by Pat Young
‘Thanks for comin fur me, Sur,’ said TJ, ignoring them.
‘No bother, TJ. Glad you could make it.’
The banter and the hilarity carried on for much of the journey although Jimbo somehow managed to sleep through the racket. Probably been out all night and sleeping off the effects of drink. Or something worse.
Before long they left the main road and took the minor one that led up towards the ruined castle. When that road ran out, they turned on to a track that wound its way up over the hill to the deep loch that served as a reservoir.
Perched on the hillside above the water sat the Logiemuir Outdoor Education Centre, commonly known as The Bothy. Every time he saw it Joe thought how perfect it was for purpose; it was close to town but gave easy and fast access to the hills, yet it was far enough off the beaten track to be safe from vandalism.
‘Sur? What was this place before? Somebody’s house?’
‘Don’t be daft, Dykesy. Who’d stay up here? There’s no even a chippy.’
‘Ah would.’
‘Aye, it’s pure peaceful. Nae fights nor nothin.’
Joe smiled, proud to think these town kids loved the place almost as much as he did.
‘You’re bang on, Dykesy. It used to be a shepherd’s cottage, then the council bought it and set it up as an outdoors centre. They built that extension on the back to accommodate equipment.’
‘So thieving wee basturts like us couldnae steal it, eh, Sur?’
The boys were out of the van before the wheels stopped turning, even Jimbo. Joe stood rubbing his sore shoulder and watched them scampering like puppies, grabbing each other and rolling about on the damp grass. He stood still, breathing in the peaty air and envying the boys their energy. As if to welcome them, the sun broke through, turning the loch to molten silver. Clouds swept in, a dark curtain that killed the light and threatened rain.
For the moment, at least, it was dry. After years of working outdoors in West of Scotland weather, Joe had learned to be thankful for small mercies.
‘Right lads, let’s get the gear on. We’ve no time to waste if we’re to get a decent walk done before it starts to get dark.’ They gathered at his side, jostling for position as he unlocked the door to the extension, the scent of their body sprays overwhelming. Say what you would about these boys, they liked to smell good. They went through the door like a rugby scrum and raced for their boots and waterproofs.
Their enthusiasm made Joe happy and sad at the same time. He thought about the newspaper reporter and hoped she would do a good job. Deep in his inside pocket his phone vibrated against his ribs. Signal must be good this morning. He checked the screen and swore under his breath.
‘Hi Joe, It’s Carole at headquarters. Mr Smeaton would like a word with you.’
This was a new development. Smeaton never contacted him directly. He usually demanded people report to his office.
‘Joe, are you there?’
‘I’m at the bothy, Carole. The signal’s iffy.’
‘Can I put him through?’
‘Any idea what it’s about?’
‘Not really. Can you hear me, Joe?’
He played for time. ‘You’re coming and going.’
‘Don’t tell him I told you this, okay?’
‘I won’t. You know me.’
‘Well,’ Carole hesitated and Joe’s heart sank. ‘He just took a call.’
Her voice faded. The line? Or was she whispering?
‘Sorry?’ said Joe.
‘I said someone phoned him, from The Record, and he went through the roof.’
‘And?’
‘And then he asked me to get you on your mobile.’
Joe felt a lurch deep down in his gut. Should he take the call now or wait until he had time to gather his thoughts? Was that just postponing the inevitable?
‘I’ll call him back.’
‘He won’t like it.’
‘I know he won’t, Carole, but I can’t take his call right now.’
‘Okay, Joe, but on your head be it.’
‘Tell him we got cut off, will you? Just say the line was bad.’
When she didn’t answer, he checked the bars.
No signal. No lie.
***
CHAPTER 13
When Sheila woke on Monday morning, it was to a second day in a freezing cold house with no hot water. As she stood shivering in the bathroom, she abandoned her plan to have a shower. From the warmth of the duvet she’d promised herself that, no matter how icy the water, she’d take a quick five minutes under the spray and wash her hair. Five seconds had been enough to change her mind.
