Willow Walk

by SJI Holliday

  The swimming pool is heaving. School kids on holiday fill the main pool as well as the kiddie pool, and Marie realises she’s not going to get much of a peaceful swim.

  She finds a space against the far side, swims ten lengths while hugging so close to the pool wall that she can only do front crawl to avoid smacking her fingers against the side. She stops in the deep end for a breath. This is pathetic. Drinking the rum has affected her stamina. The upside is that the cool water is soothing her fuzzy head, even if the echoing shrieks of the children are trying hard to counterbalance it.

  She leans one arm in the drainage channel and gazes out across the pool, towards the café, where a few people sit drinking coffee and watching the swimmers. Without her contact lenses, she can’t make out any of the faces, but some of the shapes of people look familiar. At the table at the end, a man stands up from his seat and steps closer to the window. Marie peers. He’s probably trying to find one of his kids. You see them sometimes, the anxious parents. They bang on the glass and a child in the pool starts waving. Then the parent sits back down, pleased that they’ve shown their vigilance.

  But the man doesn’t bang on the glass. He just stares out at the pool. Marie scans the bodies in the water, waiting for someone to suddenly spot him and wave. No one does.

  She turns back towards the café. He’s gone.

  Marie slides down the wall to the bottom of the pool, holds her breath for a few seconds, then pushes off the wall and into her final length. She tries not to think about who the man might have been.

  Who he was watching.

  Why there was something disturbingly familiar about him.

  10

  Laura wakes up early, feels like she hasn’t slept a wink. She knows she must’ve, of course, but her mind was whirring so much it was hard to shut it down.

  Choosing the right person to share her news with was very difficult. Some girls from school lost their virginity long ago, and they saw themselves as superior beings now. Telling any of them would burst her happiness like a pin in a balloon. She had other friends who were even further behind than her, nowhere even close to a kiss. They’d only get jealous, and probably embarrassed.

  She decides that Hayley is really her only option. She isn’t one of her closest friends; in fact, she barely knows her – but she’s funny and streetwise and she is the right person to help her deal with this. It might even make Hayley want to be one of her proper friends. Hayley has been seeing a boy in their class, Sean Talbot, for a month – but Laura knows that despite Sean’s best efforts Hayley is letting him wait. Laura also knows, from the look that Hayley gave her when she told their little gang what was going on, that she didn’t want to wait any longer. It might just be that Sean isn’t the one she is waiting for. She scrolls down through her contacts list and clicks ‘call’.

  ‘Laura? This is a surprise. I didn’t even know you had my number.’

  Laura is confused. How did she know it was her if they hadn’t swapped numbers? She suspects that Hayley likes to play games, to keep the upper hand. She ignores it. ‘Hey, Hayley, sorry – you gave me it after we did that biology thing together last term. Anyway, this is nothing to do with school. I just needed to tell someone something, and I thought you’d be the right one to tell, what with you and Sean . . .’

  ‘Me and Sean? Why? What’ve you heard?’

  ‘No, no – nothing – only what I’ve heard from you . . . I wasn’t . . .’

  ‘Oh!’ Hayley starts laughing. ‘You must be psychic, Laura. You’ll never guess what we did yesterday. Well actually, you probably can . . .’

  Laura hears it in her voice. She’s done it. Lucky cow. ‘What was it like?’

  A pause. ‘You want me to be honest?’

  ‘Er, yes . . . that’s why I was calling. Well, actually, I was calling to ask you what you thought of Mark Lawrie, and if you thought I should—’

  ‘Mark Lawrie? Bloody hell, are you going out with him? What’s happening? I haven’t heard any of this! Does Lizzie know? Or Karen? Or—’

  Laura smiles, glad that she’s had this moment. ‘Well, no, it’s just started really. He was eyeing me up one day at school. We nearly chatted at Karen’s party at the end of term, then he spoke to me in the park and then I bumped into him down the road, and well . . . we went to Marchmont Lodge, then the shows, and later on he’s coming round to take me somewhere else.’

  Hayley shrieks down the phone. ‘And what’ve you done? OMG, Laura, have you . . . ?’

