The Big Chill

by Doug Johnstone

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I didn’t recognise him. I’m not sure if it was the same one from the telephone.’

  ‘What exactly did he say?’

  ‘Just that he wanted to speak to Hugh,’ Wendy said. ‘He checked it was the Fowler residence, then used Hugh’s first name.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  Wendy looked at Edward, got another pat on the hand.

  ‘Around your age,’ she said.

  ‘A student?’ Hannah said.

  ‘Possibly. But he didn’t seem to know Hugh was dead.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him?’

  Wendy drank. ‘I told you, it’s so wearing. I just said he wasn’t in.’

  ‘Would you recognise him again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  She did, but it was average height and weight, fair hair, half the young men in the city.

  ‘Was he handsome?’

  Edward’s grip tensed on the chair back. ‘I don’t see why that’s relevant.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘What you’re suggesting is unsavoury,’ he said.

  Wendy shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s anything like that, Hugh was an old man.’

  And old men never fancy young men, right. Hannah rolled the onion in her drink then popped it in her mouth. It was boozy and bitter. She looked around the room, which seemed brighter than the first time she was here. Maybe it was diminishing grief, or her own changing mental state.

  ‘It could be anything,’ she said.

  Wendy frowned. ‘Hugh didn’t keep secrets from me.’

  Hannah looked at Edward. ‘Really?’

  Wendy followed her gaze. ‘He was always completely open about Edward.’

  ‘What about the fact he was going to kill himself?’

  There was something about Wendy’s demeanour that really got to Hannah and she couldn’t help herself. Wendy swallowed and looked at the fireplace. Edward squeezed her shoulder again.

  ‘That’s uncalled for,’ he said.

  Hannah put a hand out in supplication then realised it was the hand holding her Gibson so it looked like she was toasting something. She switched hands as Wendy drained her glass.

  Hannah got herself together, sat upright. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Find out who he is and what he wants.’

  ‘You could’ve just asked him.’

  ‘I did,’ Wendy said. ‘He refused to say.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘I’m not sure how I can help unless he makes contact again.’

  ‘He said he would come back, can you be here?’

  ‘I have motion-activated cameras, I can fit one at the front door. Get a visual on him.’

  ‘How will that help?’

  ‘I’m hoping I’ll recognise him. It’s most likely he’s a student.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘And if he’s not?’

  He had a point. Hannah wasn’t thinking right, maybe it was the hundred-proof alcohol. ‘When he arrives, confront him, tell him Hugh’s dead. See what he says.’

  ‘Then what?’ Wendy said.

  ‘Stall him and phone me.’

  ‘How can I do that?’

  Hannah waved her empty glass. ‘Invite him in for one of these.’

  Edward and Wendy frowned at each other.

  ‘I don’t want him in the house,’ Wendy said.

  Hannah nodded, thinking. ‘I have these wee tracking devices.’ She held her fingers apart. ‘This big. I can give you one, stick it in his pocket or something.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous,’ Edward said. ‘What if she gets caught?’

  Wendy put a hand out. ‘I don’t mind.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘I still think you should call the police.’

  Wendy looked at Hannah. ‘Hugh trusted her, so I trust her too.’

  Edward looked unconvinced as he finished his drink.

  Hannah felt the buzz from her cocktail kicking in, the room fuzzy around the edges, those giant maps pulsing with energy.

  Wendy got up unsteadily and walked to the Greenland map. Hannah felt something pulling her and went over to it too. She looked at the place names, long words with lots of ‘q’s, ‘a’s and ‘u’s.

  ‘The Inuit have never really had much of a burial culture,’ Wendy said. ‘Before Christianity they would just wrap the body in caribou hide and leave it on the ice somewhere, weighed down by rocks.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘With the permafrost, you see. Digging a hole in the ground is hard.’

  Wendy turned to face Hannah. Edward was fixing himself and Wendy another drink, clink of bottle and glass. Hannah noticed he wasn’t making her one.

