Exile

Chapter 37

Martha's voice was a drawling syrupy balm and her soft eyes were a solace. She wore a colorful wraparound skirt, a short red T-shirt and big trainers. "Alex is away for a couple of days," she said, blinking slowly, as if she'd just had a smoke or was about to have a smoke. "Anyway, babe, Liam said you had a really bad hangover and I had to look after you."

Maureen lay back on the settee and looked at the ceiling. Martha lived just across the road from the Oval underground station. It was a poky flat, gracelessly shaved from a more illustrious whole. The odd-shaped rooms were too high, the cornicing stopped abruptly at walls like a discontinued stanza and the galley kitchen was shaped like a streamlined map of Italy, splaying out at the end to avoid cutting the big window in half.

Martha and Alex had not spent a lot of money on decoration but their entire flat seemed specifically designed to appease a hangover. The front room was dark and the heavy curtains were drawn, even though it was one in the afternoon. Damp patches on the ceiling were covered with Paisley shawls and a dim deflected light shone out from underneath a floating umbrella in a high corner. A collection of 3-D postcards of dogs wearing hats was displayed on the fireplace. Compared to Sarah's house it was the most cozy, welcoming place she had ever been, and Maureen never wanted to move from here. Martha sat down next to her on the sagging sofa.

"Do you own this flat?" asked Maureen.

"No," said Martha, in her breathy English accent. "We rent it from a bloke who lives in Ireland. He owns the building. He's cool when it comes to rent and dates and stuff."

"It's nice. Very calming."

"Would you like something to eat? What about a cup of tea and a chocolate mini roll?" said Martha, well versed in the chemistry of comfort.

"Oh, that would be perfect."

"I've got some Valium too, babe," said Martha, heaving herself up. "You could have one or two."

Maureen declined. She desperately wanted to stay on the sofa but she thought it might be rude to sit while her host attended to her so she wrenched herself out of her seat and put her shades on again as she followed Martha into the bright kitchen. She wanted to use the phone but thought it might be cheeky to call a mobile in Scotland. The kitchen was homely and comfortable: the cupboards had been painted pink and yellow with matte emulsion, and the fridge had a big picture of Lionel Richie, sans beard, varnished onto the door, looking as if his mouth and jaw had been manipulated in a special computer program. They hadn't. Martha filled the kettle from the tap.

"It's very kind of you to look after me like this," said Maureen, suddenly aware of the sorry spectacle she must present.

"No trouble." Martha turned off the tap and plugged the kettle in. "How's Liam?"

"He's fine," said Maureen.

"Yeah, is he still with Maggie?"

"No, they split up at New Year."

Martha stopped still and blinked at the worktop. "When?" she said, the breathy freshness gone from her voice.

Liam had a knack of inspiring obsessive interest in certain types of crazy women. Maureen put it down to his constant low-level aggression. "Not long ago."

"Yeah?" Martha tried to smile. "Well, he told me on the phone that they were still together."

Liam, it seemed, did not reciprocate the interest. "Oh," muttered Maureen, "maybe they got back together, then."

Martha turned back to the kettle. "Yeah," she repeated. "Back together."

"He doesn't tell me everything," said Maureen, afraid that Martha would turn against both O'Donnells and refuse to let her back onto the settee. "I wouldn't know if they were."

"If they were what?" challenged Martha. "If they were together? Or if they were apart?"

"Well, if they'd got back together, I wouldn't know. He wouldn't tell me. I don't get on with Maggie all that well. I don't see them together much."

Martha lifted two clean mugs from the busy draining board. "Don't you like her?" she asked, in a snide undertone.

Maureen could understand Martha not liking Maggie. Maggie's father was an actuary and the family lived on the south side of Glasgow in a big new house with a garden. She probably wouldn't sit down in Martha's house. Plus Martha wanted to fuck her boyfriend.

"I do like her," lied Maureen. "I just don't have a lot in common with her. Does Liam come here a lot?"