  ‘We’ve just kissed, but . . . I want to do more . . . I don’t want to wait. But I want to know I’m doing the right thing. I want to know if this is “real” or not. You waited ages, I just—’

  ‘Right, listen.’ Hayley’s voice takes on a solemn tone. Laura imagines her face, her look of serious concentration. ‘There’s a question you have to ask yourself, and once you know the answer, you’ll know what to do.’

  Laura has a sudden flash to the fortune teller. The question she’d asked herself then. She has a feeling Hayley’s question is going to be a different one, though.

  ‘Ask yourself this,’ Hayley says. ‘Would you cry at his funeral?’

  Laura is taken aback. ‘Well . . . yes. I mean, I think I’d cry at most people’s funerals . . . I don’t—’

  Hayley cuts her off. ‘It’s like the litmus test for boys, Laura. Think about how upset you’d be if he died, and then you’ll know if you really want to be with him. Listen, got to go. Keep me posted, though, OK? Enjoy it. Good luck . . . oh, and don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.’ She hangs up.

  Laura thinks there was another voice in the background. A boy. What was Hayley doing with a boy at eight in the morning? Surely it wasn’t Sean. Neither of their parents would allow that, would they?

  She jumps out of bed, picks up the towel that’s hanging on the back of her door and heads to the shower. Never mind Hayley. She’s got some serious preparation to do before Mark turns up.

  11

  Davie wants to murder Malkie. The fear that had gone through him when he’d gone to identify the woman who turned out not to be Marie had convinced him that he was in no way immune to having a heart attack. No matter what shape he was in. Davie’s always known he’s not cut out for the murder squad. He hasn’t seen many corpses in his life, but he’s seen enough to know that he can’t cope with them on a daily basis. Malkie told him the stats not that long ago, about the number of bodies he’d had to deal with in Edinburgh and the Lothians. Mostly drug overdoses, or old people who’d died alone. In both cases, the bodies were often in a state of putrefaction, which makes Davie feel sick just thinking about it. How sad, when no one even notices that you’re dead.

  The woman in the hospital still hasn’t been ID’d. Malkie’s team are cross-checking with people recently reported missing, but, as is often the case, people go missing and no one notices. You’d hardly send out a search party if you didn’t see your friend for twenty-four hours. Maybe she lives alone. Maybe she has no one to miss her. Davie worries about having no one to miss him. He’s hoping Marie might change that, but it seems that after the initial enthusiasm her interest is already waning. They’d pencilled in a date for the night before and she’d called it off without any explanation.

  Malkie had shown him the victim’s clothing. The black skirt, the white blouse. The clumpy shoes. Not Doc Martens, but something similar. Even without the possibility of a tattoo, he’d have been able to identify Marie based on the shoes. No way she’d wear anything other than the real thing. But Malkie wasn’t to know that, and the other clothing, plus the hair and the age, and the fact that she wasn’t far outside the town, made her a not-unsuitable candidate. Davie shudders. What if it had been her?

  Despite knowing Marie for about twenty years, he realises now that he doesn’t know her at all. They’d gone out for a drink a couple of times a few years back, but he’d been the one to pull back from that. He’s had no shortage of offers, but something always seems to get in the way. M
arie became good friends with Anne, after joining her class at the high school – but by then Davie, and Ian – Anne’s husband – had already left. Davie joined the police, and Ian started a series of nothing jobs until he was lucky enough with a win on the Football Pools that meant he was able to buy his shop.

  He’d been working there ever since, and Davie had been at Banktoun Station ever since.

  He’s not far off being eligible for early retirement now, but who retires when they’re forty-eight unless they’ve got something better to do? Not him. In fact, Malkie and the murder squad aside, he’s quite keen on the idea of switching over to CID. He reckons he’s got a good ten years left in the force, but he needs something more than local policing to keep him on his toes. His brain is starting to go stale, and he’s not one for Sudoku. Luckily Malkie is more than happy to help him out. Only problem is, if he takes an official position as detective, he’ll have to go and do the training at some point, and he’s not sure he’s capable of sitting for eight hours a day with a bunch of fast-trackers and keen recruits. Still, at least he’d be fine with the fitness part. He’s been doing karate since he was ten, and running the local club is one of the highlights of his life. You need to get out more, pal, he thinks. He hasn’t been to a gig in over a year. Him and Ian used to go to all the Mod meet-ups on their scooters back in the day. He’s too old for all that now. But he’s still got the scooter.

