Into the Dark

by Stuart Johnstone

  ‘Morgan. This is really good work.’ I didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but I couldn’t stop the pitch of my voice rising.

  The lad instantly flushed red. ‘Well, it was your idea,’ he said.

  ‘Irrespective, this is really good. I’d probably have missed the van. It’s something to work with. Really good, Morgan. Circulate the picture of the driver – if we get lucky someone will recognise him, but don’t hold your breath.’

  ‘Will do, Sarge.’ He stood to leave.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry I’ve not been around the past week to keep an eye on things, been a bit preoccupied with an enquiry. What do you have on today?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a lot. I need to do some door to door for a vandalism the day shift didn’t get around to.’

  ‘Again? This has got to stop. Where is it?’

  ‘Another car got trashed in Pilton over the weekend.’

  ‘All right, I’ll come with you. We’ll get it done quick and then see if we can find something more interesting to do.’

  The weather had taken a turn. A week of rain had levelled what previously had teased at becoming an exceptional Scottish summer. Today, though cool and overcast, was dry, so we walked.

  Three times I had to tell Morgan to slow his pace. First off, we didn’t have a lot on, so why rush around north Edinburgh? And second, I felt like I was jogging to keep up with his long legs.

  ‘Sarge, who’s your boss then?’ he asked as we crossed Ferry Road.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’re my boss, I report to you. But who do you report to? Who gives you instruction?’

  ‘Ah, OK. Well in theory, that would be Inspector Reynolds.’

  ‘In theory?’

  ‘Inspector Reynolds is in charge of all community teams in the Edinburgh and Lothians area.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met him.’

  ‘Well, that’s where the “theory” part comes in. See, Inspector Reynolds is doing the job that four or five inspectors used to. Thanks to budget cuts he has the impossible task of overseeing a ridiculously large area and workforce. So, my job, as I see it, is to stay off his radar altogether. If I don’t ruffle any feathers or allow any of my team to screw up too badly, he leaves us be, and he’s just grateful he doesn’t have to get involved. With a bit of luck, you’ll never have to meet him.’

  We continued walking north into the housing estates of Pilton.

  ‘What are your ambitions in the police, Morgan? Where do you see yourself?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Sarge. Honestly, I’m just hoping to make it through my probation period. I’m a bit worried I’m not going to make it, if I’m perfectly honest.’

  ‘Really? Why so?’

  He shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘I really struggled at Tulliallan. I was borderline for the written exams and I was shocking with the fitness.’

  ‘You look pretty fit, what happened?’ I remembered my time at the Police training college. Eleven weeks in my first year and another six in the second. I forced the memory out of my head. It was not a fond one.

  ‘The running was fine, like. It was all the bloody press-ups and that. I tried my best but I’m just not naturally good with that stuff. I swear one of the training sergeants had it in for me, wanted to fail me. I came back to division with a letter.’

  ‘What does that mean? A letter?’

  ‘Sort of a warning, like. I only mentioned it because I assumed you’d know all about it.’

  ‘It’ll likely be on your file, Morgan. But I’m kind of a take-everyone-on-their-own-merits sort of guy. God knows I’ve had my own issues with bosses and colleagues. Keep going the way you are and we’ll get you through your probation, don’t worry.’

  We completed the door to door, getting nothing from neighbours and leaving calling cards for the few houses where there was no reply. This was the fourth car to have its windows smashed in the past two months – just the sort of thing that would ping on Inspector Reynold’s radar if I didn’t get on top of it fast.

  The whole time we were performing our fruitless task, I thought about how we were only ten minutes from Pennywell. I’d meant to call after leaving Vicky with Martin so distressed, but I hadn’t gotten around to it and now nearly two weeks had passed. A phone call just didn’t seem appropriate.

  ‘I’ve got a little job that needs doing,’ I told Morgan. ‘Fancy tagging along?’