  ‘But we love a ritual here in the civilised west.’ Wendy’s tone made it clear she didn’t regard us as civilised at all. ‘Hugh wouldn’t have wanted any fuss.’

  ‘But it’s good to say goodbye,’ Hannah said.

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Closure.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Wendy clearly didn’t believe in closure and Hannah had a hard time with it herself, especially with suicide or whatever happened to Hugh. Without answers, how can we get closure?

  Wendy accepted her Gibson from Edward who melted into the background. She drank then turned to Hannah. ‘I want the smallest funeral possible. Cremation, no hole in the ground.’

  So now they were arranging the funeral, apparently. Hannah nodded. ‘OK.’

  Wendy smiled. ‘And of course we’ll need some Inuit throat singers.’

  Hannah sucked her teeth. ‘Throat singers?’

  40

  DOROTHY

  A sharp wind cut through the trees making Dorothy pull her collar up. The sky was gunmetal and the air was biting, what happened to spring? She’d read about false springs, the equivalent of Indian summers, a short period of warmth before things froze again, just in time for the Scottish summer. She longed for the Californian sun soaking into her bones, that beautiful sharpness, rather than this sludgy cold. Forecasters were warning about a big freeze from the north, maybe snow.

  She looked around Binning Memorial Wood, it was beautiful despite the cold. One of a growing number of green burial sites, it was half an hour’s drive from the house, Dorothy behind the wheel of the hearse, Archie in the passenger seat. Behind them in the van were Hannah, Indy and Jenny.

  Archie had decided on a private service and ceremony, said his mum wanted it by the end. Veronica had outlived all her closest family except Archie, most of her old friends gone too. She didn’t want a fuss, like mother, like son. So they had a simple ceremony in the chapel at home, Archie saying soft words, resting his hands on her willow coffin, voice shaky.

  And now they were here, with a sturdy young man who worked for the site in attendance, but really Archie and the women were handling everything. They’d done plenty of burials here in the past, they knew the ropes. Literally, as Archie, the staff member, Hannah and Jenny lowered the coffin into the hole with the ropes, tucking them in alongside and stepping back.

  Veronica Kidd wasn’t religious, so no Bible reading, just a simple goodbye from her son. There was a shallow hole at the head of the grave, and Archie placed a sapling cedar there, filling the earth around it. Then they began on the grave, Indy, Hannah and Jenny grabbing shovels from a pile and helping.

  Dorothy remembered digging up two graves six months ago, one with Jenny, the other with Archie. All to prove something to herself which she couldn’t really understand now. Digging holes, filling in holes, none of it meant anything in the end. The ceremony mattered, the process of saying goodbye, maybe that was the only thing.

  Rain began to fall and the canopy of trees shivered in gusts of wind. Dorothy loved the idea of green funerals and they were getting more popular as people became more aware of their connection to the environment. Indy’s Hindu background meant she seemed to understand this more. It seemed like every religion except Christianity had a handle on the i
nterconnectedness of things.

  Dorothy lifted a shovel and began helping. Veronica’s coffin was covered in earth now, the soil wet and claggy as they dumped clumps into the hole. Dorothy noticed a coldness between Indy and Hannah, they’d barely looked at each other through the ceremony. They were usually so close, unable to take their eyes off each other. Dorothy knew better than to interfere, Hannah was a grown woman, but it pained her to see her granddaughter unhappy. The same for Jenny. The business with Craig, my God, what must she be feeling. She was shovelling dirt like her life depended on it, sweat on her brow despite the weather.

  The rain was heavier now, drilling tiny holes in the dirt. Dorothy saw a worm on her shovel, a pink squirm of life, as it was dumped into the grave.

  Eventually they were done and placed the shovels in the back of the green van parked nearby. The site employee drove off, leaving them all standing in the wind and rain, the trees whispering and shushing around them, the air stinging their exposed faces.