She’d stayed in all day yesterday waiting for Wright Plumbers. Always Wright on time, claimed their advert. Sheila cursed them. Why not be honest with people and say they were too busy? Or too lazy-arsed to come out on a Sunday.
A quick lick with a flannel and a ‘Paisley shower’ it would have to be. She kept her finger on the button of her body spray until she was choking on the chemicals.
Then she looked in the mirror. ‘Jeeso, you’re like a punk on a bad hair day,’ she said to her reflection. Under no circumstances could she appear in public looking such a mess.
She needed to get a plumber today. One day was an inconvenience. Any more would be insanitary.
Then she’d call Liz and find out why she hadn’t answered her phone yesterday. Sheila felt a pang of guilt and hoped her friend had at least listened to her voicemail.
Magic Matt claimed to be the Number One Plumber in the Number Two business. He was the first one to answer and he was available that afternoon. Sheila didn’t normally like workmen in the house when she was at work, but beggars, choosers and all that.
She was pulling into the school carpark when she realised she’d forgotten to phone Liz. The day was even crazier than usual and it was lunchtime before Sheila had a spare moment to think about Liz again. She went to her office and dialled Cavenhead Primary’s number.
‘Sorry, Miss Scott,’ said Liz’s secretary. ‘I’m afraid Miss Douglas wasn’t in school today. We haven’t heard from her.’
‘Oh dear, that’s not like Liz, but I’m not all that surprised. When I spoke to her at the weekend she thought maybe she was coming down with flu.’
‘Poor thing. Will you please tell her we’re all asking for her and hoping she gets well soon?’
‘I’ll do that, Linda. Thanks.’
‘Miss Scott? Can you let me know if she’s going to be off for a while? We’ll have a whip round and send her some nice flowers.’
So much for the ‘cold’ head-teacher with the ‘unhappy staff’. Sheila dialled Liz’s number, sighing when it went straight to voicemail again.
The next thing Sheila knew, it was three-thirty and everyone, including her secretary, was heading home.
‘Before I go, Miss Scott. Someone called earlier offering to help with the panto. ‘Recently retired from education’ was how she described herself. She sounds very nice so I asked for her number and said you’d call her back. Is that okay?’
‘Okay? It’s fabulous, I’ll call her right now, thanks, Marion.’
The phone was answered immediately.
‘Hi, I’m Marty Dunlop. You don’t really know me but I’ve worked with your friend Liz on her Across the Divide project and though you may not remember, I’ve seen you at Head-teachers’ meetings in the past.’
‘Marty? Of course I remember you. You were at Moorcroft Academy. I was shocked to hear you’d resigned.’
‘Yes, biggest mistake I ever made in my life. That’s why I’m calling, in a way, although it’s mostly to please my husband, I must say.’
Marty explained that she was frustrated by early retirement and getting on her husband’s nerves. ‘I need to find something to do that challenges me. Before I go mad.’
Sheila laughed. ‘You’ve come to the right place, Madam. A panto in Bankside - this could be the challenge of our lives.’
Sheila made arrangements to
meet Marty then rung off and dialled Liz’s home number followed by her mobile. The first rang out unanswered and the second went straight to voicemail. Again. Sheila must have left at least ten voicemails since yesterday, the first from outside Liz’s door on her way home from church. She’d stood ringing the bell and banging on the door before she’d given up and gone home, trying Liz’s number every hour or so but never getting an answer.
‘Hello, It’s Florence Nightingale again, calling to let you know I’ll be there soon to make you a special cocktail - a Citrus Sparkle - Lucozade and Lemsip.’ Sheila smiled at her own joke then added, ‘Just going home to change first. There’s a vomiting bug going round, probably what you’ve got, and I’m afraid a tiny boy in Primary One mistook my skirt for the toilet pan. Occupational hazard, I guess. Right, see you asap.’
