by Louise Welsh
The woman said, ‘What was she doing with a gun, if she was only fifteen?’
Stevie’s body was trembling. Her voice shook. ‘I gave it to her.’
‘That was a bit silly.’
‘I’d forgotten how young she was.’
A large bed sat in the far corner of the room. Bream lay huddled on top of it, his knees pulled up towards his chest. Two cots stood by the bedside. Stevie stroked Willow’s hair: ‘Shshshshshshshshshshshsh …’ The girl’s curls moved beneath her palm, still alive, though Willow was dead.
She remembered her first sight of the girl, a ragged child, huddled beneath the bed, where her dead parents lay. Later, someone had let slip about how Willow had been found, covered in her parents’ blood. The other children had gone through a phase of teasing her about being a cannibal, but it had not lasted long. They were a small group and Willow had charisma. When she walked away from their taunts the others had discovered that they wanted to follow her. Willow had not reported the bullying to any of the grown-ups, Stevie remembered. The same pride had prevented her from telling anyone about Bjarne.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I should have known. If we’d taken you out of that house, none of this would have happened.’ Stevie was too tired to cry. Too tired to do anything except put her head on the child’s lifeless body and close her eyes. The race was over. Willow was dead. Magnus had the Sweats and would soon follow. Little Evie was lost. Shug was destined for hard, life-shortening labour. Willow’s gun had fallen not far from her body. Stevie reached out a hand and pulled it close. She did not have the energy to use it yet. She didn’t dare look at Willow again, the dead thing she had become. She lifted one of the girl’s hands to her lips, kissed it and repeated, ‘I’m sorry.’
Out of sight on the other side of the room, in a cot by the bed where Bream lay, soiled and shivering, the unseen child resumed its cries. Stevie opened her eyes. Sleep was her only desire, but the child’s cries were rising, harsh and panicked. She hauled herself to her feet and took a step towards the cot. The woman on the couch raised her gun and pointed it at her.
‘You’re intruding on my family.’
Stevie took a deep breath, trying to lower her heart rate. ‘I just want to help. Can I look in the cot please?’
‘It’s time for my daughter’s nap. I don’t want her disturbed.’
Stevie looked at the gun barrel, pointing towards her and was surprised to discover that she was afraid.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Anne.’ The woman looked down at the child, still and pale on her lap. ‘And this is Elizabeth.’
‘Are you married to Mr Bream?’
The woman smiled and Stevie saw that she was beautiful in a way that men liked and fashion designers had despised: soft and voluptuous with long, dark hair and red lips.
‘No one really gets married any more, do they? There are no vicars or registrars left. John says we jumped the broom.’ The woman glanced vaguely towards the bed. ‘He’s not very well – flu or something.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Ruby.’
Stevie had lifted the gun from the floor as she got to her feet, but Ruby’s gun was pointing at her, the child still cradled on her lap.
She kept the weapon by her side. ‘My name’s Stevie, short for Stephanie. I’ve travelled a long way, looking for a little girl called Evie. Someone stole her from her mother.’
Ruby sounded indifferent. ‘Poor woman, she should have taken better care. No one could take my children from me. I’d kill them first.’ She gave a glassy smile. ‘Well, you know that already.’
Stevie took another step towards the cot. Ruby cocked her weapon.
Stevie froze. ‘A new wave of the Sweats has hit the city. Your husband is dying from it. Anne and Elizabeth will catch it and die too, if they stay here. I’ve come to take your daughters into quarantine on our islands. They’ll be safe there. We’ll return them to you when the crisis is over.’
‘You must think I’m stupid.’ A strand of hair clung damply to Ruby’s face. ‘I told you, my children aren’t going anywhere.’
Bream groaned on the bed. He rolled onto his side, sat up slowly and placed his feet cautiously on the floor, as if afraid that the parquet might slide from beneath them. His words came out in staccato gasps.
‘We need to get away. Take the kids and go to the islands, with her.’
‘We’re city people.’ Ruby gave Stevie a complicit smile, as if she had not just murdered Willow in front of her eyes. ‘Flu makes Johnny feverish.’
A voice from somewhere behind Stevie said, ‘He’s dying, Ruby. You and the girls will too, if you stay here.’
Stevie looked round. Belle was thinner than before, her scarred face too skull-like to be beautiful any more.
Belle saw Willow’s ruined body on the floor, dropped to her knees and put her hand to the dead girl’s wrist, seeking for a pulse. ‘Christ, Ruby. You killed her?’
‘It was self-defence.’
Belle stared, pale-faced and shivering, Willow’s hand on her lap. ‘She was only a kid.’
