The Day She Died (7 page)

Eight

Wednesday, 5 October

I woke to the sound of Ruby wailing like a siren and knew he had told them. That was my first thought as soon as I heard the noise. There was no,
Where am I?
No piecing together the strange room and memories filling in. It was as though I belonged there.

I threw back the covers, pulled on my jeans, and, in my bare feet, went through to the kitchen to try to help. She was like a rag doll in his arms, legs hanging down, arms flopped over his shoulders, head buried in his neck, bellowing. Dillon was in his high chair eating Cheerios off his finger ends, watching his sister.

“Here's Jess,” he said. “Look, Roobs, here's Jess come to give you a cuddle.”

“Nooooo!” she screamed. “Mummeeeeeee!”

“Okay, okay, you're all right,” said Gus.

She lifted her head and looked at him. “It's okay?” she asked.

“It's all going to be okay.”

“Mummy's coming home?”

“Mummy's not coming home, darling. Mummy died. Mummy's gone to live in heaven with Grandpa.”

She twisted in his arms and started yelling again. “No! Stop saying it. Mummy doesn't even like Grandpa! Mummy lives here. I want Mummeeee. Now! Now! Now!” She was bucking like Dillon had the night before, but she was bigger, had to be turning him black and blue the way she was laying in to him, but he just rocked her until she was calm. Then he sat down with her still in his lap. He was in boxers and a t-shirt and his arms and legs looked cold, his big ugly feet purple and his toes white. Poor circulation.

“Can I do anything?” I said.

“Coffee'd be good,” said Gus. “Want some hot chocolate, Roobs?”

“Lot-lit,” said Dillon.

“Coming up,” I said and started looking for the fixings.

“D'you want to go to nursery today, darling?” Gus was saying. “Or d'you want to stay at home with me?”

“And Mummy?”

“Just me, sweetie pie.”

“Nursery,” said Ruby. “I'm telling Miss Colquhoun what you said. I'm telling on you.”

“I'll phone Miss Colquhoun,” said Gus. “Come on and we'll get you dressed then. Your chocolate'll be ready by the time you are.”

“Lot-lit,” said Dillon.

“He'll be lucky to get out of his jammies today,” said Gus, looking over Ruby's head towards me.

“I'll dress him, if you like,” I said. I thought that's what he was hinting. But he screwed his face up and gave me the kind of look people get when they're going to ask something big and they know they shouldn't. It's the same look when someone's going to pop a cork on a bottle of Cava.

“I was going to ask you if you'd run Ruby into school,” he said.

“Where's school?” I asked.

“Dumfries,” he said. “I thought, if you're going in anyway. To work.” Ruby turned her head and looked at me. Her face was swollen and blotched—you could see where she got her complexion, could see how tough a time she'd have in her teenage years. I smiled at her, but she didn't so much as twitch a muscle at me. Who could blame her? How could she deal with strangers on a day like today?

“I don't think—”

“I said I'd stay in for the cops,” said Gus. “I don't really want a big meeting.” He jerked his head towards her. “Different with Dillon, but … ”

“Won't you need your car?” I asked. I thought a frown flashed ac
ross his face, but it cleared before I was sure.

“I've got the van,” he said. “At the workshop. I'd really appreciate it. That's okay, Ruby, eh no? If Jess takes you to school? I'll tell her the secret word so she can pick you up again too.”

It was the worst idea I'd ever heard. Ruby and me agreed on that. She slid out of his lap and left the room, giving me a wide berth on her way.

“How come she still goes to school in Dumfries?” I asked. It was getting on for an hour's drive away.

“Just nursery,” said Gus. “She calls it school to feel like a big girl. We didn't want too many changes all together, you know.”

Sounded crazy to me. Far better to have her with her new friends at her new house. And it was October. She must have been away from this Miss Colquhoun all summer anyway.

“What about family?” I asked him. “Wouldn't Ruby be better with someone she knows today? I'm really not that good with children.”

“Mum never came to my wedding,” he said. “Why should she rally round now?”

“Your dad?”

“Wouldn't know me if we passed on the street.” The kettle was boiling, and I got up to make the coffee and watch the milk in the pan

“What about your brother?” I asked. “Where's he?” Silence. I turned round. Gus was staring at me.

