by Alex Gray
‘Och, the poor thing,’ Rosie said. `So that’s why she’s been avoiding me,’ she nodded then her face twisted in pain once more. ‘Ooh, come on Solly, shift yourself. This wee one’s not going to wait much longer.’
Maggie sat up in her bed, feeling the whirr of the fan that was wafting cool air over her sticky body. The first thing she had felt after waking up was a wonderful sense of euphoria that had taken her completely by surprise. She was still here, maybe not exactly in one piece, but alive and full of a calm acceptance that she had never expected to feel. Was it the aftermath of a general anaesthetic, perhaps? Or the human spirit’s way of adjusting to change?
‘Mrs Lorimer,’ the nurse came into Maggie’s room, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘There’s someone to see you.’
Who was here to see her? Not her husband, surely, for it was not visiting time yet.
Maggie looked towards the open door and the nurse’s smiling face then gasped as she saw Rosie being wheeled into the room by Solly, a tiny bundle held in her arms. ‘Oh,’ she said at last, her eyes searching hungrily at the folds of cloth surrounding the newborn. ‘Oh, I didn’t know . .
‘Meet your god-daughter,’ Rosie said, grinning up at her. ‘Abigail Margaret Brightman.’ ‘Abigail!’ Maggie gasped. ‘It’s a wee girl!’ Solly gave a boyish smile. ‘Her name means father rejoiced,’ he said, his voice full of pride. Then, as Solly lifted the tiny bundle from his wife and placed Abigail into her arms, Maggie’s tears began to flow. ‘You will be her godmother, won’t you?’ Rosie asked, her eyes bright with anticipation. Maggie nodded, too full to speak, as she gazed down at the little face with its tiny button nose and feathery eyelids against closed eyes. ‘She’s perfect,’ Maggie whispered, cradling the baby against her breasts. She watched as Abigail gave a sigh and nuzzled against her, the little bow mouth opening expectantly.
Then everybody laughed. ‘Come on, lady, back to your mum. Looks like it might be feeding time,’ Maggie said tenderly, looking back at her friends. Then, as Solly carried his daughter back to Rosie, Maggie put out a hand to touch his arm.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Once they were gone, Maggie lay back against her bank of pillows, a radiant smile on her face. She had a god-daughter. Little Abigail Brightman would be a very special person in her life from now on.
Things never stayed the same, did they? Maggie thought, gazing out at the blue sky and the clouds that drifted past her window SoIly was a professor now, Rosie a mother; Bill was leaving his old job for that new promoted post at Pitt Street. And she had become a godmother. Life had a way of surprising you in all its vagaries, twists and turnings, she told herself. Then, closing her eyes, Maggie Lorimer settled down to enjoy the peace of a dreamless sleep.
I would like to thank the following people for their help during the research and writing of this book. Professor Willie Maley for a nice afternoon at Glasgow Uni and for allowing SoIly to pinch his office and set the department of psychology where I wished it was! Detective Inspector Bob Frew and DC Mhairi Milne fig their willingness to answer all my questions concerning police procedure; Alistair Paton for being such a whizz at keeping me right with all things ballistic; Doctor Marjorie Black for casting an expert eye over Rosie’s postmortems; Asif Ali of the Shish Mahal Restaurant (still Glasgow’s best!) for inspiring me and letting me know more about the Asian community; my dear friend Shafiq of the Shimla Cottage, Bridge of Weir (best restaurant in Renfrewshire, ever!) for allowing me to borrow his name; June and George McKenzie for their expertise in nautical matters and for the fun we had deciding to send Billy Brogan to North Africa; Alex Loughran and Kirsty Young for allowing me to use them as themselves in the Crimewatch episode; Helen MacKellar for some notable Spanish phrases; my agent, the one and only Jenny Brown, for her unstinting encouragement; my lovely editor, Caroline Hogg, who is such a blessing to me and keeps me right on all the details; Kirsteen, Moira (what would I do without you?)
and all the fabulous folk at I ,ittle, Brown (never forgetting the wonderful David Shelley) who work so hard on my behalf to make it all happen; my family for putting up with me through it all, especially Donnie whose patience with me (if nothing else) should gain him sainthood.,