Resolution

by Denise Mina

  ‘Kilty’s brother’s wedding.’

  ‘Auch, shit. I forgot all about that. Kilty’s family would have loved all this, wouldn’t they?’

  Leslie was sitting in the dark, her legs tucked into the sleeping-bag and a cigarette burning in the saucer next to her. She was hugging her knees and rocking slightly when they opened the door, tear tracks streaked down her face. Around her in the living room were bin-bags of clothes and tapes and shoes. She was in for the long haul.

  Maureen carried all the bedding she could find through to the front room, spread the duvets over the floor and brought in a big pot of tea and cups, slipping some whisky into her own. They sat up through the dawn, smoking fags and drinking tea, talking about Cammy and telling Liam about Si McGee and poor dead Ella and the door caved in from the inside. Maureen told them about the hand delivered letters and the pictures, and Liam and Leslie looked at them and agreed that they were probably from Angus. Liam offered to watch the video in his house and tell her what was on it.

  Insistent birds were chorusing and the sky was smeared pink and blue like Cinderella’s dress as they nodded off. It had been such an eventful night that it didn’t occur to Maureen to ask Liam why he had wanted to see her so much and Liam hadn’t had the heart to tell her.

  24

  Poor Relations

  They woke up an hour before they were supposed to be outside Kilty’s house picking her up.

  Liam rushed home and came back thirty minutes later looking little better than when he left. He hadn’t shaved and was dressed in a black jacket and a second-hand kilt in dark Gordon dress tartan. The kilt was water-damaged and the pleats didn’t sit properly. From the back it looked like a puffball skirt. Maureen had thrown on a tarty pink dress she bought in a sale when she was at university and had never worn. Leslie borrowed a pencil skirt and a tight red linen shirt that yearned for an iron. They looked as if they were leaving a wild party instead of heading for a tame one.

  Liam took the mystery video and pictures of the children to get them out of Maureen’s house. On the way down to the car Maureen bought cans of juice and chocolate bars for breakfast. The girls put on their makeup in the car, taking turns with the magnifying mirror and mascara when the car came to a stop at traffic lights. Maureen dabbed so much concealer and foundation over the bags under her eyes that she just looked dirty.

  They could tell Kilty was nervous by the way she was swinging a plastic bag and checking the traffic up and down the road. She looked magnificent in a long green vintage dress with a matching silk flower in her hair and a pink angora shoulder muff. Her jaw dropped as she approached the car. ‘Christ Almighty,’ she said,‘did you crash on the way over?’

  Liam drove as fast as he could up through Anniesland and Drumchapel, past concrete rural ghettos on the outskirts of the city and along the motorway to Loch Lomond. They were early so they stopped by the roadside and straightened themselves out, drinking the fizzy juice and smoking fags as Kilty picked at marks on their clothes, combed their hair and fixed their makeup mistakes. She took rose buttonholes out of the plastic bag and pulled the wet tissue from the stems, pinning them where they were needed to hide stains. Liam yanked the ripped roof down on the car, bagged up all the old fag packets, ginger cans and sandwich wrappers, and threw a blanket over the back seat to hide the rips in the leatherette. Kitty hid the bag of rubbish in a bush by the roadside. By the time they took off, they looked like real people on their way to a wedding they gave a shit about.

  It was a spired, single storey church on the banks of the loch. The village was composed of pretty bungalows built from local stone and ended in a wooden jetty out to the loch. It was a mile deep with strong undercurrents, notorious for dragging unsuspecting swimmers to their death. The deceitful water flashed a pretty silver, like fish-skins in aspic. Across the loch loomed high, sudden hills, carpeted in green suede. Occasional whitewashed houses nestled near thickets of trees. Liam parked by the walled churchyard between a Merc and a BMW.

  The people corralled inside the low wall were of their own age but better off and much better groomed. The men wore kilts or smart suits in cool summer colours. The women were dressed in an array of expensive dresses and hats, damp patches vivid under their arms and down their backs. Maureen walked through the gate into a haze of expensive perfumes, sweet and lingering, like the alien scent of certainty. Everyone was loud and excited.