  Archie sank to his knees by the graveside. Hannah went to help him up but Jenny held her back. Archie thrust his fingers into the fresh earth, grabbed two handfuls and sat on his haunches looking at his fists, squeezing mud through his fingers. He lurched onto all fours and lowered his head, rain pattering on his back. He made a pitiful noise from deep inside his chest, his voice breaking as he opened his mouth and roared, eyes closed, tears down his cheeks, falling to the ground. He was like an ancient animal of the forest, mourning himself and all the other species that will never walk the Earth again. Dorothy had never seen him out of control before. She watched, feeling the sheer emptiness and exhaustion of it, and wished she had the freedom of spirit to join him.

  41

  JENNY

  Jenny had been awake for a while before the sun began bleaching through the curtains. She wasn’t used to having a man in her bed. Liam was a heavy sleeper but peaceful, as if the world didn’t penetrate his subconscious. Lucky boy. She stared at him while he slept, felt pervy, too full on. His hair was a mess, chest rising and falling with his breath. She ran a finger along his shoulder and down his arm, and he snuffled and turned.

  The radiator in her room rattled as the heating kicked in. This house had survived a hundred winters, would likely survive a hundred more, and Jenny thought about all the drama played out within the walls, teenage tantrums, some of them her own, midlife crises, accidents and arguments, quiet times and loud, the dead shuffling through on their way to the next world.

  She thought about Archie, howling in the rain like a beast, so unlike him, but grief can make you lose yourself entirely. And she thought about James, driving his stolen car into a hole in the ground. Craighouse School for Boys. It was a long way from there to a homeless addict. She thought about Hannah chasing a professor’s suicide for reasons she couldn’t fathom. But reason was overrated, we do things because we’re compelled. As Archie demonstrated, we’re not so evolved from animals in the dirt, even if we like to think we are.

  There was a gentle tap on the door and Liam woke up.

  ‘Come in,’ Jenny said.

  Dorothy’s head appeared round the door. Jenny had a flash of awkward guilt, like she’d done something wrong, zooming back to her teenage years, worried about getting caught with a boy in her room.

  Liam pushed up on his elbows and rubbed at his eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ Dorothy said. ‘I thought you should know, Shona’s turned up. The guard who helped Craig.’

  Thomas made a face like he was explaining something to a toddler. ‘Of course you can’t speak to her.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jenny said.

  She knew why but wanted to make him say it.

  Dorothy leaned over and put a hand on Jenny’s knee.

  They were in Thomas’s office, the view of the Crags grey and dismal today, trees in the park shaking nascent leaves, the skyline dark, the rock face damp with swirling rain.

  ‘She’s being interviewed downstairs right now,’ Thomas said, looking to Dorothy for support. ‘She has her lawyer. We’re trying to get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘Does she know where Craig is?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘Says she has no idea.’

  ‘Did she dump him or the other way round?’

  Thomas sat forward and splayed his fingers. ‘Please, we don’t know yet.’

  ‘Why the fuck not?’

  Dorothy spoke up. ‘I’m sure Thomas is doing everything he can.’

  ‘Has he left the country?’

  ‘I know as much as you do at the moment.’

  ‘That’s not exactly encouraging.’

  Jenny got out of her seat then didn’t know what to do. She went to a shelf of paperwork, box files with acronyms and dates on them. These couldn’t be actual case files, not just sitting in an office.

  ‘I told you there was no point in rushing here,’ Dorothy said.

  Jenny ran a finger along the shelf, it came away dusty. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ She scratched at her scalp, felt energy trying to escape her body. ‘This is a lead.’

  Thomas looked at his watch. ‘It could be hours until the interview is finished. Then I don’t know whether she’ll be charged straight away.’

  ‘Of course she’ll be charged,’ Jenny said. ‘She helped a criminal escape.’

  ‘Technically, Craig was on remand,’ Thomas said. ‘So he’s not actually guilty of a crime yet.’

  ‘Oh fuck off with that,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Jenny.’ The tone of her mum’s voice took her back to being a teenager, reprimanded for stumbling in drunk from the hotel bar along the road.

  ‘I promise to let you know anything as soon as I know,’ Thomas said.