"Not anymore. Not since he retired."

Maureen thanked fuck that the conversation was over. Martha pulled a packet of chocolate mini rolls out of the cupboard and peeled back the crunchy cellophane, exposing the row of soft cakes.

"Have a couple, there, babe," she said. "Worst thing you can do for a hangover is starve it. Your body needs sugar."

Maureen unwrapped the foil and sank her teeth into the spongy roll. It melted in her mouth, she hardly had to chew.

"Liam said a friend of yours is missing, is that right?"

"Yeah. I wanted to ask, do you know most of the dealers in Brixton?"

"Some," shrugged Martha.

"Tarn Parlain?" asked Maureen. "Argyle Street?"

"Yeah, he's not a very nice man. How did you hear about him?"

"Well, I was asking about a solicitor called Headie and his name came up."

Martha smiled. "Coldharbour Lane?"

"Yeah."

"Poor old thing." Martha frowned and petted her lip with mock concern. "Mr. Headie drank," she said, as if that explained everything. It probably did.

Maureen took the photocopy of Ann out of her pocket. "Have you ever seen this woman?"

Martha unfolded the photocopy and looked at it closely. "No," she said. "Was she a user?"

"Don't think so."

Martha looked closer. She was the only person so far who'd looked at the picture of Ann without flinching. She held the photocopy at arm's length. "Yuck," she said disdainfully. "What a mess to get yourself into." She smiled as she handed it back to Maureen.

"I don't think she did it to herself," said Maureen quietly, taking the Polaroid out of her pocket. "What about this guy?"

The kettle had begun to boil and Martha turned it off before taking the picture from Maureen. She looked at it and her face fell. "Where the fuck did you get this?"

"It was among the woman's belongings after she disappeared."

Martha threw the picture on the worktop. She didn't even want to hold it. She held up her hands, wiggling her fingers in panic. "Have you showed this to people?"

"One or two," said Maureen.

Martha forgot about the lovely tea she had promised Maureen, forgot that Maureen had just had a chocolate sponge on an empty, rebellious stomach. "Get rid of it," said Martha, poking it away with her finger like a dead rat. "Fucking bin it, get rid of it. Do you have any idea what this picture is?"

"No."

"It's a threat. Whose kid is it?"

"The woman who disappeared."

Martha looked at the picture again. "In a playground – that is un-fucking-human."

Maureen didn't know what unhuman was but she had an inkling. "Why is it a threat?"

Martha leaned forward and pointed at the Polaroid. "He knows where the kid is. He's been near the kid once and he can get to him again. He's going to hurt her kid."

They settled back in the living room on the seductively sagging sofa and Maureen sipped the tea and ate more chocolate mini rolls. Martha said that the Polaroid was a way of flushing Ann out and making her come to him. She wasn't surprised when Maureen told her that Parlain was after it. Parlain worked for Toner and anyone who dealt with Toner would want it: returning the Polaroid to him would be a way to curry favor, keeping it back would give them leverage. She said that if Toner knew Maureen was holding the Polaroid he'd have marked her already. Maureen looked at the picture, at Toner's spiteful smile and the strain in the boy's forearm as he tried to pull away. Ann must have been terrified.

"What had she done to deserve that?" asked Martha.

"I'm not certain. I think she was carrying for him and she lost the lot or sold it and then he beat her up and she got away. If she was carrying for him, who'd she be carrying to?"

Martha shifted uncomfortably in her chair and sipped her tea.

"You know, don't you?" said Maureen.

"It's not a big secret or anything."

"What isn't?"

"Toner's got a relationship with some people in Paisley."

"Parlains," said Maureen.

Martha smiled faintly into her cup. "Liam would be so worried if I told him about this."

"Oh, God, Martha, please don't tell him. He'll be worried sick."

Martha shrugged.

"No, please, don't, Martha. I'm going home in the morning anyway."