by Denise Mina
‘Youse!’ Nikki shouts to his pals hiding under the bridge. ‘Get thon wee prick OUT o’ here!’ She is speaking with her real accent now, mellifluous and guttural, consonants swooping into vowels. ‘Mon, get him! He’s wi’ you. Aye, we seen yees. You there, the baldie arsehole –’
The baldie arsehole does not enjoy being singled out. He affects surprise, touching his chest.
‘Aye, you. Baldie. M’ere and get him. Don’t leave it to me and my wee pal up there. No our fucking problem, is he? You’re out wi’ him.’
Reluctantly, Baldie does come over and lifts the small man roughly by the arm, keeping his gaze averted from Nikki as he pulls him back to the other men, who hurry away and disappear round the corner. Margo notices that the small man is putting weight on the leg. She calls after them, ‘He needs to go to hospital with that hand.’
He has spots of blood on his hip and leg from rolling in the glass. None of the cuts are deep. He isn’t losing much blood. They watch the men fast-walk away.
Nikki is embarrassed. ‘Pet lamb, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you.’
Margo can hear her own blood pumping in the quiet street. She’s terrified but in awe of Nikki because she didn’t freeze. She acted. A window opens across from them and an angry man appears. He looks over to Lizzie at her window. ‘Were you watching that there?’
Lizzie grins. ‘That penalty.’
‘Fucksake!’
He looks down and asks Nikki if she’s OK. She says she’s fine and asks him to call a taxi for her niece. He says aye, no problem, goes back inside and shuts the window.
The metal bat catches the street light and blinds Margo for a moment.
‘Nikki, you were amazing,’ she says.
‘Nah.’
Margo couldn’t have done that.
‘I don’t know what I did to make him come over.’
‘Get that crap out your head. Ye did nothing.’
‘I should have called a cab from the flat.’
‘Oh aye: coulda shoulda woulda.’ Nikki looks up the road to the corner where the men disappeared. ‘That wee prick’d go home and batter his poor wife or ma now. That’s why I hit his hand. That’s what they do when someone stands up to them.’
They hear a window slam and look up to see that Lizzie has gone back inside. They’re alone in the road. Nikki grinds the tip of the bat in the glass on the ground.
Margo shouldn’t have come here, she shouldn’t have gone to the adoption agency in the first place. It’s grief-avoidance. She vows not to see Nikki again but she feels bad about it. She wants to leave her with good memories of their meeting.
‘I’s just saying to Lizzie there that meeting you, Margo, well, your wee mum would be blown away.’ She looks up through damp eyes and Margo knows that Nikki hasn’t tried to threaten her. She didn’t write the letter. Nikki’s just a casualty. ‘You’re just a wee lady,’ says Nikki, as if that’s the nicest thing she can think of to say to any woman.
‘Thank you.’
‘Genuine,’ she says shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind us, what we are.’
‘Not one bit. I think you’re both amazing women.’
‘A lot of people do mind, but you get tired lying. Me and Lizzie, we’re too old to keep fucking pretending to be someone else now.’
‘Nor should you have to.’
‘It’s not a choice. You just fall into it and then it’s hard to get out and it’s something you can’t just shake off.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘The things that happened to us, you never really get over them things. You see… you need –’ she nods up to Lizzie’s window–‘you need other folk so you can just be yourself and to talk to. Those politics people she’s talking about back there: they never want us to just be. They don’t want us to know each other. They keeps us all apart. But you need it because the shame’ll kill you.’
‘Lizzie’s a good friend.’
‘She is that. She’s a good friend.’ She looks at Margo and seems suddenly young and shy. ‘You’re nice to talk to. You don’t seem all that judgey way. Lot of people you can’t say these things to, you know, because they’ll have you down as lowlife but, you’re different.’
‘They train doctors to listen. Say the right thing.’
Nikki blinks at that. She doesn’t know if she’s being insulted. ‘Well, I like it.’
