Christopher Brookmyre (15 page)

'So do you want me to keep Rachel here while you . . . ?'

'Do you mind? I'm really sorry it's such short notice.'

'Not at all. It's no bother.'

'Are you sure? Did you have plans?'

'No, no,' Jane told her, grateful that her gym bag was still upstairs on her bed, and not lying in the hall next to the front door. It wasn't a vote of confidence in her outfit that it didn't announce 'lunch date' to Michelle, but then anything she wore out to lunch with Catherine would look frumpy by comparison. She'd wait until Michelle was gone before phoning Catherine to say she couldn't make it. Jane had been there often enough to know a harassed mum could do without feelings of guilt and obligation on top of everything else. It was one of the more constructive ways in which grannies ken't the score.

It was no great loss. She got out to lunch with Catherine every couple of weeks or so, and she generally went to evening sessions at the gym these days anyway. It would have been more of a blow if she'd had to cancel her plans for the next day, when she was down to do some voluntary work at an assistance centre for asylum seekers. She'd been going there two, sometimes three days a week, as many hours as she could spare, for just over a month. Mainly she worked the phones, chasing and coordinating donations of food, clothing and furniture, as well as helping those struggling with English to fill in the masses of paperwork.

She'd done voluntary work in the past, when she didn't have paying jobs to occupy her, but her duties as a grandmother had always got in the way. Both of Michelle's kids were in nursery now, and though she knew there would still be emergencies such as this, they were likely to be fewer and further between. Places like the asylum centre needed you to be dependable, no matter how much or how little time you said you could spare, and just because they weren't paying her didn't mean she owed them less than her full commitment.

'Do you want me to bring Rachel over to yours later, then? Tea-time?' Jane asked.

'Och, no, I'll come and collect her.'

'It's no bother.'

'No, honestly. I'll only need a couple of hours.'

'Can we go to Kaos Kottage, Gran?' Rachel asked.

'No, Rachel,' Michelle interjected. 'Gran's got things to do. You'll have to be a good girl and play here for a wee while.'

'Aw, but Mum . . . '

'I don't mind taking her.'

'I know, but she shouldn't just ask the minute she's in the door.'

'Ach, she's only a wean. I'd have probably suggested it anyway. Looks like it might rain. That would get us out the house, at least - it's indoors.'

'Yes!' Rachel celebrated. 'That's brrrilliant. I love Kaos Kottage.'

'Well, tell you what, Mum, I'll meet you there once I've done my rounds, and I'll take Rachel home after that. I can go to the chemist's in the supermarket next door if Thomas needs an antibiotic.'

'Sure. Just take whatever time you need. I'll meet you there, when? About three?'

'Two should be plenty of time.'

'Well, don't rush. I'll take Rachel over there in a wee while and I'll see you when I see you.'

'Thanks, Mum. And again, I'm really sorry to just dump on you like this.'

'Not at all. Do you want a wee cuppa before you go? A biscuit or something for Thomas?'

'No, he's not touching a thing at the moment. Only milk. I think I'll just get my skates on. I was lucky to get a doctor's appointment, so I'd better not be late.'

Michelle left again without having ventured further than the downstairs hall, and without Jane getting even a kiss from Thomas, who was clinging on to his mum like a baby ape on a wildlife documentary. Jane watched Michelle return to her car and strap Thomas into his child-seat, staying in the doorway, with Rachel peeking around her legs, hoping against probability that she'd get a wave from the wee man as they pulled away. She didn't. Instead, she could tell he'd started crying, quite probably because they hadn't stayed at his gran's even though he hadn't wanted anything to do with her. The black Vectra pulled away shortly after them, executing a three-point turn to head off in the same direction. Just as well for him, as Jane had been considering getting Rachel to fill her potty, never mind dirty dishwater. She closed the door.

'Now, what are
we
going to get up to?' she asked. Rachel just grinned.

