Exile

Chapter 46

The plane lifted off the tarmac, pressing Maureen back in her seat. An excited small boy in front lost control and undid his belt, standing up on the seat and giving out a high happy squeal. His nervous mother grabbed his leg and sat him down, nodding apologetically to the stewardess who was staggering towards them down the aisle, ready to quell the boy's air joy.

Within minutes they were blinking at the sunshine and looking down at a molten white landscape. The flight took an hour and ten minutes but felt much shorter. The cabin crew came down the aisle dishing out drinks and pretzels, followed it with a small, meaningless meal and chased that with tea or coffee. By the time the passengers had stopped fretting that their neighbor was getting something they weren't, the plane had already begun its descent. They made a quick, bumpy landing and pulled to a stop. The passengers stood up, cluttering the aisles and standing with aching knees pressed into the seat in front, waiting to get out and get away. It was raining gently outside the window.

It occurred to Maureen as she stepped onto the industrial carpet at Heathrow that the information lady might be there, somewhere, waiting to tell her to fuck off herself. She kept her head down and walked quickly to the express shuttle. The spacey silver platform was quieter this time and the train was waiting. She climbed on and sat down, closing her eyes to relieve the stinging. She saw the Ruchill fever hospital tower belching sparks over Inness's shoulder and smiled all the way to London, feeling like Kilty in the lawyer's office.

The train pulled into Padding ton and the sounds and smells of the city brought her back round. As she made her way to the tube station she was struck by the creepy conviction that the city had tricked her into coming back and she wasn't getting away this time. But she hadn't been tricked. She knew she was right. She was certain of it.

She took a taxi from Victoria. She shouldn't be seen in Brixton, not now, and the ride gave her the chance to decide what she was going to say. She pulled her hair back and pinned it down so that she wouldn't be as easy to recognize.

Dumbarton Court echoed to the sounds of children playing before their tea. A crowd of teenagers stood around at the entrance gate, kicking the ground and posing for one another. A couple of boys played football against a wall. Maureen walked straight past them and took the stairs for Moe's flat, running up them two at a time, her tired heart pounding when she got to the door. She waited until she had caught her breath and knocked lightly, trying to sound like a casual caller. She turned away, looking down the stairs so that Moe would only see the back of her head through the spy hole. The door creaked open just a little and Moe called out to her, "Hello?"

Maureen swung round and jammed her foot in the small space. "Let me in, Moe, I have to speak to you. Toner knows."

She could see in Moe's eyes that she wanted to slam the door shut, ram it against Maureen's foot until the pain got too much to bear, but worry wouldn't let her. "What are you talking about?" said Moe.

"She's in danger."

Moe looked out onto the landing. She let Maureen in, shut the door and looked out through the spy hole again, checking that Maureen had been alone. She turned and pursed her lips, planting her hands on her hips. "What's going on? I thought you were on Jimmy's side?"

"You fucking lying cow," she said. "He was going to prison for the rest of his fucking life and the kids were going into care. Don't you give a shit about that?"

Moe's eyes were damp and glassy.

"Don't give us the tears again. Ye had a choice!" Maureen was shouting, as loud as her broken voice would go, and she saw Moe's eyes flicker to the ceiling. Some kindly neighbor upstairs might hear and come to help poor Mrs. Akitza. "You had a fucking choice," she repeated, more quietly.

Moe stepped back and looked Maureen over. "What the fuck has it got to do with you?" she said.

"Where is she?"

Moe folded her arms. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"West Country?"

Moe flinched.

"For fuck's sake," said Maureen, "it's the most obvious place for her to go – away from London and Glasgow – there's a big trade down there. The West Country's crawling."

"Where else is there?"

"Somewhere else, anywhere else."

It was dark in the hall, light from the living-room window hardly making a dent in the gloom.

"They'll kill the children if you tell," said Moe, eyeing Maureen up, weighing her in.

"Whose idea was it?"

Moe shuffled her foot, watching it as she pointed to the center of a big swirl in the carpet. She was thinking her way through it, seeing what she would give away if she told. Maureen looked at her, poking her tongue into her cheek, feeling the ragged lines of the cut. "It was yours, wasn't it?" she said. "And Tam agreed to go along with it. Did you pay him or are you fucking him?"

Moe looked coy. "I'm a married woman," she said.

"You're married to the invisible man," said Maureen. "Mr. Akitza's long gone, isn't he?"

Moe shifted uncomfortably.

"You gave my pager number to Tam, didn't ye? And ye told him I had the Polaroid. Was he going to kill me too?"

"She's my wee sister," she muttered. "I couldn't turn her away. She's my sister."

"Who was she?"

"The girl that died?"

"Yeah. The junkie."

Moe shrugged. "Someone."

"And ye cut her legs and burnt her hands and feet to hide the marks because everyone knew Ann was a drinker."

"Not me," said Moe, shaking her head indignantly. "I never touched her."