  The improvement in the weather wasn’t to last. A light drizzle fell and was gaining momentum by the time we reached the care home. We ducked down the side road just as a crack of thunder sounded and the drizzle turned to rain. The growl of an exhaust pipe could be heard as we pulled into the car park. We got out of the car and I rang the buzzer. While I waited for a response, I eyed a blue Subaru, complete with large rear spoiler, idling in the space reserved for an ambulance. A man sat in the driver’s seat having a heated conversation on his phone. He did a double take when he saw us. Our eyes met for a moment before he turned on his stereo and a muffled blast of dance music erupted, only to be drowned out by the exhaust as he drove off.

  ‘Hellooooo?’ came a voice from the intercom. The voice had clearly been calling for a while, but I could only now hear it.

  ‘Hi, is that you, Vicky? It’s Don Colyear. I was in the area and hoped it would be all right to stop by.’ I was half yelling as the noise of the rain grew, pattering off the glass covering above the front door. I pulled Morgan under it as he was getting soaked, probably too nervous to squeeze in next to me. The response on the intercom came after a lengthy delay.

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  The door unlocked and we ducked inside, shaking the water off us. I assumed it had been Vicky who’d opened the door for us, but I now saw it was her colleague, Michelle. She was looking at us like we were lunch, just delivered.

  ‘All right, boys. D’you need some help getting out of those wet things?’

  ‘Yeah, actually, is there somewhere we can hang some of this up?’ I said.

  ‘Aye, there’s a long radiator in the office. C’mon.’

  ‘Is Vicky around?’ I asked as we followed Michelle along the corridor.

  ‘She’s around. Just busy with the residents.’

  ‘I was hoping to have a quick word.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. There y’are. Take off whatever you like.’

  I peeled off my armour and hooked it around the radiator, which was burning hot. This place was always so warm. Morgan did the same while Michelle eyed him.

  ‘And what’s your name? You look awfully young to be a copper.’

  ‘I, uh … M’name’s Morgan.’

  ‘Morgan?’ Michelle repeated, her face screwed up.

  ‘Yeah. You know, capital M, small organ,’ he laughed.

  ‘Well, that’s a shame,’ said Michelle, her hands on her hips, her eyes on the lad’s crotch. ‘Still, it’s not the size of the carrot, it’s the crunch in the bite. Am I right?’ she said to me and laughed.

  ‘That’s what I’ve heard.’ I laughed back. Morgan’s face was beginning to glow, but I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘Are you looking to see Martin while you’re here?’ she said, once she’d composed herself.

  ‘I suppose. What kind of state is he in?’

  ‘In his quiet state. He’s in his room if you want to come up?’

  ‘Better bring a radio,’ I said to Morgan as we left our things behind. He unclipped his radio from the armour and we followed Michelle upstairs.

  Martin was in his window seat, staring ahead – perhaps looking out at the rain, perhaps not.

  ‘I’ll see about getting Vic, give you lot a few minutes, eh?’

  ‘Thanks, Michelle,’ I said, and sat on the bed beside Martin and placed my hand on his.

  ‘Is this your da?’ Morgan said, a deep and soft sympathy in his voice.

  ‘My dad? No. I wish my dad was this quiet,’ I laughed and instantly regretted the joke. ‘No, this is Martin. I only met
him recently. He’s been helping us with an enquiry.’

  Morgan’s face squeezed in confusion for a second. I decided against enlightening him.

  ‘There’s a spare chair behind the door. Bring it over.’ He did and sat. ‘Michelle’s clearly got a thing for you,’ I mocked.

  ‘Ah … yeah, she’s a riot, like.’

  ‘Want me to put in a good word?’

  ‘Oh, no. Thanks. No. I’m fine, like.’

  ‘You have a significant other, Morgan?’

  ‘No, not currently. Got enough on my plate with the job an’all. Happy as I am.’

  Martin breathed softly in and out through his nose. If he knew we were there, he made no indication.

  ‘You’re from Northern Ireland, right?’ I said.

  ‘From Coleraine, yeah.’

  ‘What brought you over to Scotland?’

  ‘Uni. I got a place at Napier here in Edinburgh.’

  ‘Ah, you’re a graduate? A scholar like our Martin here?’

