by Jane Renshaw
‘Oh. Well. I imagine it will be. But it’s not on the market yet or anything…’ She’s got a voice like she’s Scottish, aye, but she wishes she wasnae.
‘You wouldn’t happen to have contact details for the sellers?’
‘No. Sorry.’
‘They’ve moved away, have they?’
‘Yes. Sorry, I can’t help.’ And the bitch goes to shut the door on me.
I breenge against it and go, ‘Come on yous,’ and Jed and the boys are in and through the house.
I push the bint down on the floor and she’s all ‘Oh, oh, oh’ and I’m ‘Tell us where they are and I’ll no touch you,’ and then Jed and Travis are back with a man in boxers and a wee lassie in her jimjams, eyes like saucers, poor wee bairn, and Travis dumps her down on a chair and I’m ‘Tell us where they are and they’ll no hurt your bairn’ and she’s ‘I don’t know where they are, they’ve just gone, they never told us they were going even, men with a removal van just came and took all their stuff but they wouldn’t tell us where they were taking it or why the Morrisons had left so suddenly or anything, and I’ve tried calling them but their mobile numbers are unobtainable –’
Shit.
‘What’s their names? Alec Morrison, aye, and what’s his wife called?’
‘Ruth,’ says the man. ‘And their little girl’s Rebecca. They call her Bekki.’
They call her Bekki?
‘You’re friends with them, aye?’
‘We thought we were,’ says the bint. ‘But they just up and left without a word –’ And she clamps her mouth shut and stares at me, and it’s pure comical so it is.
‘Aye. The explanation? You’re looking at it, hen.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Oh my God,’ goes Travis.
I goes, ‘Right. You’re going to tell us all you know about your good pals the Morrisons, aye? Where they work. Where their friends and relations stay at. What they have for fucking breakfast.’
‘And if you tell anyone,’ says Ryan, leaning against the wall, ‘if you tell the polis or Social Work or that, if you tell anyone and I mean anyone that we were here…’
‘We’ll be baaaa-aaaack,’ goes Travis.
The kitchen’s like something out a museum. The sink’s one of they old china ones and there’s no even any proper units, there’s shite like my grannie had, one of they cabinets with a front you pull down for a shoogly wee worktop, and cupboards and that that dinnae go, all chipped and stained. There’s a nice big dresser but, like something off of Antiques Roadshow, and bonnie cups and plates on it.
Table’s massive, with chairs round it that are no even the same, some wood and some painted sweetie colours like sherbet lemon and candyfloss. Ryan pushes the man at one of them and goes, ‘Anyone fancy a wee bit breakfast?’ and he’s opening cupboards.
The lassie suddenly turns round and runches her teeth down on Travis, and he goes ‘Ah ye bass!’ and she’s legging it out the door and Jed’s ‘Fuck’ and going after her, and Ryan’s got the bint against the cupboard and she’s yelling, ‘Emma, Emma!’
Then Jed’s dragging the bairn back in by the hair and she’s greeting and he’s shoving her at the bint and going ‘Keep that fucking wee animal under control, aye? Fucking went and tried to get the fucking phone,’ and he throws the phone at the dresser and some of the cups and that smash, and the bint’s going ‘Oh God!’ and she’s backing into the corner between the Aga and the cupboard coorying her bairn and going ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone!’ and hubby’s just sitting there with a big glaikit face on him.
‘Fucking wee bitch,’ goes Travis. He’s running the tap on his hand. With the other hand he points at the bairn. ‘Needs a fucking muzzle on her.’
Ryan’s pissing himself.
‘Please don’t hurt her,’ the bint’s going, and Jed’s in the wee lassie’s face going, ‘Any more shite from you and you’re getting more than a wee nip and a slap, aye?’
God’s sakes. The fucking prick. He’s got that radge look in his eyes like he’d get when he used to go for me. He’s loving this so he is.
‘Get away from her!’ goes the bint, and she’s pulling the bairn round into the corner, she’s got her back turned to Jed, and the wee lassie’s got her face pushed in her maw’s chebs.
I go, ‘What’s the wee lassie’s name – is it Emma, aye?’
Bint doesnae say nothing. She doesnae turn round.
‘You come here to me, Emma-hen. I’ll no let they buggers touch you, eh? Come here to me. My name’s Lorraine.’
