by Val Penny
She saw Da look at his hands, rinse them and wipe them on a tea towel. Now the towel was grubby and so were his hands. Annie did not want him touching her food with his hands like that. So she did what she always did when Ma was late home from work: she made them both cheese and onion toasties. No ham left. They had the toasted sandwiches with salt and vinegar crisps. Nobody liked the salt and vinegar ones so they were always left over. It was all washed down with hot, strong tea.
Not a king's feast, but it filled a hole.
***
“Thanks, Annie. You are a good girl, that was a good meal.” Joe smiled at his daughter. “You're a fine girl, you know. My wee girl.”
“Of course, Da.” If only you knew, she thought. She took a deep breath and said, “Da, you need a shower.”
“Your Ma was out early this morning.” Joe appeared to ignore her comment.
“Oh yeah? I heard you going to bed last night but didn't hear Ma let you in. My sleep is all over the place right now.”
“Did you hear me coming in, then? Why didn't you open the door for me, girl?”
“You always tell us not to open the door after 10pm. You say nothing good can come of it, and anyone who should be coming in to the house at that time will have a key. You have a key, anyway.” She tried again. “Da, you really need a shower.”
“I suppose,” he sighed. “I just thought your Ma was in a mood and you were asleep. Why did your Ma not open the door? I tried to be quiet. You know, I am worried about her. I told the police.”
“What?” Da really amazed her sometimes. “Don't think you need to do that.” Then she shrugged. “I don't know. I suppose, I haven't seen her. Why? Did you two have a fight? Did Ma tell you about me?” Annie stared at her father closely. “Da, are you and Ma okay?”
He seemed even more spaced out than usual. He had not shouted at her, so she felt brave enough to try her instruction again.
“I really think you should have a shower, Da.”
“Yes, you said. And you should lose some weight, lassie, but let's not get personal. Anyway, I will shower in good time. It'll take you longer to get skinny.”
Annie blushed. It was the first time her Da had said anything about her extending belly. Had Ma told him yet? Surely, Ma would have told her, or even just sent her a text to warn her. Annie carried on without sharing her thoughts with Joe.
“And you change your clothes, Da. I'll lay out some clean ones for you. Okay?”
“Aye but first, make us another cup of tea.”
Annie put the kettle on again and wondered if now would be a good time to tell her Da. No. She decided against it. Ma said she would do it. Leave it to Ma. Ma would know the best time to tell him. She would know the best way to tell him. Ma always knew the best thing, even when Da was in a rage.
“You want a biscuit with your tea, Da?” she asked, timidly.
“Aye, go on,” Joe said. Then, custard cream in hand, he fell asleep in his chair.
Annie sat and watched her Da as he slept. She wondered how often Ma had heard him fumbling with his key in the lock after the pub shut. Ma always opened the door for him. It was easier than dealing with his rage if she didn't. He would stumble forwards as the door opened and often held on to Ma too tightly. She would squeal. It used to be with laughter when Annie was wee, but now it sounded more in pain as he steadied himself with her slim frame so that he didn't fall over. Her bruises were ugly. Times had changed.
Annie looked up at the fading wedding picture on the mantelpiece. What a fine-looking man her Da was when he wed Ma. He was not too tall. He had a shock of thick black hair and bright blue eyes. His cheeky grin was easy and swift. Ma was so pretty with her long, wavy, red hair. She always told Annie how she had felt so lucky, then blessed, then relieved. Annie did not understand why Ma would feel relieved. She knew Da adored her Ma, maybe he'd fancied her. Of course he fancied her. Ma always said she fancied him. That thought made Annie snigger. It was funny to think about Ma and Da like that.
Joe stirred. “All right, love?” he mumbled. Annie wondered: was he talking to her or to Ma?
Ma had said she needed him. She wanted him and wanted him to want her: want her enough to marry her.
Annie wondered if Frankie felt like that about her. But that thought was embarrassing too, and made her blush. She remembered the longing in Frankie's eyes, the tenderness of his touch. She shook her head. She did not want Da waking up and reading her thoughts. That would be shocking.
