by Denise Mina
Maureen shut her eyes, leaning her head on Leslie’s shoulder, trying to take herself back to Vik. They were crossing the river at Jamaica Street when the anger in her belly stirred awake, swirling around her gut, mustering allies among the hormones. She sat up. They were on the Maryhill Road, heading up to where she knew he stayed. They passed Benny’s house and she tried to see if his lights were on, but they were doing forty and whizzed under the railway bridge marking the boundary with Ruchill.
Three cars in front, Una took a left, disappearing off the road. Leslie followed her round the corner and suddenly came to the Rover, parked at the back of a shop. Leslie passed by just as Una opened her door, flicking on the internal light. Michael had on a white T-shirt with a Nike tick across the front, the soft material articulating his drooping belly and rounded back. Maureen wanted to lean across and grab him from the bike, forgetting who he was, thinking he was McGee or Angus or someone else. She wanted to grab him and drag him along behind her, skin him alive on the pot-holed road.
Leslie turned the block and rejoined the main road, following it back to the town. At a set of lights she wrestled with Maureen’s clenched hands again, loosening them, digging at them with her nails unnecessarily.
Back in Garnethill, Maureen cracked the lid off a brand new half-bottle of whisky and drank it. Leslie said she only had another couple of days on the antibiotics and watched her enviously, sipping a cup of tea. They hadn’t bothered to put the lights on in the living room and the dark orange sky filled the window.
‘Maureen,’ she said, ‘ye have to remember that the baby isn’t you. It could be different this time. I mean, he’s a hundred and ten years old and Una doesn’t trust him to get a taxi home on his own. I don’t think she’ll be leaving him alone with the baby.’
‘I’ve seen her leave him with the baby,’ said Maureen.
‘I’ve seen her do it.’
‘Can’t you be patient?’ said Leslie quietly.
‘Why would I be patient?’
‘He’s not going to live long, Mauri, he was having trouble walking.’
Leslie nodded off on the settee and Maureen tiptoed into her bedroom. She sat on the end of her bed, drinking from the bottle as she looked out over the city to the blackened Ruchill Tower, drinking and thinking about skinning Michael.
38
Tonsa
‘You didn’t even know her,’ said Leslie watching Elsie Tanner sniff at a stained lamp-post.
‘I knew her as well as you did,’ said Lenny, defensively, tugging at the itchy collar of his dark jacket. It was chafing his neck red raw.
‘But my pal did know her.’ Leslie pointed at Maureen. Behind her sunglasses Maureen’s eyes were burning. A yearning for sleep made her blink every two seconds, dragging her eyelashes back and forth across the lenses of her shades like a boa on a burlesque stage. She had woken up with a familiar inch-long bruise under her chin, a parallel bruise on her forehead between her eyebrows and she could not work out where on earth they had come from.
‘You’ve got something on your head,’ said Lenny helpfully, leaning in to see better.
Maureen raised her hand and touched it self-consciously. ‘I know, it’s a bruise and I don’t know where it’s come from. I’ve got another under my chin again as well.’
‘Pull your fringe down,’ said Leslie, flattening hairs over it so that it looked like a big horizontal bruise with hairs stuck to it.
Despite being hung-over and bedraggled, Maureen, Leslie and Lenny were one of the more glamorous parties at the small funeral. The family had yet to arrive but a couple of other groups had gathered by the door to the church. Three elderly men with withered, pinched faces stood in front of it, smoking fags held in cupped hands and laughing at each other’s jokes. Two casually dressed young women sat on the church steps, offering their already brown faces up to the sun. Maureen guessed that they had come in lieu of someone else.
They were in Partick, down by the river at a small Catholic church. The building across from the chapel had been knocked down, leaving a stretch of wasteland, currently being used as a makeshift car park. Behind the church, on the banks of the slow river Kelvin, stood an old sandstone mill recently converted into flats.
The small church was unassuming; an arched wooden door was set at the gable end, flanked by small flying buttresses and two long windows of brightly coloured glass. To the side of the door, a ragged lump of granite with a large brass shield attached stood on a concrete plinth. Etched with the Madonna crowned with stars and a stiff heraldic spread eagle, it was a thank-you gift from the Polish servicemen and – women who had attended mass there during the war.
