Fallen Gods

Ten

Rufus was asleep when Mario carried him into the house, through the kitchen door. Maggie was waiting there; she looked him up and down.

"Couldn't you have rubbed some of that sand off at the beach," she complained, 'instead of bringing it in here?"

He gave her a broad, innocent smile, straight from the Irish side of his ancestry. "You should see the car," he replied cheerfully. "Don't worry, love. I'll hoover it all up later."

"It'll be well into the carpets by then," she grumbled. "Go on, get him ready for bed and yourself cleaned up. I'll get the vacuum out.

Has Rufus eaten?"

"Yes, we stopped in the Burger King at that Big W place."

"How about you?"

"No."

"That's good. I've got a sitter coming at seven… unless you've got other things to do, that is." She snorted, almost to herself. "Even if you have, I fancy a Saturday night out. If it comes to it I'll go on my own."

She took him by surprise, but he said nothing as he carried Rufus off.

The boy was coming back to a complaining wakefulness as he climbed the stairs. "Come on, chum," he whispered in his ear, 'let's get tidied up. Then you can dream about

more sand castles and your sister and I can go out to play… or eat, at least."

He turned straight into the bathroom, stood Rufus on the floor, and took off his clothes, then stripped off his own shirt and shorts and stepped out of his sandals. He turned on the shower above the bath and lifted the boy in. They stood together under the warm power spray,

Rufus squealing with renewed pleasure, for he loved the water, as the last of the sand washed off them and swirled away down the drain.

Finished, he took his to welling robe from behind the door and put it on. Then he took a big bath towel and rubbed the child gently dry.

"Okay, pal," he said, straight faced "Bedtime?" Heavy-eyed, Rufus smiled and nodded.

"Good boy." The child ran through to his bedroom; when Mario stepped in afterwards he saw him taking his pyjamas from under the pillow where they were always kept. As the big detective helped him put them on, he felt a lump rise suddenly in his throat.

"This isn't forever, wee man," he said, quietly, as much to himself as to Rufus. "You'll have to go and live with someone else soon." The boy's face fell; Mario hugged him. "Don't worry, wee fella, you'll love it; you'll have even more toys, and other kids to play with, too.

But when you do go, you'll come back and visit us every so often, won't you?" Reassured, he smiled and nodded.

He was asleep seconds after his blond head hit the pillow. Mario looked at him for a while, and then went through to his own room. He selected clothes for the evening… brown slacks, white shirt, and a lightly checked Daks jacket with brown leather patches at the elbow… but before dressing he picked up his mobile, which he had retrieved, with his wallet and his keys, from his shorts, and called Paula.

"Hi," she answered warmly, knowing from her telephone read-out who was calling. "Had a nice day?"

"Been to the beach."

"En famille?"

"No, just me and Rufus. Maggie had to work. How about you? You had a good one?"

He saw her smile, in his mind's eye. "The morning was best," she replied, 'but the rest's been okay. I went to the shops and spent lots of nice money. Here, there was something going on in Princes Street.

It was blocked."

"A fire," he told her, 'in an art exhibition. That's where Maggie had to go-'

"Which one?"

"The RSA, I think."

"Oh no, I was going to take you there."

"You probably still can. I don't know how bad it was. What you doing tonight?"

"Taking my mum to the pictures. Why? Do you want to come?"

"She'd love that. Anyway, I can't."

"Mmm." Paula was silent for a second. "What's up, love?" she asked, eventually. "You're not having a guilt trip, are you?"

"No, I'm having none of that. It's Rufus; I think we're going to lose him."

"Oh no," she said. "How? Why?"

"I'll tell you when I see you. What are you doing on Monday evening?"

"From the sound of things I'm having a visitor."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course; if you'd made it any later you'd have been in trouble. Will you want to eat?"

"That too," he replied. "See you then."

The sitter arrived just as he was slipping on his jacket, freshly shaved and with his thick black hair as carefully brushed as he could manage. Maggie was finishing her own preparations in what had been their bedroom once upon a time, and so he went downstairs to let her in.

