She pulled at her own belt and unbuttoned her jeans and he slid his hand inside her pants. She grabbed at his trousers and undid them, pushed them down past his skinny arse. Felt his cock press against her. Took it in her hand and stroked it a few times, then pushed her hips away from the wall and slid her own jeans down to her knees. She took his cock and guided it inside her. Pulled back from kissing to look at his face. He was smiling, a simple, cute smile. He started fucking her, slowly at first, then faster, both of them still looking in each other’s eyes. This wasn’t a drunken mistake, this was real, something she didn’t have with Ian.
She was close to coming. She wanted the release of it, the celebration of it. She felt it sweep from her crotch through her body, her legs shaky, her back arched, her mind empty. Then she felt him come inside her, his body rigid, breath held, eyelids flickering. She dug her nails into his buttocks and he shivered and placed his lips on her neck.
‘Wow,’ she said, out of breath.
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
She laughed.
She ran a hand through his hair and looked over his shoulder. The glass roof of Waverley Station shimmered in the pre-dawn light. Above, the shape of North Bridge dwarfed everything.
*
They walked up the Royal Mile and South Bridge, past kebab shops and chippies, drunks drifting home. They didn’t talk about what had just happened. Elaine rested her head on his shoulder as they walked.
They turned into West Nicolson Street and stopped. Ian was sitting in the doorway of Avalanche Records, next door to Elaine’s flat. He had a bag of chips open on his lap, but he looked asleep.
Johnny turned to her. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Fancy meeting you two here,’ Ian said, trying to push himself onto his feet. He was drunk. ‘Want a chip?’
Elaine looked at Johnny.
Ian did the same. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just walking Elaine home,’ Johnny said.
Ian looked confused. ‘How noble of you. I meant, why are you with my girlfriend?’
Johnny tilted his head. ‘We met at the gig, the one you bailed from.’
‘Ian, what are you doing here?’ Elaine said.
‘Came to find you,’ Ian said. ‘Work went on later than expected.’
‘But you had time to get drunk after.’
‘I didn’t know where you were after the gig. The guys from the paper were heading for a wee nightcap, so I went along.’
‘Was Rose there?’
‘Of course, she’s part of the team.’
Elaine imagined she could smell Rose’s perfume on him. But then what could Ian smell on her? ‘Go home, Ian.’
He frowned. ‘But I want to speak to you.’
Elaine shook her head. ‘Not like this.’
She got keys out her pocket and headed for her door. ‘Give me a call tomorrow if you remember.’ She turned to Johnny. ‘Thanks for walking me home.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said.
She went inside, her heart racing, and left the brothers behind her.
39
Martha felt Billy pressing gently against her arse. Morning glory and all that.
They were in Ian’s bed. Vague sunlight bled through the curtains.
Billy was spooning her, his hand on her upper arm, his breath on her back. She pushed her arse against him. A signal. She pulled her pants down and reached behind to stroke his buttock.
He got the message. She felt him slip inside her and move slowly in and out. She did likewise. She was still half asleep. Tried to remember last night.
Had they?
They were now, anyway.
Billy’s hand had slid down and was playing with her. She felt a warmth spreading over her as they moved in time. In rhythm. It felt good. Better than good. It felt like being home.
Billy kissed her back, her neck.
She tried not to think of her house, burnt to the ground.
Tried not to think of her dad, lying on platform 8.
Tried not to think of Gordon’s missing face.
Tried not to think of Johnny Lamb.
She wasn’t going to come.
Billy was.
She felt him come inside her, and she wriggled her arse in circular motions, the warmth still spreading through her body, but not quite there.
Next time, maybe.
She turned to face him.
‘Wow,’ he said.
She smiled, kissed him on the lips.
‘We need to get going,’ she said.
40
The smell was the worst thing.
Somehow the sight of her home in ruins didn’t hit Martha as much as the stench of the place, a charred oblivion that caught in her throat and made her gag. Wet charcoal mixed in with something nastier, the reek of smouldering manmade materials, melted plastics and fibres.
There were no wispy smoke trails bleeding up into the sky, just an oppressive blanket of slush-grey cloud reaching down from above, spread over everything, keeping the stink in.
A thin stretch of police tape was strung across their front path. When had the police been here?
Martha lifted it and went under, Billy and Cal behind her, all of them silent.
Her eyes were wet. From the fumes. Or maybe not.
The roof was a wreck. Black marks stretched upwards from every window frame, from the front door as well, the ghost of the flames that had reached for the sky.
No one else was around.
Martha went to the front door and stepped inside. She felt tears on her face and wiped them away. She never thought she would care about bricks and doors and windows, but this was too much.
The walls in the hall were black except for a few corners where the wallpaper had only bubbled and blistered.
Into the living room.
Burnt-out sofas and a charred television with a cracked screen. Melted cables running out the back.
The area where the gas fire had been was just blackened space.
She tried to remember. The blanket. Ian’s notebook. The fake coal fire. Her shivering. Finding out about Johnny and leaving in a hurry.
