Exile

Chapter 14

Leslie sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a bundle of Katia's stolen Hello Kitty tissues in one hand and a whiskey in the other. She wiped her nose. "Did ye see the CCB photos?"

Maureen shook her head.

"God," whispered Leslie, "her fanny was kicked in."

"Listen, listen." Excited by something, Liam waved them quiet and looked from one to the other, blinking slowly like a red-eyed idiot. "Listen. Brilliant idea. Who's up for a curry?"

"God," said Leslie. "Can ye shut him up?"

They put on the television to distract him and Liam watched Newsnight, tilting his head left and right, trying to make something interesting out of powerful men haranguing one another.

"When I deal with this every day," continued Leslie, "I'm always looking for someone to blame, just to make sense of it, so it could be avoided, so it didn't need to happen, and I always come back to the families. Their families could have done some fucking thing. And then it's my own family and we weren't even in touch with the guy. Isa would die if she knew she'd been murdered."

"You two know someone else who was killed?" Liam smiled, spliffed and swinging randomly in and out of the conversation. They looked at him. "I'm staying away from you two. You're jinxed."

Leslie sniffed hard and frowned at him. Maureen touched her arm. "How can you be sure it wasn't the hard men from the scheme?"

"Come on, Mauri, London's full of Glaswegians running away from trouble here. She owed a bit of money, that's all."

"Maybe she owed more than we think."

"Yeah. Maybe. Maybe." Leslie took a long drink of whiskey and sighed at its harsh comfort. "The police'll be so hard on Jimmy. God, I'll be surprised if he gets out of an interview alive."

"Why?" said Maureen.

"You haven't seen the photos. She was battered shitless." She slumped against the settee.

Maureen sat quietly, ashamed of herself, unsure whether to tell. "I've got them," she said suddenly.

"You've what?"

"I've got the photos."

"Why?"

"Stole them," she muttered.

Leslie sat upright. "To protect Jimmy? Maureen, if he did beat her up he needs to be put away."

"But he didn't hit her. Are they sure she was killed yesterday?"

"They said she'd been in the water for a week."

Maureen didn't want to tell her about the week-old BA sticker. They were sitting cozy in the nice warm flat, drinking and smoking together, and she didn't want to tell her. "He didn't do it," she said, damning herself. "I promise he didn't."

"How do you know?"

"I just know," she said. "I know it wasn't him."

"You knew she wasn't dead as well. Hoping isn't the same as knowing, Mauri." Leslie cradled her head in her hands. "God, if he goes to prison Isa'll try and take the kids. She's not fit – it'll kill her."

"Can't you just tell her not to?"

Leslie tutted and rolled her bloodshot eyes. "Can you tell your mum to do anything? Anyway, Isa's got this thing about Jimmy. She won't let him down this time."

"Leslie, I walked out of the Place of Safety today. I don't want to go back." She saw the dismay on Leslie's face and added, "For a while. Are ye angry?"

"Naw, I understand. It's just an office job for you. At least I'm on the ground." She cupped Maureen's elbow in her hand and squeezed, just a little, before letting go. "Listen, I'm not working for a couple of days – do ye want to kick about together and ask about Ann? See what we can come up with?"

"Okay." Maureen smiled.

"And you can have a think about your job," said Leslie, "and decide what you want to do."

Maureen bit her lip and played with the edge of the cushion.

Michael was scratching at the bedroom window again. She sat up to see him, to know what he looked like, so she could be ready for him, but he opened his mouth and breathed, splattering specks of blood and liver onto the glass.

Leslie was giggling in her sleep. Maureen turned her head on the pillow and looked at her. Her cheek was folded under her eye, her long dark lashes lying on the pillow. Maureen had been mistaken when she thought herself sober the night before. Her throat felt like a raw scab and the back of her head throbbed viciously. She tried to get out of bed but her head was bursting and her stomach hurt so much she couldn't sit up. The hangover was threatening to wash over the top of her skull and attack her eyes. She lay down again and rolled sideways out of the bed, holding the duvet down to keep the warm in for Leslie, and stood up very slowly She needed some nicotine but didn't think her throat would tolerate a cigarette.

The postie had left some bills but that was all. She went into the kitchen, put the kettle on and sat down at the table. It was dry and crisp outside. Gray frost mingled with the black dirt on the window, framing the view of the motorway like an ill-conceived Christmas card. She saw the Ruchill tower and scratched her head with both hands, digging the nails deep into her scalp. Her hair felt lank and heavy. She got up, averting her eyes from the window, and tripped down the hall to the bathroom.

The sill was crammed with expensive bottles of cosmetics, sachets and applicators and miracle creams. She thought of Jimmy, a man too poor to buy toilet paper who'd flown to London on BA. It didn't make any sense. There were lots of budget carriers he could have gone on for less than half the price of a BA flight. If Leslie knew, she would be convinced he was guilty, and she'd insist that they give the police the photos of Ann. They'd crucify him.