Da had been a good provider once. Ma told her that. His ability met his ambition. Everyone said, when he was young, he was the best and quickest painter on the Forth Road Bridge. His pay was good, his bonuses better.
She watched as Joe twitched, snored and snorted in his chair. Not much providing now. Poor Ma. Annie sighed.
“What's for dinner, love?” he slurred, but did not wait for an answer.
Annie was not sure he was really awake. They had just had tea.
“Have we got a beer?” he muttered.
“Macaroni cheese for dinner, I'd guess. It's all we've got. No beer, Da, sorry. Da, there is something Ma had to tell you. She wanted to talk, has she said anything?”
“Nought I know of. Nought good.” He opened his eyes. “I do love you, lass.” He smiled. “Sure there's no just one beer left, Annie?”
“No, Da. No beer.”
She stood, looked at him anxiously, and took a deep breath. Since the accident, his temper was volatile. She rarely knew when it would flare or what he would do, although he had never hit her. But Ma had felt his wrath more than once, and Ma wasn't here.
Tense and terrified, she stood up in the living room and went through to the kitchen. She washed the few dishes from their meal and then grabbed her jacket, leaving Da to his slumbers. She knew him too well to think the shower would happen. The door kissed the jamb so quietly as it shut.
Annie was pleased Da didn't waken; she couldn’t face his questions. She ran down the road, planning to meet Frankie. It was a fine autumn afternoon. Windy, but fresh. She would walk. Exercise was good for her. She enjoyed walking and it was still light; the days were so short in winter. The air smelt of falling leaves.
Hopefully Ma would be back when she got home. Ma could deal with Da. As Annie walked, she imagined Ma telling Da the whole story, and his face becoming red, his mouth turned down, his lip curling as he snarled. Da's breathing getting faster and deeper. Then he would rise out of the chair and lurch towards Ma.
Annie flinched. The image was too real. His aim was true and his punishment swift when his temper was up. Although his right arm was not much use now, his left hand could still pack a punch. When they had a fight and he finally loosened his grip on Ma, she was always ready to run. Ma always ran out of the living room and into the hall. She ran as fast as she could down the road, but she never got far and she always came home. Annie felt sick at the thought of the inevitable confrontation between her parents.
It was dry and cold today, but Annie felt hot. She thought about what Ma had to tell Da for her, and her stomach churned. She held it tight and smiled at the thought of the babies inside her. Her mother had told her: Be sure your sins will find you out. Ma was absolutely right.
When Mary-Ann had said that, she was talking to her girl but not talking about her. She’d had a good run at it, she’d said; it must be nearly 17 years. That bit did not make sense to Annie. She knew Ma said what a different man Da had been. He worshipped Annie, his bonnie lassie. He worshipped Ma, his own darling ginger nut. He had been a good husband and father before the accident, before the drink, before the anger that had bruised and broken her Ma as much as it had hurt her Da. He was always so sorry. Ma was always so scared.
Still, he had to be told about Annie and Frankie and the twins.
Annie held her belly again. Ma had said she, not Annie, had to be the one to tell him. She had no choice, Ma said. There was so much to explain. It would be hard for Joe, so she would have to choose her time and then be rea
dy to run. Ma had looked sad. Annie knew Da would blow. He had never liked Frankie's family. Ma was good to do this for her. Ma was great.
Annie squirmed and pulled her shoulders up around her ears at the thought of Ma's voice. Tension. Fear. She tried to relax into the music of Little Mix on her headphones. It always made her smile and want to dance.
She decided to text Frankie. Everything was better when they were together. Maybe she even loved Frankie. She knew he was the nicest boy in school and she knew he liked her. She was sure he fancied her. They couldn't have done it if he hadn't fancied her. It wouldn't have gone up, would it? Thick and throbbing, so sore. And it was just her bad luck she got pregnant on their first and only time.
Annie blushed at the thoughts she had as she wandered along. She walked up to Morningside and crossed Cluny Drive to walk on up Comiston Road to the Hermitage of Braid. This part of Morningside was a lovely district of Edinburgh. Large, traditional, stone-built family homes behind established gardens with trees, shrubs and well-manicured lawns with flash cars outside. Homes owned by wealthy bankers, lawyers and doctors. Homes Annie could only aspire to clean. Frankie might valet the cars. She and Frankie would never live here.
