The Viv Fraser Mysteries Box Set 2

by V Clifford

  She ordered two strawberry daiquiris and while the barman gave them his meticulous attention she hoisted herself onto the bar again to check whether she’d been seeing things. If it was Archie, he had made a quick exit or had disappeared into the back corridor where the loos were. She took the cocktails over to the table and said to Ellie, ‘I’ll just be a minute. Got to check something out.’

  Ellie was about to object but flipped her hand at Viv to take off.

  Loos for all genders were in the same internal corridor at the back of the pub. With no access to natural light, the pub owners had over compensated with bright LEDs: harsh after the soft tones in the bar. There was no one in the corridor, but as Viv passed the door to the men’s a guy came out, revealing a brief view of Archie up against the sinks with a young man leaning on his chest. The door swung shut. But the shock on Archie’s face had left Viv in no doubt that he hadn’t wanted to be seen. She waited, and within a few seconds the young man came storming out and shot Viv a filthy glare. She waited. No sign of Archie. She waited. Still no sign. She pushed the door and there he stood rubbing his hands over his face. Distressed or frustrated? He obviously hadn’t been home, since he was wearing the same clothes as on the mini-bus. She said, ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sure. What the hell are you doing here?’

  She smiled. ‘I could ask you the same question. But since we’re both here it’s probably safe to say that our reasons are sympathetic.’

  His shoulders eased. ‘I don’t get it. I thought you and Mac were an item.’

  ‘You shouldn’t listen to propaganda. Besides why would it matter if we were? There would be nothing to stop me from drinking in here.’

  He snorted. ‘No, but you’d be labelled a fag hag.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Or maybe you can . . .’ he rocked his hand back and forth, ‘eeksy peeksy?’

  She laughed. ‘You learn that from your mum?’

  He nodded and smiled.

  ‘Me too. It must have been a generational get out clause. I’m not one for labels. As soon as someone pops me into a box I spring right back out.’

  He rubbed his hands roughly over his face again. ‘I don’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘Fair enough. But why would you . . .?’ She brushed the question away. ‘The police have a great gay . . .’

  He shot her a don’t-even-go-there look. ‘This had better not go in your article. Or was that just a cover?’

  She raised her hands. ‘It’s okay, your secret’s safe with me. I sure as hell hadn’t guessed.’ She turned to go.

  ‘Can I really trust you?’ His eyes screwed up and jutted his chin out. ‘You seem pretty pally with the bosses.’

  She snorted. ‘I’m not any more pally with them than with you. Work it out for yourself.’

  ‘Why was Gordon so adamant that you and Mac were an item?’

  ‘You’d have to ask him that. But I’m guessing his ego was bruised at not managing the swim very well, then he topped that by having a wobbly on the cliff. Gordon’s okay. He’ll be fine when he’s back in his comfort zone.’

  ‘But he was already pissed off with you on the bus. What was that about?’

  She shrugged, gave him a small wave, and returned to the bar. Ellie was sitting with two men who’d obviously decided she needed company.

  As Viv approached Ellie smiled. ‘See, told you I was with someone. But thanks for looking out for me.’

  They got up and looked Viv up and down. ‘Nice. Been together long?’

  Viv was about to put them straight, but Ellie said coyly, ‘Not long enough.’

  The men laughed and went over to the bar.

  ‘What the heck?’

  Ellie replied, ‘I was only taking the piss. Relax. It’d be like sleeping with my sister.’

  Viv raised her eyebrows. ‘That bad, eh?’

  Ellie punched her upper arm. ‘You! So, what’s got you hopping back and forth to the loo? Still got that hand-washing thing?

  ‘Piss off! I don’t do compulsive washing.’

  ‘No? The ways you have of dealing with stress have always been odd.’

  ‘Not that odd.’

  ‘Not how I remember you. As a teenager you wouldn’t go anywhere without a polybag and pockets full of tissues. What was that about?’ She sipped her drink and continued. ‘Get more than you bargained for on that job?’

  Viv was alarmed by Ellie’s observations. It hadn’t occurred to her that showering had become pathological, a symptom. Well not so as anyone would notice. And she did remember the tissue phase. She’d just swapped one neurosis for another, then another.