Looking after Rachel was an easy shift. It would have been a lot tougher had it been Thomas she was left alone with for a few hours, without the distraction and assistance of his older sister. There was a big difference in that year between them, Thomas still sufficiently early in his toddlerhood to occasionally remind her he was little more than a walking baby. Everyone talked about the joys and the hardships, but for most of the first three years, as Jane remembered from Ross and Michelle's infancies, motherhood mainly consisted of gaping aeons of numbing tedium punctuated by sudden, heartstopping moments of panic. After that, the weans got a lot more interesting and far easier to handle. You could negotiate with them, for one thing, which was how she procured Rachel's cooperative assent that when they went to Kaos Kottage later, it would be via Sainsbury's (it being crucial that you saw your side of the deal honoured before the welching little buggers got theirs). The supermarket was actually one place Thomas tended to be better behaved than his big sister, as he was usually content to sit and watch the shelves and shoppers go by. Rachel, these days, insisted she was too big to go in the kiddy-seat, and so trailed around hanging on to the trolley, deluding herself that she was the one pushing it. This more than doubled how long it took to get in and out with even a handful of items, but one thing Jane couldn't complain about in her life was that she was short of time. It was also far preferable to wrestling a struggling wee madam into the trolley-seat and listening to her whines and protests echo around the aisles.

On this occasion, Rachel was impeccably behaved, possibly because even a trip to the supermarket with her gran was a result when she'd been expecting another day at nursery. Impeccable behaviour, of course, didn't mean the trip passed without incident. Jane had sat her shoulder bag on the unoccupied kiddy-seat as she guided the trolley and its hanger-on around the store. Her non-passenger being such a stated impediment to swift progress, she occasionally parked the thing and told Rachel to stay put while she nipped further along an aisle to quickly retrieve an item from a shelf. The milk shelves were always busy with shoppers, so she'd left Rachel a few yards back, next to the cheese, while she grabbed a two-litre carton. Milk in hand, she turned back to see a young woman stretching across Rachel and the trolley to reach some Parmesan.

'Let me get that out of your way,' Jane said, hastening back.

'It's no problem, honestly,' the girl replied. She sounded American, which made her pretty exotic in EK. 'I don't mean to hurry you.'

'Lady dropped her phone,' Rachel said. 'It's in your bag, Gran. Let's phone Mummy.'

'Have you?' Jane asked.

The girl hurriedly patted a pocket and produced a mobile, glancing at it with relief. 'No, pleased to say. Gave me a fright, though.'

'She likes to keep everyone on their toes,' Jane remarked. 'Don't you?'

'She dropped her phone. Ring, ring. Ring, ring.'

'Report status.'

'
Pardon?
Oh,
d'accord
.'

'Yes, they speak English here. English, remember?'

'Shoh thang.'

'Your accent is a major point of witness identification. Bear that in mind.'

'Difficult to get by with just mime. I could try a Scottish accent.'

'I fear that would be an even greater point of witness identification. So, to repeat, report status.'

'Status is I have the vehicle in sight, two car lengths ahead, still in the car park. They've just left the supermarket and are indicating right.'

'Two car lengths is good. Just don't get close enough to arouse suspicion.'

'I'm not tracking a professional here. Nothing is going to arouse suspicion. Ordinary people do not expect to be tailed. Have you ever travelled with a child in the car? She's got enough distraction to keep her thoughts off who's in the rear-view mirror.'

'So what happened in the supermarket? You said . . . '

'I know. I thought I might have an opportunity, but it was too risky.'

'Understood. But the longer we wait . . . '

'The more risk we may have to take, I know. But I assure you, it wasn't right, not when pursuit is a factor. I'm still queuing to get out of this car park. Are you still where you said last?'

'Yes. Ready to move out.'

'Oh, but wait wait wait. This looks promising. Yes.
D'accord.
'

'What?'

'She's headed for, em, I don't know what you'd call it. An indoor playground. 'Kaos Kottage'. Lots of cars outside, looks busy. Movement, crowd, distraction. Could be ideal.'

'Roger that. Where do you want me?'

'Stay where you are. Seclusion for the vehicle switch is worth more than shortening possible pursuit time.'

'Okay. Standing by.'

