Garnethill by Denise Mina (37 page)

"I want to buy something."

Paulsa weighed it up in his mind. It took a while. "Why didn't you get it off Liam?"

Maureen blushed. "I can't really," she said quietly. "It's for a nefarious purpose."

"
A nefarious
purpose?" Paulsa echoed, enjoying the unfamiliar word. "What is it you want?" She told him. "What are you going to do with it?" he asked.

She started to answer but he interrupted her after getting the gist of it. "Don't tell me about that any more," he said, looking shaken.

He tiptoed into the kitchen and came back with her order in a plastic money bag. "It might take about an hour to get going."

She gave him three twenty-pound notes from Douglas's money.

"I've no change," said Paulsa, worried that she might want to stay in his company while he got some.

"Don't worry, Paulsa," she said, moving toward the front door. "I'll get it from you again."

Paulsa tiptoed quickly around her and opened the front door, anxious to get her out of the house.

"I'm sorry I freaked you, Paulsa."

"I wish you'd never told me that."

"I'm sorry." She stepped out into the close and Paulsa shut the door quickly behind her. She shouldn't have told him: she had expected him to be less empathetic. She slipped the plastic money bag into her inside pocket and did up the buttons on her coat.

As she walked up to Argyle Street, where the buses stopped for the Drum, she passed a phone box and decided to phone Liz, just to touch down.

Garry answered. "I'll just get her," he said when Maureen said it was herself phoning.

Liz didn't bother to say hello or ask her how she was. "Did you get the letter he sent you?" she asked.

"No."

"Maybe it hasn't got to you yet. Maureen, he's sacking you."

"Oh, fuck."

"Did you send the line in?"

"No," said Maureen, "I've left it somewhere awkward. How are ye anyway, Lizbo?"

"Aye, fine."

Maureen wanted a comforting, normal conversation, but Liz could hear a strange tension in her voice and didn't want to chat about trivia with her. She was going to Tenerife in the morning and still had a lot of packing to do. They arranged to meet for lunch at some undefined date in the future. It was a more diplomatic cheerio than a final good-bye.

She stopped at an off-license and bought a bottle of peach schnapps. It wasn't until she was handing over the money that she remembered she didn't have a job anymore and that there would be no money coming in on Friday. It didn't feel right taking Douglas's money. Fuck it, she thought, I'll worry about that later, and she bought some fags as well.

The image of Douglas's balls made her throat ache as she walked to the bus stop. She stayed outside the shelter, leaning on the damp Perspex, and lit a cigarette, drawing heavily on the filter, shoving the grief downward into her belly, putting it by for later.

Leslie was sitting alone in the living room watching television, she was in an excitable, giggly mood.

"What are you so cheery about?" said Maureen.

"Oh," Leslie grinned, "I've just been with the Queen of Sadness all day. I'd shoot myself in the foot for a laugh right now."

"Yeah," said Maureen. "Where is she?"

"In bed," said Leslie. "We'll have to sleep on the floor again." She tried to rummage in Maureen's bag. "Drink," she said. "Give me drink."

"Wait, wait," said Maureen. She sat Leslie down on the settee and explained that she was going to take Siobhain to Millport in the next couple of days. "Can you come with us?"

"We're not going there for a laugh, are we, Mauri?"

"No," said Maureen. "I'm going to try and flush him out, get him to follow us and take care of it once and for all. Will you come?"

"I said I was in," she said definitely. "I'm in."

Maureen lit a fag. "I've finally been sacked," she said. "There's a letter on its way to my house."

"Because of the sick line?"

"Yeah. I don't mind not working and I can use Douglas's money if things get tight but I can't sit at home with my thoughts all day. I'll go bananas."

"Why don't you come and work voluntary at the shelter for a wee while? We're desperate for extra hands. I mean, you'd need to be passed by a committee and everything but I don't think it'd be a problem."

"That would be brilliant," said Maureen.

"We might not be working the same shifts or anything, and it might only last another couple of months, you know that?"

"Yeah, I meant it would be brilliant to do something that mattered."

Leslie looked at her thoughtfully. "I've been thinking," she said. "The budget committee meets in a couple of weeks. If we could get people to write in and protest it might change their decision."

