2007 - A tale etched in blood and hard black pencel (42 page)

Colin, similarly bereft of his dance partner, taps Robbie on the arm to break the spell and leads him off to a seat at the side. Nobody is looking at them: whatever happened, Eleanor’s the one it happened to, while Robbie and Colin are just two guys leaving the dance floor. But something did happen to Robbie, Colin can see. He looks totally spooked, white as a ghost, his eyes focusing somewhere that isn’t in this room.

And suddenly something clicks into place. The secret fragment of childhood history that Colin has always carried, jagged and anomalous, transforms from a baffling isolated shard to the piece that completes a larger puzzle.

It’s Primary Four, St Lizzie’s. Playtime. Colin has left the game of Colditz early because he needs a pee and wants to go before the bell rings. Plus he was stuck being a Jerry. He walks into the boys’ toilets and sees a sight he will never forget.

Boma Turner is booting at the door to one of the stalls, repeatedly bringing his right foot to bear upon the side of the lock, furious, determined grunts issuing from his mouth with each kick. Fairly miraculously, the lock holds out against this onslaught. Boma then gives the door a charge with his shoulder but is again rebuffed. In response, he lets out a guttural roar that starts as frustration but becomes like a war-cry
as
he takes another runny and scrambles his way over the top of the cubicle.

Colin then sees the door shudder further, accompanied by more thumps and, this time, yelps of pain and panic.

He hears Boma’s voice, low and breathless now: “This is for what your bastart da done tae ma maw,” followed by more blows, more cries. Then the lock snaps back and the door opens just enough for Harry Fenwick to hurl himself through the gap before Boma can pull it closed again. He sprawls on the floor, his trousers tripping him around his knees. Colin sees shite all over Harry’s legs before he hauls them up and scrambles for the exit, clutching his waistband.

Boma steps out and watches Harry run, then turns to look straight at Colin. “You say anyhin tae any cunt an you’re next,” Boma says quietly, walking to the sinks where he calmly proceeds to wash his hands.

Colin shakes his head rapidly. He can’t find the words to state his acknowledgement.

“Now get yoursel tae fuck.”

Colin told nobody the truth about the legendary incident, at first through fear of Boma, and later out of shame that he had been so cowardly as to hide it for so long.

Boma would have been ten, maybe eleven. Chances were he didn’t know precisely what Harry’s da had done to his mammy; and, like Colin, was probably under the mistaken impression that the Fenwicks’ da was whatever man was then living with their mother. There would likely have been some conversation or argument between Boma’s parents, overheard and half understood, about which all he knew for sure was that his da was really angry. Like Colin, Boma himself at that point probably assumed this outrage to have involved Harry’s da somehow hurting Mrs Turner.

As far as Colin understood, Joe Turner and the older Fenwicks had already crossed swords, so with no way of knowing how historical Mrs Turner’s injury to be, he was under the impression it was part of an ongoing greater animosity, rather than the cause of it. They were the two bampot families of the scheme, so it was inevitable that their boys would be laying rival claim to being kings of the midden. That, Colin assumed, and not whatever Boma had referred to in the toilets, accounted for the mutual hatred between the Fenwicks and the Turners in later years: such as Eleanor putting the glue in Robbie’s schoolbag, and Boma dropping animal guts on Colin and Eleanor that time he was getting off with her. Boma wasn’t at the disco, but soon afterwards it was common knowledge that he had been the one who broke into the school that night and stole the video. Colin therefore had no doubt about what else he’d done, though he’d never felt much inclined to dig him up about it.

Once Colin was older, on the rare and uncomfortable occasions he had cause to remember the incident in the toilets, his teenage fixations made him imagine Mr Fenwick’s transgression must have been something darker, like rape. Tonight, though, seeing Eleanor break down and Robbie freeze, he understands not only what it truly was, but
when
it truly was.

Eleanor’s mum killed herself a few weeks back. Left a note, they said.

Colin thinks of Boma and Joe, how Robbie never looked much like them. And now, after years of it literally staring him in the face, he realises who Robbie
does
resemble.

§

“Did Robbie already know by that point?” Martin asks. “Christ, I’m saying that, but…I should be asking you if Robbie even knows
now
.”