The arched chapel doors opened. A young priest with sandy hair the same colour as his skin greeted everyone, inviting them inside on the condition that they were part of the McGee party. The old men finished their fags and the young women stood up. Maureen, Leslie and Lenny walked towards the door, Lenny shouting back to Elsie Tanner to stay, Elsie, stay. Elsie sat down suddenly and started licking her fanny. As the priest walked away down the aisle to the vestry, every single person present climbed into the back row, knowing they hadn’t been central to Ella’s life.
The altar was a plain wooden rectangle with matching panelling at the back. A cloth-covered trestle sat in the aisle, waiting to receive the coffin. The priest came down the aisle and whispered orders for them all to move up to the front. The old men shuffled out to the aisle and everyone else pretended they were going to move but as soon as the priest left they settled back where they belonged, leaving the old men standing ostentatiously at the front. Lenny closed his eyes and began to pray, clasping the flat of his palms together and sticking his elbows out to the sides, as fervent as a child saint.
They heard cars drawing up outside, doors slamming, someone giving orders, and Ella the Flash made her last big entrance. Following behind a glossy white coffin came Si McGee. Tonsa was hanging heavily on the arm of a man with a slash scar running from his ear to his nose. She was dressed in a beautiful black woollen suit with gold Chanel buttons and a veiled pillbox hat. Maureen turned to watch her and saw that although her body was grieving her face was blank, her eyes staring steadily at the floor in front of her. Her boyfriend had been in the papers a few years ago, complaining that the police hadn’t even tried to catch his slasher. He had aged dramatically in the interim, his hair turning from brown to white, his skin from white to grey. The priest performed his incantations while the congregation stood, sat and stood again, singing reluctantly through barely opened mouths without accompaniment. Maureen looked back once or twice and saw Elsie Tanner standing in the sunshine, wagging her tail and looking into the dark church, anticipating Lenny.
As the sad service drew to a close, professional pallbearers came forward, picked up Ella’s gorgeous coffin and carried it to the waiting hearse. The priest, Si, Tonsa and her scarred man followed the coffin out into the bright day.
Tonsa got straight into a car, leaving the priest and Si waiting by the door to thank the sorry turnout for coming.
Maureen wanted to look at him now: she wasn’t afraid of him any more, wanted him to know she was smart and knew what was going on. In front of her in the queue, Lenny shook Si’s hand warmly. ‘She was . . . a lovely lady,’ he said, voicing the one thing about Ella that everyone knew wasn’t true.
Si pulled away his hand before Lenny had finished shaking it. He turned to Maureen, trying to smile through his distaste. ‘Yes,’ he said, even though she hadn’t said anything. ‘Thank you for coming.’ ‘Warsaw,’ said Maureen. He widened his smile. ‘Sorry?’
‘Gotcha,’ said Maureen, and moved on into the sun. Leslie caught up with her on the pavement. ‘His neck was shaking,’ she whispered.
They were four steps from the church when the door of the black car in front of them opened, blocking their path. Tonsa stepped out and unfurled her long, slim self. She lo
oked down her nose at Maureen and nodded, as if she had spoken to her.
‘Hello,’ said Maureen. Tonsa didn’t answer. ‘I’m sorry about your mum. I worked near her in Paddy’s.’She gestured to Leslie. ‘We both did, actually.’
Tonsa cocked her head and narrowed her lips. ‘What ye doing here?’
Uncertainly, Maureen thumbed back to the chapel doors. ‘Um, your brother,’ she said. ‘He invited us.’
Tonsa seemed to be staring at Maureen’s hands and her mouth hung open, a wetness glistening behind the mesh veil. Unnerved, Maureen clasped her hands behind her back. ‘I think I met you years ago,’ she said. ‘At the Barras.’ Tonsa looked at her face. ‘With my brother, Liam?’
Tonsa lurched forward, like a drunk falling and catching themselves. ‘Your brother,’ she said loudly, dead-eyed as ever. ‘He battered me.’ She threw out a loosely cupped hand, as if she was going to punch Maureen in the stomach. Maureen looked at it. A ragged red scar ran from the wrist to the base of her thumb. ‘Cut me,’ said Tonsa. ‘My hand don’t work right now.’
