by Val McDermid
The park where Terry’s team played wasn’t much bigger than the two football pitches it contained. A dilapidated children’s playground sat between the car park and the forty-four men chasing balls. Two small girls wrapped up in winter coats that doubled their size clambered over a witches’ hat that creaked like a horror film soundtrack as it ground unevenly round. On a bench at one side, an old man in a tweed overcoat and a matching flat cap smoked a pipe and divided his attention between his newspaper and the girls.
Bell skirted the playground and scouted out the two matches. Terry was definitely not in either goal on the near pitch, so he walked the touchline till he could see the other game. At the far end, bouncing on his toes to keep warm, his torso swathed in a thick green sweater, Terry kept goal, his attention focused on the events unfolding on the pitch. Bell made his way down the touchline, passing a dozen or so spectators hunched into coats and hats and scarves, keeping themselves warm with invective directed indiscriminately at players and officials.
He approached Robinson’s goal from behind but some presentiment of danger made the goalie swing his head round, away from the game and towards Bell. His face lit up in astonishment. ‘Ding-dong! What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you.’ Bell drew a flat half-bottle of Johnnie Walker from his coat pocket. ‘I thought it was about time we celebrated your engagement.’
‘You took your time. Mind, it’s grand to see you.’ He kept glancing over his shoulder at the game, but the players were involved in an ugly scramble at the far end. ‘How’s your ma and your da?’
‘Good, they’re good. Are you free after the match? For a wee drink?’
Robinson gave him a long hard stare. ‘What are you after, Ding-dong? You’re up to something, I can tell.’
It was the quickest leap to a conclusion Bell had ever seen. ‘Can a man not look up an old pal without having an ulterior motive?’
Robinson turned away, hands on hips. ‘Not when it involves turning up in the middle of a war zone. Did you drive here?’
‘Yeah, my car’s over in the car park.’
‘I’ll meet you there at four o’clock. Now fuck off and take a walk. You’re attracting way too much attention.’
Bell did as he was told, walking on to the far corner flag, then down the touchline without once turning back to look at his friend. What must it be like to spend your days in a permanent ferment of anxiety about being watched? He stopped behind the far goal for a few minutes, pretending an interest in the game that he didn’t feel. He moved away, walking out of the park via a different gate from the one he’d entered by. He made a circuit of the park that brought him back to his car with ten minutes to spare. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, grateful to be out of the cutting edge of the wind.
The light was leaching out of the sky by the time Robinson appeared, carrying a canvas holdall. He threw it into the footwell ahead of himself and settled into the seat, bringing a strong smell of sweat and stale tobacco with him. ‘So let’s have this drink, then,’ he said, holding out his hand. Bell passed the bottle and his friend took a swig, wincing as the spirit hit his throat. ‘Good stuff,’ he said, tucking the bottle into his jacket pocket. ‘You’ll not be wanting any, with you driving, like?’
Bell grinned. ‘I brought it for you.’
Robinson gave him a shrewd look. ‘Is that supposed to be some kind of a down payment, Gary? You’re not here because of my bonnie blue eyes, are ye?’
‘Christ, when it comes to suspicious minds, you’ve got Elvis on the ropes.’
He sparked up a cigarette, squinting at Bell through the smoke. ‘If you lived my life, you’d be the very same. So what’s this all about, Gary?’
And so Bell told him. Robinson listened in a grim silence that made Bell ever more garrulous. ‘We’re on the same side here. We get independence, it’s the break-up of the UK. Like what the Americans said about communism in Vietnam, it’s the domino effect. We get out, you’ll have a united Ireland in no time flat. Or if you went first, we’d fall in behind you if we managed to build enough support. To do that, we need to kick things off in a spectacular way, Terry.’ Finally he ground to a halt.
‘You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that. Coming to the lion’s den and sticking your head right in its mouth.’ Robinson sucked the last quarter-inch of his cigarette and ground it out in the car’s ashtray. ‘Before I even pass this up the line, you need to answer me two things.’