“Who told you about my brother?” he said. Dillon had gone very still, with his hand spread like star, a Cheerio on every finger.

“You did,” I said. “Last night, remember?”

“Right,” said Gus. “Did I? He's a bit of a … ”

“Black sheep?” I said.

He smiled, easy again. “I was going to say wild card,” he said.

“Baa-baa back seep,” said Dillon.

“Anyway, he's in Bangkok.”

“Sounds pretty wild, right enough,” I said. “Is this the kind that's sweet already, or will I put some sugar in?”

“Tugar in!” said Dillon.

“Sugar in mine too!” Ruby was back. Her face was still tear-stained, but she was dressed. Leggings, a velvet dress, and a sparkly shrug. She had her hairbrush in her hand and a bobble with tinsel ribbons hanging from it.

“Can you do my hair?” she said to me. “Dad's rubbish. Do it nice for when Mummy gets home and sees me.”

I sat down without a word, and she backed herself in between my knees. Gus got up and went to the cooker. I don't know why, but I stretched out one of my bare feet and touched his leg. I was right. He was frozen and, at my touch, goose bumps sprang up on his skin, so that the red hair stood out like soft focus, or radioactive. He stopped with the milk pan poised above the cups.

“Thanks,” he said.

“How will I get the car back to you?” I asked, but he gave me a look that was so hurt, so totally miserable that I didn't say any more. I was taking her to school and it looked like I was bringing her home again.

Very gently, starting with the ends, minding out for knots, I brushed Ruby's hair. But no matter how depressed Becky had been, she hadn't neglected her children: it was hardly tuggy at all and it smelled of Johnson's Baby. It shone like sheets of copper when the brush pulled it straight and then bounced back into coils when I let it go. If it was right enough that Gus had no family, then the kids would end up with a babysitter anyway while he got himself sorted. If they were going to have to put up with a stranger, I reasoned, it might as well be me. And nothing would happen. Probably. We'd all be okay.

He offered me a loan of clean clothes. He couldn't have been thinking clearly. I managed to turn him down without letting on how creepy it was that he'd even imagined I'd wear them. I'd bend a rule and take something from work, for once. The underwear's always new; we use the money we get from selling the brand name stuff on eBay and hit Primark for them. One of my favourite bits of the job, as it goes, shopping with somebody else's money. Shame I'm always buying men's socks and kids' undies.

For now, I dressed in yesterday's and soon we were ready to go. I was standing at the coat rack when he opened the front door and I turned to the light.

“Wow,” I said. Ruby ran out, Dillon toddling after her in his pyjamas. It was a perfect autumn day, clear blue sky, crisp white clouds. And the tide was almost in, the bay sparkling, the beach ruffled with waves. I walked down the path and out across the turf. The dry sand was white and a breeze sent it sheeting across the darker strip down where it was wet still. It was a stiff enough breeze to be shifting the shells too, sprays of tiny blue, pink, and gold ones at the high tide line, and it shivered the little plants tucked into the cracks in the rocks. Big rough grey rocks splotched with green and orange.

“What are those stains?” I asked, pointing.

“Lichen,” he said.

“It's beautiful. Is that chives?” I pointed at the rippling little plants.

He laughed. “It's called thrift.”

“It's lovely,” I said.

“You're easily pleased.”

I turned. “Don't you think so?” He was gazing far out across the water. “I'd think … for an artist—”

His face clouded. I was getting used to the way it did that and I waited, but this time it didn't clear. He didn't smile, didn't look at me.

“I don't do nice wee pictures of the seaside,” he said.

“I didn't mean to insult you,” I said, feeling myself colouring. How many times had I blushed since I'd met him yesterday? And how long had it been before that? I'm not a blusher. He was standing with his eyes closed and his face turned up as if the sun would warm it, but the sun was behind him.

“Becky wanted me to churn stuff out and tout it round the craft shops,” he said, eventually, still with his eyes closed. “Present from Galloway. Said what was the point of living out here if I didn't paint it. Boats in the harbour, roses round the door.” At last, he opened his eyes. “Jesus, I'm the biggest bastard that ever lived to be moaning about her.” He threw the dregs of his coffee away, making a dark splash that spoiled the green and orange on the nearest rock. None of it splashed on me, though.

