by Denise Mina
She used the pay-phone and called Hugh McAskill at work. He said hello and that he would meet her for a curry the next night. He talked as if they’d already made the arrangement and were finalizing details. They had never so much as been for coffee together before. When she agreed to meet him at Charing Cross at seven thirty he said,‘Yes,’ and hung up on her. She stood for a moment, wondering if it had been Hugh she’d spoken to. It had sounded like him. She hadn’t intended to do it, but the bar was there and she was pissed off and worried so she ordered a triple whisky, without a mixer, and drank it down like medicine. When she left the glass on the bar and stepped out into the road the day was warmer, the sunshine less corrosive and the colours of the cars against the deep green of the river were vibrant and thrilling.
The market was all but deserted by half one. It was too hot and everyone was staying in their gardens or hanging about the park. Maureen suggested that they shut up early but Leslie didn’t want to. They argued about it apathetically for half an hour and Leslie was proved right when one of the regulars came jogging down the aisle breathlessly at two o’clock and bought a whole box of Regal and a packet of tobacco. ‘For the weans,’ he said, and wheezed a laugh.
Leslie had nothing to do but go home and cry so she agreed to drive Maureen to her flat, wait for her to change into some fresh clothes and take her to the Albert. Maureen wanted her to wait outside and give her a lift home again afterwards but Leslie thought she was pushing it. ‘I’m not just being lazy,’ said Maureen,‘but her creepy son tried to drive me home yesterday and I want to leave with someone.’ ‘Well, okay,’ said Leslie, adding quickly,‘but I’m not going to see her. I don’t even know her.’
‘I don’t want ye to come up and see her,’ said Maureen, ‘just run me about the town for an hour or so.’
‘What else am I doing?’
Maureen had dressed in smart office clothes– a clean white shirt and black skirt– hoping to sneak in to see Ella before visiting time and Si’s arrival. She walked quickly down the corridor, keeping her head down and slipping past the big metal lunch trolley, inconspicuous in her nice clothes. The triple whisky she had had at lunchtime had worn off along time ago and she was aching for another. It occurred to her that three small whiskies made her feel the way everyone else did normally. If she could keep a bottle in her bag and top herself up she’d probably feel all right most of the time. Maureen opened the door to Ella’s room a little, checking before she entered. It was empty but the sound of running water came from a tiny closet room at the far side of the bed. She flinched at the sound of a flush, worried she might have walked in on Ella doing the toilet, and fell back to the doorway.
A stick appeared at the door first, followed by a shuffling Ella, bent heavily, swinging a leg in full plaster behind her.
A female nurse with short auburn hair walked behind her, one hand on Ella’s waist as she flattened her paper nightie down at the back. Ella looked up at Maureen and staggered to the side in surprise. The nurse caught her and helped her over to the bed. Ella’s eyes were healing a little, the red breaking up into spots of orange, like poached blood on white linen.
‘Who are you?’ the nurse asked Maureen sharply as she turned to help Ella on to the bed, her sagging little bottom visible between the sides of the gaping paper robe. Maureen didn’t know what to say.
‘Are you here to visit Mrs McGee?’ said the nurse. ‘Visiting doesn’t start for another half-hour. You’ll need to wait downstairs.’
Ella was sitting on the blankets. The nurse struggled to lift her up with one hand and push the sheets back. Maureen stepped forward and pulled the covers out of the way. The nurse looked at her, disapproving, as if she’d tried to curry favour. ‘You’ll still have to wait downstairs,’ she said, lifting Ella’s plastered leg on to the bed. Ella groaned under her breath and shut her eyes. Maureen felt disproportionately guilty.
‘Come back,’ said Ella awkwardly, and Maureen realized why she hadn’t spoken the day before. Her top set of dentures was broken, snapped in half between the two front teeth.
Maureen shook herself. It was ridiculous to feel so guilty. She hadn’t started a food fight in the middle of an operation, she was just interrupting the nurse’s toileting round. ‘The date came through for the small-claims case,’ she said, clumsily, pressing the letter into Ella’s hand. ‘It’s next Friday.’