"Yeah?"

"So?"

"Well, remember what the Guerrilla Girls did in New York?"

Maureen smiled a long, smug smile. "You mean mount a poster campaign?"

Leslie raised an eyebrow. "Might work. What d'you think?"

"I could pay for it out of Douglas's money. I'd like to do that. I don't know what else to do with the money." When Maureen got the bottle of peach schnapps out of her bag Leslie ran away into the kitchen and brought out a two-liter bottle of lemonade and some glasses. They settled down in the living room to watch television and get pissed. The programs weren't very good so Leslie put an old copy of
Public Enemy
in the video. They watched it, sipping at the sweet schnapps, laughing at Jean Harlow's cardboard hairdo and Cagney's macho posturing. When Cagney punched his mum on the chin Leslie laughed so hard she tumbled off the settee. She crawled to the bathroom on all fours. "Oh, man," she giggled, "I'm so fucking tired."

"Want me to pause it?"

"No, I can't watch any more."

She came back with two sleeping bags.

"I haven't brushed my teeth for two days," reflected Maureen.

"You're a dirty cow," said Leslie, arranging cushions on the floor.

"And I'm not brushing them tonight either."

"That's filthy," said Leslie, and slid into her sleeping bag. Maureen stripped down to her knickers and T-shirt, laid the beeper next to her on the floor and put out the lights. She fell into a drunken, hazy sleep.

Chapter 31

SHAN RYAN

Maureen rolled over uncomfortably and felt the strains and bruises from another night on a floor. Siobhain was standing over her head like a colossus, looking down at her.

"Siobhain," Leslie called softly from the kitchen doorway. "Come away from there, hen. You'll scare the shit out of her."

Siobhain turned around and waddled into the kitchen. Maureen rubbed her face and sat up. She had a tremendous amount of crusty sleep in her eyes. Leslie brought out a coffee for her and sat on the settee watching her drink it. "So, what's the deal today, then?"

"Just hang around here with Siobhain and don't answer the door without checking it first. When we get to Millport all you have to do is sit tight and I'll take care of everything."

"Right," said Leslie quietly. "Maureen, you're not going to stab him, are you?"

"Nah." Maureen climbed out of the sleeping bag and rolled it up. "All being well I won't even touch him."

Leslie nodded soberly and patted her knees with her open hands.

"Are you losing your bottle, Leslie?"

"Yeah," Leslie said. "To be honest I think I am."

"Why?"

"Dunno. I just don't feel like attacking anyone at the moment. You losing your bottle, Mauri?"

"No," said Maureen certainly. "I'm not. I'm getting angrier."

"Maureen, what are you going to do to him?"

Maureen didn't want to tell her. It would be better if no one else knew and she didn't want to have an ethical debate about it. "I'm going to stop him," she said, picking up the phone book.

"Brush your teeth before that, eh?"

Maureen found the number and phoned the Isle of Cumbrae tourist board, asking for information about three-bed flats in Millport. The man on the other end of the phone spoke in a strange transatlantic drawl and kept trying to make personal conversation, asking her if she'd ever been there before. She said no in an attempt to guillotine the conversation but he launched off into a speech about the sights on the island. She finally managed to get contact numbers for five addresses from him. Two of the flats were in the same close — the close they had stayed in the last time they were in Millport, the time Liam and Leslie had taken her, the time of the photograph in the papers. It would be best to get the flats in the same close, in case he found them before she found him.

She called one of the contact numbers and booked the flat for a week starting tomorrow. She hadn't planned it but when the young woman at the other end asked her for a name and contact phone number she found herself making things up, lying so fluently she felt completely in control, she didn't even hesitate when the woman asked her to spell her false surname. Then she rang Liam, gave him the phone number for the other flat in the close and asked him to book it for her. "What for?" he said. "Are you trying to get away from the police for a bit?"

"Yeah."

Minutes later he phoned back to tell her he'd done it. "She asked for my number. I just made it up off the top of my head, is that all right?"

"Should be," said Maureen. "Unless they call to check it."

She wanted him to talk about something, anything, get him to tell her a long story so that she could listen to his voice for a while because there was a chance that she wouldn't come back from Millport. "Has Benny been in touch?"