Rachel was bouncing up and down in her car-seat as Jane pulled her Civic into the road leading to Kaos Kottage, the wee one having caught sight of it as soon as they came over the brow of the hill. It was hard to miss, being the size of an aircraft hangar, its colourful sign huge enough to be recognisable from the main road two hundred yards away, and no doubt, therefore, the occasion of a million tantrums as kids were driven past on the way to less desired destinations. Rachel had got into quite an energetic rhythm by the time they neared the car park, though it was unlikely to prove a significant draw on her energy reserves.

'Boing, boing, Kaos Kottage, boing, boing, Kaos Kottage,' she chanted. Parking was side-by-side either flank of a cul-de-sac that ran in front of the hangar, ending at a low-rise concrete warehouse she presumed to belong to the abutting Safeway, recently usurped by the new Sainsbury's as her supermarket of choice. She couldn't see any spaces, which was bad news. She'd have to turn, go back around the roundabout and then down the other side of the hill to the corner of the supermarket car park remotest from the store but closest to the play-house. From there, a short path led directly to the cul-de-sac, so it wasn't the distance that was the issue. It was the fact that a full car park meant a full house, which meant her ears would be ringing far worse than if she'd been to see Motorhead. A few of the cars might belong to customers at the adjoining hairdressing salon, but it would be a tiny ratio, even smaller than the corresponding proportion of floorspace the two businesses incongruously occupied within the cavernous building. Jane had always wondered about the juxtaposition, what conglomerate economy they were thinking about, or whether they were thinking at all. Maybe the idea was that a pair of young mums could take turns amid the pandemonium while the other enjoyed a bit of adult pampering. The flaw was that it was a bum deal if you got first shift in the salon, given what your hair could look like when you emerged from the indoor jungle.

She drove into the cul-de-sac, intending to U-turn on the T-shaped apron at the end, but before she got that far she noticed someone pull out at her back, right in front of the doors.

'We're in luck,' she told Rachel, before reversing a dozen yards or so and swinging the Civic neatly backwards into the vacated space. She spotted Michelle's Renault over on the other side and checked her watch. It was just coming up for two. She wasn't late, but she had intended to be here a good bit earlier. Who knew where the time went? One minute it was eleven o'clock; she'd made Rachel some lunch and then been coerced into playing at tea-parties with every non-breakable utensil in the kitchen, and whoosh, two hours had evaporated.

She held Rachel's hand tightly after lifting her out of the Civic. Rachel was straining on her arm, desperate to get across to the play-house, and the possibility of oncoming traffic would not be uppermost in her little mind. Jane did an exaggerated demonstration of looking left, right and left again, before declaring it safe to proceed. A man walked briskly past on the other side, approaching from the far end of the cul-de-sac. He reached the door a few seconds before them but neglected to hold it open.

Jane had to stop herself muttering anything that Rachel might repeat, denying herself from even observing 'what a rude man', as she knew he'd be directly in front of them at the reception desk. Oh well, let he who is without sin, she thought. He was probably running late to pick someone up, juggling several commitments at once. She'd been there herself, so stressed over the kids that you lose all perspective until a three-second wait holding a door for someone becomes an unaffordable delay. The noise came at her as she held open the glass door for Rachel. It was muted by a further wall of glass beyond the foyer, but this merely served to emphasise what level of volume was being contained. A tug on the next set of glass double doors unleashed it. Bedlam.

The reception counter was flanked on either side by magnetically locked, waist-high gates, entrance on the left, exit on the right. The staff noted your surname and number of kids as they took your money, checking the details off on the way out before they let you leave. Given how hard it was to keep track of the little daredevils once they were inside the place, it provided a welcome reassurance to the adults that their charges couldn't escape, particularly so given that staff often deserted the reception counter to provide assistance elsewhere. The downside, as Michelle had joked, was that you couldn't leave any behind, either.

A woman was edging a double-wide pushchair through the entrance gate as Jane and Rachel came in, leaving Mr Unchivalrous at the front of the queue. Jane, as ever, had to restrain Rachel from scurrying forward and ramming the barrier.

'Are you together?' the girl behind the counter asked. The man turned briefly to glance at the pair of them. 'No,' he said. 'I am meeting someone inside. My wife - she is already here.' He sounded foreign, possibly French, though it was hard to make out much above the din coming from the play area.