Grace-Mary and Joanna were waiting for me at the top of the stairs.
‘Where’s Tina?’ I asked.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Joanna said, in the way people say it when there’s usually a great deal to worry about. ‘But Tina’s gone.’
Gone? What did she mean gone?
‘Robbie,’ Grace-Mary said. ‘I think you’d better give your dad a call.’
38
My dad was pacing up and down beside the big hedge at the front of his cottage, killing nettles with mighty swishes of the ancient sand wedge he kept handy for beating the encroaching vegetation to death. ‘They’re waiting for you,’ was all he could bring himself to say as I walked past him, down the side of the building to the back door and into the kitchen where I was intercepted by Vikki.
‘Where is she?’ I asked.
‘Dad!’ I heard Tina squeal from behind the closed living room door. I was ready to break it down to get to her.
Vikki stepped in front, barring the way. ‘Don’t.’ She pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to see my daughter. ‘You will see her. In a moment. Getting angry is only going to make matters worse,’ she said. ‘Sit and let’s have a chat.’
By chat I was sure she meant, let’s go over where you went so tremendously wrong in the attempt to look after your child. Let’s recap on how you failed so dismally in such a short space of time. I didn’t need the lecture. I told her so.
‘Dad!’ Tina’s voice was louder. I sensed a note of concern in it, heard an adult female voice uttering soft assurances.
‘Be right there, sweetheart,’ I called back.
Vikki pointed to the chair. ‘Please, Robbie. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be.’
Why had I let myself be enticed into that Ferrari? More importantly, why hadn’t I checked the time the Little Ships Nursery closed? I could have sworn it was four o’clock, not half past three. By the time Grace-Mary had gone down to collect Tina, she was already thirty minutes late. The nursery had tried to call me at home. I wasn’t there. They’d phoned the next number on their list, my dad. He’d been out too. Then Malky, who was also otherwise engaged. I’d only put Tina’s grandmother’s details down on the contact list because there was a space for a fourth person. I’d never thought it would be required unless Malky, my dad and I were all killed in some kind of common calamity.
‘Who’s in there with Tina?’ I asked.
‘Mrs Reynold’s lawyer.’
‘That was quick.’
‘Mrs Reynolds says she’ll be here as soon as possible.’
‘So Grandma’s calling the shots, is she?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me, Robbie. I got a call from Mrs Reynold’s lawyer. The only reason Tina isn’t already winging her way to Oban right now is because I asked for a meeting to discuss things – civilly, and so that an accurate record can be kept.’
‘For the court?’
‘I’ve a job to do. So has Mrs Reynold’s lawyer. Remember that when we go in there.’
So, there it was. Grace-Mary had been right; wasn’t she always? It had been a trap. I could imagine Tina’s lawyer planning the whole thing. How easy it would be to set me up to fail. Give him the kid on short notice, sit back and wait. There was probably an office sweepstake. Four weeks until he screws up? Crazy, I’ll stick a tenner on a fortnight.
Mrs Reynolds arrived within the hour. The four of us, Vikki, Tina’s grandmother, her lawyer and myself sat in the living room while my dad played with Tina in the garden.
Mrs Reynolds remained silent, letting her lawyer, a small woman with lots of frizzy hair, do all the talking.
‘It was a worthwhile exercise. It just didn’t work out,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I think we’ve all learned something valuable from the experience. Now it’s time to look at things in a more practical way and with a view to the longer term.’
I’d learned some valuable things all right. I’d learned that I wanted what was best for Tina. I’d also learned that I wanted her to live with me permanently. Did the two have to be mutually exclusive?
‘It’s not like you won’t ever see Tina again,’ Vikki said. Up until then she hadn’t spoken, preferring to remain neutral. Now she was talking like it was a done deal.
Mrs Reynolds nodded. ‘You’re welcome to visit whenever you like.’
‘Though it would be preferable to put something written in place,’ her lawyer, the veteran of a thousand disputed custody cases, interjected, ‘just so that everyone is reading from the same page. We could start with a couple of hours once a fortnight and see how it goes from there.’ She looked to her client.