Ella hunched over suddenly and grimaced, letting out a low, desperate yowl of regret, crumpling the letter in her bony fist. The nurse bent down suddenly, trying to look her in the eye, thinking she was having an attack of some kind. Ella pushed the woman away, shaking her head over and over, and Maureen knew she shouldn’t have brought the letter here, not while Ella was in hospital and so afraid already. It would hardly kill her to be kind. She crouched down in front of Ella, chucking her chin to make her stop shaking her head. ‘D’ye need nighties?’ she asked.
Ella’s eyes moistened and she nodded. ‘I need . . .’ she started to cry‘ ...a comb.’
Maureen petted her hand a couple of times, stood up and left. She heard the nurse asking Ella if Maureen was her daughter. She took a back door out to the street so that she wouldn’t pass Leslie on her way to the shops.
The department store was thick with Saturday shoppers, wandering around in family units, holding up lamps and running their hands over carpets and curtains while restless children ran in the aisles and played with information leaflets about zero-interest credit. It was cool in the windowless store: it might have been winter outside.
Maureen took the escalator up a level and found the nighties next to the sportswear. Given her financial state she should have gone for the cheap nylon mix but she thought of loveless Ella sitting on the bed without a comb and chose two brushed-cotton full-length nightdresses with pansies printed on them, one in pink, one in blue. Ignoring the nagging worry about money, she picked up a comb, a bar of soap in a fancy box, a matching tub of talc and a lavender wash bag from the same set. They had a small makeup display and she chose a blister-packed eyeliner pencil for Ella to draw her eyebrows on with. She tried not to look when the assistant tallied it up, and paid for it with a card.
*
The nurse smiled at her as she came up the corridor for the second time. ‘Your brother’s already here,’ she said, and smiled wider when she saw the expensive department-store bag.
Si was sitting exactly where he had been the day before, at the foot of the bed, watching Ella lying still, as if he was guarding her, waiting for her to try something so he could jump up and stop her. He turned and greeted Maureen with a glance that took in skirt and blouse. She saw a smile flicker in his eyes. Si had either left before the post arrived this morning or hadn’t realized that she was the Maureen O’Donnell named on the small claims letter. He thought she had dressed up to please him. He turned back to Ella, who was looking at her feet again.
‘Hi again,’ said Maureen, keeping it breezy,‘I got ye some nighties. And a wee wash bag.’ She sat down next to Ella on the bed, facing Si, and pulled out the soap, comb and talc. ‘Nice to have nice smells,’ she said, smiling at him, presenting no threat.
Ella reached into the bag and pulled out the Cellophane bag with one of the nighties in it. Slowly she peeled open the glued-down strip at the back and worked her hand into the bag, feeling the soft material.
Maureen nodded and smiled patronizingly. ‘D’ye like that, Ella?’ Ella nodded.
‘Will we get ye out of that paper thing now?’ Ella nodded again, slowly. They both looked at Si. He stood up reluctantly, pushing the chair away noisily with the backs of his knees and left the room, purposefully leaving the door an inch ajar. Maureen stepped forward and shut the door properly. ‘Can ye sit up, pet?’ said Maureen, loud enough for Si to hear.
Ella managed to push herself forward from the pillows and Maureen undid the string ties at the back of her gown. Beneath her gold chain, her bruis
ed back was emerald green tinged with blue, like badly spoiled meat. ‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ she whispered.
Ella let her broken teeth fall into her hand. Her cheeks collapsed and she looked up at Maureen, crying, as afraid as the child with no eyes in Maureen’s hall cupboard. ‘Get me the fuff out of here,’ she whimpered, cursing through flaccid lips.
Maureen crackled the Cellophane noisily. ‘Here ye are. This’ll be nicer for ye. That’s nice and soft, isn’t it?’ she said loudly, and lowered her voice. ‘What happened to you?’ ‘Please, God, get me out of here.’
Maureen faced her. ‘Ella, listen to me: you’ll be safe in here, there’s nurses all over the place. What happened to you?’ ‘I fell.’
