Garnethill by Denise Mina (43 page)

"I remember this settee," said Leslie, flopping onto it. "We used to fight about who had to sleep on this, remember?"

"Yeah."

It was gray velour with raised diagonal stripes. A pine table with matching chairs was sitting under the window. In the bedroom there were twin beds, separated by a dark wood table with a red-shaded lamp and an ashtray on it. Siobhain came in through the front door.

"Right," said Leslie, "I don't give a shit about who's due it, I'm sleeping in a bed tonight."

"Siobhain," said Maureen, "you take the other one. I have to get up early in the morning."

She would have to be up at six to catch the first ferry coming to the island.

Siobhain seemed to be perking up a little. She looked out of the window at the fairy lights and nodded when Maureen asked her if she wanted a fish supper.

When Leslie went downstairs to the chip shop Maureen got some plates out of the cupboard in the kitchen and put the television on for Siobhain. Leslie came back with a selection of food for them to share. Siobhain ate the entire haggis supper without offering them any and then ate anything else they put in front of her, washing it down with a giant mug of sweet tea.

"You must have been hungry," said Leslie to Siobhain, looking at the front of her jumper. It was covered in bits of haggis and batter.

Siobhain blushed. "I was," she whispered, and Maureen could have cried to hear her voice.

The original
Planet of the Apes
with Charlton Heston was on TV. Leslie and Siobhain wanted to watch it so they humped the TV through to the bedroom, sitting it on the chest of drawers at the foot of the beds. They took turns in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and changing into their nightclothes.

Maureen waited until she was sure they had settled down in the bedroom before filling the kettle and turning it on. She took the flask and the Boothy box out of the Asda bag and opened the box reverently. She put the filter in the cone and tipped the coffee into it, sat it on top of the flask and poured the boiling water over it, listening as the frothy bubbles dried and cracked on the side of the paper. It was essential that there was only enough coffee for one, so she measured it, filling the screw-top cup to the brim with steaming coffee and putting the rest down the sink.

Working carefully now, she painted two tiny parallel lines on the inside of the silver lip with the Tipp-Ex, scratching at the sides when it had dried to make them as narrow and invisible as possible. It would be her marker, the part she could touch with her lips without endangering herself.

Holding the Marigolds open by the rim, she held them up to the light and looked through them to check for holes. They seemed intact. She pulled them on and took Paulsa's plastic bag from her pocket, pulling it open, ripping the bag recklessly. She folded the perforated sheet quite loosely and dropped it into the flask, watching as the porous paper floated on the coffee, soaking it in and turning brown until it buckled under the weight and slid under the black surface. She screwed the lid on tight and put the ripped wrapper and the Marigolds safely in the plastic bag.

The cupboard under the sink was full of cleaning products, put there by the hopeful owner as a reminder to the tenants. She swept them aside, put the flask near the back and washed her hands maniacally before getting into bed.

She lay down on the lumpy settee, looking out over the moonlit bay, sweating gently and listening to Leslie making comments about the film in the other room, saying substitute lines for the character in silly voices. She remembered Leslie doing the same for her when she was ill.

Chapter 34

FIRE

It was still dark when the pocket alarm went off, beep-beeping her awake. She grabbed it and sat up, remembering instantly why she had set it. In the kitchen she lit a fag and made a pint of strong coffee with lukewarm water, drinking it down despite the taste. Reaching under the sink, she picked up the flask and took the Marigolds out of the bag, slipping them on, taking special care not to touch the outside of them with her bare hands. When she lifted the flask out and unscrewed the lid she could see little flecks of dissolved paper floating on the surface. She unfolded a fresh filter paper and put it into the cone. Holding the cone over a saucepan, she tipped the flask gently. Lumps of soggy paper slopped out with the coffee, catching on the sides of the filter paper. When the coffee had filtered through she warmed it gently over a gas ring, watching carefully, making sure it didn't get too hot. She didn't know whether heat could spoil acid. She added a touch of cream and poured in the three sugars.

After decanting the coffee back into the flask, she filled the saucepan with some diluted bleach and cleaned the work top. She put every trace of the wrappers and filters into the thick plastic bag, rolled it up tight and put it in the bottom of her rucksack.