Mrs Reynolds nodded in confirmation. Just like that, we’d gone from whenever I liked to once every two weeks. Time to involve my own lawyer. Grace-Mary had already been on to Barry Munn and he was expecting my call.
‘Not much I can do,’ he said. ‘It’s Tina’s Aunt Chloe who has the say on matters for the moment. She was granted a guardianship order by an Australian court which allowed her to bring Tina to Scotland. That order is recognised here until such time as the Scottish courts make a final decision on custody.’
‘So it’s all down to Chloe?’
‘For the time being,’ Barry said.
Then why wasn’t she here? She knew it was Zoë’s last wish that I take care of our daughter. She’d told me so. Now when it came to the crunch she was nowhere to be seen. Could I rely on her to favour me against her mother’s wishes? Water against blood?
‘What’s Chloe’s view on all this?’ I asked, after I’d replaced the receiver.
Mrs Reynolds looked to her lawyer.
‘Tina’s Aunt Chloe obviously has a say in the immediate placement of Tina,’ Frizzy-head said. ‘However, as she doesn’t intend on applying for residency, permanent residence is a matter for the sheriff.’ She smiled a professional smile. ‘As guided by the child welfare report, of course.’
All eyes turned on Vikki. There was a long pause before she spoke. ‘It’s not your fault, Robbie. But you have to face it, today wasn’t the first time you’ve not been there for Tina. Your decision to work on through paternity leave has meant that your father, your brother, even your staff have had to pitch in and help when you weren’t available.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing? That I’ve got people able to support me when I need help?’
‘It’s a good thing if those people can be relied on,’ Mrs Reynolds’ lawyer butted in, ‘and if formal arrangements are in place.’
Mrs Reynolds wanted her say too. ‘Robbie, from what I’m told, you’ve been fire-fighting, putting other people into very difficult positions. That sort of thing can’t go on indefinitely.’
Vikki agreed. ‘Eventually, you’d have to decide what it was you cared most about.’ She looked away from me. ‘Tina or your work.’ She stood up. ‘It’s not easy for me to say this. I know how much you care about . . . ’
Right on cue, the door opened. Tina ran in and hugged me.
‘It was getting cold out there,’ my dad said from the doorway.
Tina released me. Vikki knelt down beside my daughter and took her little hands between her own. ‘Guess what, Tina. You’re going to stay with your Granny Vera tonight.’
Tina looked confused. My dad didn’t. He was ready to rip the head off somebody’s shoulders and was leaving me in no doubt as to who topped that particular list.
‘Dad, could you take Tina into the kitchen for a moment?’ I asked, and when he’d gone I turned to the others. ‘Just a couple of more days. I promise, I’ll not let her out of my sight the whole time. No visits by me to the office, nothing.’
If Mrs Reynolds wavered, her lawyer was a rock. ‘There is no point dragging this out.’ She rose to her feet, briefcase in hand. Mrs Reynolds and then Vikki followed suit. I was the only person still seated.
‘What about Molly’s birthday party?’ I blurted. ‘Tina will be disappointed and
it would be a terrible shame for Molly after everything she’s been through.’ Any straw was worth clutching at.
‘Who’s Molly?’ Mrs Reynolds asked Vikki.
‘A girl in my care. Her mother was murdered. She may have witnessed the killing and is completely traumatised. She has some learning difficulties too and Tina . . . well, Tina is really her only friend.’
Mrs Reynolds frowned. ‘And she has a birthday coming up?’
‘This Saturday,’ Vikki confirmed.
‘We were going to have a party at my place,’ I said.
‘There’s no reason why we can’t still have the party,’ Mrs Reynolds said. Her final words almost cloaked by the clearing of her lawyer’s throat. ‘Everyone can come down to my place for the day. There’s plenty of room. We’ll have a lovely time.’
Tina came crashing through again. She ran over and took Vera’s hand. ‘Hurry up, Granny. When are we going to your house?’
Mrs Reynolds smiled down at her and patted her hand. ‘Soon, dear. I was just saying, wouldn’t it be nice if your friend Molly came to see us? We could have a party with a cake and Aunt Chloe and your cousins could maybe come up. I know a man who will bring us a big bouncy castle for the garden. How does that sound?’