She washed her face and wondered if she could be right. Jimmy just wasn't the sort of man who would kill a defiant wife. He wasn't in control of anything when she saw him and he didn't even try to defend himself when he thought she was lying to him. The only thing he vigorously denied was hitting his wife. She played with the possibility that he had been to London and killed Ann, but the mattress troubled her. It suggested a house and a bed and privacy and a van to get her to the river. He'd have to know people in London. She scratched her heavy hair again and looked over to the bath. A small blue glass bottle lay on its side with the lid off and a final portion of lavender-scented hydrolyzed collagen trickled onto the ceramic ledge. Liam had washed her hair in industrial-strength conditioner.

Back in the kitchen she made herself a coffee, sensing the eyes of the fever hospital tower on her body. She sat down, ignoring it, and lit a cigarette, breathing in deeply. It felt like breathing in sand, and the pain brought her back to the present. She heard the thud of feet on the floor in the bedroom. Leslie padded to the kitchen door dressed in a T-shirt and knickers. Her black pubic hair extended an inch below the elastic on either side. "Fuck, it's parky. Get us a coffee, will ye, Mauri?" She turned and trotted down the hall to the loo, picking the gathered underpants out of the crack of her arse.

Maureen got up and made two cups. She wouldn't tell Leslie about the London ticket, she'd ask Jimmy about it first. She was sure it wasn't him. Deep in her gut she was sure.

The toilet flushed at the far end of the hall and Leslie came back down. "God," she said, "you've got some amount of stuff in there." She nipped into the bedroom, pulled on some jumpers and her leather trousers before coming back to the table for her coffee. She noticed Maureen glancing out of the window and saw her looking away quickly, smoking anxiously. Leslie looked out, across to the three high-rise blocks at George's Cross and the snowcapped hills beyond. Thick custard clouds skimmed by, letting the sun wink through at them.

"What are you looking at out there?" she said, and pointed to the gray sky.

"I hate that tower," said Maureen, embarrassed that Leslie had seen her. "It does my head in."

Nonplussed, Leslie looked at the jagged Ruchill tower peering over the hill. "Why?"

Maureen shrugged. "It's so ugly," she said. She couldn't make herself look at it.

Leslie wondered if it was because it was a hospital – maybe it reminded Maureen of being in hospital herself. "The hospital's shut now," said Leslie. "It's been sold off for housing."

Maureen looked up at it. "What, the land's been sold?"

"No, the buildings are listed. They have to keep them."

"Are they houses now?" Maureen sounded so tense and Leslie felt sure she'd helped her.

"Dunno," she said, "but it's not a hospital anymore."

Maureen stood up and lifted her makeup bag from the worktop. She used a magnified mirror so she wouldn't have to look at her face and rubbed foundation over her nose. Leslie knew she didn't like to remember the hospital.

"See about Ann?" she said, trying to bring Maureen back to the moment. "We might as well face it, Jimmy's the most likely candidate, isn't he?"

"Jimmy's the only candidate so far," said Maureen. "He's the only person connected with Ann that we know about."

Leslie looked into her cup. "To be honest, it's not exactly a surprise that he turned out violent."

Maureen picked up her mascara, making sure she had the waterproof one. "Is he violent?" she asked.

"His background's very violent."

"But Jimmy isn't violent?"

"No," said Leslie, "but it runs in families, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's your family too and you're not violent." It sounded like a reproach but she hadn't meant it that way.

Leslie let it pass. "We didn't see that side of the family, really. I haven't seen Jimmy since I was wee."

Maureen plunged the mascara brush back into the holder and screwed it shut. "Why not?" she asked. "The rest of ye are awful close."

"Yeah," said Leslie. "You know how it is, families stay together through the women. We're nature's diplomats."

Maureen smiled. Leslie was the rudest person she'd ever met. "Are you one of nature's diplomats, Leslie?"

Leslie grinned fondly back at her. "No, but I'm a throwback," she said. "A warning from nature. Anyway," she said, serious again, "wherever it comes from, women are the ones who say sorry and negotiate families. We're the ones who keep in touch and look after each other. Jimmy never phoned anyone, or looked after anyone's weans, or invited anyone to anything, and we just sort of, I dunno, lost him." She took a deep breath and looked out of the window, her eyes darting over the city. She looked suddenly haggard and old. "This is going to kill Isa."

"The social worker won't let her take the kids, Leslie, she doesn't even know them."

"It's not just about taking the kids… It's a long story. Mauri, will ye come with me? She won't cry if you're there and you can comfort her better than me. I'm not very good with her."

Maureen pulled the zip shut on her makeup bag. "Let's go and see your mammy."