‘Anything.’
‘Are youse secure? Can you vouch for your cell?’
Bell nodded. ‘I’ve known them six years or thereabouts. They’re sound, man. Sound.’ It wasn’t quite the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But Bell trusted his instincts, and they told him that Paul Reilly was solid.
‘And how exactly are you going to fund this?’
29
In the end, the encounter with the police turned out to be far less frightening than Allie had expected. She’d thought they’d be angry to have been kept in the dark about law-breaking and grumpy at being made to feel foolish by a bunch of journalists doing their job for them. But the two detectives who quizzed her were almost affable. They explained that they specialised in white-collar crime, so they were quick to grasp the principles at stake. She’d thought ahead and made a copy of her taped interviews, which seemed to surprise them. ‘I could do with one of those wee machines,’ the younger officer muttered.
Danny, who had been interviewed first, had waited for her and they walked back to the car park together. ‘Did it go OK?’ he asked anxiously.
‘I think so. They didn’t ask me anything I couldn’t answer. How about you?’
‘Well, there were a couple of things I had to skate around. Like the money. And I had to come clean about Joseph, obviously. They said they were planning on talking to him on Monday.’
‘Maybe you should warn him? Tell him again to get his version in first?’
Danny sighed. ‘I’ll try. But I think whoever answers the phone will put it down on me.’
‘Do you want me to make the call? Nobody’s going to recognise my voice.’
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t want you dragged into the middle of this. I reckon I can get Auntie Senga on my side, she’s always had a soft spot for me. She goes to the same chapel. She can collar Joseph after Mass tomorrow and get into his ribs. Tell him he needs to call the polis and play the innocent.’
‘That’s a better idea. He’s more likely to listen to her than me.’ Allie stopped by her car. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck with the bams.’
‘You don’t fancy a bite to eat?’
Typical, Allie thought. The one time she actually had an arrangement, he asks her for a meal. ‘Sorry, I’ve got plans. I’m meeting up with Rona Dunsyre. We’re going to Rogano’s, then round the shops.’
He looked surprised, but only said, ‘Have fun. I’ll call you as soon as I can tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, but I’m on the back shift. I’ll be leaving the house around half past noon. You’ll have to reach me at the office after that.’
A worried frown. ‘You can’t really talk there, though.’
‘If you can’t call me before I leave for work, meet me in the canteen. I’ll take my break around five.’ He nodded, and she put a hand on his arm. ‘Be careful, Danny. I know you think they’re just a bunch of bams, but even bams can be dangerous.’
Rona was on sparkling form, which was exactly what Allie needed after the stresses and tensions of the previous few days. They started with Bloody Marys, and Allie insisted lunch was on her. ‘That suggestion you gave me about making contacts – it’s already paid off,’ she explained. ‘I brought in a good wee story about student votes in the referendum. Of course, Angus promptly gave it to one of the political guys.’
‘Surely that was before you hit the big t
ime this week? You must be flavour of the month now.’ Rona clinked glasses and winked. ‘I knew you’d go far, doll.’
‘I think they’ll maybe take me a bit more seriously now. And I’m working on another story with Danny. One that I picked up at another indy meeting. I can’t say much about it right now, but if it works out, it’ll be a cracker.’
‘Good for you.’
A pause while they ordered. Rona went for oysters but Allie was too scared of something that looked so much like snot and settled for smoked salmon instead. Then Rona insisted they both have the legendary fish soup. ‘And we’ll have a bottle of Muscadet,’ she added. ‘You need fortifying if we’re going shopping.’
‘About the shopping—’
‘Don’t argue with me, and don’t take this the wrong way, Allie, but you need to step up a gear when it comes to your wardrobe. You need to dress for success, darling.’
‘I’m not flamboyant like you,’ Allie butted in.
