Garnethill

Chapter 22

It was a sunny autumn day. Red sandstone buildings clashed with a powder blue sky, and out of the front windows of the bus, in the clear, far distance, Maureen could see the rugged Campsie hills capped in snow. She got off the bus and walked round the side to the staff canteen. She knew she was taking a chance and shouldn't ask for him; she would just have a quick look. She thought about going to his secret place to wait for him but he might not come there. She was buying a cup of tea at the canteen counter when she remembered that he only worked every second Saturday – he might not even be in today.

She sat at a table on her own and drank her tea, checking the tables and watching the door. She couldn't see him. She was wearing her gray overcoat and tartan scarf. The staff were all there in their white uniforms. She saw them looking at her and knew she should take off the coat to blend into the crowd but if she took it off she'd have to take the scarf off too and then the marks on the back of her neck would be visible and they would definitely think she was a patient. Dr. Paton might come in and spot her. She should never have come. A male nurse with the same eyes as Michael caught her eye and smiled, quizzically concerned. She changed her mind and hurried to leave. Martin almost banged into her in the doorway. "What in God's name are you doing here?" he said angrily.

He took her elbow and guided her firmly down the corridor, into a theater lift. He punched the button for lower ground with the side of his fist, not speaking until the doors were shut in front of them. "Why have you come back here? I told you everything."

"Martin, I need to ask you some more questions. I'm really sorry, I didn't want to phone you, I thought I'd be less conspicuous if I just turned up and found you."

"For pity sake. Sitting in the staff canteen with your coat on waiting for me?"

He walked briskly down the forked corridor. The failing fluorescent bulb was flickering slowly, like a dying man's pulse. She followed him through the door to the L-shaped room and round the corner to his den. He turned on the light and shut the door behind her. "Right, what is it?" he snapped.

"There's no need to be short with me," said Maureen.

"No, Maureen, there's every need. I suppose you thought you were being fly, getting that list off Frank yesterday. He phoned later to see if you got it. When he found out that you didn't exist he phoned the police. He's been suspended from work and it's all over the hospital. The George I man would need to be deaf and blind not to know about it now." He sat down on the metal chair and looked up at her solemnly.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," she said, lifting the tea things off the mahogany cabinet and sitting down on it.

"You thought you were being fly, didn't you?"

She rubbed her shins with her hands quickly and owned up. "Yes," she said.

"Well, you weren't. It was a stupid thing to do. Now, why have you come back?"

"I want you to tell me who the staff were."

"Isn't that what you got off Frank?"

"No. That's what I asked him for but he gave me the wrong information."

"What did he give you?" he asked.

"A list of national insurance numbers."

Martin thought about it for a moment. His face creased into a reluctant grin and he started laughing. His hilarity escalated until he was doubled over in the chair, emitting high-pitched silly barks and wiping tears away. Maureen smiled despite herself. Martin slapped her knee and she started laughing too.

When he finally managed to calm himself he leaned over and flicked the switch on the big kettle sitting on the floor. "Aw, geeso," he giggled, "that guy, that Frank, he's such an ijit." He tapped her ankle, getting her to move her leg aside, and pulled open one of the little drawers on the mahogany chest. A stack of plastic cups was lying inside. Still chortling to himself, he took out two cups, put tea bags in them and opened another drawer with a Tupperware sandwich box containing powdered milk. Without asking her, he poured some into both cups. Maureen didn't want to correct him in case she interrupted his mood. He put the container back and took an opened half packet of Bourbon biscuits out of another drawer.

"You're all set here, aren't you, Martin?"

"Aye," he said, still grinning. "I know how to look after myself." He saw her looking at the Thistle posters. "We're playing in France tomorrow. Metz."

"You going?"

"Naw," he said. "The bus leaves today, couple of hours before my shift finishes. Shame. All my cronies are going." He poured water from the kettle into the cups and handed her one.

She took it, holding it carefully by the rim until she realized that it was barely warm. The kettle hadn't had time to boil properly, the tea bag floated ineffectually in the greasy white water.

"Do you think you'll win?" she said.

"You don't know anything about football, do you, pet? No, we'll lose."

