairi lowered her clipboard. “But what about the Museum of Scotland, and the new parliament?”
“Small scale, Maura—”
“Mairi.”
“These were one-offs. The parliament? Really? The half-baked doodles of an impractical Spaniard who’s now dead. What would have happened with the parliament if we hadn’t stepped in to rescue them? Finishing the project was just their first hurdle, but then dealing with all the flaws, figuring out how to maintain the thing—they were just not prepared. And why? Why is that? Vision, Maura. These people are managers, but I’m a visionary. In the past this city knew real vision, and it’s time again for someone with a vision for its future.”
Mairi nodded idly, looking at the metal stalagmite sculptures around the room.
“Could you write that down? What I said about vision. That’ll be useful somewhere.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, swinging open her clipboard and scribbling.
“That’s all. Print off my day’s itinerary, and get me something to eat for lunch. Nothing in batter for heaven’s sake!”
“Yes, sir,” she said, scribbling some more.
He turned from the vast black slab that was his desk. “Could I reread those thoughts on vision?”
Mairi clutched the clipboard against her chest. “Let me type them up properly for you, sir,” she insisted, heading for the lift before he could reply. Inside, she let the clipboard hang by her side. Across the top sheet were the words “Delusional elitist egomaniacal fascist bastard fuck.”
~
“Hello, John,” said Stefan, shaking John Hailes’s hand. John pulled him close, giving him a double-pat on the back.
; “How’s my wee grandson?” asked John, reaching past Stefan for the baby as Fiona came up the walk.
“Heya, Dad,” said Fiona, handing over the baby.
“Och, he’s huge!” said John, pretending he could barely hold him. “What are you feeding him?”
She slapped her father lightly on the shoulder and turned back toward the car. “C’mon, Roddy, bring it through here,” she said, as Roddy followed with a cardboard box.
“I’m really sorry to be putting you out,” said Stefan. “Fi didn’t expect the flat to sell so quickly. I can stay someplace else, though, because—” he started to gesture toward the house, but stopped himself, realising he was about to suggest that it was small. It was small, a box of a council house with bumpy white pebbled walls and two small front windows, plopped at an oblique angle on a street lined from end to end with identical houses.
“No, you’ll stay here with us, lad. You’re family,” he said with a wink. Stefan smiled, reminded of countless uncomfortable moments in which his mother demonstrated her ‘coolness’ about his romantic life.
~
By nightfall, they’d moved their everyday things into the house and stacked the rest in closets and the small shed in the back garden. John made a simple meal for them of potatoes, parsnips, and pork chops. It hadn’t occurred to Stefan to mention that he was vegetarian—or, rather, that his mother was, and he’d become one by proxy. Instead, he kept quiet and tucked into his food. He loved John for his simple goodness, and felt sad to think of him making endless dinners here to eat by himself. John was clearly happy for the company.
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