  Since Ellie had seen Ruddy’s car pull away outside the pub, she said, ‘You mean the car outside the . . .?’

  Ellie nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Oh, that. No, that was fine. But when I got back I saw Sal in the car park at Fettes with her . . . I’m not sure what to call her, girlfriend I suppose, too new to be partner.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Okay. I get that you weren’t ready to commit after that debacle with Dawn. But every time Sal asked you to make a plan you had an excuse not to. A woman can get bored waiting.’

  ‘I know, I know. It was just odd seeing her, that’s all. I don’t know who the new girl is or what she does, but she’s good looking.’

  Ellie raised her eyebrows. ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Just saying. You know on the way here I was thinking how difficult it is to shift stuff. Even Dawn still lurks in the recesses of my head, waiting for the next opportunity to trip me up. It’s like having a tiny stone in my shoe. There’s no getting away from her. Speaking about it makes me feel stupid.’ She gave a huge sigh and stared out of the plate glass windows onto the street. ‘I hated that I loved her so much. I’ll self-destruct if I don’t get it out.’ She rubbed her heart with her knuckles. ‘She’s still right here like a log that I can’t shift . . .’

  Ellie stretched over the table and rubbed Viv’s arm. ‘You’ll get through it, Viv. You know you’re probably revisiting other stuff. Stuff about your dad as well. And if you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. You’ll just have to wait. It will come right . . . I’m amazed, though, since she treated you so badly. You’d think it might be easier to move on.’

  ‘That’s just it. Couples who have the most fractious times seem to take longer to . . . it’s as if arguing was their sport . . . Just because she wasn’t the most honest of partners didn’t stop me from falling head over heels. I mean the fact that she was reticent made her a challenge. I’m not blaming her. I just need to find a way to stop her from leading me from the grave.’

  Ellie nodded earnestly and Viv laughed. ‘Stop that, you look like a nodding dog on the back shelf of a car.’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘Self-deception is the new black.’

  Viv laughed again.

  Ellie continued. ‘Listen, talking about self-deception, how about Dawn’s brother-in-law? What’s happened to him?’

  ‘It’s not been to court yet. My lawyer assures me he’ll do time. I’m not convinced.’

  Ellie gasped. ‘The sod had better. Who’s representing him?’

  Viv snorted. ‘Oh, he’s got good Counsel. Elliot.’

  Ellie shook her head knowingly. ‘Yeah. He’s a ticker.’

  ‘For sure, and he’s not got many ticks, if any, in the debit column. Still, I’ve got to do something about this Dawn stuff, or at least stop beating myself up about being such a poor judge of character – even my frickin’ dreams are haunted by her.’ She rubbed her hands over her face and up into her hair. ‘It’s weird, though. I always dream that things were much better than they were. It’s like I harbour a fantasy that I was wrong. Maybe I was. Maybe things weren’t as bad as I made them out to be.’

  ‘How can you think that, Viv? She was a proper bitch. She had women in every port, kept you dangling with false promises.’

  ‘I suppose that’s what’s difficult.’

  ‘What bit of it?’

  ‘The bit wher
e I was naive enough to hope; to want the bad stuff to be a figment of my over active imagination. But I was also arrogant enough to believe I’d be able to win her over.’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘You can’t believe that. She was a monster to you in the end.’

  ‘It could be the money. It could be that she entrusted me with everything.’

  ‘She didn’t entrust you. She encumbered you. Dumped a whole load of family politics in the form of land and trusts right in your lap. Don’t start rubbing out her wicked intentions. She had no good intentions and you know it.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, but I still don’t know what to do with it all. Although I think I had a breakthrough at the weekend, a moment when I did think about her without feeling pain.’

  ‘Great! It’s the beginning of the end. You don’t have to do anything. Just let it sit there until you feel an urge to buy an estate in the Highlands.’

  They giggled at the notion of Viv moving to the country. Both had been brought up on the streets of Longstone, a suburb of Edinburgh, and were suspicious of soft ground beneath their boots.