  Jenny stared at him and wondered. He was so buttoned down, held together, how did he cope with his wife’s death? How did a black guy from Gothenburg end up in the Scottish police? How did any of us end up here dealing with this shit?

  ‘Please sit,’ Dorothy said, her tone mellowed.

  Jenny breathed through gritted teeth then sat down.

  Thomas leaned back in his chair and spoke to Dorothy.

  ‘Have you got anywhere with drummer girl’s dad?’

  Dorothy shook her head. She explained about some promotions company, a flat rental, Jenny didn’t follow, she was picturing Shona downstairs spinning lies to the cops, wriggling out of their net.

  ‘And what about your homeless person?’

  Dorothy smiled. ‘Jenny got a lead. He really is called James and he went to Craighouse School.’

  Thomas’s eyebrows went up. ‘Really?’

  ‘So we’ll go there, find out a surname, track down the family.’

  ‘They must have money,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Dorothy said.

  Jenny sat with her face like fizz, unwilling to take part in this happy banter when the lead to find her ex-husband was sitting downstairs.

  ‘Are we done?’ she said, standing up again.

  She sat in the body van and waited. Students in Lycra and joggers streamed up and down from the uni sports centre along the road. She stared at the police station and chewed her cheek. Cops came and went carrying coffee cups or Gregg’s bags, such a cliché. Sometimes they had someone with them, a civilian making a statement or a suspect, but Jenny never saw handcuffs.

  She’d dropped Dorothy at home, making an excuse that she had to catch up with Liam, then headed straight back here and waited. Three hours. An hour ago she was bursting to piss so nipped into The High Dive bar to use the toilet, and she worried ever since that she’d missed Shona coming out. Or maybe she was being held overnight, or taken out the back door. There were a million ways it could go wrong, but this was all she had.

  Another hour and it paid off. She recognised Shona as she came out the revolving door followed by a glistening, fat man in a grey suit, her solicitor. They shook hands and she flagged a cab in the street. Jenny fired up the engine and followed. Round the Meadows, Marchmont, Bruntsfield, they skirted clo
se to the Skelf house and Jenny wondered what was happening inside. Then they were at Ritchie Place, a quiet street of Victorian tenements, double-parked cars making it a slalom. Jenny pulled the van alongside a Skoda and jumped out as Shona paid the taxi driver.

  ‘Hey.’

  Shona turned. She was early thirties, black hair in a fringe, dark eyes. Nothing special to look at just young, no bags under her eyes, no baggage. And she was tall, which wasn’t Craig’s type, he liked to look down on his women if Jenny and Fiona were anything to go by.

  ‘Where is he?’

  Jenny strode towards her as she reached into her bag and pulled out keys. Shona looked at the door to number nine then turned back and made her hand into a fist, the point of a key shoved between her knuckles as a weapon. But she looked scared, more than scared, downtrodden, wiped out. Jenny tried to shake the twinge of sympathy from her mind.

  Shona nodded in recognition. ‘You’re Jenny, he talked about you.’

  That put Jenny on the back foot. She stood a few feet away, felt the bitterness in the air, brooding clouds overhead, the taste of rain. Shona looked defeated.

  ‘Really?’ Jenny said.

  Shona swallowed. ‘Not at the start, obviously. At the start he was all charming and attentive. I guess you know what I’m talking about.’

  Jenny nodded.

  Shona shook her head. ‘You’ve no idea what it’s like in that place. It wears you down being around all that bitterness and aggression, it grinds you to dust. When someone comes along and notices that you’re a woman under that hideous uniform, it’s something.’

  Jenny didn’t want to interrupt, the more Shona talked, the more she might say something useful.

  ‘It’s not hard to find time alone together and we couldn’t help ourselves. But he was playing me the whole time, obviously. Using me to get out. I was pathetic.’

  ‘You said he mentioned me,’ Jenny said.

  Shona stared at her. ‘He changed, just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘As soon as we were away from the van. Then he couldn’t stop talking about you.’