‘Why on earth would he do that?’ Maureen asked.
‘Screwed him over a deal.’ Tonsa looked at her hand, as if seeing it for the first time, and unsteadily traced the length of the scar. ‘He was teaching me a lesson.’
‘Yeah?’ Maureen retorted. ‘If he did that, why did ye drop the charges?’
Tonsa’s hand fell to her side. ‘He said he’d do the other hand.’
Maureen pretended not to believe her. ‘I think you know a friend of mine as well,’ she said. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Mark Doyle? I saw ye having a drink together in Brixton once.’
For the first time ever in their long, if distant, acquaintance, Tonsa’s eyes displayed an expression. She nearly smiled. ‘Cheerio,’ she said flatly, and climbed gracelessly back into the Jag on all fours.
39
Rake
When they rang the bell there was no answer, but they could hear a radio coming from round the back, the tinny sound of quacking voices rattling down the tall alley between the houses. Maureen and Leslie followed it to the garden, and pushed open the rotting wooden gate. As they turned the corner they saw Liam sitting on a kitchen chair, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, his back, chest and thighs sunburnt pink, as if they had been slapped. He was smiling, with his feet up on another chair, watching Siobhain at the far end of the garden. She was pottering around the shrubbery in a giant straw hat and sleeveless sundress with cherries on it, shouting remonstrances back at him about keeping it nice and putting the work in. Liam nodded and smiled, calling yeah, yeah, sure thing. Siobhain had a small wicker basket of old gardening tools and was poking at something in the bare soil, pulling out stringy plants. It was such an unexpected and self-sufficient scene that both Maureen and Leslie hesitated for a second in the damp shadows.
‘Hello?’ said Maureen, as if she had never been there before.
Liam and Siobhain stiffened guiltily as they looked up and saw them.
‘How long have you been there?’ said Liam.
‘Oh, right?’ smiled Leslie. ‘Nothing to hide, then?’
Siobhain grinned, and Leslie stepped into the sunny garden and walked over to her, punching her arm playfully. Siobhain shrugged innocently, as if it had been a game, as if she hadn’t been involved in a deception.
Liam and Maureen were standing still, staring at each other. Liam raised his hand and brushed the hair off his face. ‘Give us a hand with the tea, Mauri,’ he said, and jogged down the steps to the kitchen.
Maureen followed him, watched by Siobhain and Leslie, who were no longer laughing, knowing that something was amiss. It was dark in the kitchen. Liam pulled cups from the open cupboard on to the worktop.
‘Are you blushing,’ said Maureen flatly, ‘or sunburnt?’
‘A bit of both,’ he said, and turned to face her.
Maureen was furious. ‘I specifically asked you about Siobhain,’ she hissed, ‘and you lied to me.’
‘I don’t have to tell you everything,’ he said quietly.
‘This isn’t everything,’ she shouted. ‘Liam, this is Siobhain. She’s had a shit time and a miserable fucking life and the last thing she needs is some melancholy rake trying to save her from herself with beef injections.’
‘Excuse me,’ he said, genuinely insulted, ‘I’m not a rake.’
‘Aye, ye are,’ she yelled. ‘You’re terrible to women. Remember, I know ye were unfaithful to Lynn with that bint Marsha, and ye dumped poor, stupid Maggie for Lynn—’ Liam pointed in her face. ‘You didn’t even like Maggie,’ he shouted, as if that was the nub of the matter.
‘What fuckin’ difference does it make whether I liked Maggie or not?’
‘Well,’ he said, noisily arranging the cups on a wooden tray, ‘it mattered to me.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Maureen, to his back. ‘The point is that you’re horrible to your girlfriends and Siobhain’s very vulnerable.’
‘Oh, that’s shite.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Yeah, blame the guy, Mauri.’ He opened the rattling old fridge. ‘Cherché the fucking guy.’ He took out some milk, smelt it and put it on the tray. He was arguing the way he always did, evading the point, skipping sideways.