"No. I had to phone him eventually. He said the police had questioned him and taken his prints. He wanted to know if they'd asked me about him."

"What did you say?"

"I said no. Listen," Liam said, "you know Marie's home this week?"

"Yeah, Una said the other day."

Liam paused. "Did you see her?"

"Yeah."

"For fucksake, Mauri, I told you not to go near them, I told you—"

"I know, I know, I'm not going to."

Someone rang Liam's front doorbell and he had to go. "Stay away from them."

"I will, doll, I will," she said. "You take care. Good-bye."

The insistent caller rang Liam's door again. "Yeah, Maureen," said Liam, bewildered by her solemn tone. "You take care as well."

She took a shower and used Leslie's damp toothbrush, scrubbing hard, making her gums bleed at the sides. She glanced at herself in the mirror. She looked rough. Her skin was gray, her eyes were pink and she had dark shadows under her eyes.

Back in the kitchen Leslie handed her a plate of buttery toast and another coffee. "And where are you going today?" she asked.

"South Side. We're going to Millport tomorrow. Can you get the time off okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, no bother. Is that where it's going to happen?"

"Aye."

"Right," said Leslie, nodding gravely. "Right."

Siobhain was sitting on the veranda, staring at the bald hills out the back.

"I haven't heard her speak yet," Leslie said.

"She's a beautiful voice," said Maureen. "You'll hear her one day."

Maureen went out to the veranda and sat down on the deck chair next to Siobhain, holding her hand and talking about the games the children were playing down below. It was rainy and they wore jackets and hats and wellies. She remembered from the hospital how important it had been to her when people took the time to talk. She explained that they were going to Millport the next day, and, although she couldn't be sure, she thought Siobhain squeezed her hand a little.

She picked up the beeper, put her overcoat on, borrowed Leslie's woolly hat and went downstairs to get the bus over to Levanglen.

Maureen pulled the hat down over her forehead and followed the signs straight to the dispensary. It was a small hole in the wall with sliding frosted-glass windows and a bell next to a handwritten sign telling her to ring for attention. She pressed it and stood away. A honey blond nurse wearing a white uniform and cerise lipstick slid the frosted window back. "Can I help you?" she said, and smiled the most uncomplicated smile Maureen had seen in a long time.

"Yeah, I wonder if you can. I'm looking for Shan Ryan."

"Shan's having his lunch."

She stepped back to let Maureen see him. He was sitting at a desk with his feet up, dressed in a nurse's white button-over jacket with a big ID badge hanging from the breast pocket, eating salad from a Tupperware container. She had guessed that he was half-Asian from his name and she was right. His skin was dark and he had shiny black hair but his almond eyes were khaki green. When he stood up to come to the window Maureen could see that he was at least six foot tall. He stood noncommittally behind the honey blond nurse and looked at Maureen expectantly. His front teeth were large and straight and white, his broad lips seemed unusually red.

"Urn, listen, I just wanted to ask whether you used to know Douglas Brady?"

Shan ignored the question and let the honey blond nurse answer. "The guy who got killed?" she asked.

"Yeah. He used to work upstairs as a therapist."

"I heard about that. His mum was an MEP, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," said Maureen. "Did you know him?"

"No," she said, "I never met him myself, I've just started here, but—"

She turned to Shan Ryan. "Me neither," he said, turning and walking back to his seat at the desk. He picked a cherry tomato out of his salad and sat down, looking Maureen in the eye as he bit the tomato between his front teeth, slicing it in half.

Maureen watched him. "Did you know Iona McKinnon?"

Shan glared into his lunch box.

"Sorry," said the nurse, filling in the silence, "I didn't know her either. Shan?"

Shan looked faintly surprised and shook his head. The nurse turned back to Maureen. "Sorry 'bout that," she said, smiling her delicious smile. "Are you a policewoman?"

"I think the answer to that question is quite obvious," said Maureen.

The nurse smiled at whichever obvious answer she was going with.

Maureen caught Shan's eye once more before thanking them and stepping back from the window. He seemed shrewd, as though he recognized her from somewhere and was trying to place her.