Rona roared with laughter. ‘Nobody in the Clarion’s flamboyant like me. Hell, there’s not a hack in the city with a fraction of my flamboyance. I’m not suggesting you take a leaf out of my book. It wouldn’t work for you. But you need to do yourself justice. Right now, you look more like a plain-clothes polis that buys her suits in the C&A sale than a hotshot reporter setting the news agenda.’
Allie flushed. ‘I was a student for three years, then a trainee journalist earning buttons for two years. All I could afford was the C&A sale.’
Rona patted her hand. ‘I get that. But that’s history. You’re on good wages now and you should be spending some of that cash on looking the business. I’m not saying, “go mental”. But a swatch of style would go a long way to making them take you seriously. A tailored jacket, a flash of silk, a skirt with a bit of swagger—’
‘No skirts.’ This was the bridge Allie would die on.
‘No skirts?’
‘You come into the office in the morning with a pretty good idea of what you’ll be doing that day. It’s not like that for me. I could be scrambling down a motorway embankment to cover a five-car pile-up. I could be in a scummy East End tenement flat sticking to the settee. Or I could be freezing my arse off on a train station in the middle of nowhere waiting for a minor royal to arrive to do some charity gig. And sometimes I’m in situations where a skirt is a provocation. So, no skirts.’
Rona nodded. ‘I take your point. Plus, skirts means heels and I can see how you might not want to go too far down that road either. But there are plenty of well-cut trousers out there, Allie, and I am on a mission to introduce you to them. You’ve got slim hips and long legs, you’ll look bloody great. Not like me. There’s a reason I go for skirts! Now drink up. Here come our starters and it’s time to get stuck into that wine.’
As well as the wine, their lunch was accompanied by large helpings of gossip from the office and beyond. Allie didn’t know who half the people in the stories were, but she tucked away the stories of indiscretions, humiliations and inappropriate entanglements for future use. They were, she knew, a kind of social currency in her professional life. There was little malice in the anecdotage, but occasionally her tone shifted and Allie could tell Rona had reason for clear dislike. Which was, Allie thought, fair enough.
They moved on to what Rona was now calling ‘the big makeover’. She gave her a critical look. ‘I can only do so much with the shopping,’ Rona said. ‘You need to sort out your hair.’
‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ Allie was genuinely curious. Her hair was thick and straight and cut in an easy-to-manage bob.
‘You have fantastic hair. It’s so dark and dense. But that haircut has about as much life as my grannie’s musquash coat. It needs to be shorter, with loads of texture and a bit of attitude. You need a stylist who can really cut, and then we’ll actually be able to see your face. I’ll have a think and a look in my contacts book and give you a couple of names. Honest to God, Allie, you’ll look like a new woman.’
‘That’s what worries me.’
Rona laughed. ‘Trust me, I’m paid to know about this stuff. I get that you don’t want glamour or flash, but there’s no reason why you can’t look in the mirror and feel good about yourself.’
After Irish coffees, Rona swept her up and they spent the afternoon in a whirlwind of fabrics and colours. Small boutiques, a couple of department stores, and finally, a cab to the West End to an actual dressmaker. ‘Don’t call her that,’ Rona instructed her. ‘Tailoress, that’s what she likes to be called. She’ll love you. You’ve got great shoulders and a good through line to those narrow hips. Tailoring will make you look the business without scaring off the punters.’
Allie gave a scornful laugh. ‘A few more lunches like that one and my slim hips will be history.’ But she submitted to being assessed, measured, moved into the light and matched against fabrics. By the end, she’d committed to three pairs of trousers, two jackets and a waistcoat. ‘You’ll look amazing,’ Rona promised.
‘I’ve spent a month’s wages this afternoon,’ Allie pointed out, toting half a dozen carrier bags.
‘I know, you get value for money when you shop with me. See the discounts you got in those boutiques? Top whack.’
Allie laughed. ‘Fair enough. They love you, don’t they?’