‘If you treat her badly,’ warned Maureen, ‘if you fuck her about, Liam, I’ll fucking kill ye.’
Liam held on to the worktop behind him with both hands, like a man standing on a precarious ledge. ‘I’m not gonnae,’ he said.
‘How can you possibly know that?’ said Maureen.
‘She’s ...’ He hesitated over the wording, got flustered and waved his hand in front of his face. ‘I really like her.’
‘Liam, really liking someone isn’t enough. This woman has a precarious grip on her mental health. It’s not enough just to mean well.’
They looked out of the window at Siobhain and Leslie. Siobhain was bossing Leslie around the shrubs, getting her to crouch down near the back and pull out the weeds she couldn’t reach.
‘Just because she’s been ill,’ said Liam, ‘that doesn’t mean she never gets to go out with anyone, does it?’
‘No, but it means she needs to go out with someone responsible, someone who’ll be careful with her.’
‘I can be those things,’ he said, backing off across the kitchen. ‘Anyway, she’s allowed a life. She’s allowed boyfriends. It’s not like I’ve knocked her up or hit her.’ He stopped and looked at his sister. ‘It’s a nice thing,’ he said softly, ‘a good thing. I’m not going to feel bad about it.’
‘Would you have nipped her if she was still as fat as fuck?’
‘Mauri,’ he said, reproachfully, ‘she nipped me, and it all started when she was overweight. I didn’t want her to go on that diet. I tried to get her to stop it.’ ‘Why would ye do that, Mr New Man?’ said Maureen tartly, knowing that all of Liam’s girlfriends had been slim. Liam smiled up at her. ‘Take it from me, even love can’t blind ye to methane.’
The kettle whistled to a pitch on the stove and Liam turned off the gas, used a tea-towel to pull the stopper off the spout and poured water into a teapot. ‘I can’t fucking believe you lied to me.’
‘Tell the truth, Mauri,’ Liam said playfully, ‘ye can’t believe I lied to you convincingly.’
He was right, and it annoyed her. ‘Why did you lie?’ she said, sounding accusing to cover her embarrassment.
‘Siobhain wanted to keep it a secret. She was worried it wouldn’t last.’
‘Do you think it’ll last?’
Liam glanced out of the window. Siobhain was getting angry, pointing at Leslie’s feet and raising her voice. ‘Well, it’ll last for me,’ he said. ‘I think she’s fantastic. She’d probably stay with me for the garden as much as anything else.’
He watched Siobhain through the window,
and Maureen could see he meant it, he did care for her, but she was worried. Liam would always need to protect Siobhain, save her from hurt and harm. She foresaw his life, saw everything given over to looking after Siobhain. And when he failed, as inevitably he would, the recriminations and self-loathing, the acid self-blame. Liam was always looking after some poor damaged bird. First it had been her and now Siobhain. She wanted more for him.
Maureen carried the tray out to the garden and Liam brought out two more chairs. They sat in a little circle, sipping tea like visitors from a neighbouring plantation, as Siobhain talked them round the garden. She had planted the herbs near the back door so they could be picked easily in the middle of cooking. She’d put the virulent mint on the other side of the door, hoping to keep it away from the other herbs. It made such a nice smell and she hoped it would waft into the kitchen in the late summer, when it was better established. The shrubbery was full of weeds because the feckless neighbours let dandelions and nettles grow on their side of the fence.
Maureen thought ahead to the trial and wondered idly whether Siobhain might be in league with Angus. Perhaps he still had control over her and had made her leave the letters and parcels outside Maureen’s door. She screwed up her nose at the thought, knowing what was prompting her suspicion. She was resentful at being so completely deceived and was not a little possessive of Liam. As Maureen listened to Siobhain talking, her sense of foreboding subsided and she could see that Liam and Siobhain might be a good thing. If Siobhain was allowed to take those chances maybe Maureen, too, could have a boyfriend, a normal boyfriend. When Siobhain had finished her tea she took Leslie to help her finish the weeding by the far wall, leaving Maureen and Liam alone. The sun was sliding behind the house, a bank of thick shade sneaking up on them.
‘So,’ said Maureen, lighting a fag, ‘what else have you lied convincingly about?’