Garnethill by Denise Mina (28 page)

Liam waved out of the window. "We gonnae let the cunt in?" he asked.

"Got to," she said. "Don't let on, Liam, eh?"

Liam stomped down the stairs. She could hear the front door swing open and Benny greeting Liam in a loud happy call. Liam grunted something.

Benny walked up the stairs and stood in the doorway. "All right, Mauri?" He smiled. "Just passing. I had my first exam today."

"Right. I didn't think they had exams on Saturdays anymore."

Benny shrugged. "Old-fashioned college."

"How did it go?"

"Okay."

Liam brushed past him gruffly and picked up his cup of tea.

"How are ye, Liam, man?" asked Benny.

"Fine," said Liam, picking up a bit of paper from the desk and pretending to read it.

Benny paused for a still moment and looked at him, confused by his mood. He turned to Maureen and made a bewildered face. She raised an eyebrow. "Want a cup of tea, then?" she said, walking toward the door and motioning for him to follow her. They went downstairs to the kitchen.

It was chaotic: the police seemed to have concentrated their search in there. Liam usually left it a mess anyway because it was next to the front room. The window was almost opaque with dirt, the floor was half ripped lino, half bare rotting floorboards. Fossilized dirt had turned the old cooker from white to an uneven brown. The police had emptied spice jars into the sink, the contents of the fridge and freezer were stacked on the table and had defrosted over the surface and onto the floor. The crockery, cutlery and saucepans had been taken out of the cupboards and left in piles on the work tops.

"What's wrong with Liam now?" asked Benny, unperturbed by the state of the kitchen.

"It's family stuff. Winnie's turned rabid."

"No, really?"

"Yeah," she said, and began to cry. She tried to stop but couldn't help herself. She was struggling for breath, gasping and weeping open-faced like a lost child. Benny put his arms around her and whispered consolations into her damp hair. She murmured his name, repeating it over and over, holding him tight until she'd calmed down.

"What's she done?" he said when she let go. He rubbed her back gently. "What's she done now, Mauri?"

She could see Liam over Benny's shoulder, walking through the front room toward them. She held Benny tight. "She's lost it. She went mental and threw Liam out of the house."

She caught Liam's eye over Benny's shoulder and gave him a hard look. Benny pressed his face into her neck. "You all right now?" he muttered.

"I'm all right," she said. "It's not the best run of luck I've ever had, though, is it?"

"Guess not," he said.

Liam put the kettle on. "Benny, man, how'd the exam go?" he said, smiling genially.

They brought some big cushions and the portable telly from Liam's bedroom into the upstairs room so they could watch
Repo Man
on TV. She hadn't realized but the day had worn her out. She lay down to rest her eyes during the ads and fell asleep. They covered her with a duvet.

She woke up in the middle of the night, clammy in her day clothes, and undressed sleepily as she made her way to the spare bedroom, falling asleep the moment she lay down. She dreamed that Martin was combing her hair to comfort her.

Chapter 24

YVONNE

Before she even opened her eyes the next morning she knew that it was time to move home to Garnethill.

She was going to make Liam breakfast but when she looked in on him he was still asleep. There was a large hole in the floor next to his bed: the floorboards had been lifted and left next to the empty space. Nails were sticking up vertically out of the planks, like the ragged teeth on a latent predator. The contents of his clothes cupboard had been thrown onto the floor and the black-and-white checkered linoleum in the en suite bathroom had been ripped up. Maureen shut the door quietly and crept downstairs. No wonder he was fucked off.

She picked a twenty-four-hour locksmith out of the Yellow Pages and dialed the number. They said that there would be a twenty-quid bonus charge because it was Sunday but she didn't care. The man on the phone took her address in Garnethill and said he'd send someone over at twelve with a new bolt and Yale.

She was drinking a coffee and packing her answer phone into a plastic bag when the phone rang out. "Hello," said Una. "I phoned Benny's but he said you were at Liam's."

"Well," said Maureen, "here I am."

She was intent on meeting Maureen to tell her some good news.

"I can't see you, Una," Maureen said, mindful of Liam's warning. "I'm moving back home today."