She tried to sip the tea but couldn't face it. She put the cup down on the uneven floor and took one of the Bourbons from the packet. Her teeth slid easily through the damp biscuit and it crumbled behind her teeth, tasting old and chalky. She shoved it over to the side of her mouth, trying to keep it away from her tongue. "Can't you tell me about the staff, Martin?"

"Why should I?" he said, serious again. "As soon as I do you'll start asking questions about them and go and see them, won't you?" He dunked the lazy tea bag in his cup. It exuded some brownness and then died.

"Well, yes," she said.

"And you'll probably be as clumsy about it as you were with Frank. Everyone'll know I've told you. I could get in a lot of trouble. It might even be dangerous."

"Everyone'll think it was Frank who told me."

Martin sipped his tea and thought about it. "Aye," he said. "Aye, well, that's true enough. But why should I give you more information to draw attention to yourself with?"

She gave up the pretense and put the old biscuit down next to the undrinkable tea. "Martin, have you ever thought that he might still be doing it?"

"No," he said, with certainty. "We would have heard. They'll have caught him out by now."

"Not if his victims are vulnerable enough. Maybe what he learned from George I was just to be more careful and not leave marks on women who are washed by other people or something."

He grunted, chewing his biscuit, and considered the possibility. His face darkened. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" he said. "You're going to keep on until you find him."

"Yeah."

"You're being stupid."

"Yeah."

"He might kill you."

"I might kill him," she said.

Martin smiled. "I remember when you were frightened of the noise the dinner trolley made."

"Please tell me, Martin."

"Why are you doing this? Why don't you tell the police?"

"Well, they think my brother did it and now Siobhain McCloud's involved. She can't talk about the ward and they'll try and make her. I can't tell them about her." She could feel herself losing the thread. "The police won't listen to me anyway. They know I was in here, they just think I'm mental."

"I remember Siobhain well," he said, "she was a teuchter. What would happen if you told the police everything you've found out so far?"

Maureen thought about it. "They'll make Siobhain talk about what happened to her on George I ward. I don't know what that'll do to her – she can hardly say the ward name."

Her head was bent low over her knees, and although her dark hair had fallen over her face Martin could still see a hollow shadow in her eyes. He slapped his open hands on his thighs. "Well," he said, "you've no choice, then. Have you a pen?"

She rummaged in her leather rucksack, found a Biro under the pile of tissues and bus tickets and gave it to Martin. He tapped her ankle again and opened another mahogany drawer containing a rolled-up writing pad. It had a medical logo on it, selling a pill for hemosomething. He headed the sheet with her name in block capitals and underlined it twice, drawing in two exclamation marks. He smiled across at her and wrote out a list, chewing the end of the pen between names. Maureen looked round the room. The humming engine noise coming from behind the wall had stopped. The room was completely silent except for the scratching of pen on paper and the occasional rumble coming up through the drain in the sink from the water pipes. The walls must be feet thick.

Martin finished off the list and handed it to her. "Those are ones I remember," he said. "There'll be some I've forgotten, but those are the full-timers who were moved after the scandal."

She folded it up and slipped it into the condom pocket of her jeans. He offered her the pen back: it was chewed and slavered on. "You can keep it," she said.

He looked at the pen. "Oh." He was puzzled. "I'm always doing that."

He wanted to walk her to the bus stop. She argued with him as they went back to the lift. It would be more discreet if he didn't, she said, she'd already been stupid enough for both of them.

He shook her hand, holding it tight with both of his as the lift took off. "I don't expect to see you again," he said firmly.

"I promise you won't, I swear." She patted her hip pocket as the lift bobbed to a gentle standstill. "Thanks." The doors opened and she stepped out. "Hope your team win," she said, turning back.

"We won't." He grinned at her and the doors slid shut in front of him.

Martin had written down a list of nurses and a separate list of doctors. Maureen read and reread it on the bus. She didn't recognize any of the names.

The sullen receptionist had been replaced by an industrious, well-mannered middle-aged woman in a white blouse and burgundy cardigan who said good afternoon as she came through the lobby. Maureen smiled at her and went through to the television room.