  A few people greeted Kilty as she approached, smiling to hide their ambivalence. They called her ‘Kay’ and apologized for not having seen her since she got back. They glanced behind her, assessing Maureen, Liam and Leslie, deigning them unworthy of interest. A kilted man shaped like a cube ran towards Kilty and gave her an unwelcome hug, leaving his arm around her shoulder while she introduced him as Tugsy. ‘Brilliant to meet you all,’ he said, trying hard to smile at the alarmingly scruffy threesome, then backed off. ‘Andy’s inside.’

  Kilty went into the church. Afraid of being left alone with a load of happy strangers, Maureen, Liam and Leslie traipsed after her.

  Andrew Goldfarb was a handsome man. He looked like Kilty but with darker hair and less buggy eyes. She had told them that he was a skinny, specky kid at school but had beefed himself up with an obsessive gym regime, muscle drinks and contact lenses, a process she referred to as ‘exorcizing the Jew’. He was dressed in full Highland regalia with kilt and ruffled shirt, black jacket with tails, a sporran trimmed with silver and an ornamental skean-dhu. Traditional lace-up shoes made his feet look girlish and dainty below heavy calves.

  ‘Kay,’ said her mother sternly, glancing disapprovingly at her friends,‘go outside and watch for Henrietta.’ They stood on the gravel path and lit cigarettes to keep the midges away, feeling uncomfortable and excluded from the throng.

  The sun began to burn their faces and they moved into the shade of a large tree next to a path made from ancient gravestones. ‘Why do they all call you Kay?’ asked Leslie.

  ‘My Polish grandmother chose Kilty. Dad only agreed because he thought she was dying. She was always dying. When I was ten she finally did pop her clogs and they changed it to Kay.’

  ‘I like Kilty better,’ said Maureen.

  ‘So do I,’ said Kilty, puffing inexpertly on her cigarette, ‘but it’s immigrant so Mum doesn’t. They’re happy to socialize in the Polish Club but don’t want anyone to know Dad’s a Jew.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Liam,‘’cause Poles love the Jews, don’t they?’

  A cloud of midges moved round from the far side of the tree and chased them back into the sunshine. By the time the ushers came out to round up the guests they were cowering in the church door, hiding from gangs of increasingly narky flies. Kilty waited outside so that she could warn them when the bride arrived.

  It was cold inside the chapel. The organist played long, senseless notes and people whispered greetings to latecomers filtering in through the aisles. There was a small commotion at the back of the church and they saw Kilty scuttle up to the front pew just as the organist belted out a chord that commanded attention. A hush fell over the congregation and the participants in the ceremony began their strange, stiff dance.

  Maureen watched Kilty up at the front. Her face was set in a harsh reserve and her prominent eyes looked tired and worried. She seemed plain and slightly pretentious. The clasp that had looked so pretty when they picked her up now hung from her thin hair like Gene Kelly off a lamppost. She seemed to shrink when she was with her family, as if her spirit was wilting.

  After the ceremony the newly expanded Goldfarb family gathered outside for the photographs and Kilty stood at the edge, just outside the tight little group. Maureen realized as she watched that Kilty was the runt of the litter too, and thought suddenly of Una. She looked at Liam, laughing at a joke Leslie had made. He’d have told her if the baby had been born. She knew he would. First babies were often late. Kilty sat silently, looking out ove
r the road, as they drove back down the loch to the reception. Liam asked her if she was all right and she said, yeah, yeah, she was fine, give her a fag, for Christsake.

  The hotel was a small country house on the banks, close to a marina and a water-ski centre. Much extended at the back, the building was essentially a small modern conference centre with a nice front. Inside, the decor was of the shortbread school: dark tartan wallpaper and faux country trimmings. A giant stag’s head hung over the ornamental fireplace. It took one and a half hours of watching other people have a nice time before they could go in and sit down. They were bored to the verge of violence by the time the prawn cocktail arrived.

  Their dinner companions were three single men and a slim, plain young woman who laughed at everything the men said, as if she was afraid they would attack her and was trying to fend them off. During the meal the men didn’t acknowledge any of the strangers across the table and didn’t seem to know Kilty at all. They had been at school with Henrietta and hadn’t seen each other since.