She turned out to be a couple; PC Harold "Sauce' Haddock, a probationer from Maggie's division, and his girlfriend, Imelda. He wondered about the name; the girl looked pure Scottish. He guessed that either her parents must have had an interest in Filipino politics or her mother must have had an interest in collecting shoes.

They had sat for them before, but he still showed them into the living room. As his did so, his wife appeared behind him, in the doorway.

"Hi, Sauce," she said brightly. He turned to look at her, and felt the flutter that came to him occasionally when she caught him off guard.

Her red hair was shining and she was dressed in a sheath-like green dress and a short, matching jacket. Her eyes seemed to shine too, as she took his arm.

"You remember how everything works from the last time, don't you: telly, DVD, music, all that stuff?"

"Yes, ma'am," the young PC nodded, holding up a slim carton. "We've brought a film, Con Air, we'll leave it for you to watch if you like."

Imelda stayed mute; she was even more shy than her boyfriend.

"Thanks, but we've seen it. Look, Rufus is asleep upstairs, you won't have any trouble with him, because he's been at the seaside this afternoon and he's bushed. There's drinks in the fridge and sandwiches in cling film on the work surface. Help yourselves. We won't be late, but you've got my mobile number if you need us."

She took Mario's arm. "Bye," she called, as she walked him to the door. He said nothing, just gave an easy smile that he hoped would confirm the appearance of a normal couple. He was a shade nervous about Maggie's choice of a serving copper as a sitter, but she liked the lad and trusted him.

She released his arm as soon as the front door closed behind them.

"Where are we going?" he asked, as they climbed into her car, which was parked in the road, rather than in their driveway.

"I've booked a table in Kublai Khan," she replied. "I fancy something exotic, and I reckoned Mongolian was about as way out as we could get."

"That's okay by me." He smiled, easily, to cover the fact that he was lying. Her CD player came on with the engine as she turned the key in the ignition. Maggie was a major fan of Mary Chapin Carpenter; "State of the Heart' was playing, loud. A good choice, he thought; it was more upbeat and less sorrowful than some of her more recent stuff, although it did include a track called "Never Had it So Good', with a lyric that he found rather pointed in their situation. Fortunately, he thought, they reached the restaurant just before Mary came to "Quittin'Time'.

His private worry was eased as soon as they walked into the Leith restaurant. The big detective had been there before, a week earlier, with Paula: it was one of her favourites. Fortunately the maitre d' was indeed masterful; if he recognised his guest… and Mario was aware that he was not someone who was forgotten easily… he gave no sign as he greeted them and showed them to their table.

He selected a bottle of an unusual Canadian red from the wine list, and a bottle of still water, then glanced at the menu. "Your choice," he said to Maggie, 'so you pick for us both."

"Let's just go for the banquet, then," she said, as the wine waiter returned, then sat in silence as her husband approved the wine.

Once they were alone again, he looked across the table at her. The smile had gone, and he saw that her underlying tension was working its way back to the surface. "How was Rufus?" she asked. "Did he enjoy the beach?"

"Does Santa Claus have a beard?" he answered. "Of course he did."

"And have you thought about it, about the situation, and that letter?"

"Of course."

"And do you agree with me, about what we have to do?"

"He's your brother. It's your decision."

"There's no decision," she retorted, plaintively. "I've got no choice."

His eyes dropped from hers. "I know," he murmured; he looked up again.

"Do a deal with the Chamberlains. Tell them we won't contest if they give us visiting rights. I reckon they'll accept that, rather than risk a court action that they could well lose."

She looked at him, gratefully… for reasons which he did not grasp entirely. "I'll try."

"Good. I'll speak to Alex about finding an appropriate lawyer to act for us."

"There may be no need," she said. "I may have met one."

She told him about her business at the Royal Scottish Academy, and her meeting with David Candela. "His firm has a two-hundred-year-old letterhead, and he has a simple approach to what he does. He's a dry old stick, and I don't suppose he'll act himself, but I'm sure he'll take us on. I'm also pretty confident he'll get the result you want."

"We want, Mags," he interrupted. "The result we want."

"Of course;' she agreed quickly, but not quite in the right tone.

"You want rid of him, don't you: you want him to go."