She dressed in her black jeans, boots and jumper, pulled on the woolly hat, Leslie's leather gloves and her overcoat, leaving off her telltale tartan scarf. She checked her pocket for the stabbing comb, telling herself that it was him, she was right. It wouldn't come to that. The flask would be enough.

The green bus arrived just in time to meet the ferryboat backing slowly up to the concrete ramp, churning the dirty water beneath it. The crowd of waiting pedestrian passengers walked on quickly, afraid that they might miss it, bumping and jostling the few disembarkers. Three cars rolled off. Few people came to the island in the morning: most of the passengers were traveling to work on the mainland. Adjusting her eyes to the grainy half-light, she managed to get a good look at everyone leaving the ferry and waited until the last minute before getting on so that she didn't miss anyone.

She climbed the steep metal ladder up to the top deck, watching the swell and spill of the black water illuminated by the white light of the ship. Across the bay a string of lights at the power station swung steadily in the rising dawn breeze. Her nose was numb with the cold. She pulled her overcoat tight around her and lit a cigarette. It was one of Leslie's, it was a stronger brand than she was used to.

The ferry crossed the bay and pulled into Largs. There was no undignified jostling here: the ticket collector held everyone back until the ferry was empty. Maureen stayed behind the lifeboat on the high deck and looked down at the pedestrians waiting to board. If he was catching this ferry he wasn't on foot.

Only one car rolled on, an Astra with a woman driver. When the ferry was halfway back to Cumbrae Maureen clambered down onto the car deck, standing behind the metal ladder, and looked in at her. She didn't know her.

As the ferry made its way over to Cumbrae and back to Largs for the second time the sun rose gloriously over the bay, the yellow sunlight gilding the tips of the choppy gray waves. A larger crowd of pedestrians and eight cars were waiting at Largs for the second crossing. The rising sun hit the car roofs at an acute angle, casting a deep shadow over the drivers' faces as they paused to give up their tickets to the conductor. She couldn't see any of them clearly but she was ready, her hand curled around the teeth of the stabbing comb, just in case.

She had to wait until the hull had been cranked up and the ferry was entering the bay again before climbing down the ladder for a look. She was standing in the shadows, checking out the drivers, when she saw him sitting patiently in a white Jaguar, his gloved hands resting on the wheel, a cigarette in his right hand. He was wearing a green jacket and a fishing hat. The sunlight glinted off his steel-framed glasses.

Maureen let go of the comb, took a deep breath and patted her bag to make sure the flask was still with her before crossing the deck to his car.

She knocked on the passenger window. He leaned across the white leather upholstery and looked out at her. His expression didn't falter. He touched the door and the window lowered electronically. "Hello, Maureen."

"Oh, Angus, thank God. Did Siobhain phone you?"

He blinked. "Yeah," he said uncertainly, sitting back so that she couldn't quite see his eyes.

"I can't believe you came," she said. "It was so good of you. Can I get in?"

He swallowed and glanced sideways.

"Siobhain's staying with me. We came over together."

"Oh, right," he said, and smiled. It wasn't a very good smile — she had expected him to do better than that. He opened the passenger door, trailing his leather-clad fingertips on the retreating handle, as if reluctant to let it go. She put her bag on the floor and climbed in before he had time to object.

"Didn't Siobhain tell you I was with her?" she asked. Her eyes were racing around his face, she was raising her eyebrows with every second word, creasing her forehead and speaking too quickly. She slowed herself down. "I'm surprised she didn't because she knows I know you."

"She didn't mention you," he said, drawing on his fag. "Maybe she forgot."

"God, I wouldn't be surprised. I expect she was in a state when she phoned, yeah?"

"Yes," he said. "Very upset."

"What did she say?"

"Oh, just, could I come and get her immediately, you know, that sort of thing. Why are you on the ferry at this time in the morning?"

"I had to send a fax to my work," she said, off the top of her head. "I forgot to put my sick line in."

"Don't they have a fax machine on the island? You'd think it would be particularly useful for an outlying community."