Stevie kept her eyes on Ruby, waiting for a flicker in her concentration. ‘Willow was only here because you brought her, Belle. Her blood’s on your hands too.’
Belle pulled the scarf from Willow’s face, as if she could not believe that the child was dead. ‘It’s on all our hands. You gave her to a power-mad bastard to look after.’
Stevie shook her head. ‘I gave Willow to Candice. She was desperate for a child. I thought she’d take good care of her.’
Belle linked her hand with Willow’s, their fingers nested together, dead and alive. She stared at the child in Ruby’s lap.
‘She did. Then the girl hit puberty just as Candice began to feel she wasn’t going to hold on to her man.’
Guilt sat bitter and heavy in Stevie’s chest.
‘Candice thought every woman on the island was after Bjarne.’ She wanted to tell Belle to let go of Willow’s hand, but her own part in the child’s death was crashing in on her. ‘I promised Candice I’d take Willow, but I was late. I took the boat to Wyre and fell asleep at Cubbie Roo’s Castle.’
It seemed a lifetime ago.
Belle whispered, ‘I remember. Your dog was there. He liked me.’ Her eyes were still trained on the child, pale and sleeping in Ruby’s arms. ‘Candice told Bjarne that Willow was going to live with you. They had a big fight. She took her sleeping pills and went to bed. Bjarne started drinking. Normally Willow left the house when he hit the bottle, but she was waiting for you, so she hid in a cubbyhole she’d made in the attic. Bjarne was too fat to make it up the ladder into the roof safely, especially after he’d been drinking, so Willow felt secure there. She fell asleep and woke up to the sound of him calling to her from the landing. He said he knew she was there, and that if she didn’t come down, he would shoot the dogs. Willow didn’t believe him, not even when she heard two shots, one after the other. He said he would shoot her horse next. He’d killed the dogs cleanly, but he took longer over the horse. She heard it screaming and knew that he was telling the truth.’
Ruby rocked the child on her lap. One of its arms fell free of its blanket and flopped by its side. Belle let out a small moan.
Ruby lifted the child’s arm and tucked it back in place. ‘Why would I go to your islands? They sound hellish.’
Stevie said, ‘They’re beautiful.’ She glanced at Belle. ‘Willow stayed in the attic?’
Belle’s skin sagged, as if the process of decay had already begun and her flesh was pulling away from her bones.
‘Of course she did.’ She touched the back of the girl’s perfect skull, the curve where, when Willow was little, Candice had cupped her head with her palm as she rocked her to sleep. Belle’s eyes were still staring at the child in Ruby’s arms. She bit her lip. ‘Willow was brave, but she wasn’t stupid. She burrowed into the nest she’d made in the attic and when she heard a shot coming from Bjarne and Candice’
s bedroom, she tried to pretend it was only a trick to get her to come down. Later, when she heard Bjarne sobbing and wailing, she knew he’d murdered the nearest thing to a mother she’d known. Willow hoped he would kill himself next. She waited a long time, but there was no shot after that. Eventually she sneaked down from the attic. You know the rest.’
Ruby gestured with her gun.
‘I hope she got him.’ She was on Willow’s side, even though she had shot the girl dead.
Belle took a deep breath. ‘Bjarne was snoring. His head had fallen backwards and Willow could see the top of his skull over the backrest of his armchair. The gun he had used to shoot Candice was on the floor beside him. The sight of his skull seemed to set something off inside her – Willow said it was like a mechanism clicking into place. All that potential for violence, the killing, was waiting, stored inside Bjarne’s brain. Willow said that if she had seen his face she might have been too frightened to do it, but she sneaked round the side of the chair, picked up the gun and shot him in the back of his head, before she could change her mind.’
The baby in the cot had stopped crying. Ruby was crooning tunelessly to the child in her arms, rocking it gently to and fro.
Stevie whispered, ‘I would have helped her. Bjarne was a crude pig. I hated him, but I didn’t know he was so dangerous … I should have known.’
Belle said, ‘Willow thought no one on the island would believe her.’
Stevie wanted to shout, but she could hear voices rising in the building’s hallways. She spoke softly, for fear of discovery. ‘Willow was a frightened child whose mother had just been murdered. You could have advised her to come to us. Instead you tempted our children away. You knew they would be in danger. You knew that even if they survived the trip, they’d be treated like slaves. You took advantage of them.’
Belle looked away. ‘I knew the trip would be dangerous, but I didn’t think any of them would die.’ She raised the dead girl’s hand to her lips and kissed it, her eyes still trained on the listless child in Ruby’s arms. ‘I didn’t hide anything from them. I told them they would have to work in return for bed and board.’