An orange light hits the corner of Margo’s eye and she turns to see a black cab pulling up to take her away. She’s so relieved that she gives Nikki a sincere hug, chest to chest. Nikki whispers, ‘Wee baby Patsy’ into her ear.
Margo says she’ll call Nikki and see her again really soon and gives the driver her address through his open window before she gets in.
Nikki retreats to the pavement as the cab turns a tight circle in the empty street and straightens up to take the bridge south. They pass Nikki. Her hand is resting on the metal bat, her head tilted at an odd angle, her mouth open. Margo raises a hand to wave but Nikki doesn’t wave back. Her expressionless face follows Margo at the window of the cab.
It’s a flicker, a moment, only noticeable when the street light catches her cheeks in a certain way. Tears are rolling down Nikki’s withered cheeks. Steam is creeping from her mouth.
Nikki is heartbroken.
21
THE TAXI DRAWS THROUGH the Gorbals as Margo tries to fathom what just happened. She can’t understand why Nikki’s mood changed so abruptly or why she was crying.
Maybe she found the hug overwhelming. It could be generalised emotional liability. Maybe Nikki regretted having a fight in front of her, wishes it hadn’t happened and is ashamed of using her real accent. Maybe she didn’t want Margo knowing that side of her and thinks she’s let herself down. But none of that feels right because Nikki’s not that fragile.
She is a bit mad but well-functioning. She has delusions about a serial killer but, at the same time, she maintains friendships over long periods of time, she has overcome innumerable adverse childhood experiences, several violent deaths in her family and a heroin addiction. These are the disasters Margo knows about. There are bound to be others. The violent partner who broke her teeth. They didn’t even get around to talking about Nikki’s life since Susan died.
But something happened that made her cry like a lost child.
Sitting in the back of the rattling cab Margo replays their final moments and startles when she realises: it wasn’t something Nikki did that made her cry. It was something Margo did.
Nikki heard Margo tell the taxi driver to take her to Holly Road instead of the address she had written down. Nikki knew her contact details were bullshit. Nikki knew Margo smiled and looked her in the eyes, said all the right things to get away from her. She knows Margo doesn’t ever want to see her again.
Margo feels sick. She said those things, I don’t mind one bit, Lizzie is a good friend, you are both amazing, to get away, because she’s a snob and she thinks Nikki and Susan and Lizzie are scum. She’d step over them in the street. She thinks they’re less than.
Margo sinks forward and covers her face with her hands. No more. She can’t face any more hard truths about herself today. Nikki was kind and was on time and took Margo to her girlfriend/friend’s house. She saved her from a drunk man.
She’s scared of going back to Holly Road alone. She texts Lilah and asks her to meet her there but Lilah doesn’t reply. Maybe her phone is off again, which is very annoying, but then Margo remembers what Tracey said: everyone’s entitled to boundaries. Lilah’s right to do that sometimes and Margo shouldn’t feel this bad for not wanting to be swamped by Nikki. If they meet again she’s going to say that.
She sits up and imagines defending herself to Nikki, drafting plausible excuses: she wasn’t actually going home in this taxi. She rehearses a conversation she will never have with Nikki. She was going to visit a friend. A sick friend on the Southside. Nikki says, oh! Lucky you’re a doctor! Hahaha!
If she ever meets Nikki
again, if they bump into each other in the street, that’s what she’ll say. She’ll laugh off the suggestion that she was deliberately lying because she’s a snobby patronising bitch. Hahahaha, she’ll say, as if! She didn’t get in touch again simply because life got in the way and that’s all. And Nikki will reply: I understand fully because I also have been simply very busy with my life. And they’ll part on good terms. It doesn’t sound convincing because Margo can’t write dialogue.
But when Nikki tries to call her the phone line will be unobtainable, the email will bounce back. Nikki knows Margo lied. Nikki knows why she lied. Margo humiliated her. Could she drop a card over to Nikki’s house with her proper contact details? Would that make it all right?