The walk towards Frankie's house, through the Hermitage, was pretty. She was looking forward it. There were joggers, people walking their dogs and little children throwing sticks into the Braid Burn. Annie smiled. Her twins would come and play in the water when they were older, and she and Frankie would sit on a bench nearby to watch them. It would be so much fun, time with Frankie and their bairns.
She guessed that when she called him he would come across from his house at the other end of the park to meet her halfway. That's what he did. He was nice like that. They certainly did not want to go to her home nor could they go to his. They would not do that until after both families knew. Even then, she would have to see how each lot reacted to their news. Let things settle down before they knew how the land lay.
The wind blew Annie's hair around her face and made her catch her breath. Annie loved the walk through the Hermitage. She strode up Comiston Road and would cross over at Braidburn Terrace as she walked towards the entrance of the park. There she would phone Frankie and check that he was on his way.
Annie looked forward to seeing Frankie. She sang along to Black Magic with Little Mix, the band playing loud in her ears, as she skipped across the busy, wide Comiston Road.
Chapter Sixteen
Frankie had never liked Arjun Mansoor, even when his dad was alive and Uncle Ian was around to keep him under control. Now Frankie feared him. He certainly did not trust the man, although he worked for him at weekends; it was the only job he had been able to get. Frankie did like Mary-Ann. She was ace. Not like his own mam, who was always moaning about something.
He was only half-listening to his mam. She was sitting in the living room, alternating between drinks of tea and vodka, bemoaning her lot while Frankie played with his phone.
“It's not as if I am a racist or anything,” she said to nobody in particular. “And nobody better say I am! I just do not like having to do business with Arjun Mansoor. After all, I only voted UKIP once, and that was a protest vote.”
She sighed. “Poor you, Frankie, having to put up with working for the bastard every weekend. I just happen to loathe Mansoor, however good-looking he thinks he is. Not that I fancy him nor nothing. Arjun isn't God's gift, that's for sure. Frankie, can I get another voddy, son?”
Edna stifled a sob. Frankie thought it was probably the drink talking.
“But really, Frankie, I canny agree with you about Mary-Ann,” his mother went on. “I just despise that trash, Mary-Ann Johnson. Fucking trollop. How dare she have it away with my Billy?”
“What's that, Mam?” Frankie asked anxiously. “What do you mean by that?”
“And if that wasn't bad enough, her kin are Irish, and all that.” Edna carried on as though she hadn’t heard Frankie’s question. “I mean, I don't dislike her any more because of that. But it wasn't my fault the bitch married a wee Glasgow niaf who fell off a bridge and lost his job, was it? Should have been wearing his safety harness. Shouldn't he? Health and safety an' all. And I wasn't to blame that he drank their money and hit her when there was no cash for a smoke or a beer, was I, Frankie?”
“Aye.” Frankie was still puzzled by her rant as he took his mam's glass to refill it. “You did quite enjoy having Mary-Ann in to skivvy for us after Joe hit the bottle. You found it funny to think of her hand down our toilet.”
“That's true.” His mother gave a nasty smile. “I know the kind of woman Mary-Ann really is. Bloody trash. Flaunting herself in front of Billy like she was no better than she ought to be. And I know, I know about the girl.”
Frankie made little sense out of his mother's nonsense. Although he did know that she hated being obligated to ‘that chancing Arab’, as she called Arjun Mansoor. Frankie thought it was just because of his weekend job; he didn't know about anything else.
“I always knew Arjun was devious,” Edna went on, grabbing her vodka and coke from Frankie. “Still he was useful. Gave you that wee weekend job. But now he knows I used a company car to gather up all the bits of Jamie's haul I could get.” The vodka sobbed again. “Poor lad. That break to his ankle was bad. Admittedly, I was a fool to tell Arjun about it. Now I'm beholden to him, but what else could I do? After all, I damaged the car. Then the bloody fool reported it stolen. How stupid is this guy? Does he know how long his sentence would be if they found out about his other business dealings?”