Wee lassie huds on to her maw. Jed grabs the bint and Travis pulls the bairn off of her and round the table, and the bint’s going ‘Do as they say, darling, just do as they say’ and then I’ve got my arm round the bairn and I’m going ‘It’s okay hen, it’s okay wee Emma,’ and Jed’s got the bint’s arm up her back.
Emma’s standing staring at her maw and Jed. I pull her closer and I go, ‘Come and sit on my knee, hen,’ and I sit down on a chair and pull the bairn down on top of me and smooth her hair. She’s got awful bonnie hair. Dark and shiny.
The bint’s still going, ‘Do as they say, darling, do as they say,’ and Jed gives her arm a yowk for no reason, the mentalist, and she’s ‘Oh God oh God please.’
Hubby’s no said a fucking thing.
I goes, ‘This’s your bairn, by the way? That’s your bint? You gonnae just sit there giving it Whatever? You. Are. A fucking disgrace.’
He goes, ‘What do you want?’
Wee Emma’s shaking. I give her a coorie. ‘Dinnae you worry, hen, dinnae you worry. Maybe your da’s a gutless fucking wonder, but no one’s gonnae touch you. Ryan son, take a seat, aye? Travis, get us some coffees.’
‘Please –’ goes the bint. ‘Please let her come to me.’
‘Och, she’s fine where she is, eh, wee Emma? What’s your name, doll?’
‘Pam.’
‘Take a seat, Pammie. We’ll be out your hair soon enough. Soon as you’ve telt us all about your pals the Morrisons. Let’s us start with where they work at and where they’re from, eh?’
‘Do yous take milk and sugar?’ goes Travis.
‘And get the lassie a juice, son.’
Emma goes, ‘I don’t want any juice!’ She’s sitting on my lap with her wee toes pressed against the chair next us and her legs lifted up off of me, balancing on her wee arse like she’s no wanting any more of herself touching me than she has to.
‘A nice wee glass of milk, then.’ I chuckle. ‘Bairns, eh?’
‘It’s all right, darling,’ goes Pammie, sitting down across the table. ‘Just sit and be good and they’ll soon be gone.’
The man goes, ‘Alec is a scientist. A botanist. He works in the Botany Department at Glasgow University. Ruth is just a housewife.’
‘Aye? Where did she work at before?’
‘I think she was a nurse?’ He turns to Pammie.
Pammie’s hudding her sair arm and smiling at her bairn. ‘She was a paediatric nurse at Glasgow Royal Infirmary.’
Ryan’s got his phone out and he’s keying it all in. Like he’s taking the minutes at a fucking board meeting.
‘And where are the fuckers from?’
‘Alec’s from Perth,’ goes Pammie. ‘That’s where he grew up.’
‘What bit?’
‘What?’
‘What bit of Perth?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It was near the big park,’ goes hubby, ‘I don’t know what it’s called – he used to talk about how his house was near it and these boys used to hide and ambush him – he used to joke about it, he said it was like Inspector Clouseau…’
‘He got family there still?’
‘His parents are dead,’ goes Pammie.
‘But I think he has some cousins might still live there.’ Hubby’s the class fucking swot. ‘His sister Pippa is working in India, I think… He had family on the west coast as well. Torridon.’ Travis puts a mug on the table in front of him and he
goes, ‘Thank you.’
Twat.
‘Whereabouts in Torridon?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s not exactly a populous area, and I’d imagine it’s a close community – I wouldn’t have thought it’d be hard to find the family…’
‘And what about Ruth?’
The bint goes, ‘She’s Australian, originally. After her dad died, she and her mum came to live here. When she was small.’
‘Aye, and?’
‘And what?’ She’s giving me evils.
‘Where did they live when they came to this country?’
‘St Andrews.’
‘And whereabouts in Australia is she from?’
‘I don’t know. Sydney, I think. She never talked about her childhood.’
‘Aye right. Yous were best pals, and she never telt you about her childhood?’
‘No, really, she didn’t. I always thought it was odd that she didn’t. I said to you, James, didn’t I?’ She turns to hubby and he gives her a wee smile. ‘We assumed Ruth must have had an unhappy childhood and that was why she never talked about it.’
‘Ruth was weird,’ goes hubby. ‘I always thought there was something weird about Ruth.’ Mr Brown Nose is that far up my arse he could lick my fucking tonsils.