‘Did ye fuck.’
‘I fell. Don’t tell anyone.’
Maureen lowered the neck of the nightdress over the old woman’s head. ‘If ye fell over why are ye worried I’ll tell anyone?’ ‘I fell.’
Maureen had to take the drip-bag off the metal hook and thread it through the arm of the nightie carefully, guiding Ella’s hand and arm after it. ‘Ella,’ she said, slipping the second arm in,‘are you dropping the small-claims case, then?’
Ella looked at the door. ‘He doesn’t even know about that yet.’ Her face contorted in a panicked sob. ‘He’ll fucking kill me.’
A knock at the door stopped them dead. ‘Won’t be a moment,’ called Maureen, in a stupid singsong voice. She pulled the sheet up, too embarrassed to smooth the nightie under Ella’s bare backside, and sat on the bed.
The women composed themselves, Ella carefully slipping her broken teeth back in, fitting the snapped edges together and catching her breath. ‘Please,’ she whispered, watching the door,‘get me out of here.’
‘Look, you’re safe in here,’ said Maureen. ‘There’s nothing—’
The door opened and Si came back in. ‘Ooh,’ he said, looking at the nightie pooled around his mother’s waist, ‘that’s a nice one.’
The nurse with the auburn hair was chatting to a porter in the corridor but she broke off when she saw Maureen lingering there, waiting to catch her.
‘Do you know what happened to her?’ said Maureen, playing the concerned daughter. ‘She won’t talk about it. The nurse last night said she’d fallen over but it’s both sides of her face.’
The nurse folded her arms. ‘Don’t you know?’
‘I know she didn’t fall.’ Maureen folded her arms too.
‘Didn’t your brother tell you?’
Maureen looked at the floor. ‘My brother and I don’t talk, I’m afraid.’
The nurse nodded. ‘I see, I see. Your mum was mugged, in her house.’
Maureen was sceptical. ‘Shouldn’t the police be told, then?’
The nurse didn’t like her. ‘The police have been up twice for a statement,’ she said coldly. ‘She couldn’t tell them much. Luckily your brother was here to hold her hand.’
13
Let them
Angus was back in his room. The door was shut, the spyhole open, meaning they could look in at him at any time. He listened for footfalls outside, for air moving in the corridor. Being perpetually on show required a condition of alertness, so much so that he had stopped swallowing his medication on alternate days. They gave everyone in here medication, to make them slow and malleable. Slo-mo pills to make the population manageable. He wanted to have been off everything before the case came up. He had things to do.
He lay on his bed, turned to the wall so that his face was hidden, and thought about her. Cheap clothes, hair tidied. If his friend did as he had promised Maureen would start to get the envelopes soon. He tried to imagine her looking at the pictures, the shock, the dismay, disgust even, perhaps being excited by it. Probably not. He rolled on to his back, tucking his hands behind his head, crossing his feet. There was a crack on his ceiling, a ragged pencil line coming from a corner. Cheap clothes, hair tidied, opening an envelope, and still a week to go before the court case. He knew what she was up to, knew what she was thinking. He could play her, make sure she said what he wanted her to say in the witness box. She was getting him out of here.
And after the trial, when he got out, the police would clamour to protect Maureen O’Donnell. They would form a cordon around her, a cushion to keep him away from her, to stop her being one of his girls. Angus looked at the cracked grey ceiling and allowed himself a wry smile. Let them.
14
Hello, Stranger
It was sweltering in the van. Leslie hadn’t been able to find a shaded spot to park in and the black plastic seat burnt the back of Maureen’s legs as she sat down. They opened both the windows and Leslie drove fast through the town, trying to whip up a breeze in the cab. Maureen told her that Ella might not have fallen over and about the nasty edge to Si.
‘He’s got a posh accent like mine,’ said Maureen. Leslie smiled. ‘Your accent’s not that posh.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t talk like Home Gran, do I? I think he hit her.’ ‘Why?’