  The next morning he finds himself back at the computer, working on his original task. He wants to find the link between these drug deaths. He wants to stop them reaching Banktoun. Time for a wee recce, he decides.

  ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds to man the fort.’

  He doesn’t wait for a response. Callum, and Lorna, his new fiancée, are through in the kitchen, apparently making tea, but Davie imagines they’re up to something else in there. Something even nicer than tea. He’s envious of them, finding each other. He can’t even be bothered to tell them to get on with their work, as there really isn’t much to do. Someone broke into the vet’s surgery the other night but hadn’t managed to nick anything of interest, as the medicine cabinet was locked with a key-coded lock and there is a dearth of competent safe-crackers in Banktoun. Chancers, aye. Plenty of those. They’d been caught on CCTV, and they’d had the sense to wear hoods.

  All might’ve been OK, except Davie and Callum had already recognised one of them from his distinctive logo’d hoodie, and he was currently in the cells, stewing. They’d picked him up at home, where he’d clearly celebrated his poor attempt at a burglary by drinking half a case of Special Brew, realising that the bottles of sterilising alcohol he’d nicked would probably make him go blind – plus, he’d already sold it. But to whom, Davie didn’t know. Some people were beyond desperate. The man was a petty thief, but with another break-in under his belt it was likely he’d get a custodial sentence this time. What a waste of a life. Davie has sympathy for some of those people who just never manage to make it, but Stuart Mason is a sad lowlife who’d once been caught trying to strangle a dog down by the river. Davie has no time for the man and is happy to keep him in the cells for as long as they’re allowed. He might interview him when he comes back, assuming he’s sobered up. Plus, his brief isn’t particularly rushing to get there to his aid.

  On a lamppost outside the station, a freshly tacked poster is advertising Forrestal’s Fun Fair. So the shows are in town. This is interesting. Lots of unsavoury types hanging around there. Davie pulls out his BlackBerry and types himself a quick note. He might nip down there for a gander later. Maybe he’ll ask Marie. It’s as good an excuse as any to spend time with her, and it’s something that doesn’t involve them having to talk too much – give her a chance to relax in his company again. Maybe he’ll win her a giant teddy on the rifle range. And maybe he’ll spot something interesting while he’s there. Young lads, moving around different towns, meeting different folk along the way. Selling them more than candyfloss and cheap hotdogs. In his head, he tries to map out the list of the drugs cases that Malkie has given him.

  Wonders which town the shows visited last.

  12

  ‘Have you actually made a picnic?’

  Mark grins. ‘What, as opposed to going and buying pre-packed sandwiches from the Co-op? Yes, of course I’ve bloody made it!’

  Laura is impressed. Mark gives the impression of being a bit of a lad, but underneath he’s nothing of the sort. He’s funny – of course – and he’s gorgeous – no question about that. But, most importantly, he seems to like her. A lot. Laura’s cynical demon tries to butt in, suggesting that he’s only being nice to get into her pants. Half of her wouldn’t mind that much. Only another year and she’ll be leaving for university. He’ll been leaving to do the same, then he’ll go off and find his job in London. Would it be so wrong if it were only a summer fling? Surely they could manage to avoid each other after the holidays, if things don’t work out. She’ll be too busy with her exams to worry about stupid gossip. On the other hand, her last year at school might just be a million times better if she had an actual boyfriend to hang out with.