The first thing Sheila did when she got home was touch the hall radiator. It was warm. Thanking God, she opened the bathroom door and turned on the hot tap. It ran cold for long enough to worry her and then gradually heated up. She gave her hands a quick wash and dried them on the towel on the rail. She’d have to call Matt the plumber and thank him for working his magic.
She looked with longing at her bathtub, perched there on its claw feet, waiting for her to succumb to temptation. She could fill it to the brim, throw in a bath bomb and settle deep into the bubbles. Her day had been hectic and a soak would revitalise her, but she couldn’t relax until she had checked on Liz. A quick shower, a real one this time, would have to do.
When she reached Liz’s gate, the house looked the same as yesterday, windows dark in the failing light of the dying day. There was still no sign of Liz’s car. Nothing about the situation felt right. Sheila ran to the front door and rang the bell, then banged on the glass with her fist. When there was no response, she opened the letter box and bawled, ‘Liz. Open the door.’ Aware she sounded slightly hysterical she told herself to calm down and think.
She went round to the back door and tried the handle. On tiptoe, she put her face to the glass of the kitchen window, but it was too dark inside to see anything. A sudden noise made her start. Her heart raced as something touched her leg - Jaffa. He wound himself round and round her ankles. She laughed at how easily she had been spooked and said, ‘Hey, Jaffa,’ more to hear a human voice than to communicate with the cat. She wasn’t keen on cats and this one was a particularly aloof member of the species. ‘Where’s Liz got to, eh, Puss?’ She stretched out a hand to stroke him, but the cat slunk back in through its personal door, the flap dropping into place with a slap.
Sheila straightened up and walked to the wall at the bottom of the garden. It was spooky, this place, with its high hedge and thick bushes. Liz’s parents had liked to keep themselves to themselves.
She looked at the upstairs window, hoping to see a light in the study. Maybe Liz was working, too engrossed to answer the phone or hear the doorbell. The windows showed only the reflection of a fast-setting sun. The days were short and this garden was getting too gloomy for comfort. Stepping over a pile of clay pots that had been emptied, cleaned and ready for spring bulbs, Sheila took the shortest route to the back door.
On a sudden whim, she flung herself at it, bashing her shoulder against the wood. They made it look so easy in the movies. In reality it hurt like billy-oh. She rubbed at her shoulder and wondered if she’d done any lasting damage. This was stupid. She was never going to break down a door by herself.
She remembered Liz’s habit of leaving her key in the lock. If Sheila could break the glass she could reach in and turn the key. It was worth a try. She pulled the sleeve of her jacket down over her hand and grabbed the fleece in her fingers, trying to make a pad to protect her fist. Without stopping to think too much, she pulled her arm back and punched the glass as hard as she could. The pane remained intact but she suspected her knuckles might be broken. Cradling her aching fingers in the crook of her sore arm, she looked around for something hard she could throw. She ran to the pile of clay pots at the foot of the garden. She grabbed the first one she could lift, took it to the back door, raised it high and hurled it at the glass panel. In the silence of the enclosed garden the shattering glass sounded like an explosion. The cat shot out the flap in an orange streak and disappeared into the twilight. With great care Sheila inserted her hand through the jagged edges.
‘Hey! What the devil do you think you’re doing?’
***
CHAPTER 14
‘Try a few sips, dear. It’ll help.’
Sheila looked at the concerned face peering into hers. She took the steaming cup and raised it to her lips. The first sip burned the tip of her tongue.
‘Mind now, it’s hot. And there’s a drop of brandy in it.’
The aftertaste was strong and sweet. Despite the pain of her scorched tongue she could taste the brandy and was glad of it. She tried a grateful smile, but was trying hard to maintain a stiff upper lip. She sensed that another kind word from Liz’s neighbour might be enough to set her off.
A young woman constable, who introduced herself as Norma, was sitting on the couch next to her, notebook at the ready.
‘Do you think you could answer a few questions, Miss Scott?’
Sheila shook her head, the tiniest movement from side to side. Not because she was unwilling to help, but because she couldn’t bring herself to accept any of this.