She googles the address Nikki gave her and reads down through the results. That can’t be right. Nikki can’t be living in a bungalow in a posh area out in the east of the city. She isn’t living in a bungalow that recently sold for three hundred thousand pounds. Margo looks at the listing: it has brand-new double glazing and a rockery. It has an alarm system and a wheelchair-accessible bathroom.
That’s when she realises: Nikki lied too.
22
LILAH IS WAITING OUTSIDE her house, sitting perched on a brick wall across the street. Judging from her pink silk dress and green fake-fur jacket she’s been on a night out. She opens the taxi door for her and hollers into the cab, ‘YOOHOO!’ She’s a bit tipsy.
‘I’m not much of a bodyguard,’ she tells the driver who remains unmoved. ‘But I saw your text and legged it over.’ ‘I thought your phone was off.’ Lilah doesn’t say anything. Margo thinks she just can’t be bothered picking up.
Margo pays and gets out. They cross the street to the door.
Lilah explains that she’s been out drinking with Deborah, trying to cheer her up. Deborah copped off with a guy in the bar. Started winching him right there in the bar. Margo is shocked. ‘We’re a bit old for that.’
‘We’re far too old for that. They were all over each other–he was dipping her dress for Godsake. In the Blythswood! It’s disgusting.’ Lilah smiles. ‘She says she’s met him in there before.’
‘Paul won’t appreciate that.’
‘Well, she’s miserable, what can I do?’
‘It’s nice of you to come here just because I’m scared.’
‘I was in a cab on my way home anyway. Richard turned up at the Blythswood and I bolted.’
‘How is he finding you? Are you posting your location?’
‘Hardly.’
But Margo can tell she’s excited by being the centre of a drama.
‘He’ll hurt you one day, Lilah. You should report him.’
‘I was watching your door for murderers while I waited: nothing to report.’
‘Well, that’s a boon.’
Through the security door. Lilah says, ‘God, I hate these flats.’
Margo’s flat is on the top floor. As they walk up the stairs they can hear a radio through someone’s front door and a cat mewling softly inside another.
Lilah walks in front of her, trying to cheer her up by telling her that Deborah was quite a good laugh tonight, actually: she has a cousin in Hong Kong with a sebaceous cyst on his back that’s the shape of a tiny can of Coke. Showed her a photo and everything. Margo keeps her head down, focusing on Lilah’s nonsense and forcing one foot in front of the other. She doesn’t want to go back up there.
Lilah stops one step from the top. ‘Oh fuck.’
Margo’s front door has been broken open. They step up to the landing and stare at the splintered door frame, shocked at the degree of violence. The lock has been crowbarred open, the wood is fractured and hanging off.
‘Could it just be a burglar?’ says Margo.
‘Bit noisy…’
They look at each other and realise at the same time that the person who did it might still be inside. Lilah grabs her arm and they tiptoe-run down to the lobby where they stand, frozen to the wall, staring up, not having the first clue what to do.
They both listen acutely to the noises in the stairwell: the cat has gone quiet. The radio is still playing. They can’t hear anyone else.
‘No one up there,’ whispers Lilah, but neither of them moves.
Margo slowly comes to life. She takes out her phone.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Calling the police.’
‘That’ll take hours,’ Lilah says. She jogs back upstairs as the cat-miaow door opens. A woman in yellow pyjamas is standing there, holding her cat and waiting for them.
Margo slows and says, ‘Did you hear noise from up there?’
‘Yes. About a half an hour ago, it was.’ The woman looks upstairs. ‘I heard an almighty crack. I thought it was that bloke’s computer game but the cat hid behind the washing machine for twenty minutes. I just got her out.’
But Margo is trying to keep up with Lilah and calls back, ‘Could you call the police for us, please?’
Lilah takes the last flight of stairs and Margo hurriedly follows. They step into the hall and turn on every light. The flat has been ransacked but it looks staged. Books have been thrown to the floor, the sofa is upended, files and lamps have been shoved around but nothing seems stolen. The telly is still there. The radio and an old-fashioned CD player. Even the CDs are scattered but not taken.