  Viv stretched. ‘Sorry to dump on you. I guess seeing Sal with someone brought all the shit back. Let’s get another drink.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘I think I owe you. My shout. Same again?’

  Viv nodded and grinned as Ellie slipped out of the booth and sashayed across to the bar. The men she’d been speaking to parted and let her in. The Copa had had a short but mixed history. The man who’d taken over in the last year had made some changes. Before, it had been a gay men’s bar with the odd women’s night as a gesture. Now it was completely mixed, with a club in the basement that attracted straight and gay because of the new DJ. The stairway to the basement was cordoned off with a thick red rope capped at each end with heavy brass hooks, as if it were a country house and the owners’ apartments were below ground. The loos were the measure of any pub for Viv, and she was impressed with what they’d done here, otherwise she wouldn’t have come back – well at least not as a patron.

  When Ellie returned she said, ‘Those guys recommend Spy. You know – the film with Melissa McCarthy? They said we’d pee our pants it’s so funny.’ She began checking her phone for a screening next door.

  ‘Oh all right, I could handle that. How about you?’

  ‘Sure. Not had a belly laugh for a while. But here, we’ve got these to drink first.’

  Viv accepted the fresh glass of strawberry daiquiri and sipped. ‘Mmm. He’s particularly good at these.’ She nodded to the barman. ‘Do you need something to eat?’

  ‘Nah. This has enough calories for one night. Besides a bucket of popcorn will keep us going.’

  Viv almost gagged at the idea of popcorn and wondered if she could sit through a whole film with the smell of it right next to her. She’d soon find out.

  They chatted for another half an hour then moved next door to the cinema. In all the time they’d been blethering Viv hadn’t seen Archie leave, and wondered if he’d used an emergency exit. Even if he’d been having sex back there it wouldn’t have taken that long.

  ‘Give me another two minutes.’ She wandered back to the corridor with the loos. No sign of Archie. She pushed open the Gents. No sign. She went back to the bar and said to the barman, ‘Is there another way out?’

  He hesitated. ‘Sure. You want to use it?’

  ‘No, I just wondered. Thanks. Your daiquiris were ace.’

  ‘Cheers. Any time.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Viv was in luck, since there was a long queue for the popcorn, and Ellie was too impatient to wait in it. The film was an excellent antidote. By the time Spy was over they were both aching with laughter and happy to head home. They sauntered arm in arm up to the top of Leith Walk where at the first bus stop on Princes Street Ellie caught the bus to her parents’. Viv jogged over the Waverley Bridge, up Market Street and took the steep steps leading to St Giles’ Street. There were even more people out and about now than there had been earlier. Festival fever. What a relief to close the door of her building, and rest against it for a moment before taking the stairs two at a time to her flat.

  Inside, she noticed a piece of paper that had jammed in the brushes of the letterbox – unusual since every flat had its own pigeonhole in the passage at the bottom of the stairs. All it said was, ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. It wasn’t what you think,’ signed A, with a doodle of a smiley face. Interesting but which A was it from? She guessed Angus, since he was closest, and knew where she lived, but what did he mean?

  Her brain was unsettled and she found herself Googling Angus again. For a millisecond she felt a twinge of guilt at trespassing into his life, but it passed. There were lots of entries. His career was ‘illustrious’. She was annoyed that she hadn’t heard of him. With so much to read she tucked one foot beneath her butt and scrolled. One photograph, of him in an embrace with a female, caught her eye. The caption read, ‘Angus Buchanan with Samantha Jones’.

  Jones was the woman she’d seen with Sal. Well, well. Did Angus know about Jones’ relationship with Sal? And if he did, was that his motivation for speaking to her?