Siobhain was sitting in her chair watching an early episode of Columbo. The room was nearly empty except for Siobhain and a very old lady wearing too much red lipstick. The fierce red paste had bled into the wrinkles radiating from her mouth, making it look like a badly diseased anus. It was Saturday, and Maureen supposed that most people would be with their families. The old lady stood up unsteadily when Maureen walked in and looked at her expectantly. "Is it you?" she said. Her upper set of dentures fell, collapsing diagonally and jamming her mouth open. She tried to smile and the teeth fell out, landing on the linoleum floor.

Siobhain looked up and smiled over at Maureen. "Hello, Helen," she said. She was wearing the clothes she had had on last Wednesday but they were still immaculate – she didn't do much to get them dirty.

"My name's Maureen, actually, Siobhain."

Siobhain was confused. "Did I forget?" she said.

"No," said Maureen. "Tanya always gets my name wrong. She introduced us."

"Oh, yes. I like your new hair."

"So do I," said Maureen.

The old lady was standing between them, grinning, gumsy and confused, her teeth lying in front of her on the floor. Maureen picked up the dentures and carried them to the little kitchenette at the back of the room. The lady put her hands out in front of her and kept her eyes on the teeth as she followed Maureen to the sink. Maureen turned on the cold tap and held the teeth under the water. She handed them back. "Thank you," said the lady graciously. "Thank you very much."

Maureen pulled a plastic chair next to Siobhain's and sat down. The old lady followed her, standing between them and the television. Siobhain leaned over the armrest and carried on watching Columbo. The lady put the teeth in and tried to smile at Maureen again, and again her teeth fell out. Maureen stood up.

"No, leave it," said Siobhain. "She shouldn't be wearing them at all, she found them in a drawer. Gurtie," she said to the old lady, "Gurtie, dear, you shouldn't put them in your mouth."

Gurtie looked puzzled.

"What are you watching?" asked Maureen.

"Columbo. It's very good. I like that man."

Maureen stroked the back of Siobhain's head: her hair was knotted again. It must be where she rests her head when she is sleeping, thought Maureen, where she rubs her head on the pillow. "The knot's worse today," she said. "Shall I comb it?"

"Yes, please."

She moved her chair behind Siobhain and took out her sharpened stabbing comb. Gurtie came over and offered them a ripped Observer magazine. They said no, thank you, Gurtie. Gurtie sat down in a chair and stared at the side of the television for a little while before wandering off into the next room.

When the knot was combed out Maureen dragged her seat next to Siobhain and sat down. They watched television for a while, eating a bag of crisps Maureen had brought with her. Columbo solved the case and the ads came on. Siobhain turned to face Maureen. "How wicked that Hollywood lady was."

"Yeah," said Maureen.

"And she did it for the money. Terrible behavior." She settled back into her seat.

"Siobhain, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it about?"

"You know what it's about."

Siobhain looked at her hands. "I have to tell you I can't talk about it."

"I know you can't, I don't want you to talk about it. I want you to tell me the names of some of the other women in the ward at the same time. Could you do that?"

"I don't remember very well. But I suppose… yes."

Maureen got out Martin's list and Siobhain wrote the names at the bottom. She could only remember four: Yvonne Urquhart, Marianne McDonald, Iona McKinnon and Edith Menzies. They were all Highland names. "That's why I remember them. I can't remember foreign names so well."

Maureen thanked her.

"No." Siobhain stiffened in the chair. "I remember." Her voice dropped to a panicky whisper. "Iona is not-she died."

"Oh," said Maureen, surprised by how upset Siobhain was. She would surely have remembered that the woman was dead if they had been that close. "I'm sorry, were you friends?"

"No." Siobhain was losing her breath. "She took her own life. Tanya said."

"How did Tanya know?"

"At the Rainbow. Iona was at the Rainbow."

"Breathe in, Siobhain," said Maureen. "Take a deep breath."

Siobhain struggled.

"Listen," said Maureen, "tell me what programs you watch on Saturdays."

Panting, Siobhain started relating the programming schedule for Saturdays. By the time she got to ten o'clock she was perfectly calm. Maureen wanted to leave but thought Siobhain might get bad again. She sat until the end of Howards' Way. "I should really be going," she said.