She turned away.
Cal and Billy stood behind her. Cal wrapped her in a hug as she felt her body shudder with sobs.
‘It’ll be OK,’ he said. ‘The insurance will pay for everything.’
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.
‘Will they?’
‘Of course, that’s what insurance companies are for.’
Martha pulled away from him, went over to the window frame and looked out. From here, the garden looked normal. If she angled her head just right, she could pretend none of this had happened.
An edge of glass clung to the frame. She pressed her hand against it until a spot of blood appeared. She pressed some more.
Eventually she raised her hand to her mouth and sucked at the blood. All she could taste was charred wood from the window frame.
She turned back to Billy and Cal.
‘I’m going to find Johnny Lamb,’ she said. ‘You coming?’
41
Martha paid the taxi driver and followed Billy out the cab.
Outside the Andrew Duncan Clinic at the Royal again. Was it just yesterday she’d been here for ECT? Short-term memory blah.
She looked round, but didn’t know where to start. There was no obvious reception area to the hospital, the place seemed to have grown like a commune, lots of little self-interested departments, no overarching structure.
So she went to the place she knew.
‘You OK?’ Billy said.
Cal was on opening shift at The Basement again. Before he left, he’d told Billy to look out for Martha. She was insulted.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Come on.’
She headed into the building, turned towards the ECT room, Billy behind her.
Got there. Lights off, door locked.
‘Shit.�
�
Turned and retraced her steps, to the exit of Recovery Room 2. Locked.
She squinted her mouth.
She headed back along the corridor, stopped at the entrance to a cafe and looked inside. Formica tables, plastic chairs, cheap coffee machine. Pockets of relatives, patients and staff all hunkered down against the early morning.
She spotted her. Got lucky. Colleen, the Irish nurse.
She walked over, Billy still traipsing behind her.
Pulled up a seat opposite the nurse. Billy did likewise.
Colleen looked up from the Now magazine she was flicking through, raised her eyebrows and smiled.
‘It’s yourself,’ she said. ‘How are you keeping?’
‘I’m fine.’
Colleen frowned. ‘You don’t have an appointment today, do you? I’ve nothing in the book.’
Martha shook her head. ‘It’s not that.’ She reached over and took Colleen’s hand, looked her in the eye, tried to put on her most serious face. ‘I need your help.’
*
‘I really shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘I know,’ Martha said. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘If I got found out, I could get in a lot of trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need to know.’
Colleen tapped away at the keyboard, sifting through the hospital’s filing system on the screen. A few clicks, some more typing into boxes. Martha looked at the screen but couldn’t make sense of the spreadsheet gibberish.
‘John Lamb, you say?’
Martha nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Do you have a date of birth?’
‘No. Wait, yes. They were twins. Thirteenth of February. Let me think of the year.’ She worked backwards in her head. ‘1970, I think.’
More tapping on the keyboard.
Martha sensed Billy to her left and wondered what he made of all this. The ECT, the house fire, the missing uncle.
‘Found him,’ Colleen said.
Martha leaned in to examine the screen. She wanted a picture of him, visual evidence that Johnny Lamb existed, but of course the screen was just full of database information, patient reference numbers, doctors’ notes.
‘It seems he’s no longer with us,’ Colleen said.
‘You mean dead?’ Martha said.
Colleen shook her head quickly. ‘No, no. I mean not a patient at the Royal any more.’
‘But he was sent here from Carstairs, wasn’t he?’
‘Oh yes, but he was only here for six weeks, it looks like.’
‘So where is he now?’
Colleen ran a finger along the screen, checking the details. She squinted at the small typeface.
‘He was released into the care of Ian Lamb,’ she said. ‘That ring any bells?’
Martha and Billy shared a look.
‘Yes,’ Martha said. ‘My dad.’
‘Sure, I have an address here. Forty-two Drummond Street.’
The flat.
Martha couldn’t get her head round it.
‘And when was he released?’
Colleen raised a finger to the screen again. ‘Says here it was the fourteenth of March. So, what’s that, twenty days ago?’
‘Is that the last information you have for him?’ Billy asked. ‘No outpatient visits or anything?’
Colleen checked. ‘He was due for a meeting with the consultant last week, but it looks like he didn’t show up.’
‘Isn’t there some sort of protocol for that? Shouldn’t the police be informed?’
Colleen looked at him. ‘This isn’t a prison, son, it’s a hospital. If he was signed out of here, then he was judged fit to re-enter society. If he missed an appointment, there’s not much we can do.’
Martha was shaking her head. ‘Christ.’
‘Are we done now?’ Colleen said. ‘I’d like to shut this down, I don’t want to get in any bother.’
Martha rubbed at her temple, trying to think. ‘Yes, of course, thanks so much, Colleen.’
‘You’re welcome, pet. Try to take it easy, eh?’
‘Yeah, I will,’ Martha said.
‘So what now?’ Billy said.
Martha shook her head again. ‘I have no idea.’