Rona smirked. ‘Don’t they just? Now you’re all set to knock the socks off those arseholes in the newsroom. They’re not going to consign you to the miracle babies any longer. Though . . .‘ She paused. ‘I do have a nice wee story I could pass your way. I was going to hold on to it for a picture spread next week, but it might be more your style.’ There was a tease in her voice as she linked arms with Allie and steered her into the Grosvenor Hotel at the top of Byres Road. ‘Cocktail hour,’ she announced as they swept towards the bar.
Rona wouldn’t be drawn on the story till they were settled at the bar with a pair of Negronis. Allie had never tasted one before, but her first mouthful convinced her that someone had invented a way to make red Cinzano worth drinking. ‘So what’s this story, then? Are you trying to get me drunk so I’ll fall for it?’
Rona gave her an arch look. ‘Aye, right. It’s actually a fun story, I’m just not sure it’s right for the women’s page. What would you say to Scotland’s first pregnant football referee?’
On first hearing, the combination of words made no sense. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘I have a pal who’s the headmistress of a primary school in darkest Lanarkshire. They’ve got no male teachers, and the kids love fitba’. So she persuaded a couple of her colleagues to join her in sitting the exams so they can referee their school matches. They’re some of the first ever women to get the qualifications. And now one of them has fallen pregnant. So she’s Scotland’s first pregnant referee.’
Allie burst out laughing. ‘That’s a great story. I love it. Woman in a man’s world, right enough. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it in a heartbeat.’
Rona gave her a hug. ‘That’s my girl. It’s all yours. I’ll leave a note in your pigeonhole on Monday. When you’ve nailed your big exclusive, you can have a bit of fun with it. And meanwhile . . . what’s the score with you and Danny? How come you’ve hooked up with him?’
It was an odd question, Allie thought. ‘I wouldn’t say “hooked up”. I mean, I’ve always got on with him, he’s not as much of a dinosaur as the rest of them. But then he approached me with this investigation. He had the bare bones of the story but he was struggling with writing it.’ She gave Rona a considering look. ‘There’s a surprising number of reporters on the Clarion who basically can’t write for toffee. Angus has had me doing rewrites for a few of them.’
‘That’s a sub’s job, surely?’ Rona seemed genuinely interested. How could she not know that, Allie wondered.
‘Angus doesn’t like the subs to think the news reporters write so poorly. At least, that’s what I think is going on.
So, Danny knew I was the spit-and-polish lassie and he came to me with his story and asked for help. And we worked pretty well together.’ She shrugged with one shoulder and took a swig of her drink. ‘That’s all there is to it.’
‘Yet you’re working with him again? He must have something going for him? Something more than not being a dinosaur?’
Why was Rona so interested in Danny? Was there something more to it? After all, she was probably only a couple of years older than him. ‘I got a lead on a great story. But it needs somebody on the inside. And it’s got to be a guy. I can’t say more than that, not yet. So I thought Danny could return the favour, that’s all.’ She toyed with her glass. ‘Why are you so bothered about Danny? Are you interested in him?’
For a moment, Rona was nonplussed. Then she tipped her head back and roared with laughter. ‘Me? And Danny Sullivan?’ More laughter. ‘Oh, Allie, you’ve still got so much to learn.’
Allie felt strangely affronted. She didn’t know what to say. But Rona recovered herself and hugged her with one arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Danny could not be further from my type. I’m just pure dead nosy, Allie. How else do you think I got to be the fount of all wisdom? Never mistake journalistic curiosity for desire. It’ll get you into all sorts of trouble.’ Then she giggled. ‘Me and Danny. The only thing less likely is Angus editing the women’s page.’ She knocked back her drink. ‘And now I’m going to love you and leave you. It’s been the best fun, Allie. But I’ve got a heavy date tonight and I need to go home and get tarted up.’ She slipped off her stool, not in the least unsteady, and gave Allie a kiss on the cheek. ‘We need to do this again. Soon.’