  Eventually Kilty picked up, sitting upright and unclenching her jaw. She joined in the conversation a little and whispered to Maureen that the day was almost halfway through. It wasn’t really, but Maureen said, yeah, it would be over soon enough. She was enjoying being out of Glasgow, away from the complications, playing the wedding game of drinking as much complimentary wine as quickly as possible and making it look casual. As the meal wore on the strange schoolfriends talked loudly, insulting each other and laughing insincerely, jostling for status.

  ‘You’re the world’s biggest prick,’ said one and the other man laughed.

  ‘Well, pal,’ he said, pointing with his fork,‘you’re the world’s smallest prick.’

  They laughed, joined in descant by the nervous woman. It was getting depressing. Quite suddenly, Liam joined in the laughter, slapping the table with inappropriate vigour, and pointing at the vying men. ‘I think you’re both pricks,’ he shouted.

  The other side of the table refused to talk to them after that and began to whisper among themselves. Maureen watched as the laughing woman, now sulking in unison with her compatriots, ate. She gathered tiny morsels on to her fork and raised it to her open mouth, moving her head forward, pulling the fork away slowly, distastefully scratching the food off with her front teeth.

  Individual strawberry cheesecakes arrived. They took two spoonfuls to eat and then the plates were whipped away and replaced with coffee. Various people gave bad speeches and a small army of waiters and waitresses came in and cleared a dance floor in front of the top table. A band clambered on to a stage at the side and set up. The doors at the far end of the hall opened and those invited to the reception only filtered in drinking second-best champagne. The first dance went without a hitch and Kilty began to relax.

  ‘Nearly over now,’ said Maureen, drawling slightly.

  ‘I think the soonest we could go home would be in about an hour,’ whispered Kilty.

  Leslie came back from the toilet looking pale. Holding her fag between her teeth, she stood behind Kilty and adjusted the green flower in her hair.

  ‘All right there, Leslie?’ said Maureen, feeling warm and not a little pissed.

  ‘Aye,’ said Leslie. ‘My stomach’s killing me. I think I should lay off the drink for a while.’ ‘Is it a bug?’ asked Maureen. Dunno,’ said Leslie.

  Kilty smiled at her watch. ‘Let’s get some air.’ It was cold outside, the air thick with the smell of cut grass and water. The setting sun was low behind the hills, casting a deep shadow over the loch basin. Kilty veered right, coming off the path, and walked down to the trees, sitting down on a grassy ridge, reckless of her dress now that the ordeal was over. Leslie, Liam and Maureen settled by her, lighting cigarettes to keep the midges at bay. Behind them the brilliant white lights from the hotel blazed into the night, spilling on to the black water. Houses and hotels were reflected around the dark perimeter of the loch. Maureen held up her cigarette in a toast to Kilty. ‘Well done, wee hen,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, ye got through it,’ said Leslie.

  ‘Here’s to ye,’ said Liam.

  Kilty dropped her chin to her knee. ‘I hate it.’ ‘It’s donenow,’ said Maureen. ‘You’ll never have to attend a sibling’s wedding again.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kilty. ‘By the time this marriage breaks down I’ll be old enough to say fuck it.’

  ‘Ye should say fuck it anyway,’ said Leslie, master of the art of impoliteness. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so keen to humour them.’

  Kilty tried to explain the need for approval to Leslie, who simply didn’t understand. Maureen smiled, thinking about her own family. Kilty’s family weren’t able to have open discussions and honest expressions of emotion. The O’Donnells could do nothing else. She looked at Liam. ‘Hey,’ she said quietly, letting Kilty and Leslie continue their conversation,‘how’s Una?’

  Liam looked as if she’d slapped him. Frightened and offended, his mouth hung open and his eyes slid to the grass behind her. She felt suddenly cold, as if something small and hopeful had died inside her. He tried to speak but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  ‘You can’t just do whatever the fuck you feel like,’ insisted Kilty, behind him. ‘You have to have some regard for these people. They brought you up and stayed in and spent their money feeding you and dressing you and were nice when they were tired and stuff like that. There’s an obligation to do the right thing by them.’