“Mam, do you think you should take a nap? You're blethering nonsense.”
“Still, some things Arjun doesn't know. That's good. Even if he could drop me in it, it's unlikely that he would, isn't it son? Arjun will want your Uncle Ian's blessing to run his patch until he gets out of the big house. He wants to be number two. And you know what a number two is, don’t you, Frankie? Shit!”
When John Hamilton got the results back on the car outside Arjun Mansoor's flat, he was puzzled. Mansoor had said that a friend had borrowed the car, but Forensics had found nothing on the car to show that; nothing at all. Mansoor's fingerprints on the driver's side, his wife's on the passenger side. No muck, no nothing. In fact, the pedals even looked as though they had been polished. Apart from that, nothing but a few smudge marks. They hadn't bothered taking the engine apart, because unless Mansoor and his wife both had identical twins, and both sets of identical twins had married each other, it wasn't worth the cost.
Somebody had worn gloves, possibly? It was cold enough. On balance, that was more likely than the double twins scenario. Hamilton picked up the papers and went to find Jane Renwick.
Jane was in Hunter's room. They both listened to John Hamilton in silence as he repeated his findings.
“Also, Boss, the car is not registered to Mansoor, but to a Charlotte Fowler. I interviewed her about it and she confirms what Mansoor says: that she sold it to Ian Thomson's business last week, in part payment, as we were told, to the luxury car dealership Mansoor is running for Ian Thomson while he is inside.”
Jane did not believe the car had been stolen, nor taken without Mansoor's permission. She could feel, under her skin, that there was a piece of the puzzle she was missing. How well did Arjun Mansoor know Edna Hope? The only trip Mansoor had made yesterday, in the time frame she’d had set out, was the trip she witnessed on the return from meeting Edna at the Art Gallery. Odd.
“Why do the pedals seem polished?” Hunter asked. “That is strange. Let's get the CSIs to check that.”
“Another strange thing, Boss,” Jane said. “When Frankie mentioned folk who hate Billy, Arjun Mansoor was top of the list, but Mansoor said he didn't know Billy well.”
“And you two are standing here because…?”
Jane and John left the station and drove to Mansoor's house. His wife opened the door and let them in, shouting, “Arjun! Police.”
“Detective Hamilton, lovely lady. My pleasure, my pleasure,
come in.”
When they left, ten minutes later, Jane was furious. She turned to John.
“So he told you it was stolen to get a crime number to make a false insurance claim because he pranged his own car?”
“Yep, that's what he says. Then he met Edna because he did business with her husband and felt obliged to make sure she was not in dire straits or short of money.”
“Hmmm. Weak, very weak. Let's go see the widow before we go back to the Boss, shall we? You drive.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was over in seconds. Annie did not look as she crossed the road; she was the fifth member of Little Mix, singing with the band. She did not have time to send the text to Frankie. She did not have time to worry.
Her earplugs firmly connected her mind to the music. She heard the last chorus of the song. She did not hear the woman scream or the dog bark. She did not hear the car speed towards her. She did not hear the engine roar. The car did not slow down. Fast, faster it sped straight towards her. Uphill. No brakes. One tonne of metal hit one hundred pounds of pregnant flesh.
Annie thought she screamed. Broken and bloodied, she finally felt the car as the driver stood on the accelerator and yelled. Her long red hair flew past the flushed red face. Annie's broken body smashed the windscreen. Then she bounced off the bonnet and onto the road below. Annie saw only hatred in the driver's eyes. She soared high into the air with balletic elegance. Her descent was not elegant. She struggled to stand. Wind provided no support; arms and legs flailed, stretched, clenched and relaxed. Annie bounced on the road. She closed her eyes wondering what had happened and why.
Pain reverberated around her body. The one-tonne weapon reversed over her to make sure of the deed. Her hand let go of her phone. It flipped through the air. Then tarmac grazed her face, bones snapped. Annie kissed the tarmac, ricocheted off the wheels for the last time. She bled. The car sped away.