‘In what way?’
‘Ruth wasn’t “weird”,’ says Pammie, and she’s eyeballing him like she’s thinking Who is this gutless fuck?
‘Okay Pammie. Let’s just see what hubby here has to say about your pal Ruth, and then when he’s done we’ll hear from you, aye?’
Hubby’s right in there. ‘She used to overreact to things.’ He turns to Pammie. ‘Like when Emma tied a scarf round Bekki’s wrists when they were playing prisoners? It wasn’t even tight. Ruth screamed blue murder at Emma. Remember?’
Pammie nods but she’s no saying nothing.
‘And that time they were jumping on our bed, and Bekki fell off and bruised her shoulder, and when you took her home, Ruth went ballistic, called you an irresponsible parent? Even though you’d told them to stop? And Bekki wasn’t even hurt really. It was just a very small bruise.’
‘It’s called being a good mother,’ Pammie raps out. ‘She was right, I should have hauled them out of there and not just told them to stop. That bed’s really high. Bekki wasn’t badly hurt, no, but she could have been.’
I’m pissing myself. ‘Okay, let’s no have a domestic here, let’s keep it civil in front of the bairn, aye? What else was “weird” about the bint Ruth?’
Hubby’s practically got his hand in the air. ‘She never wanted her photo taken. She didn’t even have a passport – we had this idea of the two families going on holiday to France, but we couldn’t because Ruth didn’t have a passport and for some reason was resistant to getting one. Alec used to joke it was because she didn’t want to get a photo from one of those booths – at least I assumed he was joking, but maybe that really was the reason.’
I eyeball Pammie. ‘Right hen. Now you’re gonnae tell us all about your weird best pal Ruth. You’re gonnae tell us what she likes and what she doesnae. You’re gonnae tell us about her friends and family and where she said she always wanted to go and bide. We need to know all this shite, cos that mad bitch has got our wee lassie. Bekki’s our wee lassie, see? And if we dinnae get her back, we’re gonnae be coming for your wee lassie. Wee Emma here. That’s a fucking promise.’
‘Mum!’ goes wee Emma. ‘They can’t get Bekki! Don’t tell them anything!’
‘It’s all right, Emma. We don’t know anything to tell, do we? We don’t know where Bekki and her mum and dad are.’
‘I know, but maybe their family…’
‘Ruth’s parents are dead,’ goes Pammie. ‘She doesn’t have any siblings or cousins. She used to be a nurse, but she gave that up when they adopted Bekki. She worked in Glasgow Royal Infirmary. She’s still in touch – or was in touch – with a couple of the other nurses, Donna and Claire… I don’t know their surnames. They used to meet up for lunch in town and go shopping.’
‘Mum! Stop it!’ goes the bairn, and she’s greeting, the poor wee sweetheart.
I bounce her on my knee and go, ‘Now now hen.’ She tries to wriggle off but I’ve got my arms round her.
Pammie goes, ‘Shoosh, darling, shoosh, it’s all right. It’s going to be all right.’ She reaches for her bairn and grabs wee Emma’s hand.
Jed’s lunging, but I goes, ‘Beat it you!’ and he backs off.
‘These bints still work at the Infirmary, aye?’
‘Claire does.’
‘Right. And who else?’
She’s stroking wee Emma’s hand and smiling at the bairn. ‘Ruth didn’t have many friends… There’s Laura, who’s got a son in Bekki’s class. They live in one of the cottages at Hinksfield… But… I think I was her only close friend. Or I thought I was.’
‘Aye, so what else “weird” is there about her?’
She takes a big breath. ‘Well. When I – we were in a café one day and I said I’m so lucky to have a friend like you or something like that, You’re such a lovely friend, and Ruth just stared at me, and then she said No I’m not! You don’t know anything about me! and got up and ran off to the loos. I guess that was weird. When she came back to the table, she said she was feeling bad about shouting at me that time Bekki fell off the bed, but I don’t know if that was really it, or if…’
‘There was something off about the bitch.’
‘No! All I’m saying is that she was secretive about her past. So I can’t tell you anything much about it. I really can’t. I really didn’t know much about her.’
‘You must be able to think of something,’ goes hubby.
‘Jesus Chutney!’ I chuckle. ‘You’ve got a real diamond there, hen, eh? But aye, you must be able to think of something. Starting with where you think they’d go.’