"Who cut her face up before the others got there?"

"Not me," said Moe.

"Nothing's you, is it, Moe? She was someone's daughter, for fuck's sake. She must have been a mother too or they'd have known it wasn't Ann when they did the postmortem."

Moe hissed at her and stepped across the hall to the living room. She had been sitting in the dark. The blue dusk hovered in the long window and a fag was burning in the ashtray. Moe bent down and picked it up, taking a draw.

"They were gonnae to kill the children," said Moe, blinking in the gloom. "They'd have killed them one by one. What else could we do?"

"What about the woman who died? D'ye even know her name?"

"What else could we do?"

"That was some poor soul you killed. You're fucking animals."

"She was killing herself, anyway."

"You're animals. Did ye even stop and think what it would do to Ann's children? They think their mum's dead. They think she was killed and thrown in the river. They've been told their dad could have done it and they'll always wonder, that'll always be at the back of their minds. Did neither of ye stop to think about that?"

Moe bit her lip. "What else could we do?" she whispered.

Maureen didn't know. She didn't know what they could do. "You lied to me," said Maureen. "You lied to me twice."

Suddenly infuriated, Moe turned and slapped Maureen's arm. "And who the fuck do you think you are?" she spluttered. "An interested party? My sister was going to get killed, they were going to kill her fucking kids and how dare I lie to you? You fucking silly twat."

Maureen leaned back against the wall to get away from her. Moe was trembling as she took another draw. "What'll happen now?" she asked.

"Jimmy'll probably go free," said Maureen. "You know they've charged Tarn and other people. They might mention your Ann – he might tell."

"Tarn won't tell. Frank Toner'd kill him if he knew," she said, and added, "I'm glad Jimmy's going to be okay."

"Fuck off, you don't care about him," said Maureen spitefully.

"Listen you to me." Moe narrowed her eyes. "I like Jimmy. I like him more than I like my sister. Before their wedding I took him aside and said to him, Jimmy' I said, 'she's a drinker. You watch yourself.' I did. That's how much I think of him. I warned him about her."

"Well, that must have kicked the nuptials off on a happy note. Did Ann know Leslie Findlay was Jimmy's cousin?"

"No, she didn't," Moe said. "She'd have left her out of it, if she'd known. All she wanted Findlay to do was tell the police she'd been there, he'd hit her, and give them the compensation pictures. She said she was a right feminist. She'd make sure they chased him…"

They stood in the dark living room, unable to resolve anything.

"But she didn't because he was her cousin," Maureen said, nodding. "The woman you killed – '

"Not me," insisted Moe. "Not me."

"She was someone's family too."

"Yeah," nodded Moe defiantly, "but not mine."

Maureen shoved her hands in her pocket. Moe didn't know. She didn't know what he'd done to her. "You think Tarn killed that girl for you, don't you? To protect your sister."

Moe folded her arms, looking at the floor.

"Moe," said Maureen quietly, "did ye know that the guy who battered the shit out of Ann and took her bag was called Neil Hutton?"

Moe looked nervous. She knew something was coming but she couldn't work out what it was. "No," she said finally, shifting on her feet. "I didn't know that."

"Hutton was shot up the arse for dealing on his own, did ye know that?"

Moe frowned hard. "No," she said more quietly, "I didn't know that either."

"Tarn didn't tell ye that?"

Moe looked frightened.

"Well," said Maureen, moving out to the hall and over to the front door, "that was very remiss of Tarn because he knew about it. He should have told ye, really, shouldn't he?"

Moe followed her out into the hall, confused and wanting to know more.

"How d'ye think Hutton knew Ann would be in Knutsford that night? Will I tell ye? Hutton's bidie-in was a sour-faced cow called Maxine Parlain."

The expression on Moe's face didn't change but, rather, slid a fraction to the side, making her look old and vulnerable.

"Maxine's Tarn's wee sister." Maureen paused. "What d'ye think Toner would have made of that? If he'd managed to speak to Ann he'd have found out, wouldn't he? She could've described Hutton to him. She knew what he looked like and Toner would've worked it out. He'd know Tarn had told Hutton where Ann would be on the bus. He'd know Tarn had planned it all."

Moe had a shocked red flush around her eyes and Maureen imagined she saw blood on her lips. "If Ann ever comes near Jimmy or those kids, I'll kill her myself. You tell her that. And for fuck's sake tell her to stop cashing the fucking child-benefit book." Maureen unclipped the Yale and swung open the door. "Fucked ye both ways, didn't he, hen?"

Maureen headed farther up Brixton Hill. She turned, walking backwards and looking down to the lights of the high street. It was dark and the orange streetlights throbbed awake. She was leaving, she was going home, and the ugly streets and vile buildings and the men in pubs and the hungry beggars couldn't keep her here. She hailed a cab. "Heathrow," she said. "Can ye get me there for seven o'clock?"

"I can get you there for half six."