Resolution

Chapter 38

“You didn't even know her," said Leslie, watching Elsie Tanner sniff at a stained lamppost.

"I knew her as well as you did," said Lenny, defensively, tugging at the itchy collar of his dark jacket. It was chafing his neck red raw.

"But my pal did know her." Leslie pointed at Maureen. Behind her sunglasses Maureen's eyes were burning. A yearning for sleep made her blink every two seconds, dragging her eyelashes back and forth across the lenses of her shades like a boa on a burlesque stage. She had woken up with a familiar inch-long bruise under her chin, a parallel bruise on her forehead between her eyebrows, and she could not work out where on earth they had come from.

"You've got something on your head," said Lenny helpfully, leaning in to see better.

Maureen raised her hand and touched it self-consciously. "I know, it's a bruise and I don't know where it's come from. I've got another under my chin again as well."

"Pull your fringe down," said Leslie, flattening hairs over it so that it looked like a big horizontal bruise with hairs stuck to it.

Despite being hungover and bedraggled, Maureen, Leslie and Lenny were one of the more glamorous parties at the small funeral. The family had yet to arrive but a couple of other groups had gathered by the door to the church. Three elderly men with withered, pinched faces stood in front of it, smoking fags held in cupped hands and laughing at one another's jokes. Two casually dressed young women sat on the church steps, offering their already brown faces up to the sun. Maureen guessed that they had come in lieu of someone else.

They were in Partick, down by the river at a small Catholic church. The building across from the chapel had been knocked down, leaving a stretch of wasteland, currently being used as a makeshift car park. Behind the church, on the banks of the slow river Kelvin, stood an old sandstone mill recently converted into flats.

The small church was unassuming; an arched wooden door was set at the gable end, flanked by small flying buttresses and two long windows of brightly colored glass. To the side of the door, a ragged lump of granite with a large brass shield attached stood on a concrete plinth. Etched with the Madonna crowned with stars and a stiff heraldic spread eagle, it was a thank-you gift from the Polish servicemen and -women who had attended mass there during the war.

The arched chapel doors opened. A young priest with sandy hair the same color as his skin greeted everyone, inviting them inside on the condition that they were part of the McGee party. The old men finished their fags and the young women stood up. Maureen, Leslie and Lenny walked towards the door, Lenny shouting back to Elsie Tanner to stay, Elsie, stay. Elsie sat down suddenly and started licking her fanny. As the priest walked away down the aisle to the vestry, every single person present climbed into the back row, knowing they hadn't been central to Ella's life.

The altar was a plain wooden rectangle with matching paneling at the back. A cloth-covered trestle sat in the aisle, waiting to receive the coffin. The priest came down the aisle and whispered orders for them all to move up to the front. The old men shuffled out to the aisle and everyone else pretended they were going to move but as soon as the priest left they settled back where they belonged, leaving the old men standing ostentatiously at the front. Lenny closed his eyes and began to pray, clasping the flat of his palms together and sticking his elbows out to the sides, as fervent as a child saint.

They heard cars drawing up outside, door slamming, someone giving orders, and Ella the Flash made her last big entrance. Following behind a glossy white coffin came Si McGee. Tonsa was hanging heavily on the arm of a man with a slash scar running from his ear to his nose. She was dressed in a beautiful black woolen suit with gold Chanel buttons and a veiled pillbox hat. Maureen turned to watch her and saw that although her body was grieving her face was blank, her eyes staring steadily at the floor in front of her. Her boyfriend had been in the papers a few years ago, complaining that the police hadn't even tried to catch his slasher. He had aged dramatically in the interim, his hair turning from brown to white, his skin from white to gray.

The priest performed his incantations while the congregation stood, sat and stood again, singing reluctantly through barely opened mouths without accompaniment. Maureen looked back once or twice and saw Elsie Tanner standing in the sunshine, wagging her tail and looking into the dark church, anticipating Lenny.

As the sad service drew to a close, professional pallbearers came forward, picked up Ella's gorgeous coffin and carried it to the waiting hearse. The priest, Si, Tonsa and her scarred man followed the coffin out into the bright day. Tonsa got straight into a car, leaving the priest and Si waiting by the door to thank the sorry turnout for coming.

Maureen wanted to look at him now: she wasn't afraid of him anymore, wanted him to know she was smart and knew what was going on. In front of her in the queue, Lenny shook Si's hand warmly. "She was… a lovely lady," he said, voicing the one thing about Ella that everyone knew wasn't true.

Si pulled away his hand before Lenny had finished shaking it. He turned to Maureen, trying to smile through his distaste. "Yes," he said, even though she hadn't said anything. "Thank you for coming."

"Warsaw," said Maureen.

He widened his smile. "Sorry?"

"Gotcha," said Maureen, and moved on into the sun.

Leslie caught up with her on the pavement. "His neck was shaking," she whispered.

They were four steps from the church when the door of the black car in front of them opened, blocking their path. Tonsa stepped out and unfurled her long, slim self. She looked down her nose at Maureen and nodded, as if she had spoken to her.

"Hello," said Maureen. Tonsa didn't answer. "I'm sorry about your mum. I worked near her in Paddy's." She gestured to Leslie. "We both did, actually."

Tonsa cocked her head and narrowed her lips. "What ye doing here?"

Uncertainly, Maureen thumbed back to the chapel doors. "Urn, your brother," she said. "He invited us."

Tonsa seemed to be staring at Maureen's hands and her mouth hung open, a wetness glistening behind the mesh veil. Unnerved, Maureen clasped her hands behind her back. "I think I met you years ago," she said. "At the Barras."

Tonsa looked at her face.

"With my brother, Liam?"

Tonsa lurched forward, like a drunk falling and catching herself. "Your brother," she said loudly, dead-eyed as ever. "He battered me." She threw out a loosely cupped hand, as if she was going to punch Maureen in the stomach. Maureen looked at it. A ragged red scar ran from the wrist to the base of her thumb. "Cut me," said Tonsa. "My hand don't work right now."

"Why on earth would he do that?" Maureen asked.

"Screwed him over a deal." Tonsa looked at her hand, as if seeing it for the first time, and unsteadily traced the length of the scar. "He was teaching me a lesson."

"Yeah?" Maureen retorted. "If he did that, why did ye drop the charges?"

Tonsa's hand fell to her side. "He said he'd do the other hand."

Maureen pretended not to believe her. "I think you know a friend of mine as well," she said.

"Who's that?"

"Mark Doyle? I saw ye having a drink together in Brixton once."

For the first time ever in their long, if distant, acquaintance, Tonsa's eyes displayed an expression. She nearly smiled. "Cheerio," she said flatly, and climbed gracelessly back into the Jag on all fours.