‘That would be cool,’ she said with a big smile. ‘Would be great to have a break from all this studying.’
‘Excellent,’ Ran said, his grin as big as hers, and for a moment, remembered that this was what normal people did. ‘It’s a…’ Just in time he stopped himself from saying the word ‘date’. ‘…Just whenever, eh? I’m rarely out in the evening.’
As he walked along the road, he felt a couple of spits of rain on his shoulders. Looking up he saw, just ahead, a cloud towering like something out of a biblical epic – a jumble of greys formed a column from dark to light and every shade in between.
Picking up his pace, he reached the Cross and took a right. As he did he heard a car slowing down and a voice calling out.
‘Still here?’
He turned. It was Liz. ‘Get in,’ she said. ‘It’s about to bucket down.’
He opened the door and climbed in. ‘Sorry, I was a bit of an arse earlier.’ It seemed to be his day for apologies.
Liz pulled away without a word.
‘Who was the girl you were talking to in the café?’ she said, after a minute or two.
‘You spying on me?’ Ranald asked, trying to inject a light tone into his voice.
‘Aye,’ said Liz. ‘Cos I’ve nothing better to do.’ She threw him a glance. ‘I drove past just as you and she were walking out the front door.’
‘Where are we going?’ Ranald asked, although he knew exactly where. He felt a weight descend on him. He wasn’t quite ready yet to face the woman in the mirror and find out the answers to the questions the photograph posed.
‘I’m just taking you home. Then I’m off to make my man’s tea.’
‘Right,’ Ranald said, with a slight feeling of disappointment. He didn’t want to be on his own again. ‘Want to come in for a wee while?’
‘Please don’t ask me to do that, Ranald. You know how I feel about that house.’
‘You could just come round to the pool. It’s a much newer part of the building. There’ll be no weird shit going on there.’
Liz checked her mirrors. Indicated. Turned into his drive and drove slowly to the front door. She parked and pulled on the handbrake then twisted to face him.
‘You really want me to come in?’ There was doubt in her eyes. ‘What does a young man like you want with a woman my age?’
Ranald decided to plump for honesty. ‘Yes, I want you to come in. It’s such a big house, I’m still not comfortable in all that space on my own. And as for your last question: you’re good company.’ And you shed enough light to keep the shadows away. He paused. ‘And you’re not that much older than me, anyway.’
‘And I like some fun?’ she grinned.
‘I wasn’t going to go there.’
She gave his shoulder a wee punch. ‘See you.’ Then. ‘You sure the pool area is a newer part of the building?’
‘Course it is. I don’t think swimming pools were big in the Victorian era, do you?’
‘Probably not,’ she answered in a small voice. ‘Fuck it,’ she released her seatbelt. ‘Anything spooky happens here, any weans greeting in the walls, and I’m going to have you, understand?’
‘You’ll be perfectly safe.’ But as he said it, he thought about her the last time he’d entertained thoughts of another woman, and considered recanting the invitation.
Liz would be safe, he thought. But we wasn’t sure about himself.
Ranald went in the front door and told Liz to walk round the side of the house to the pool conservatory, where he would unlock the door for her.
‘This is lovely,’ she said as she they met at the back of the house and she stepped inside. ‘Do you use all of this?’ She pointed to the exercise equipment.
‘I’m full of good intentions,’ he said. ‘But I do swim a lot.’
‘Looks really inviting,’ Liz said looking at the cool, blue water.
Feeling a surge of energy Ranald stripped off and dived in. Surfacing, he pushed his hair away from his eyes. Treading water, he said, ‘Come on in, the water’s lovely.’
‘I don’t want to get my hair wet.’
‘Why so coy?’ asked Ranald. ‘There’s nothing like a skinny-dip.’
She sat on the edge of a lounger, her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands on her knees. She looked uncertain. Demure. Nothing like the sexually hungry woman with whom he’d previously spent time.
‘You okay?’ he asked, swimming over to the side of the pool. ‘Can I get you something?’
‘I’m driving, but a small glass of red would go down nicely.’