It sounded great if Tina’s cheers and bouncing up and down were anything to go by. Still holding her grandmother’s hand she grabbed hold of mine. ‘Let’s go, then!’
‘No, dear,’ Mrs Reynolds said, ‘your dad isn’t coming with us today.’
‘Why not?’ Tina demanded.
‘Because,’ Mrs Reynolds’ frizzy-haired lawyer said, gently freeing my daughter’s hand from mine, ‘your daddy has lots of more important things to do.’
39
As a defence lawyer, the weak side of the argument was my stock in trade, and yet after all the pleas in mitigation of sentence I’d done in my time, all the jury speeches I’d spouted, I couldn’t find a single word to say in my own defence and, even if I had, my dad wouldn’t have listened anyway.
I arrived back at my flat around eight o’clock with no memory of the journey from my dad’s cottage. There was an envelope in my pocket that, from a swift inspection, had to contain at least twenty thousand pounds, and for all that I cared could have contained my laundry list. All I could think of was my wee girl in the back of a car heading for Oban and out of my life.
Someone who was heading into my life at that precise moment was Malky. His car was parked where I normally parked mine and he’d used my not so cunningly concealed spare key to let himself in. I entered the living room to find him sprawled on the sofa, playing a football game on the PlayStation. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘It’s Wednesday night. I always come to see my favourite niece on a Wednesday night. Where is she?’
‘Has Dad not spoken to you?’ I asked.
‘What about?’
Malky hadn’t heard yet. Good. I couldn’t bear the thought of repeating the whole heart-breaking saga.
‘Nothing.’
‘Realistic, this, isn’t it?’ One of his pixel-players tried a long range strike at goal that sailed high over the bar.
‘Very. That could have been one of your efforts.’
He wasn’t listening. The hands holding the controller twisted and turned this way and that. At a particularly exciting moment his right foot shot out as though trying to block a strike at goal or intercept a loose pass.
‘So where’s Tina?’ he asked again, once the electronic whistle had blown for full-time.
‘Gone to stay with her gran for a few days.’
Malky threw the controller to the side and stood up, a broad smile stretched across his face. ‘Giving yourself some breathing space, eh?’ He punched my arm. ‘You dog. You better make the most of it because, let me tell you, you are in the deepest of doo-doo.’
Most of my brother’s chat, the little I actually listened to, was a stream of consciousness rather than anything remotely informative. What was he on about now? And why so pleased about it?
‘Wee Gus told me,’ he said, thinking he was making things clearer.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know if he’s got a second name. Must have, I suppose. But you know who I mean. You’ve met him. Gus’s been the Scotland team kit man forever. He still gets me tickets for the games.’
I did vaguely recall being introduced to a grumpy wee man at a sportsman’s dinner once and though I thought that might be who Malky was referring to, I didn’t care sufficiently enough to waste the electricity on a synapse between the relevant brain cells to make the connection. ‘Oh, yeah, Gus. What did he tell you?’
‘That he saw you today. Except he thought it was me. That’s why he phoned.’
I walked through to the kitchen for a glass of water, hoping in doing so I might shake off Malky and his mad ramblings. It didn’t work. He followed me into the kitchen.
‘I said, it definitely wasn’t me, Gus. I was in a radio studio doing a voice-over twenty miles away. It must have been my brother, even though he looks nothing like me, for a start he’s fatter—’
‘Bigger-built.’ I filled a glass from the tap.
‘And a short-arse.’
‘I’m five eleven. That’s above-average height. You’re the only freak in the room.’
‘And he said he could have sworn it was me, and—’
‘Malky. Could you shut up? I’m tired and I’d really quite like to hit someone.’ I drank the water in one go. ‘And how come – if I look nothing like you – you told him it must have been me he saw?’
Malky thought about that for a moment. ‘Okay, I’ll admit there is a vague family resemblance, but, you know, seriously . . . ’ He wagged an index finger between our respective faces a few times. ‘What was the man thinking?’
I rinsed out the glass and left it turned upside down on the draining board, thinking it would be dry by the time Malky reached the end of his story. ‘Listen, Malky. I’ve had a really hard day.’