  Now that Viv knew who Sal’s girlfriend was, she turned her attention to finding out everything she could about her. Viv said out loud, ‘Sam Jones. Sam Jones.’ Why did she think she knew the name? She laughed. She’d been in a meeting recently with Mac, Sal and Red and someone remarked on how like a sheep dog trial it sounded. She laughed again. They could easily add a Sam to their pack. Although in Viv’s world, to shorten someone’s name or call them by a nickname was likely a sign of affection. She wasn’t sure if Samantha would qualify. Viv was almost falling off her seat with tiredness, before she stopped scanning the info on Sal’s new love interest, who’d had a significant number of public love interests herself, all men. Viv was suspicious. It wasn’t that a woman couldn’t change her preferences, but it was odd that Samantha had left a string of good-lookers in her wake. Or was it? Samantha had attended an all-girl, Catholic school, which had its consequences for a girl’s sexuality. Nymphomania became common, as did the inability to look a man in the eye let alone get between the sheets with one. Samantha’s behaviour with Sal had struck Viv as overtly ‘out’, yet there was no evidence of this in her public history. Viv rubbed her hands over her face. What could that mean? Wanting the world to know who you were in love with was one thing, but being all over someone like a rash was just in bad taste surely? ‘Christ, listen to yourself.’

  She closed the laptop lid and took the computer to bed. With no intention of sleeping, she began a new search for Archie. With the number of old articles about his rugby prowess, he’d obviously been going places before the accident, but one particularly caught her attention. A photograph of a group of guys looking the worse for a hard game, with their filthy strips and knees, swollen eyes, and mouths still wearing gum-shields. Archie was at one end, clinging round the shoulders of a much smaller stockier player. The look in Archie’s eyes wasn’t euphoric like the rest of them – he appeared distracted, screwing up his eyes, seeking out something or someone beyond the camera.

  Apart from rugby there wasn’t much else to go on, so, as a shot in the dark, she scanned the police’s gay web pages and was surprised to find an image of Archie taken during a charity walk – so much for not wanting anyone to know. Still, none of what she’d read added up to much. In fact, the more she read about him the less she knew.

  She quickly flicked through Festival flyers but saw nothing of interest, unless she planned to attend a knife-swallowing show tomorrow. Time for sleep.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Viv’s first client, Marjory Cook, was a part-time GP who lived life at 100 miles an hour. Her Victorian terraced house in a cul-de-sac in Newington looked as if it was stuck in the land that time forgot, complete with Virginia creeper climbing up the walls. Drainpipes, windows and doors painted in a foreboding dark green. Inside, although more Parker Knoll than Philippe Starck, it was tidy, every i
tem functional, without consideration for style or coordination. As she approached the gate a downstairs curtain twitched – Marjory ready and waiting. She didn’t even have to ring the bell, but braced herself for the smell of cats. Marjory opened the door and ushered her into the kitchen, checking her watch as she walked. Viv, a stickler for punctuality, didn’t dally with any of her clients. Her hair days were tightly scheduled, with routes between clients meticulously worked out in advance. The festivals made driving slower, but rarely interfered with Viv’s work.

  ‘Hello, Viv. Glad you’re on time. I’ve got something else on in forty minutes.’

  ‘No problem.’ Viv quickly moved to the spot in the kitchen that she always used to set up her floor cover. She plugged in her dryer, selected the scissors she would use, pulled out an unforgiving heavy Ergol chair that could do with a cushion and, placing it in the centre of her cutting mat, she indicated to Marjory to take a seat. Marjory was prepared. He wiry fair hair was damp from an earlier wash.

  Viv swept a gown round her narrow angular shoulders and clasped it loosely at the nape of her neck. Marjory hated the sensation of anything near her throat. Viv sprayed her hair with water from a small misting bottle. ‘Now, what are we doing with you today?’

  Marjory seemed agitated, but Viv put this down to the tight time slot.

  ‘I’d just like it trimmed. The usual, really. If only I could get a little bit more height on the crown.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Viv snipped in silence, until she noticed Marjory’s shoulders tighten and a tear escape down the pale skin of her papery cheek. She batted the tear away with the back of her hand. Viv continued, hoping that Marjory would get herself together. No such luck. Marjory suddenly curled forward in the chair and pushed her fists into her eyes. She cried, proper crying, silently into her knees with shoulders heaving. Viv had never seen Marjory in anything other than super-efficient mode, and although she realised that everyone was bound to crash sometime she wouldn’t have expected her to let it happen when anyone else was around.