‘Italy,’ goes hubby. ‘Alec spent a summer in Italy when he was a student, and Ruth always fantasised about a villa on the Amalfi coast. Didn’t she? Pam?’
Pammie nods.
‘She doesn’t have a fucking passport,’ goes Ryan.
‘Maybe she’s got one now.’
Aye, fuck it.
‘And what all else? What about when she was living in St Andrews? What all’s she told you about that?’
‘I’m lightin’ it,’ goes Jed.
We’re in a KFC on the way back to our bit. I’m on the low-cal ginger and a chicken wrap – fucking diet. The boys have both got Big Daddy Box Meals and Jed’s got a Zinger and fries.
I’m in his face. ‘You light it and what’s there for them to fucking sell? A burned-out fucking ruin?’
‘Aye Da,’ says Travis. He’s got a plaster on his hand and he keeps rubbing his finger on it. Getting bit by a wee lassie? He’s no a happy bunny.
‘You’re back planning, aye?’ goes Jed.
‘Aye, so shut it.’
Ryan gets up for another Coke. He’s in his Armani and among all the wee neds he sticks out like a Rolex on a scabby dug. Folk look at him as he walks by. All the wee hairies going Gies a slice o’ that.
When he gets back, I says, ‘Right yous, listen up.’
‘Is it a belter, aye?’ goes Jed.
‘Shut it. This is what we do, right? We don’t do nothing.’
‘Here we go.’ And Jed puts on the daft voice that he thinks is him talking posh: ‘Why – am – I – not – surprised?’
‘We wait till that wee house goes for sale. We make like we’re maybe gonnae buy it. We get the Home Report sent us, to an email address Connor will set up that’s no traceable. We get them thinking we’re that interested in buying. But we’ve a shitload of questions and the estate agent cannae answer them so we’re like that: Gonnae gie us the seller’s details so we can ask them about the septic tank.’
I lean back and pick a bit chicken out the wrap.
‘But Maw,’ goes Ryan. ‘Even their best pals havenae a fucking clue where they’re at. Are the bastards gonnae give
the estate agent their details so they can get them scammed out them? That’s no happening. They’ll have done it all through their fucking brief.’
‘Aye, it’s a long shot, son. But in the meantime we check out they places, eh? Perth. Torridon. Fucking Amalfi, wherever the fuck that is. Fucking Australia if we have to.’ I bite the chicken. ‘First up, Torridon. Teuchterland Central – they’d think they’re safe enough there, eh? But we dinnae go in all confrontational. Me and Mandy’ll hire a shite wee car, one of they new Fiats maybe, and go and book in a B&B. We’re there because our pal Pippa Morrison telt us all about it and we thought it sounded right bonnie, and where are the Morrisons living at now so we can go and say hello to Pippa’s folks?’
Travis is eating with his gob open, and when he goes ‘Fucking belter!’ a bit chip falls out onto his Rangers top and then it drops on the table right next Ryan’s Coke.
‘Jesus,’ goes Ryan. ‘Get that out my fucking space. Fucking chimp.’
‘What?’ goes Travis.
Ryan gets a serviette and, all delicate like, picks up the bit chip, and Travis makes to get up out his chair but Ryan grabs him by the tit and shoves the chip up his neb, and Travis is ‘Ah fuck, ah fuck!’ and tipping back in his chair. The chair cannae take it, Travis is a big lad, eh, and a leg breaks under him and he’s couped out it on the floor.
Jed’s pissing himself.
‘Quit it!’ I yell. ‘God’s sakes!’
Travis gets another chair and Ryan goes, ‘We’re gonnae need our ain place for Bekki till we get Spain sorted. Flat’s fine aye, but we’re shitting money up the wall there renting. And Bekki might like a garden, eh? She’s been living out in that wee cottage with a garden and nature and that, how’s she gonnae like being stuck in a fucking flat in fucking Nedland? Naw. I’ll buy us a wee house with a garden, a wee newbuild someplace nice. Bearsden maybe. Plenty trees and that. I’ll put it through the holding company so there’s no any paper trail.’
Shannon-Rose is Ryan’s twin, eh, and her wee lassie means the fucking world to him.
‘But can you stretch to it, son, with Spain an’ all?’
‘Aye Maw, nae worries. Can sell it on after, eh?’