  Laura doesn’t feel the draw of London. She plans to study in Edinburgh and stay there afterwards. She has her heart set on one of those cute little cottages they call the Colonies – pretty rows of old workers’ cottages, with postage-stamp gardens and cul-de-sac streets where they still hold street parties. Really close to the centre of the city, too. She just has to find a way to be able to afford one. She imagines Mark living in some new build high-rise in the Square Mile, all glass and security entry systems and space-age furniture. It’s funny, she knows they want completely different things, and at sixteen she knows they’re far too young to make any compromises to stay together, but she has a feeling that their relationship, no matter how long it lasts, is going to be something significant for them both. Even the stupid fortune teller hinted at that. She’s hasn’t told Mark what the woman said about something bad happening. He’ll only say he told her so.

  Mark swings the rucksack onto his back and takes hold of Laura’s hand. Laura notices that a blanket has been rolled up and slotted through the straps at the back. He’s put some effort into this. She has a sick feeling for a moment, wondering how many other girls he’s made special picnics for.

  ‘Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?’

  Mark squeezes her hand. ‘Did you bring your cossie?’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Well then,’ he says, looking up at the sky – which is a clear, bright blue, peppered with a smattering of fluffy white clouds – ‘let’s hope it stays warm enough for you down at Digby’s Deathhole, eh?’

  Laura laughs. ‘Oh. How romantic.’

  Digby’s Deathhole is the name the locals have given to a wide section of the river where a deep cavern has become a popular swimming spot. There are various rumours about kids having drowned in there, sucked down by a mysterious vortex . . . or if you listened to some people, the ghost of Digby himself, who likes to grab onto people’s ankles and drag them down into the depths – never to be seen again. Laura asked Davie about the place, wanting to know how much was true and how much was legend. Davie told her at least another three legends, before he told her the truth. One person had drowned in there, back in the 1950s. A local tradesman called Daniel Digby had taken a shortcut along the river after a day out at the festival raft race, where many bottles of beer were consumed. He’d fallen in and because of the river being low from a summer drought he hadn’t been able to reach the bank to pull himself back out. They found him the next morning, washed up on the edge of the weir about a hundred feet downstream from the hole. His jacket was washed up on the bank there, snagged on a tree, looking like it was trying to climb out.

  Laura shudders, thinking about the man, and how scared he must’ve been in the cold, dark water. His screams of help disappearing into the trees.

  The thing about this part of the river is that it is perfect to swim in, and it’s sheltered amongst the tree
s – so it’s a popular spot for couples, even during the day – although the skinny-dippers usually wait for dusk, at least. Laura wonders if Mark has brought condoms. She thought about buying some herself, but the idea of going into the local pharmacy and having to take them to the counter where someone’s mum was likely to recognise her was as appealing as having her eyeballs removed with a spoon.

  ‘Any preferences? Shade or sun?’ Mark drops the rucksack on the ground and pulls the blanket from the back. He shakes it out.

  ‘Shade, I think. Maybe with a bit of sun poking through.’ Laura looks around, trying to find the perfect spot. ‘How about there?’ She points over at a small clearing, where the trees seem to form a perfect circle. Sun glints through the gaps in the top of the canopy, casting starbursts of light on the mulchy forest floor.

  Mark shakes out the blanket again and lets it fall softly onto the patch of ground. He kneels down and starts to unbuckle the rucksack. Laura drops her own bag on the blanket and kicks off her sandals. She walks over to the water’s edge and, bending to lean one hand on the ground, sits down with her feet hovering just above the water.

  ‘It looks freezing,’ she says, turning back to look at Mark over her shoulder. He’s laid out Tupperware boxes, cans of drink, packets of crisps. Something wrapped in foil sits on a floral patterned plate. He’s brought plastic cups, napkins and cutlery. ‘Wow,’ Laura says. ‘You’ve got a picnic set. How sweet . . .’

  ‘Don’t take the piss,’ he says, pulling up a weed in a clod of earth and aiming it at her head. She ducks, and it misses, but it takes her concentration for a moment and her feet splash into the water.

  ‘Aargh! It is freezing, you bugger!’

  Mark grins, and takes off his shoes and socks. He jumps up from the blanket and barrels towards her, grabbing her and pushing her towards the river. She shrieks, and he pulls her away just before she slides off the bank and into the river. Then the two of them tumble back, Laura’s feet still dangling over the edge, Mark straddling her, pinning her arms behind her head.