  ‘No, not really. I dropped out in my third year,’ he said, looking over the books on Martin’s shelf.

  ‘What happened? If it’s OK to ask?’

  The question seemed to make him uncomfortable. He folded his legs and then his arms. ‘I just, I sort of decided it wasn’t for me. The first year was grand. Second year, things started to get a bit on top of me. Third year I barely got going before my grades started to drop and I ended up off with a bit of stress.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. I’m sure it’s pretty common. What did your parents think?’

  ‘Well, they were worried, naturally. Wanted me to come home. But I’m really fond of the city, you know? I didn’t really give Edinburgh a lot of thought before I got here but I really took to it. It’s only wee, but every corner is full of all sorts.’

  He was right, the city was a pretty special place. At any time, there was something to do. Tourists snapping at the buildings, a labyrinth of cobbled closes, and if that wasn’t fairy tale enough, there was always the castle on a giant rock right at the centre of it all.

  ‘Why the police?’

  At this he shrugged. ‘The honest answer, Sarge, is they were hiring. Of course, that’s not quite what I said at the interview. “Lifelong ambition”, I think I described it as. Oh God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’

  I laughed. ‘It’s fine, Morgan. I joined for the same reason. I had bills to pay.’

  The door opened and a smiling Vicky walked through. She wore more makeup this time, though not enough to conceal the bruising around her right eye.

  ‘How’s our professor?’ she said.

  ‘In a pensive mood today. I think he’s considering the rain,’ I said.

  ‘I do that too when it rains,’ she said. ‘I consider moving to Spain. Do you want to come down and get some tea? We’ll leave Martin to his thoughts for a while.’

  Michelle offered to arrange the tea while we took a table in the empty dining hall. We’d gathered our things from the office, damp and hot, and reassembled ourselves.

  ‘I’m really sorry about my last visit, Vicky. I got him into a spiral and I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t mean to upset him.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault he went into the dark.’

  ‘Into to the dark?’ I said.

  ‘That’s how I think of it. It’s like he comes into the light when he’s himself. You can see it in his face, this light. You can hear it in his voice.’

  I thought about that version of Martin in the garden. She was right. It was as if some inner glow radiated through him.

  ‘But he doesn’t stay long in the light, you just have to enjoy him while you can. ’Cause all too soon he falls away again, into the dark. I wish there was some magical way to reach in there and pull him out, but …’ She shrugged and gave a small shake of the head.

  Michelle’s appearance was announced by a chorus of rattling crockery. She set a tray down and began to pour for everyone.

  ‘A wee word of advice,’ said Vicky. ‘When you’re dealing with people suffering from dementia, it’s better just to go with what they’re saying. If they think you’re some other relative, it’s best not to correct them. Just play along.’

  ‘Is that not a bit … I dunno, cruel? Or disrespectful?’ said Morgan, giving a voice to my own thought.

  ‘Maybe on some level. But if you consider it entirely on their wellbeing, then no. There’s no point in upsetting them, which is what confrontation will do. You have to think about the fact that you’re not going to teach them something. They’re not going to take your correction and do better next time. It’s kinder to leave them comfortable in their reality.’

  ‘Oor Mimi thinks I’m her daughter most of the time. I spend half the day updating her on the adventures of her grandkids. It makes her happy. A wee white lie,’ said Michelle.

  ‘I suppose that makes sense. If it happens in the future, I’ll try to remember that. Was Martin agitated for a long time after I left?’

  ‘He was, yes. He was up half the night ranting and raving. He must have remembered something about you being there as he kept asking for the police. And he was yelling about hearing God, which isn’t like him.’

  ‘He’s not religious?’

  ‘Not at all. When you get him in a lucid state, he’s pretty vocal about not having any time for the Church or any organised religion.’

  ‘Sorry again. Good news is I won’t be back to bother him. Alyson was happy with what we got, so there’s no need to bother him further.’

  ‘Aw, well you can still stop by any time you like. It’s nice to see police walking around. You never do any more.’ Michelle said this to Morgan, not to me.