He climbed out of the pool, and picked up a towel. Wrapping it around his waist he walked along to the kitchen and moments later he was back with a bottle and two glasses.
‘Just a wee one, mind,’ Liz said. ‘Does the sauna work?’
‘I assume so,’ Ranald replied. He walked over to it and flicked a switch. ‘It’ll probably take a while to heat up.’
Liz looked up at him and reached for the towel. ‘I wonder what we could do until then?’
After, they were in the sauna – Ranald on the upper bench, Liz below him, grinning at each other like a pair of teenagers.
Ranald’s pulse was still recovering. He let his head fall back against the pine cladding and exhaled slowly. He could feel the push of his own personal darkness. It had been dimmed by Liz’s presence but now it was starting to reassert itself. That piece of charred meat that wore his clothes, spoke with his voice, limped through life, was working its way back into the forefront of his mind.
‘You’re definitely getting the hang of this, Mr McGhie,’ said Liz.
‘Why, thank you …’ Ranald replied as he tried to shake his head free from the path it was surely heading down. ‘Sorry, I’ve just realised I don’t know your surname.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Liz replied. She leaned forwards and touched his knee. ‘I’ve never told you.’ She cocked her head to the side. ‘I like to maintain an air of mystery.’ She was holding a towel in front of her and used a corner to dab her forehead. ‘Warm, eh?’
‘That’s the general idea,’ Ranald said, with some effort. He wanted to sleep. That was of course, his other comfort. Sleep and sex, if he could spend all of his time doing that he might have a healthy mind.
Liz stood up. ‘I need a shower.’ She walked to the smoked-glass door, pushed it open and turned to Ranald who was enjoying the view.
‘Don’t stare, it’s rude. And don’t fall asleep in here. That wouldn’t be too healthy.’
With a groan, Ranald sat up, jumped off the bench and followed her out of the sauna. Lying down on a lounger, he closed his eyes. He heard the shower come on and a tuneful hum from Liz as she sang under the hot water. He sang along, grateful to have the energy of another human being nearby, an energy that would hopefully keep him from diving into the hell of his own thoughts.
‘See that girl/ watch that scene/ digging the dancing queen.’
‘Don’t give up your day job, Ran,’ Liz shouted.
He smiled. Thought about a retort, but couldn’t think of anything funny. He breathed deep and slow. Deep and slow.
Deep and…
He was in the garden. The grass was cool and wet on his bare feet. Mist swirled round his legs. Shapes shifted in the fog ahead. Formed. Faded. Reshaped themselves. A breeze on his neck, like a kiss. Perfume. Her perfume. A sweet, light and heady mix of citrus, cinnamon and wood oil.
Her hand in his. Her skin warm and dry. Her bones, in his light grip as insubstantial as the mist that flowered and shifted around them.
Where have you been, he sent her. I’ve missed you.
Her hand was gone. The mist faded and coalesced at his side, like a long skirt might flare in a quick gust of wind.
Her face was in his. He could feel her breath on his nose. He leaned forwards, his mouth formed as if for a kiss.
‘Liar.’ Loud. Like a bark.
Teeth bared. Dripping blood. Gore wedged into the space between them.
; ‘LIAR. You will pay.’
Fear squeezed his heart. Stole air from his lungs.
He saw her in a small room. Her hair hanging from her head in damp rags. Her shift was white and open, exposing her breasts and a pool of blood at her groin. She was holding something in her arms. Something pink and fleshy. Part of it was hanging from her mouth. Her eyes wide with the grief of a hundred bereaved mothers.
‘Ranald. What have you done, Ranald?’
He tried to wake up, but he was snared in the fog of his dream as if it was netting.
‘Ranald.’
A cold hand on his shoulder.
‘RANALD.’
Reality thrust its way through the sludge of his mind. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes. Saw the face of Danny Hackett. His open mouth. Uneven teeth. The pale pink of his tongue flecked with saliva.
‘Ranald, what the hell have you done?’ Danny shouted at him, shaking his shoulder hard enough to bruise.
‘What…’
Danny stood back and looked towards the water.
