The Storm Without (21 page)

‘
I
’
d shake your hand, but
…’
I lifted my bandaged and stookied arms in a pathetic pantomime gesture.

‘
No worries.
’
He looked at his mother and nodded, then sidled towards the open door as if he
’
d practiced the exit several times over. His appearance was for her sake; at least he thought enough of his mother to do that. Perhaps he was more her son than Gilmour
’
s after all but it didn
’
t matter. Lyn had a son with Gilmour that she
’
d kept quiet about and that
’
s what troubled me. I knew I could never look at her in the same way
—
or Glenn either
—
without judging. Maybe it was all in the past, a minor transgression, but I knew I
’
d jump on it the very second that our first flush of romance left us. Gilmour would forever inhabit our space
—
the cause of every drop of spilled milk we cried over.

I spoke first, when we were alone.
‘
Glenn looks none the worse for wear.
’

Lyn gripped her tongue in her teeth, nodded.

‘
I
’
m glad he
’
s well, Lyn.
’

‘
Me too.
’
Her voice cracked. I knew she was taking in the state of me. She
’
d been hurt too, but in other ways. None of us had got out of this without adding more scars to ourselves.

‘
Oh, it
’
s worse than it looks,
’ I said.

‘
I
’
m sure it
’
s not.
’
I thought I saw her wipe a tear from her eye but she masked the movement with a deep breath and a change of subject. She was being brave; I dreaded to think of what she had put herself through before setting foot in the hospital.
‘
I need to thank you as well.
’

I shrugged, tried to play things down. I hadn
’
t got involved to collect any laurels and who
’
s to say my motives weren
’
t every bit as underhand as hers.
‘
We landed the right result, that
’
s what matters. I
’
m happy you and Glenn are back together and there
’
s no real damage done.
’

Lyn let the strap of her bag fall from her shoulder and lowered herself onto the bed. The already tight blankets tightened further around my bruised legs.
‘
I can
’
t pretend I feel right about this, Doug
…
after all that
’
s happened.
’

I didn
’
t understand. She seemed to be going off at a tangent. Her face changed shape as I eyed her. I knew what I wanted to do, to hold her, but my injuries precluded that. The little voice in my head that controlled my emotions returned, for the first time in a long time, and told me how much it approved of my air of distance.

‘
I don
’
t follow,
’ I said.

She looked at her hands, removed a small peach-coloured tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her moist eyes.
‘
I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted this, any of it
…’

I still didn
’
t know what she meant, exactly. She could have been referring to any number of preoccupations I held in my mind lately. I knew now most of my hopes had been misplaced; there was no future for us. I saw that there never had been; I
’
d deluded myself.

I saw it was difficult for Lyn to express what she wanted to say and at the same time I wanted to roar at her, to call her on Gilmour, but none of it mattered now. She was hurting, and she had taken more than her fair share of that already.
‘
It doesn
’
t matter now, Lyn,
’ I said.

She turned, stared at me. Her eyes were reddened, tear-lined.
‘
You
’
re a good man, Doug. But it wouldn
’
t work, not now.
’

All my aches and pains relocated to one point, somewhere just shy of the centre of my chest. I still felt something for Lyn, but I knew she was right. She deserved better than the hurt I would undoubtedly bring her now. I smiled and played dumb.
‘
What wouldn
’
t work?
’

I was giving her a
‘
get out of jail free
’
card and she knew it, seemed grateful. The tissue went back in her sleeve.
‘
I
’
m leaving town.
’

I couldn
’
t maintain the same smile, but tried to ease her suffering.
‘
You need to do what
’
s best for you and Glenn
…
you
’
ve both been through a hellish ordeal.
’

Her lips trembled again; she sucked them in and rose. Her cheeks were flushed, her movements jerky, as she walked towards me. She didn
’
t seem to know what to say, or do, next. She touched my hand with two cold fingers which dwelled for a second or two just south of my knuckles and then were jerked away.

I didn
’
t watch Lyn walk out of my life; I stared out of the window instead.

###

Tony Black is Irvine Welsh’s favourite British crime writer. The author of six critically acclaimed crime novels, his works include the Gus Dury PI series:
Paying For It
,
Gutted
,
Loss
and
Long Time Dead
, the final instalment of which will be filmed for the screen by Richard Jobson in 2012. His police inspector series, featuring DI Rob Brennan, includes the titles
Truth Lies Bleeding
and
Murder Mile
; both published by Random House UK. A heist novella,
R.I.P Robbie Silva
, is also forthcoming from Blasted Heath.

Before turning to the novel, Tony was an award-winning national newspaper journalist covering subjects as diverse as crime and nightclub reviews. He still writes for the press from time to time but most of his non-fiction now turns up on his blog,
Pulp Pusher
, and his
website
.

For news, reviews, interviews and lots more about Tony Black and our other great authors, visit
Blasted Heath
.

Dead Money
by Ray Banks

Wolf Tickets
by Ray Banks

Wee Rockets
by Gerard Brennan

Phase Four
by Gary Carson

The Vanity Game
by H.J. Hampson

The Long Midnight of Barney Thomson
by Douglas Lindsay

The Unburied Dead
by Douglas Lindsay

The Man in the Seventh Row
by Brian Pendreigh

The Killing of Emma Gross
by Damien Seaman

All The Young Warriors
by Anthony Neil Smith

The Crime Interviews, Vol I and II
by Len Wanner

Keep informed of new releases by signing up to the
Blasted Heath newsletter
. We'll even send you a free book by way of thanks!