  Leslie sighed theatrically. ‘But you shouldn’t have to betray yourself to spare their feelings.’ ‘Boy or girl?’ muttered Maureen.

  ‘They’re good people,’ said Kilty. ‘They’re just different from me.’

  ‘Girl,’ said Liam.

  They sat and smoked and fought on the bank for a while, until the chill wind coming off the loch began to eat into them. Maureen looked out at the water, somehow knowing this was the last time she would see Loch Lomond, or the last time she’d see it like this anyway, without blood on her hands, with the precious conviction intact that she’d never really done anything irreversibly bad in her life. She looked up at the summit of the hills and saw herself falling, tumbling, hurtling down towards the deep, cold water. She felt like running back into the reception and shagging someone in the toilets.

  ‘Shall we go and get our coats?’ asked Kilty.

  Maureen shook her head as they stood up, wanted to say no, wanting to stay. Liam rubbed her back too roughly before she was standing up properly and almost pushed her over. ‘Don’t worry,’ he muttered.

  Maureen wanted to be sarcastic and make light of it and say, thanks, yeah, that helps a lot, but her mouth wasn’t working.

  Kilty thought they should go in and do one last tour of the reception to make it look as if they’d been there all the time. They went over to their table and sat down, drinking what was left of the wine. Liam guzzled spring water and watched Maureen nervously. On the dance floor three kilted men stood in a row, baring their arses to unwilling witnesses. One young buck’s mother got up, slapped him on the back of the head and dragged him away. The others whooped and hollered with delight, baring their arses again. Maureen surreptitiously trawled the table for bits of leftover drinks, downing anything she could find. Kitty turned to her. ‘We’re getting the fuck out of here.’ She grinned. ‘You look very pale. Have you got a bug like Leslie?’

  ‘Tired,’ said Maureen, and stopped dead. Si McGee was across the hall, wearing a white dinner jacket with satin lapels and a red handkerchief in the breast pocket, smoking a slim cigar. He was standing in a group of men, nodding at Mr Goldfarb, as thick white smoke oozed lazily from his mouth and crawled up his face. Maureen caught Leslie’s sleeve. ‘McGee,’ she said. ‘McGee’s over there.’ ‘Where?’ said Leslie, looking around.

  ‘The one with no chin,’ said Maureen, panicked. ‘Kilty, who’s that man in the white dinner jacket?’

>   Kilty looked across to her father. ‘He’s a guy from the Polish Club.’

  ‘That is Si McGee,’ insisted Maureen.

  Kilty looked at him again. ‘From Benny Lynch Court? No, that guy was at St Aloysius with the rest of them.’

  ‘Yeah, he was a scholarship boy,’ said Maureen.

  ‘No,’ said Kilty, absolutely certain. ‘He’s got a string of estate agencies around Lanarkshire. He’s quite well off.’

  ‘Introduce me,’ said Maureen, pushing Kilty in front of her.

  ‘Look, Mauri, don’t say anything rude,’ Kilty primed her, as they made their way across the dance floor. ‘You really don’t know anything about the guy except that his mother died. Will you behave yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, I will,’ said Maureen, nudging Kilty on with her shoulder.

  Si McGee was not pleased to see her. He tried to smile as Kilty introduced them, holding out his hand as if he’d never met her before.

  ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ said Maureen, as his eyes took in her tight dress.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his accent even more clipped than it had been in the hospital. ‘Thank you.’

  The businessmen looked at him curiously. ‘Is your mother ill?’ said one.

  Si looked at his shoes, forcing a smile again when he looked up.

  ‘Mrs McGee died,’ said Maureen, making herself look gauche and thoughtless.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Si,’ said Mr Goldfarb, rubbing McGee’s arm and looking reproachfully at Maureen. ‘So sorry. Was it sudden?’

  ‘Yes,’ said McGee, taking Maureen by the arm and leading her away from the group,‘quite sudden.’

  He was tall actually, standing next to her, holding her arm tightly. She had thought him smaller. She lifted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to wriggle her arm free, but he held on. She stopped walking, keeping her body rigid, and his grip was so strong that her feet skated along the polished dance floor. Kitty caught up with them.