‘Is it just vandalised?’
‘Maybe they were looking for something?’ says Lilah. ‘Is something missing?’
Margo looks around the flat, in the kitchen and living room and bathroom. Nothing is gone. They’re standing in the hall when Margo says, ‘You know, if you want to leave before the police get here, that’s OK.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I know you’re dodging them after Emma’s baby shower. You don’t have to wait with me.’
‘I’m not dodging them. It’s just boring, that’s all.’
Margo looks over Lilah’s shoulder and notices that her bedroom door is shut.
‘You need them anyway,’ says Lilah. ‘To get the insurance to pay for the front door.’
Margo leaves the bedroom door open because the sun shines in through the window and the room gets too hot. She’s sure she left that door open.
‘I’m not scared of the cops,’ witters Lilah. ‘I’m just embarrassed about Richard. It’s mortifying, you know? I don’t want my name coming up in two police reports in one week.’
Margo reaches for the bedroom door and opens it. The duvet is on the floor and has been trampled on, the bed sheet pulled half off. A bottle of Chanel No 5 has been poured out on the mattress, emptied and dumped on the floor. Janette gave her that bottle. It was too old for her. She had never worn it. But whoever did this hasn’t stolen anything: her laptop is sitting on the bedside table.
‘What even is this?’
‘Fucker’s been in your bedroom.’ Lilah is behind her in the doorway. ‘That’s creepy. Call the cops, Margo.’
Margo fumbles her mobile out of her pocket and calls, gets transferred from place to place because it’s not an emergency and there’s no threat or anything.
She has to wait on the line for quite some time and while she does she stands in the doorway looking at her bed.
She finally gets connected and explains what has happened to a constable.
‘Just a break-in then?’
‘Yes, and sort of threw stuff about.’
‘Nothing stolen?’
‘No. I think it was done as a threat. I got a threatening letter through the door this morning as well. I’m sorry to be so vague but I don’t know what’s going on.’
She is asked to wait in for officers to come and take a report. She asks how long it will be but they hang up on her.
‘Can we open a window at least?’ says Lilah and only then does Margo realise that the smell is clinging to her face and clothes.
They open all the windows and sit down, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa in the living room, waiting and jumpy. Lilah suggests packing
up Margo’s stuff while they’re hanging around but Margo says it’s probably better not to touch anything.
‘What the fuck is this about?’ says Lilah.
‘Susan Brodie? The threatening letters?’
‘I know an unusual amount about this and my review would be: quite shit threats, a completely substandard ransacking. This is very stupid. I mean, if they did murder someone thirty years ago and got away with it, why flinch at stealing a laptop?’
‘And how did they find me?’
‘How is Richard finding me? Is he following me around?’
‘You’d have spotted him.’
They both know that’s true. Richard is tall and beefy, looks distinctly like a wealthy Londoner, and he’s not exactly discreet.
The sweet high notes of a half-bottle of Chanel hit their noses and Lilah shakes her head a little. ‘Fuck this. This is un-glam, squared.’
They sit together for a while, currents of cold air sweeping across their ankles from the open windows.
Lilah takes Margo’s hand. ‘OK, not Iceland, but let’s just fuck off until this is all sorted out? Can we go away, go up north or something? We can stay in a hotel, Gleneagles or somewhere with heavy-duty security.’
‘What about Muttley and Pitstop?’
‘Take them with us. Come on.’
Margo is too tired to tell a face-saving lie to Lilah. ‘Look, Janette’s care was so expensive and I’m basically paying for three houses. I just don’t have money for that at the moment.’
‘Ooh, right?’ Lilah is startled that she said that because they’re rarely so honest with each other. She fumbles in her handbag and presses a brick of notes into Margo’s hand. ‘Look here, see? That’s five grand. Take it. You take it. For me.’
Margo looks down at the bundle of fifty-quid notes, held together with a paper band. ‘Where’s this from?’
Lilah shrugs. ‘Where’s any money from? My account. Why?’
‘How much money did you take from Richard?’