“He knows,” Jojo says, nodding. “I don’t know when or how exactly he found out, but I do know they faced up to it together shortly after. Eleanor says they met a few times over that summer. Must have been hard, specially given how much they’d hated each other, but family’s family: they were brother and sister, or half-brother and—sister anyway.”

“Must have been easier for Robbie to forgive than the other way around,” Martin suggests.

“Maybe,” Jojo demurs. “Eleanor knew she was no saint either.”

“Hard to believe Robbie would want another sibling, given how he got on with his brothers.”

“He got on okay with the women, I think: his mum, his big sister. Having a sister who was nothing to do with Johnny Turner must have seemed a good thing.”

“So is it common knowledge now?”

“No. I mean, there’s folk who know, but it’s not mentioned aloud, you know?”

“And Robbie and Eleanor, are they close?”

“Not really. Eleanor kept him at arm’s length. Robbie was always a bit of a shambles, as you know, though Eleanor told me any time he had money he tried to help out with Gail. He also tried to track down their father, but got nowhere. Spent money on agencies and stuff, but nobody really knew where to begin. Eleanor’s mum wasnae around to ask, and Eleanor knew nothing because Charlie Fenwick disappeared before she was even one. That was 1969.”

“The year the Bleachfield was built,” Martin says.

Jojo nods and gives him a penetrating look. “You worked it oot yet, Sherlock?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Aye, well, so did Colin, would be my guess. At roughly the point when Johnny Turner became determined to stop him demolishing the hotel.”

“But how did Colin know Charlie Fenwick was Robbie’s father?”

Jojo sighs and an uncharacteristically vulnerable, regretful look plays across her face.

“You told him,” he guesses.

She winces a little and briefly closes her eyes. “It wasn’t quite like that,” she says. “It was…That was the night…” Her words falter and she has to swallow and sniff as a few tears form. Martin puts his hand into his pocket and produces a tissue. She doesn’t take it, but does hold the proffered hand.

§

It’s getting late, close to midnight. The bar closed half an hour ago, which is a good thing, considering how pissed certain folk look. Karen thinks they ought to run a sweepstake on who pukes first out of John-Jo, John-James, Tarn Mclntosh, Liam Paterson and James Doon. She’d give evens on a dead-heat between the Carnock Cousins, as they did everything together. Kenny Langton looked pretty blitzed, too, she thought earlier, but that turned out to be just the way he was dancing.

It’s winding down: slow numbers from the DJ, the dance floor left to a few genuine couples and two of the guys having a slow waltz as a carry-on. Helen is still out there with Scot Connolly. Karen came here with Helen and Alison in Karen’s mum’s car, but she and Alison have hardly spoken to the lassie for the past two hours. Karen’s delighted for her, though: she’s positively radiating. Helen looked good tonight anyway, if a little self-conscious about being so glammed-up, and seemed to grow into her dress once she started dancing with a few guys. However, it was after she danced with Scot, and then went off to a table with him and talked and laughed and talked and laughed that she really started to glow.

Helen has actually confided recently that she fancies Scot; that she’s
always
liked him, in fact, even though she was often a wee bit intimidated by his mischievousness and that perceptively wicked tongue of his. Karen’s always liked him, too, and for precisely the reasons Helen found intimidating. She’s always liked his pal Martin as well, but neither of them ever seemed suitable as boyfriend material. They’re the kind of guy she wishes she could have been better friends with, but that’s about it. Both too short to be anything more, for one thing, and just too damn boyish. They look the part tonight, though. Those bootlace ties are a cute touch; just enough of a hint of dissent without it being any kind of attention-seeking protest. She can tell Martin is delighted to be dressed just that bit more individually. She of all people can identify with the buzz of walking into company like this and making a statement about yourself. However, the statement Martin seems keenest to make these days is ‘Cheerio’. The tie seems more a Scot thing, she estimates. He’s the cheeky one. It’s not intended as a protest, just a wee bit of good-humoured devilment.