"No."

"Mags, love, be honest."

She shook her head. "I just can't, Mario. I'm sorry. I've tried, but it's too difficult for me. If I'm being really honest, when I got that letter this morning, I said to myself "Thank God". He may be my brother, and he may be just a child, but I can't love him. It's too much to ask."

He looked away, across the room, and gave a huge sigh. "Of course it is," he exclaimed, so firmly that at first she thought he was angry. "I really am a stupid, selfish, insensitive bastard. I never asked you, did I? I just told you that this was what we were going to do. I never asked myself either, how you would feel bringing up your father's son. I am so sorry, Mags," he told her. "I had it in my head that

Rufus would be the cord that would tie us together. Now I look at it through your eyes, I agree with you. Thank God that these people exist, and that they appear to care for him as they do."

His eyes came back to her. "So where will it leave us, when he goes?"

"Where do you want it to leave us?" She hesitated, then leaned forward. "I'll ask you this straight out, just this one time. Do you want to leave me and go and live with Paula?"

"No, I want to live with you."

"Even though I can't bear you to touch me?"

"Maybe that'll change."

"Mario, all our married life, and before, I've been as good an actress as Louise Mcllhenney used to be. Maybe in the future, every so often,

I could get drunk enough to let you get your end away. But would you want that?"

"I don't have to answer that, do I?"

"I hope not. So what's to keep us together?"

"I love your soul, Mags, as much as I love your body. If you had motor neurone disease, or MS, or some other crippling thing, I wouldn't leave you, and I wouldn't force myself on you, either. So why's this any different?" He dazzled her with his sudden smile. "Let's give it a name. Let's say you're suffering from chronic post-traumatic paralysis of the pussy, and leave it at that. If there's a miracle cure, great; if not, no matter."

Her face stayed straight, but she flashed him a quick grin with her eyes. "Do you really mean that?"

"I really do."

"What about Paula? Let's take it as read that I know you're sleeping with her, and I don't mind. I know what a horny bugger you are, and in truth I'd rather you were going to her than to one of her saunas. But does she want you to move in with her?"

"No."

"What if she did?"

"She won't, and you can take that as read too; Paulie is a truly independent girl. Nobody could live with her, and she knows it."

"Do you love her?"

"I love her body, although not as much as yours. As for her soul, it's too like mine for me ever to love." He glanced over her shoulder.

"Here comes the waiter. Get ready to order."

She gave him their simple order. The young man wrote, nodded and left.

As he did, she took Mario's hand in hers, if only for a second. "Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," he replied. "Just try to believe in miracles, that's all I ask. Do that and you never know."

"I'll try, but I do know."

"We'll see. Let's talk shop. I heard a radio report about what happened at the RSA. You got a result yet?"

She shook her head. "No. We let all the guests back into the building and we took a lot of statements but they all say the same thing; the painting just went up in flames… whoosh! Stevie and I looked at the security videos, but there wasn't a single lead on them that we could see. Arthur Dorward's got the debris in the lab; I'm waiting for him to report."

"What do you reckon?"

"We have Christian fundamentalists too; from the reproduction of the ruined picture that I saw in the exhibition catalogue, that's what I reckon."

"And you're probably right." He paused, as the first of their dishes was brought to their table. "Here," he continued, "I almost forgot. I took Rufus to Gullane today, instead of North Berwick, and guess who I saw on the beach? Bob Skinner and Andy Martin, that's who. They gave me a body-swerve too; thought I didn't notice them, but I did. They were doing some serious talking. I wonder what it was about?"

"Big Bob's predicament, probably. How was he looking?"

"From what I saw at a distance, he was looking very fit. Do you think he'll get back? Or do you think Councillor Maley's lot have got him this time?"

"They see the chance," Maggie answered. "What they're lacking are brains, resources and courage. He'll get back all right."

"I'm glad you think so. I don't know about you, but with him gone, I find Dan Pringle becoming more and more unbearable as head of CID."

Then he smiled, as if he was anticipating something pleasant. "Here, it strikes me that those characters are lacking something else too."

"What's that?"

"Foresight. They can't imagine what's going to happen after he does get back."