He was nervous, she'd never heard him speak so formally, and knowing that he was shitting it made her feel infinitely more comfortable, as if she couldn't do wrong, as if it was destined to go smoothly. She savored the feeling and realized how tense her shoulders were. "Yeah," she said, stretching her neck to relieve the knotted muscles. "They've got one in the post office but it's broken." She reached into her bag, amazed at her bizarre sense of calm, and took out the flask.

Angus frowned and stubbed out his fag in the ashtray. "How is Siobhain, anyway?"

Maureen unscrewed the lid, balancing the silver cup on her knee. "To be honest, she's not making much sense. But, then, she's speaking dead quickly and I can't really understand her accent too well."

"Yes, it's difficult."

"I suppose you're used to the way she speaks?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, she won't talk about you but I can tell you did her a lot of good." Maureen smiled shyly. "She gets a funny look on her face whenever your name's mentioned."

Angus smiled humbly at the dashboard. Maureen used the opportunity to find the Tipp-Ex mark with her finger and keep it there so she wouldn't have to keep looking. "Did she gibber on the phone?" she said.

"A bit. She was able to get the address out, though." He reached down to his pocket and pulled out a packet of fags, lighting one for himself before offering them to Maureen.

"Just had one," she said. "Thanks." She took a firm hold of the cup and poured the coffee quickly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him watching her with interest. The bitter-chocolate smell of hot coffee radiated out of the flask. She lifted the cup to her mouth and looked at Angus. He was watching her closely. She lowered the cup. "I'd offer you some but it's got lots of sugar in it," she said.

"I take sugar."

"Do you?"

"Yes." He nodded and smiled. "I take loads of sugar."

"Well," she said, sounding chirpy, "a fellow sugar taker. There aren't many of us left these days, are there?"

"Nope." Angus grinned.

She handed him the cup. He lifted it to his nose and smelled it before he sipped. "That's quality coffee," he said, and took another drink.

"It's real coffee." She turned the flask around until the white marker was pointing toward her. "We brought it with us." She tilted the flask forty-five degrees, hoping to fuck he wouldn't realize she was drinking air. He offered her the half-full cup back. "No, it's all right," she said, saluting him with the flask. "You finish that."

She watched him tip the cup high and drink the last drop. He held it out, offering her it back. She didn't want to touch it. She put the stopper in and held the flask out to him. He screwed the cup back on, turning it until it was tight. He smiled at her. "Nice to see you," he said.

Maureen smiled back. "Aye, it's nice to see you too, Angus."

They felt the bottom of the boat scrape the incline of the concrete ramp and the hull wound down in front of them like a drawbridge. The pedestrian passengers walked off in front of them, hurrying up the ramp to the waiting bus.

He started the car and drove over the ferry hull, up the steep concrete ramp, and turned left onto the road, following the signs for Millport. They drove around the east side of the island, passing Lion Rock, magnificent with the early-morning light behind it, through Karnes Bay and on to the seafront at Millport. Angus was keeping an eye on the road and reading the door numbers. "What is it," he said. "Number six?"

"Yeah," said Maureen. "Number six."

"Top flat," said Angus, smiling to himself.

He parked the car opposite the chip shop, pulled on the hand brake, opened his door and got out. The shops were just opening, the bike-hire shop's shutters were half-up and a bearded man with a ponderous beer belly was pushing colorful bicycles and tricycles outside, arranging them in rows on the pavement. The baker's was open: the window displayed full trays of bridies and mince rounds, fresh-made bread and iced buns. The newsagent's was open. Paulsa had told her it might take an hour to work and it was only fifteen minutes or so since Angus had drunk the coffee.

Maureen stepped out of the car with her bag and shut the door. She walked around the bonnet to Angus. A Land Rover was driving slowly down the seafront, closely followed by the green and chrome bus. They stepped back against the Jaguar and waited for them to pass. Angus was holding a foot-long Gladstone bag with a flat bottom and a hinged mouth. It was made of flawless dark brown leather.

"That's a beautiful bag," she said, as the Land Rover sailed past. "You don't see many of them nowadays."