Slammer (37 page)

'You can't. I can't cope on my own.'

'Typical,' she says. She lets go of her hair, thumps her fist down on the bedclothes.

'What?'

'Your selfishness. You can't cope, so I have to cope for you.'

'I've been through a lot, for Christ's sake. I need your support.'

'I'm not the person to help you. Look at me. I'm a fucking mess, too.' She lowers her gaze. 'We're not good for each other. You've driven me to this, Nick.'

'Me?' He presses the heels of his hands to his temples. 'You're blaming
me
?'

'Take some responsibility, for once. Look, being around you, it's not safe. Not safe for you, for me, for Caitlin.'

'What's brought this on? Is it Watt?'

'I found your drugs stash. Without his help.'

Glass knows his expression changes before he can stop it.

'Don't tell me you didn't expect this,' she says. 'I've not noticed your behaviour?'

'I've stopped.'

'So why's there a pile of drugs in the tea chest in the garage?'

He could lie, tell her they're not his, but then he'd have to admit to smuggling them into the Hilton. 'Look, it's safe, now,' he says. 'Watt's going to be dead soon.'

'What makes you think that?'

'I'm going to kill him.'

'And that'll solve all our problems?'

'Yes. I'm going to do it.'

She laughs. 'You're a fucking punch bag,' she says. 'You'd never kill anybody.'

'Don't be so sure.'

'You're so full of shit. How're you going to kill him?'

Glass pulls out the gun.

'I told you to get rid of that,' she yells. 'I told you to fucking get rid of it.'

And the yelling grew louder and more shrill and Caitlin appeared and there was a gunshot and the tumbler fell to the ground, bounced gently, rolled in a tight arc, came to a stop.

And later, Lorna yelling at him, asking what he'd done, telling him he was a murdering bastard, he'd killed their babygirl, and a struggle as she tried to get the gun from him, and him shoving her away and … and …

He gives her the gun. 'Do it,' he says and closes his eyes.

He sees nothing other than images of the tumbler as it rolls in a reverse arc, bounces gently, rises into the air and into the hand of his daughter.

This time when he hears the gunshot he expects darkness.

But nothing changes. He stands there with his eyes closed, waiting.

When he finally opens his eyes, he sees Lorna on the floor, neat red hole in her forehead.

'She hated you so much she shot herself,' Annie said.

With her mouth shut, Lorna whispers in his ear, tells him what to do, makes sense of everything, allows Glass to carry on living. 'Remembering is too painful,' she says. 'But you need pain to forget.'

'That's how it happened,' Annie said.

Glass grabbed Annie's hand, tried to bite off the crazy bitch's finger. Clamped his jaws together so hard his teeth hurt. But he couldn't get through the bone.

*

Once he was back on his medication, Glass remembered nothing at all for a long time.

THURSDAY, 19 FEBRUARY 2009

Every two weeks, Nick Glass had an injection that wiped him out for a couple of days, and on the third day, he started to feel normal again. Today was the third day.

Sun streamed into his room, sliced across the bed. He liked to sleep with the curtains open. His scars itched otherwise.

He looked at his watch: 8.20. These days, they let him sleep on. Pointless waking him up when he was climbing out of the hole. He hoped they hadn't forgotten that today was different.

He pulled back the covers, rotated his arm, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder. Swung his legs out of bed, dug his toes into the carpet. He'd been moved into a much nicer place these days. He'd behaved himself for the last five years. Only had his privileges revoked once during that time. For breaking a mirror. He hated mirrors. Most of the time he managed to avoid looking at himself, but that time he'd caught sight of his own smirk and smashed his fist into the glass.

Now he had no mirror. He liked it that way. Best solution for everybody.

He picked up Riddell's photo frame off the dresser. Well, it turned out it wasn't Riddell's, just an old pewter frame that had sat on the desk in the office at the Hilton for as long as anyone could remember. But when Glass asked Riddell what he was going to do with it after he'd left, Riddell had said he'd see what he could do. A few days later, he presented it to Glass as a gift. Glass hadn't seen the old bastard for a long time. Riddell was out in the community now. Gave up the job when he'd decided he'd had enough of being sued by prisoners. All that time on their hands, lawyers at their beck and call, the inmates had nothing better to do. They never won — not against Riddell — but the process was draining and Riddell finally couldn't take any more.

Glass was sorry to see him go. Riddell had come to know him better than anyone.

Riddell's photo frame — he'd continued to think of it as Riddell's — now housed a shot of Lorna and Caitlin. They'd just bought Glass's babygirl a new dress, floral pattern, yellow and red, and shiny black shoes with buckles. For her fourth birthday the following weekend. She'd insisted on wearing her new outfit home. She was showing it off to the camera, ankles crossed, shy but happy, clutching her mother's hand.