  ‘She’s right. Stop in any time,’ said Vicky as I took a last sip of my tea and stood. There was a better light in this room and the blue-green around her eye was more prominent.

  ‘What happened here?’ I asked and leant over to get a better look at the swelling.

  ‘Och, just another accident. Happened while I was getting one of our residents out of the bath. It happens. Right, Michelle?’

  ‘Aye. Happens all the time,’ Michelle said with a smile. A smile that was not genuine.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nan

  Her name was Josephine, though almost everyone who knew her had either forgotten that, or had never known it in the first place. She was ‘Mum’ to Aileen, otherwise she was ‘Nan’. She rarely even thought of herself as anything else. Now and again at the bank or post office, she’d be standing in line and pull her card or cheque book from her bag and there was her given name, a name that had belonged to a younger version of herself but had been put in a drawer somewhere, at some time.

  She sat across the table from Poppy and thought about this. She’d hidden her surprise and dislike when Aileen had told her that she’d picked the name Poppy for her first, and since Aileen was, what? Forty-two? No, forty-three – probably only grandchild. But it had grown on her. Now, looking at that jam-smeared face, she couldn’t be anything else but Poppy. She wondered if she would be Poppy all her days, or whether that name would give way to its own age-earned alternative and find a place in its own drawer.

  Aileen dropped Poppy off early on a Wednesday so that she could get to her one fitness class of the week before work. Not that it was a problem for Nan. Even on a Wednesday she’d have been up and breakfasted for an hour or two before they arrived. It also meant that Nan had an extra hour with Poppy before they walked to school, and so the girl could eat her breakfast sitting down, rather than clenching a piece of toast between her teeth while her jacket was pulled over her head and before she was dragged down the garden path to make the fifteen-minute walk to school in ten.

  ‘All finished?’ said Nan. Poppy nodded and held her hands wide to be cleaned after dropping the bread onto her plate, aware she’d stick to anything she might come into contact with. Nan ran a cloth over the girl’s fingers, folded it, then wiped her face before plan
ting a kiss on the now-clean mouth.

  Nan got Poppy ready, making sure her feet were snuggly in the end of her wellies and that her coat hood was firmly pulled over her head before stepping out into the morning drizzle. She snapped open her umbrella and took the girl by the hand. Poppy was singing something to herself, a tune Nan was not familiar with, perhaps she’d heard it in the car on the way over. Her mum was a keen singer, always had been. She’d have liked Aileen to have another. Nan suspected she was a better grandmother than she’d ever been a mother; sometimes these maternal instincts set in later in life, she considered. She regretted not taking more interest in Aileen’s schooling, wished she’d encouraged her to go to university, to see more of the world. Aileen had lived for a couple of years in Fife, not exactly spreading her wings, but at least out of Edinburgh. She’d hoped it would be the start of something for her daughter. The start of what, she wasn’t sure; but when she’d announced she was pregnant and that she and Andrew had broken up in the same breath, she knew all that was gone.

  She’d helped Aileen buy her own flat with what little savings she had. A small place in Lochend, walkable to Nan’s own place in Leith, though not on a school day when Aileen had to get all the way out to her work in Portobello. An 8 a.m. start meant the easiest thing to do was to drop Poppy and let Nan get her to school and pick her up after.

  ‘Morning, Nan,’ said Jessica’s mum. Nan wasn’t sure of the woman’s own name, just that her girl was in the same class as Poppy. And there it was, Nan thought, as she returned the greeting and planted one last kiss on Poppy’s head before letting her run inside with her classmate; that’s when it starts, when you have children. ‘Jessica’s mum’. ‘Mum’ to Jessica, and perhaps also to her husband when Jessica was around, her own name starting its slide into that drawer.

  Nan checked her watch. She was running a little late, though it wouldn’t be a problem.

  She reached the manse and knocked as she entered, making a show of jangling her set of keys loudly as she did. Then she called her arrival into the hall to alert Father McCauley in case he was in a state of mid-dress, which had happened more than once. If it happened again, her suspicion that it was not just down to bad luck would be confirmed. She wondered how late he slept on the days she wasn’t there to clean.