Then he cupped his hand to his mouth. “Roobs, come on, darling! And Dillyboy, get out of the water with your socks on, you numpty. Come on.”

“Yeah, you're a total bastard, right enough,” I said. “I'll pick her up at four then. Steve won't mind if I leave early. See you getting on for five. Text me a shopping list if you need anything.”

“You're saving my life, Jess,” he said.

“Jessie,” I told him. He blinked. “Now,
that's
a bastard,” I said. “Picking nits at a time like this.”

“Jessie,” he said. “A time like this, yeah.” He gave me a look. If he had just been a guy, and we'd just been standing on a beach somewhere, I'd have known what kind of look it was, no question. But with his kids there, not to mention his wife in the morgue, it couldn't have been. Sick of me even to think so.

I dropped Ruby off at the nursery wing of Townhead Primary and stopped at the door to have a word with the famous Miss Colquhoun, a nice girl with a worried face and holes all over her lips and nose where she must wear rings when she wasn't working.

“I'm picking Ruby up this afternoon,” I told her. “Her dad told me the password. And I think I should give you my number in case she needs to leave early.”

“Trouble?” she asked.

“He hasn't called you yet?” I turned and watched Ruby in the playground. She had put her backpack down and was tearing in to some game with three other girls who all looked like they knew what they were doing.

“Big trouble,” I said. “Becky—Mrs. King—was in a car crash yesterday.” Miss Colquhoun's hands flew up to her face. I could see the very edges of her full-sleeve tattoos peeking out from her cuffs.

“Is she okay?” she said. “Is she in the hospital?”

“She's not okay,” I told her. “She didn't survive.” I watched her chew on that and translate it into the bald fact I didn't want to say.

“She died?”

I nodded. “She died.”

Miss Colquhoun swung round to look at the girls playing. “Does Ruby know?”

“Well,” I said, “Gus told her.”

“Gus?” said Miss Colquhoun. “That's her dad? We do Mister and Missus here with the parents.”

“But I'm not sure it went in,” I added.

She nodded, but she looked pained. “I'll need to tell the head teacher,” she said. “I'm not sure Ruby should be here.”

“There's going to be cops and all that today,” I said. “Gus reckoned Ruby'd be better off not at the house.”

“Police?” said Miss Colquhoun. “Like, was it a hit-and-run? Drunk driver? Why police?”

“I … no. Just—She drove off that bad road to Wanlockhead. It was an accident. Tragedy, really.” I wasn't going to say the word.

“Oh my God,” said Miss Colquhoun. There were tears shining in her eyes. “I heard that on
West Sound
last night. That was Becky King? They said it might have been suicide, though. Two in one day, they said. Made a big special feature of it.”

“Two? Oh yeah, those divers.”

“Evil bastards, making up stories. Oh my
God
!”

The bell rang, blocking out all sounds, sending the kids wheeling back to their schoolbags and then jostling to the door.

“She was so happy!” said Miss Colquhoun, over the rabble. “Out at that cottage, by the sea. Making her garden, fixing the place up. She was a really lovely person, you know. So much to live for and such a great mum.”

I nodded, turning my lips down at the corners, mirroring her look, agreeing. Of course Becky King would suddenly be a wonderful mum, devoted and blissfully happy, so much to live for. Or maybe she had talked a good game while she was alive and had the teachers fooled. It wouldn't be the first time.

“What time d'you call this?” said Dot, “as my friend Irene would say.” She always does that. If she gets nippy, it's in Irene's name. Dot herself—this is the idea—wouldn't say boo.

“I know, I know,” I said. I dumped my bag and started up the computer before I even took my coat off or went through to the scullery to check the scone situation. “But I've had a very unusual time since I left here yesterday.” And it seemed more unusual than ever now that I was back in my real life again. Like a dream. I jumped at a sound coming from the back room. The bosses—Father Tommy and Sister Avril: they who can sign cheques—usually stayed in the office up at St. Vince's and left us alone as long as we filled in our sheets on time.