‘I bet you have.’ He caught his reflection in the kitchen window and swept his hair back either side. ‘Us Munro boys. It’s not fair. Women can’t help themselves.’ He punched my arm again.
‘I really wish you’d stop doing that.’
He laughed. ‘You’ll get a lot worse if Joey gets his mitts on you.’
‘Joey who?’
‘Joey Di Rollo.’
‘The Spurs player?’
‘Once upon a time. He’s a coaching assistant these days. Went to Brighton after Spurs, that’s how I know him. From my time down there. You know before Cat . . . before . . . ’ Before he killed his former partner in a car crash he meant. ‘Before she died.’
‘Sorry, Malky,’ I said. ‘You’re going to have to explain what on earth it is you’re talking about.’
‘Not me, kiddo. It’s you who’s got the explaining to do.’ He pinched my cheek and gave it a shake. ‘Nicking off to a fancy hotel with Joey’s bird for a nooner? Let’s see you put up a defence to that one. Guilty as charged, M’lud.’
From which I reasonably inferred that Joey and my glamorous chauffeur from earlier that day were romantically linked.
‘She was giving me a lift,’ I said, batting his hand away.
‘I know what she was giving you.’
‘Could you stop sounding like someone out of a Carry On movie for a minute? The girl gave me a lift to Mar Hall. I had an appointment to see Ursula Pentecost. It was to do with work. Nothing happened between me and—’
‘You met Ursula? How is she? Did she know you were my brother?’
‘Why would she know that and how do you even know who she is?’
‘I used to see her all the time,’ Malky said. ‘She was always wearing something stupid. Not a woman who’s scared of bright colours, is she?’
‘Let’s get this straight. You know Dame Ursula Pentecost?’
Malky wrinkled his nose. ‘Nah, not really. Not to talk to. It was Stephen I dealt with most of the time.’
&
nbsp; ‘Stephen Pentecost? Sir Stephen Pentecost? You knew him?’
‘Do you know what the cost of living is down South? How do you think I managed to live in Brighton for three years?’
‘Your radio show? After-dinners?’
Malky straightened his shoulders and breathed in. ‘And a spot of modelling work.’ He breathed out again and slapped his stomach. ‘Okay, I’ve let myself go a wee bit, but me and some of the other boys used to model all sorts of stuff. Once Stephen had us modelling a range of leisurewear. What was it called? Half-time . . . no, Full-time Fashion, I think it was. He was trying to move out of all the boutique stuff and go more . . . ’
‘Downmarket?’
‘High Street, was what Stephen called it. Anyway, the money was great and I got to keep the clothes. Well, I did if I sneaked them out in my holdall.’
We wandered back to the living room and plonked ourselves down on the sofa. Malky picked up the PlayStation controllers. ‘So nothing happened between you and Joey’s girl? Shame, next time I saw him I was going to wind him up about my ugly wee brother stealing his bird.’
‘How many times did you meet him?’
‘Joey? Hundreds of times. Last time I was in London we—’
‘Not Joey, Stephen Pentecost.’
‘Oh, tons of times. He was very hands-on. Especially with some of the models. We all were.’
Malky sorted his next game on the PlayStation. Scotland v England. I noticed he’d introduced a new player to the present Scotland line-up. ‘I see you’ve got a certain Malky Munro playing centre-forward.’
‘Yeah, found myself in the Scotland Legends team. On the bench. Can you believe it? Anyway, I beefed up my stats a bit and knocked in three against Argentina in the last round. Two headers and a thirty-yarder. But like I say, some of Stephen’s models were definitely up for the cup. I mean, you know what models are like, right? Most of them are extremely ambitious.’ Malky paused to make a few last minute alterations to his starting line-up. ‘Not all of them can make it, so what you’re left with is all these really good-looking girls whose legs aren’t long enough or who want to eat food like normal folk,’ he went on, apparently satisfied with his tactical set-up. ‘There’s hundreds of them. They try, they fail, they go on the prowl for rich guys.’ That would normally have won the award for politically incorrect-statement-of-the-day, but for my earlier taxi ride. ‘They just sort of assume all footballers are rich. By the time most of them found out I was skint, it was too late.’
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