But Una was determined. She'd come over to Liam's, she said, and drive Maureen and her answerphone home. Una had driven since she was seventeen and refused to believe that anyone would rather walk anywhere.

"Well, okay, but I'm leaving now and Liam's still asleep. He's exhausted, so just knock, okay? Don't ring the bell."

When the knock came on Liam's front door Maureen threw on her coat and scarf and picked up the bag. She opened the door and stepped outside, pecked Una briskly on the cheek and turned away to lock the front door behind her.

"Aren't we going to have a cup of tea?" asked Una, sensing a strained atmosphere and preparing to be offended on the slightest pretext.

"Well, I need to get on, really," said Maureen.

Una looked aggrieved. "All right, then," she said magnanimously. "If you're in such a big hurry."

They walked down the front steps to Una's company car. It was a big green Rover with a walnut dashboard and electric windows and everything. It was Una's pride and joy. She started the engine and told Maureen the good news: Marie was coming up for a visit the day after next and the girls were all meeting up at Winnie's for a lovely lunch on Thursday.

Maureen thought about the three of them together, sitting around the kitchen table, waiting for her to arrive. Why were they having a lunch and not a dinner, like they usually did when Marie came home, and why wasn't Liam invited? He would stand up for her if he was there. They must be planning something: they were going to confront her, tell her everything she remembered was a lie and she was mental.

As they drove down the Maryhill Road Maureen noticed Una's eyes flicking to the side when she dared, checking on her wee sister, making sure she wasn't doing anything crazy. Maureen couldn't think of anything to say. They'd call Louisa Wishart if she got upset, that would be the first thing they'd do.

She was hot with worry by the time they got halfway down the Maryhill Road. Una asked why she was so quiet and she pretended she hadn't slept well. "Mum's angry with me for taking my photos away."

"I know," said Una, drawing her lips tight together and clenching her jaw.

"But they were mine and she was selling them to the newspapers."

"No, Maureen," said Una, holding her hand up. "Mum didn't sell them."

"Well, she gave them away, then."

"Yes, which is different," said Una.

They fell into an uneasy silence. The car's engine hummed quietly as they drew up to the traffic lights and stopped.

"Did Liam tell you about Mum at the police station?" said Maureen.

"Oh, dear me, yes," said Una, wrinkling her nose. "She was a bit excited."

"He told me she was screaming her fucking face off," said Maureen loudly, her voice quivering with misplaced indignation. Una didn't like swearing or screeching or untoward emotional reactions of any kind. Maureen could tell she was freaking her out.

Una pulled the car into the curb and stopped the engine. "Are you sure you're okay?" she said carefully. "D'you think you should be going home today?"

Maureen thought about confronting Una now, weighing up the pros and cons. Not yet. Not just now. She didn't want to go ballistic. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm a bit frightened about going home again, that's all."

Una leaned across and pulled her over, hugging her and pressing the gear stick into Maureen's ribs. She let go. "We all love you very much," she said kindly.

"I know that, Una," said Maureen, crying with fury.

"We all want the best for you," she said.

Maureen turned her face away, angrily swatting the tears off her face. "I know," she said, "I know."

Una had meant to suggest that Maureen go back to hospital but she seemed so unstable that it might not be a good idea. She'd phone Dr. Wishart when she got back to the office and ask her about readmission. She started the car again. "You could come and stay with us if you want," she said, pulling out into the traffic.

It would be Una's worst nightmare, herself moping around their ordered house, smoking fags all over the place and watching old movies. "You're such a sweetheart, Una," Maureen said, controlling her voice to make it sound normal. "I don't know how you do it. We're all crazy and it just seems to roll off your back."

Una smiled, pleased at being differentiated from the rest of them. "Let's have some music," she said, and clicked the radio on.

They sang along to a jolly pop song all the way up the road, guessing the words and humming the hard parts so they wouldn't have to speak to each other.

Maureen looked out of the window and told herself that very, very soon, as soon as the Douglas thing was over, she would tell Una and the rest of them what she thought of them.

