Still Midnight

40

Towards Leadhills the M74 broadens into three lanes of perfect tarmac that snake gracefully through big soft hills. Great feats of engineering lift the road across the uneven ground so that it remains perfectly level while the land around it dips and rolls, making the road separate from the land, of it, but steadier, more perfect.

Through a cleft of massive hills the road slopes down to the right for three miles and then rights itself to the left, rolling clockwise around a hill moulded by time and rain into a colossal green bowling ball. On the vale below a narrow silver river snakes deep through mossy green fields like a wire through cheese.

Aleesha had chosen the music, Glasvegas, which she insisted Roy should love or not be regarded seriously as a person. It wasn’t the sort of music he was used to listening to, in the nightclubs he’d worked in the music was older, more dance tunes, everything she liked was a bit guitary.

She was looking out of the window at the vale, her bare feet resting on the dashboard, a red enamelled ring on her big toe. She didn’t want a seat belt on. Said they scratched her neck.

‘Wow.’

‘Ever done this drive before?’

‘No.’

‘Beautiful.’

‘Hm.’

He was coming up to the curve, going fast because that was how she liked it, in the inside lane. Aleesha was in a hurry to get away.

‘Can I have my hand back?’ he said.

She looked at the big meaty hand beneath her good one, resting on the gearstick. She held it up by the index finger. ‘This old thing? What do you need this for?’

Roy smiled. ‘I need it to drive, to steer the car we’re driving in at seventy miles an hour.’

She flipped around in the seat so that she was kneeling facing him, still holding his hand by the finger. ‘You know, Roy, if you loved me really, if you really, really loved me, as a sign of how much you loved me, I think you could do everything with one hand too.’

‘Like a love token thing?’

‘Like a sign of how incredibly close and alike we are, you could do that.’ She was leaning towards him, breathing on his ear in a way she knew was distracting, one of her lips touched the rim of his ear. He felt a shudder in his cock.

Behind them an articulated lorry was nudging up the middle lane, and Roy was vaguely aware that the lorry was going too fast for the curve they were coming up to, too fast and in the wrong lane, boxing them in. Behind him, a hundred feet away but closing, was a pale blue sports car.

Aleesha worked her warm tongue around the folds on his ear.

Morrow and Harris, Gobby and Routher ran up the cold concrete stairs, the sound of their steps following them, echo catching the echo so that they sounded like a squadron running in formation.

There he was, standing outside the door, sentry-stiff on the mat, his cardigan buttoned up to his neck, hands flat by his thighs. Honour may have dampened his eyes but his training allowed him to do hard things, bad things.

Morrow gave him a look that ordered him back into the hall. As she followed him in Lander stumbled backwards into the living room, followed by Morrow and the three men. She raised a finger as if she might slap him. ‘Where is he?’

He hesitated, ran his tongue along the stubbled line of his moustache and looked at them again. His hand came up slowly to a door at the back of the living room. For no reason other than annoyance, Morrow kicked the door open.

The bed was army made, blankets and sheet, the corners folded as neatly as an envelope. It was his feet she saw first, gnarled old man’s feet, yellowed hard skin with a white tinge, like bracken, over brown skin. He was dressed in purple and gold striped pyjamas, Lander’s probably; they were too short for him. He had a cut on his ankle and a plaster on his wrist. His hands were limp by his side, his mouth hanging open, teeth worn down through to the pulp, like a sheep’s.

Aamir Anwar was flat on his back, the pillow to Lander’s single bed sat neatly on a nearby chair. They had slipped off, the headphones tuned to the AM radio sat crazily so that one small disc of grey foam was on his cheek, the other tucked behind his head.

Behind them Lander whispered, ‘He needs to sleep. He’s taken a pill.’

Morrow spun to meet him. ‘How the fuck did he even get here?’

‘I dunno. He chapped my door. Said he needed a rest. I wanted to call ye but he said to give him a minute and could he have one of my sleeping pills.’ He pointed to the headphones. ‘ Australia are getting gubbed.’ He smiled as if that was news that would please everyone.

‘His family are frantic!’ she said, knowing it was a lie, knowing she was really talking about herself.

Lander looked at his old friend, at the soft rise and fall of his chest, and he grinned so wide that all of his own stubby worn old teeth were showing. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘but Aamir’s all right. As for the rest, I don’t really give a hoot.’

A crowd had gathered at the service station, an elderly coach party from Newcastle on their way to the Highlands. They were buying nice Marks and Spencer’s sandwiches to eat on the long journey north and standing in an orderly queue for the checkout along the window looking out over the motorway.

Across the forecourt they were standing close, he holding the petrol pump, she leaning her forehead on his free shoulder. Aleesha and Roy were filling the car up for a long drive.

The petrol hummed, the gauge clicked and she whispered into his side, ‘Roy?’

‘Aye?’

‘ Roy.’

He gave a deep contented sigh. ‘Aye.’

She cleared her throat. ‘ Roy? When we… you know… first…’

Roy wrapped his free arm around her waist and drew her tiny frame towards him. ‘When we first what?’

She didn’t answer.

He smiled down at her and tried to rock her from foot to foot. She clung to him, head down, not looking at him, feet planted. She seemed a little afraid.

He used his chin to rock her face up to his. ‘Doll, nothing’s wrong, nothing can be wrong, I’m here with you. Everything, anything… if you don’t want… you know, for years, that’s fine by me, either way, just as long as we’re together, anything. Anything you want.’

‘Not first that, I’m not… it’s not that.’

‘When we first what, then?’

She pulled away from him, looked at the window of old people staring at them, drinking in how young and lithe and in love they were. ‘When we first met…’

Roy frowned and shook the petrol gun in the hole, shaking off the drips. His jaw was clenched as he hung the gun on the petrol tank.

They could make it a lie, all he had to do was say ‘at the hospital’ – ‘When we met at the hospital?’ She was young, biddable, he could make her say they met at the hospital. And if they said it enough, after a while, the lie would seem true, between them, would be the story they told the children. But he was Roy now and Roy couldn’t make himself tell Aleesha that lie.

Panic tightened in his chest. She was moving away from him, he could feel the light dying and soon he would be alone in the darkness again. ‘When…?’

‘I’s thinking, you know that, like, really, that’s one worry we don’t have.’ She drew in a breath so deep it arched her back and, staring at the old people in the window, spun on one foot and dropped an arm around his neck. ‘I mean, it’s good in a way,’ she whispered. ‘I mean, ’cause, you’ve kind of already met my parents. ’ Holding onto his neck she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

A sob caught his throat, sounding like a hiccup and he pulled her flat against him, burying his face in her soft neck, tears wetting the perfect skin.

Despite the odds Roy and Aleesha clung tight to each other for a long, long time, until her legs were stiff and he felt very, very old.