Ranald stood up and looked in the same direction as Danny, He couldn’t make sense of what he saw at first. It was too strange. As if it came from his dream.
A fully clothed Marcus was standing in the water. He was holding Liz’s slack body and wading to the side of the pool.
Ranald looked at Liz, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
‘She doesn’t want to get her hair wet,’ he said, and his voice sounded like it was coming from someone else.
Then finally the truth hit him. His knees buckled. He was desperate to look away, but he couldn’t. He stared. Fixed his eyes on Liz. Taking in everything – the angle of her legs and arms as they hung from her body. Her head tilted back. Her soaked hair, one side of it plastered over the lower half of her face.
Above that, her eyes staring into an endless nothing.
Terrified and lifeless.
26
Ran woke up in his bed. He sat up so abruptly his head swam, his mind searching for some sense of where he was and when…
‘Hey,’ Mrs Hackett said. ‘Take it slow, Ranald. You’re in your bed.’
‘What?’
His mind was sending him pictures. Grass. Shadows. A swimming pool. A small hand in his. Liz bent over, looking over her shoulder at him, her eyes large with lust as she urged him on.
Liz smiling at him in the sauna.
Liz lying in Marcus’s arms. Dead.
‘No, no, no, no…’
Fuck. No.
What the hell happened?
‘What am I … how did I get here?’ Ranald asked Mrs Hackett, desperately hoping she would tell him that he’d slept in. That everything going on in his mind was the after-effect of some vivid dream. Or that someone had slipped a powerful hallucinogen into his coffee.
He searched Mrs Hackett’s eyes for answers. She gave a small, accepting nod, as if she was saying it was time to face up to what he had done.
‘You were hysterical … after … so Danny and I brought you up here, put you to bed, while Marcus…’
‘What did Marcus…?’
‘First, you need to tell me what happened, Ranald,’ she said as if withholding judgement. Then she breathed in deeply through her nose. ‘Did you kill that woman?’
‘Kill? What? No.’ Ranald jumped out of the bed, taking a tangle of sheets with him.
‘It was just you and her in the pool room when Marcus and Danny went in there. You were unconscious on the lounger.’ She looked at his head as if searching for evidence of some kind of wound. ‘And the woman was in the water.’ She held a trembling hand to her mouth. ‘Please tell me you didn’t kill that poor woman.’
‘No, absolutely not.’ Ranald searched his mind for some kind of solution. ‘We were in the sauna…’ He paused. ‘She’s dead? Really dead?’
Mrs Hackett just stared at him.
Ranald’s knees buckled. Mrs Hackett held out an arm, trying to catch him on the way down. His chest heaved. Every part of him trembled. His guts churned. His mind delivered an image of Liz’s lifeless eyes.
Mrs Hackett joined him on her knees on the bedroom carpet.
‘We were in the sauna,’ he began again. ‘After we … you know… Then Liz went for a shower and I fell asleep on the lounger.’ He exhaled, a long juddering breath. ‘Then, next thing I know Danny is shaking me awake … and Marcus is in the water with…’ He couldn’t finish.
Mrs Hackett stared into his eyes for a long moment. Then at some internal signal she looked away, and back again. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe you.’ She shook her head. ‘Must’ve been a terrible, terrible accident.’
Ranald struggled back onto his feet. He realised he was still naked from his swim.
‘Shit,’ he said looking down at himself.
‘Go get dressed,’ said Mrs Hackett. ‘We’re all in the kitchen. Come down when you’re ready.’
‘Where’s the…’
‘Danny is seeing to it.’
‘What, no police? We need to phone the police.’
‘Get some clothes on. Come down and talk to us in the kitchen,’ she said, quietly, but with a firmness that invited no dissent. Ranald walked into the kitchen, his heart thick in his chest. He felt as if his blood had all but solidified. His fresh t-shirt was already wet with sweat.
Marcus was sitting in one chair, Mrs Hackett in another.
‘Where’s Danny?’ he asked. His voice cracked.
‘Clearing up your fucking mess,’ replied Marcus. He was still in his sopping-wet clothes. His sodden hair was pushed back off his face, highlighting the strain there.