UNA PARKED THE CAR outside the close, pulled on the hand brake, turned off the ignition and undid her seat belt.

"No," said Maureen. "You can't come up with me."

She was desperate to get away from her sister. If Una came upstairs and saw as much as a drop of blood she'd start crying and need to be tended and comforted. She'd phone Alistair and get him to come over, she might even call Winnie and George. She'd be there for fucking hours.

Una stared at her. "Why not?"

"Urn, the police won't let you in, only me."

"Why are the police up there?"

"They want me to show them around the house, so you can't come in."

"But I'm your sister."

"I know that, Una, but they can't let just anyone in."

"I'm not just anyone," said Una, taking the key out of the ignition and pocketing it. "I'm your sister." She opened her door and put one foot on the pavement.

"Una," said Maureen, as firmly as she could without shouting, "you cannot come upstairs."

Una brought her foot back into the car and turned to face her wee sister. "Maureen," she said solemnly, "I am not letting you go into that house without anyone to support you."

"Una," said Maureen, copying her sister's sanctimonious tone, "I am not letting you come upstairs with me. The police are there, they already dislike our family because Mum was drunk and shouted at them and because our brother is a drug dealer, and I am not going to jeopardize what small relationship I have with them by demanding that they grant you access to the house."

Una sighed heavily and shook her head. "Why on earth wouldn't the police want me up there?"

"It's in case you interfere with some evidence they haven't collected yet."

"But I'm your sister. I don't think you should go in there alone."

"I won't be alone, the police'll be there with me."

Una rolled her eyes heavenward and muttered "Pete's sake" before shutting her door.

"It's all right," said Maureen, pulling the polyethylene bag with her answer phone in it out of the backseat. "The police are in there."

They kissed and arranged to meet at Winnie's for lunch on Thursday, when Marie would be home.

Una watched Maureen walk up the close carrying the poly bag. It was dark inside the door; Maureen's small shadow jogged up the first flight of stairs, around the corner and disappeared. She sat for a moment before picking up the car phone and dialing Dr. Wishart's number at the Albert Hospital. It was engaged. She hung up and pressed the redial button. Still engaged. She replaced the phone and looked back up the close, weighing up the pros and cons of going after Maureen. She fitted the key in the ignition, started the engine, lifted off the hand brake and pulled the car out into the steep street.

Maureen climbed the stairs with trepidation, slowing down as she neared the top floor. The sight of Jim's door reminded her that she had left his Celtic shirt sitting in the bottom of Benny's wardrobe. She wished he hadn't told her about watching through the spy hole, not that she was ungrateful for the information about Benny, but she'd never stand on the landing again without imagining Jim, with his worrying hairdo, pressed up behind his door, peering out at her with his jumper tucked tightly into his denims. She took out her keys, unlocked the front door and let it swing open.

The house smelled stale and oppressively sweet. She stepped in and shut the door behind her, leaving Jim with nothing to see. She dropped the bag in the hall, took a deep breath and turned the handle on the living-room door.

The blood had turned brown in the direct sunlight. It was hard to spot a bit of the carpet that wasn't brown. Deep puddles of Douglas's precious blood had dried into it; action streaks from jugular spurts radiated out from the four circular indents marking the position of the chair. The blue chair had been cleaned by some kind officer; it was by the window, facing it at an angle, as if someone had been sitting there, enjoying the view.

She stepped carefully across the crunchy floor, using the clear spaces as stepping stones to the window, which she opened, pulling it right back against the wall, letting the harsh wind into the room. She sat down in Douglas's blue chair because she was afraid to and smoked a cigarette by the blustery open window, waiting until the horror of it had passed. She stubbed the end of the cigarette out on the windowsill, lifted the chair by the back and carried it out into the hall.

She stacked the contents of the bookcase into piles on the floor and carried them out one at a time, resting them precariously against the wall by the kitchen door. She took the coffee table into the bedroom, then humped the portable television through, banging her legs with it. Back in the living room she folded the bookcase flat, leaving it near the bathroom door. She wheeled out the old horsehair armchair, recklessly rolling its wooden castors over the crusty brown blood.