Maureen had promised not to tell anyone about the small claims. ‘She kept asking me to get her out of the hospital. She’s really scared of him. He’s creepy, like, puts a sexual slant on everything, and he’s angry . . .’
Leslie didn’t look convinced or even interested, but then she was going home to a Saturday night of crying Cammy and fuss.
They were both covered in a sheen of sweat by the time they got to Garnethill. The road was lined on both sides with parked cars and Leslie had to stop in the street to drop her.
‘Shouldn’t you tell the police about the picture?’
‘Nah,’ said Maureen. ‘They couldn’t trace her and I don’t want them up at my house.’
‘The girl might be from Glasgow. It might be important.’
‘Didn’t ye see that Wonderland Club case on the news? Sixty men and each of them had handed over ten thousand pictures of kids for membership.’
‘Well, it’s up to you,’ said Leslie, looking up at Maureen’s window. ‘Will you be all right up there?’
‘Yeah,’ said Maureen. ‘I think Angus just wants to frighten me.’ She took the bags out of the back of the van, leaving behind some fags for Leslie’s traumatic weekend. She called through the van to her,‘I’ve left sixty fags here for ye, Leslie. Good luck tonight.’ ‘Cheers.’
She shut the back doors and Leslie drove off down the hill.
The moment Maureen looked up she knew something was wrong. Her close door was jammed open, lying flat against the wall. No one staying there ever did that. It wasn’t a safe area and they had to keep the door shut all the time so that people thought they had a buzzer entry system. Someone who didn’t belong there was inside.
Maureen looked at the floor inside the close. Sometimes when he washed the stairs Jim Maliano left the door open to dry them, but the floor was dry today and dusty. She stepped into the close, stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened, the sweat on her face and arms suddenly chill. The noise of TV game shows and the high, excited voices of sports commentators whistled under the neighbours’ doors. She couldn’t hear anyone in the close but felt the still air moving a few floors up, heard the gentle scuff of material brushing against material. Quietly, she walked up to the first landing and stopped. Someone was up there. An alarming trickle of sweat escaped from her hairline, startling her as it ran down her cheek. She raised her hand, patting her face audibly, and the presence above her shifted at the noise. She considered going down again and slipping out the back. She listened. They weren’t all the way upstairs, they weren’t outside her door. The close had eight flats in it, they could be visiting anyone. She heard sudden footsteps, someone falling from foot to foot, coming towards her quickly, just round the corner.
He was watching his feet as he walked and his dark hair appeared before the rest of him. He looked up at her. ‘Hiya,’ he said simply.
It was tea-time. Beyond the drawn red velvet curtains Saturday traffic passed noisily a few blocks down, leaving the city centre to catch its breath before the evening began. A soft light seeped in through the heavy curtains, the blue sky casting a pink and yellow sheen on the ceiling. Somewhere in Garnethill, beyond the bedroom window, a bird was hollering. Maureen stretched out, arching her back off the bed and grinning to herself. Vik caught a curl of Maureen’s dark hair on his toe and tugged it playfully. She looked at him, still smiling. ‘Ye okay?’ he said.
‘Oh, aye.’ Wondering at skin so soft, Maureen placed her fingertips on his bare hip, the skin slick to the bone. She traced the tight dip of powder skin before the small swell of his belly. She didn’t even want a drink. ‘I’m glad you came to see me,’ she said.
Vik rolled to face her, resting his head on her thighs. ‘Shan told me about that Farrell guy’s trial coming up. I came to see if you’re all right.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, resenting the intrusion of reality into the handsome moment. ‘Has Shan been called as a witness?’
‘No, but he’ll be there.’
Vik’s cousin, Shan Ryan, had been a nurse in the Rainbow Clinic. He knew about Angus, had put the pieces together himself. He and Douglas had been swithering about what to do when Douglas was murdered. She didn’t want to think about that just now. ‘It’s nice to see ye again, Vik.’
‘You could have phoned me,’ he said reproachfully.
‘I could have, I wanted to, but I didn’t think it would be fair.’
‘Why not?’