‘Wait a minute.’ Ranald felt a surge of energy, feeding on Marcus’s open hostility. ‘I don’t know what you think happened here…’
‘You were lying pissed on a sun lounger and there was a dead woman in the pool, Ranald. What am I supposed to think?’
‘I wasn’t pissed. I didn’t drink more than a glass of wine. And—’
‘It’s not looking good, Ranald. Not looking good at all.’ Marcus drummed his fingers on the table. Ranald saw his mobile phone lying there, just within reach. He thought about grabbing it, trying for a signal and phoning the police.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘It was an accident. It must have been an accident. I was asleep. Liz was in the shower. I fell asleep…’
‘Let me tell you what’s happening, Ranald.’ Marcus fixed him with a glare. ‘Or what never happened. That woman was never here. She never drowned in that pool. You never met her. Never fucked her—’
‘The police. We need to contact the cops. I’m innocent. I did nothing wrong. Surely the evidence will point to that?’
Marcus leaned forwards, his eyes full of loathing. He had clearly already convinced himself that Ranald was guilty. ‘Twenty-five years in criminal law and I’ve tried any number of murder cases; you are looking at a life sentence here, cousin.’
‘What are you on about? It was an accident. It must have been.’
‘Ranald, here’s what the prosecution will tell the jury. An empty bottle of wine. Your DNA all over her, and inside her. A telling bruise on the side of her head and lungs full of chlorinated water. All they will have trouble with is intent. Murder or manslaughter.’ He wiped one hand off another. ‘As open and shut as I’ve ever seen it. You killed that woman, Ranald.’
‘No!’ Ranald shouted. ‘No…’ He looked from Marcus to Mrs Hackett. Beseeching her, back me up. But she cast her eyes to the table top and said nothing.
‘We simply can’t allow another scandal in this family,’ said Marcus with certainty in his voice. ‘So this is what we are going to do. What we are doing. Danny is, as we speak, driving that poor woman and her car up to Loch…’ he paused. ‘Best we don’t tell you which one. Suffice to say, her and her car will end up in deep water.’
‘You’re a lawyer. How the hell can you—?’
‘Do you want to go to prison?’ Marcus seemed to be fighting for some calm now.
>
‘Of course not. But—’
‘Mrs Hackett,’ Marcus looked over at her, ‘… would you leave us for a moment, please?’
Without a word, she left the room.
In a blur, Marcus was in Ranald’s face. He grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. ‘You murderous little cunt. If you weren’t part of this family I would have you. You’d never see the light of day.’ He pushed him away again as if trying to regain control. He took a deep breath and stepped back. Walked round to his side of the table and sat down.
Marcus stared at Ranald for a long moment.
‘Having witnessed that little scene in the pool, I could begin to believe you really are a product of two sets of Fitzpatrick blood.’ Then, as if he had reached a decision, his eyes gleamed. Ranald felt his gut twist. His mind was working at a hundred miles an hour, and, despite his protestations that the police should be called, he could not but feel relieved that they weren’t going to be involved. Sure, he was innocent, wasn’t he, but Marcus had a point, he had no idea how he would defend himself against this.
He looked into his cousin’s eyes, read the disgust and tried to work out if he knew anything about the real story behind Helena and Gordon’s apparent double suicide. If Marcus did know his mother had murdered his father, now would be a perfect time to drive that nail into Ranald’s conscience. Like mother like son.
He held onto the edge of the table. There was a keen expression on Marcus’s face. ‘You’ve obviously come off your drugs. You will go back on them.’
Ranald’s head was flipping over and over. How did Marcus know about his mental-health situation?
As if reading his thoughts Marcus smiled – a mean grimace. ‘I’m a lawyer, Ranald. Don’t you think I had you investigated as soon as we found out about you? Now, as I was saying, you’ll go back on your meds—’
‘No, I can’t do—’
‘You’ve just murdered someone, Ranald,’ Marcus said it in a matter-of-fact tone, as someone might discuss the weather. ‘We’ve got to make sure you are not a risk to yourself or anyone else.’
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