‘Take your time,’ said Norma, in such a gentle voice that Sheila wanted to weep. She had to pull herself together. She drained her tea, enjoying the syrupy sugar that had pooled in the bottom of the cup, then cleared her throat and said, ‘It’s okay, I’m fine.’
‘When last did you see Miss Douglas?’
‘I last,’ Sheila’s voice caught on the finality of the word. Norma handed her a tissue. ‘Sorry, can we start again, please?’
Norma nodded and touched the back of Sheila’s hand. The sympathy in the gesture caused another delay while Sheila mopped her eyes and blew her nose.
‘I spoke to her on Saturday morning, but Tuesday would be the last time I saw her, I suppose. We watched Coronation Street together, she’s a great Corrie fan.’ Sheila noticed the sad smile on the woman’s face and said, ‘Should I be saying was?’
Norma gave a slight tilt of her head. ‘We don’t know for sure.’
It might not be official yet, but Sheila knew her best friend was dead. Her whole body felt as numb as her burnt tongue. The nerve endings were still there, still functioning, but shocked and damaged.
‘How would you say Miss Douglas was when you last spoke to her?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Did Miss Douglas seem upset, worried about anything, different from her usual self?’
Sheila recalled the conversation she’d had with Liz on Saturday morning. The answers were yes, yes and yes. As she watched her story being transcribed into a police notebook, she told Norma that Liz was very worried about a forthcoming inspection of her school.
‘Who wouldn’t be?’
‘Exactly. It’s stressful for everyone but the head-teacher always carries the burden of responsibility. Liz was very conscientious and took any criticism to heart. She was often upset about things her boss said to her. I was always telling her to try to forget about school at the weekend, take a complete break.’
‘So you phoned on Saturday?’
‘That’s right. I was planning to come over but Liz said she was feeling rotten and insisted I wasn’t to come.’ It seemed to Sheila that millennia had passed since the last time she spoke to Liz. ‘I agreed to wait and see her on Sunday, yesterday, that is. But she didn’t answer the door, or the phone.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Middle of the day. I came round after church.’
Sheila’s numbness was beginning to wear off, thawing like frozen fingers on a winter’s day.
‘And what did you do?’
‘I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door. Then I looked in the windows and shouted through t
he letterbox. Something didn’t feel right. Then I noticed her car was missing and I wondered if she’d gone away. But that didn’t make sense either. She’d have told me if she was planning to go somewhere. Or she’d have asked me to go with her.’
‘Did you think of calling the police?’
‘No, I didn’t. I just had a quick look round the back and then I went home.’ Sheila remembered feeling a bit peeved with her friend, but she didn’t want to sound childish. Embarrassment made her snippy.
‘Are you saying I should have done something sooner?’
‘No. I’m just trying to get a sequence of events. When you came back tonight, you decided to break in. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because I knew she hadn’t been in to work and Liz would never take a buckshee day off. Never. I thought she must be too ill to get out of bed and answer the door.’
‘Did you feel suspicious?’
‘I felt worried.’
Before she could add that she was also feeling guilty, Sheila heard heavy, slow footsteps on the stairs. Surely they needed to move faster than that to save a life. Sheila ran into the hall.
‘Sorry, dear. We did everything we could.’ The paramedics walked on.
‘Wait, do you think I could have saved her life? If I’d broken in earlier?’
‘We can’t say, sorry.’
Sheila watched as they carried her friend out to the ambulance. She couldn’t bear to contemplate their destination. Norma touched her arm and said, in a very gentle voice, ‘I’ll let you have a moment.’
Sheila flapped a hand fan-like in front of her face, as if she could waft away the grief. She tried to speak, failed and buried her face in her hands.
Norma said, ‘That’s been a great help, thank you. We’ll be in touch. Will you manage to make it home or is there someone you can call to pick you up?’
‘I’ll be fine. Anyway, I need my car for work in the morning. If I can face it.’
‘I’m sure your boss will understand if you need a few days off. You’ve had a real shock.’