Karen’s had a good time. It’s been great to see everybody away from the snake-pit that school always turns into. There’s a lot of goodwill in the air tonight, and not a little regret. Plenty of people here won’t be seeing so much of each other in future, and it’s taken an occasion like this to make them realise that might be a bad thing. The only sour note she’s aware of—apart from poor Eleanor having to leave—is that Martin walked off the dance floor to the bar rather than dance with Jojo when they ended up together. He didn’t do it demonstratively, but he still did it. Jojo would never admit it in a million years, but Karen could tell she was hurt. Some might say she had it coming, but for Christ’s sake, not tonight. This was a night for putting all that shite behind you. Martin was leaving anyway, why burn bridges? She thought he was more magnanimous; thought he had more class. Thought he was a nicer guy.

Karen won’t be leaving this year; she’s in no hurry. She doesn’t have a scooby what she wants to do, and the best way to defer a decision on that is to go to college. A sixth year and a couple more Highers won’t hurt, especially as she’s none too confident about that second maths paper she sat. She hasn’t really known what she wanted to do for years; and being the Bionic Woman probably doesn’t count. She once thought she wanted to be an art teacher, but the truth was she just wanted to be
her
art teacher, or even just dress like her. She also thought about becoming a polis, as it’s one of the few jobs where being a comparatively tall female is seen as an advantage. She blew it off, though, on the grounds that nobody ever tells her anything. Jojo Milligan:
that
’s who should become a cop.

The thought makes Karen look around for her, but there’s no sign. She saw Jojo leave the function suite with Colin Temple, with whom she’d been dancing for most of the night. Karen’s kind of surprised he would be out of the room for longer than it took to have a pee, as he seemed intent upon milking every moment. Colin’s been acting like the whole event is
his
party, the hotel the site of his own personal triumph. She wonders what spell Jojo has cast to be honoured with so much personal attention.

§

“That was the night I…you know, lost my…” Jojo swallows again and nods in lieu of saying it.

Martin nods, too, so that she can continue.

“To Colin…with Colin, in fact. I’m pretty sure it was his first time as well. Anyway, part of his seduction that night was to act all sensitive and concerned, askin aboot Eleanor. I didnae really tell him what I knew…Some of the things he said…it was like he knew already. Okay, maybe I joined a few dots, but he had most of the picture drawn. I don’t know how, but the main thing is he
did
know, and he’s known for twenty years. So when Johnny Turner started comin over heavy about the hotel, Colin also must have realised what happened to Charlie Fenwick.”

“Scot said Johnny might even have worked as a labourer when they were building the place.”

“That would be aboot right, aye.”

“And Colin reckoned that once the hotel was demolished and the body found, Johnny Turner would be removed from the equation.”

“Aye,” Jojo agrees. “Forcibly, by the polis. But I guess he didnae work it oot quite soon enough, otherwise he wouldnae have bothered leanin on Pete McGeechy.”

“Or, knowing Colin, it was belt-and-braces. He needed Pete to guarantee the planning permission, especially after Johnny Turner nobbled the committee. Johnny being lifted for murder wouldn’t necessarily undo the damage he’d already done to the planning application. So he blackmailed Pete, but then it backfired and presented Turner with a winning hand, which he chose to play just days before Colin knew the demolition would take him out of the game…”

§

Colin hears the car before he sees it. That’s always how it is out here: so quiet, just the chirping of the birds and the rustle of wind in the branches. Sometimes you can even hear the waves lapping on the fishing loch. The sound of an engine and the crunch of tyres on dust and bark is like a roar by comparison, even two or three hundred yards away through the trees. He doesn’t need to see the car anyway to know who it is. Nobody happens along here in passing. The single-track road leads only in and out. It’s a dead end.

He lifts his new, second mobile and makes the call for which it was anonymously purchased. It’s a simple act, and yet so difficult. He knows it will make the rest easier, though, or at least reduce the dilemma of choice. Making this call will set everything in motion; will make it harder to shite out of it and decide he’ll just take his losses on the chin instead when it comes to the real moment.

“I need you to meet me here at the lodges as soon as possible,” he says. “It’s really important. And I need you to come alone, because it’s sensitive. It’s about your dad.”

The black BMW pulls into view, coming around the side of the end lodge and rolling into the horseshoe with a stated lack of hurry. Colin sees him through the windscreen. He’s alone, thank fuck. It would still work if Boma was with him—arguably even better—but it would be twice as tricky.