Colleen’s finger was hovering over the mouse as she frowned at the screen. ‘There is one more note on his file,’ she said.
Martha turned. ‘Yeah?’
‘There’s mention of an information request pending.’
Billy shrugged. ‘What does that mean?’
‘The hospital has to release non-confidential patient information under the Freedom of Information Act if we get an enquiry. We had a request in writing on March eighteenth that’s still awaiting a reply.’
The day after Ian died.
Martha’s eyes widened. ‘Who from?’
‘Rose Brown.’ Colleen looked up from the screen. ‘Mean anything to either of you?’
42
Billy held the door open for Martha as they strode out the building.
‘No answer on her mobile either,’ Billy said.
‘Try her flat again,’ Martha said.
Billy pressed the buttons as he walked, put the phone to his ear. They were across the overcrowded car park when he shook his head.
‘Straight to voicemail.’
They walked fast out the hospital entrance, heading for Morningside Road through the neat rows of Victorian sandstone terraces. Posh neighbourhood. Martha wondered what they thought of having a loony bin next door.
‘What about the office?’
‘Just phoned. She’s meant to be on shift but hasn’t turned up.’
‘Shit,’ Martha said. ‘We need to find her.’
Martha flagged a cab on the main road and they jumped in.
‘Take us to the Regent Bar in Abbeyhill,’ Billy said.
Martha looked at him. ‘The gay pub?’
‘It’s the easiest direction to give. Her flat is right upstairs.’
Morningside Road was slow going. An old dear in front of them was making a hash of trying to park outside a little gift shop, holding everyone up.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said the driver.
Martha turned to Billy. ‘So, you’re the ex-crime reporter, what are we thinking here?’
‘What are you thinking?’ Billy said. ‘It’s your story.’
Martha pinched the bridge of her nose, then spread her hands out wide, inviting ideas. ‘OK. Johnny was switched from Carstairs to the Royal a couple of months ago. After only a few weeks, he was signed out by Ian, three days before Ian jumped off North Bridge. We don’t know where Johnny is.’
‘And we don’t know where Rose is,’ Billy said.
‘Correct.’ Martha sucked her teeth. ‘Gordon knew Ian, and knew that Ian had a twin brother. Do we think Gordon knew Johnny as well?’
‘No idea.’
‘And what about Rose?’ Martha said. ‘Why would she be asking about Johnny?’
‘She knew Ian from way back,’ Billy said. ‘Maybe she knew Johnny too?’
A silence between them.
‘OK, let’s rewind a bit. Johnny spent, what, twenty-one years in Carstairs? What for? That wee article in the newspaper only said “a disturbance on North Bridge”. Must’ve been some disturbance, to warrant that sentence.’
Billy shook his head. ‘They don’t get a prescribed sentence, not at Carstairs. They’re just kept there indefinitely until the doctors and whoever else think they’re no longer a threat to society.’
‘So I guess good or bad behaviour while you’re there makes a massive difference?’
‘As would the response from family members outside, maybe.’
‘Are you saying Ian might’ve had a reason to keep Johnny locked up? What would that be?’
‘And why would that reason suddenly change a couple of months ago?’ Billy said. ‘After so many years?’
Martha sighed. ‘Where does Rose fit into all this?’
‘No idea.�
�
‘And what about Elaine?’
Billy just shrugged.
Their taxi was heading through the Meadows now, past a bunch of students playing Frisbee. Martha tried to remember a time when she was just a carefree student, mucking around in a park with her friends.
‘We really have no idea what the hell’s going on, do we?’ she said.
43
Martha watched Billy pay the driver this time. This wild goose chase was costing them a fortune in cab fares.
They got out at the Regent and Billy fished his keys out his pocket. It was only then Martha remembered he lived with Rose. Strange set-up.
‘Rose has some questions to answer,’ she said.
Billy gave her a look. ‘Let’s just wait and see what she has to say for herself, I’m sure it’ll all add up.’
In the front door, then up the stairs to the third floor.
Into the flat.
Billy stepped over a couple of letters on the floor behind the letterbox.
‘Rose?’
No answer.
They headed through to the living room.
Nice flat. Newly sanded floorboards, high ceilings, tasteful bookshelves in distressed white. There was a beautiful view over to Salisbury Crags out the bay window. Must’ve been a great place to see them in flames the night Billy was up there.
Through into the kitchen, equally tasteful. Marble work surfaces, a classy cooker and utensil rack.
‘Rose?’
Nothing.
Then they heard a soft thump.
Back out and down the hall to the other end of the flat. Rose’s bedroom. The door was closed.
Billy knocked. ‘Rose, are you OK?’
No answer. Martha looked at him, raised her eyebrows.
Billy pushed the door open.
Rose was lying on a double bed in silky maroon underwear. The sheets were ruffled around her, as if she’d been restless in her sleep. There was a small pool of vomit on the pillow next to her head, and a thin sliver of drool webbed from the corner of her mouth to it.
The Dead Beat Page 14