He cried again. He cried a lot. He'd turned into Lorna's old man, crying at the stupidest thing. Sometimes Glass wasn't sure why he cried, didn't even feel sad, but this morning was different. He knew exactly why he was crying.

He replaced the photo, then took his clothes off and climbed onto the windowsill. Closed his eyes. Imagined he could smell warm bread rising from the bakery below. Imagined Lorna standing next to him. He stood there with her for five minutes, then opened his eyes and stared at the high wooden fence twenty feet away.

He jumped down, walked into the en-suite, where he washed his face, brushed his teeth. Then he dressed in the smart black clothes he'd laid out last night. He didn't want anyone to take his picture, though. The story would reach the newspapers soon.

He sat by the window and waited for his door to open.

One step at a time. He still wasn't well, but he knew now that he could get better. Maybe one day they'd let him out for good. He didn't dare hope. Hope was the surest way to destroy a man. He knew that by now.

He waited.

It was a while ago that Mafia had asked to see him. A month ago. No, maybe a couple of weeks. Or maybe just before his last injection. It was hard to pinpoint the exact time. Anyway, whenever it was, Glass was far from delighted at the idea of seeing Mafia again. Didn't know what Mafia wanted and Mafia wouldn't tell him over the phone. All he'd say was that he was out on parole and everything was good with him, he'd even made up with Watt. But there was something important Glass had to know. Told Glass he'd bring Watt along with him, that his brother had to be the one to explain.

Glass eventually agreed to see them after Mafia kept stressing how important it was.

In the visitors' room, Glass realised that he'd never seen Watt and Mafia together before. They didn't look like brothers.

'I don't want to dirty Mad Will's good name,' Watt had said. He looked almost as Glass remembered. A little more pinched around the eyes.

'But you're going to.' Mafia hadn't been as lucky as his brother. He looked his age, even with his shades on. Sat hunched over too, like his head was too heavy to hold up. Once he'd looked cool, but now he just looked like an old guy trying to look cool. 'Get on with it.'

Watt shrugged. 'Mad Will's dead,' he said to Glass. 'Shot himself.' Watt demonstrated with his hand, head tilted back, fingers pointed under his chin.

Mad Will had driven Glass right into Watt's hands all those years ago, but Glass still felt his eyes well up. He could cry about anything. Once he lost a shirt button and didn't stop crying for a fortnight. 'Why are you telling me?' he said. 'Why aren't you in prison, you murdering fuck?'

'Just about to explain that,' Mafia said.

Watt looked at Mafia and Mafia punched him on the arm.

'Spill,' Mafia said, 'or I'll do it.'

'Mad Will didn't leave a suicide note, but he left a confession of sorts.' Watt paused. 'I saw him the night he died. And he told me something.'

'Which my brother kept to himself,' Mafia said. 'Until a couple of nights ago. Arsehole.'

'I didn't believe him,' Watt said.

'You didn't want to believe him.'

'That's right.'

'Much easier to blame Nick here.'

'Yeah, I know. I'm not disagreeing. But it nagged away at me. After all, Mad Will shot himself so he must have been seriously fucked up. I had to tell somebody.'

'That's what he wanted.'

'I don't know. I don't think he wanted to make it public. I think he just wanted to confess.'

'He could have seen a priest for that. He didn't. He saw you. He knew you'd tell someone.'

As he listened to them talk, the spike sunk into Glass's head again. It'd been a long time since he'd felt it. He'd forgotten how cold it was. 'What did he tell you?'

Watt rubbed his forefinger across his forehead and back again. 'He said it was him. He said he'd done it.'

Glass's vision blackened for a second. 'Done what?'

'Murdered them. Lorna and Caitlin.'

'He did?' Glass didn't know what to say. He didn't believe it. The spike twisted in his head and the pain paralysed his brain. In his chest, his heart grew until it filled his insides, crushed his lungs so he couldn't breathe.

'My brother's fault,' Mafia said.

Glass managed to say, 'How?'

'Cause I'd kept telling him what a nice piece Lorna was,' Watt said. 'Apparently.' He scratched his head. 'So he went round to your house to see for himself. Early morning, while you were still at work.'

'You're just making this up. Deflecting the blame.' Glass's eyes watered. He felt saliva gather at the corners of his mouth. 'How did he get in?'

'Knocked at the door? I don't know. He didn't tell me all the details.'

Glass wiped his face with his hand. 'Lorna wouldn't have let him in.'

'She wouldn't have let
me
in,' Watt said. 'But she didn't know Mad Will.'

'I still don't think she would've.'

'Why don't you want to believe the truth?' Mafia said.