‘They were island kids. They had no idea of what they were letting themselves in for. You made Moon into a baby-factory. Adil was hanged because of you.’ Stevie’s voice rose. ‘What about little Evie? Were you helping her too?’
Belle let go of Willow. She folded the girl’s hands back in place.
‘You don’t have children of your own. If you did, you’d understand. A mother will do anything to save her child.’
‘You stole Evie from her mother.’
‘Melody is the only child I’ll ever have.’
Ruby said, ‘Her name is Elizabeth. You gave her to us. She’s mine now.’
Belle sounded weary to her bones. ‘I didn’t have a choice. We were both going to die if we stayed in the salvage centre. When I heard the provost’s wife was desperate for a baby … it seemed the best way to save us both. I didn’t know how much it would hurt, not having Melody with me.’
Stevie said, ‘How could you steal poor Breda’s child? You knew the agony you were subjecting her to.’
‘It didn’t seem so wrong to try for just a little happiness, even if it cost someone else some pain.’ Belle’s look was plaintive. ‘Bream likes to give his wife presents. When I saw Evie, I knew what I had to do. She was such a pretty baby. I knew Ruby would fall in love with her. When we got to Glasgow I hid Evie away, somewhere safe where the dogs wouldn’t get her. I came to the City Chambers and begged Bream to let me have my daughter back. He promised to give me Melody in exchange for Evie but in the end he took them both.’ Her eyes met Stevie’s. ‘I couldn’t afford to think about her mother.’
Ruby shook her head. ‘Her name’s Elizabeth now. You shouldn’t have given her away, if you wanted her so badly. You could have worked in the salvage centre and kept her with you. Instead you moaned about how hard the work was and gave her to us, so you could go gallivanting. You abandoned Elizabeth. She’s mine now and I wouldn’t swap her for the world.’
Belle’s grin was ghastly. ‘I’ve come to take them away, Ruby. Both of them. They can’t stay here, not now the Sweats are back. You know that.’
Bream had been sick on the floor. He lay on his side, on top of the bed, his glassy eyes trained on the women.
‘Let her take the kids, Ruby. I need you.’
Ruby raised her gun so that it was pointing at Belle’s face. She tightened her grip on the child on her lap. Its head flopped backwards revealing dull, half-closed eyes.
Belle took a step forward. Her voice was raw. ‘Have you killed her?’
Ruby pulled the child close. ‘She’s got a cold. All children get colds.’
Bream retched again. He tried to sit up and failed. ‘Ruby, please. I think I’m dying.’
Ruby glanced at the bed, but stayed where she was, motionless on the couch.
Belle took another step towards her. ‘Your husband needs you, Ruby. Give me Elizabeth. Save yourself and Evie.’
Ruby said, ‘A mother lives for her children, not her husband.’
Bream raised his head from the pillow and looked at his wife. His face was glossed with sweat, his voice ragged.
‘You were headed for the Comfort Dens on Glasgow Green when I found you. I brought you to the City Chambers and gave you everything you wanted. I gave you these kids.’
Ruby kept the gun pointed at Belle and Stevie, but she turned her head and looked at him.
‘You got what you wanted, John. Men like you always think it’s nothing. But I gave you a lot.’
‘Ruby … please …’ The provost’s mouth was flecked with foam, his tongue swollen and thick. ‘My bones are grinding. Can you hear them?’
The woman got to her feet. She seemed unaware of the beads of sweat prickling her own brow.
‘You don’t have long to go, John. I’m sorry for you, but what can I do? They’ll be making wooden huts on the green again. Like you got them to do last time. I’ll ask them to take you there. Remember what you said? “It’s not so bad. After a while they don’t know where they are. It’s just like falling asleep.” ’ She smiled sweetly at the child in her arms. ‘Just like Elizabeth, falling asleep.’
Bream’s jaw was swollen, the glands in his neck hardening. Each word was a battle, hard-fought and only half-won.
‘I’m still provost. I’ll tell them it was your kids who brought the Sweats. Simmy will throw them in a couple of sacks and drown them in the Clyde like rats.’
Ruby lifted her gun and fired towards the bed, but the provost was lying flat against the mattress and the shot went wild.
The room was large, the distance between the door and the couch several yards. Stevie took it at a run. She knocked the gun from Ruby’s hand, punched her in the mouth and snatched the child from her. Ruby grabbed for the child and scrabbled for the gun. Stevie kicked her in the head and she fell against the couch, blood spurting from her nose. Ruby’s hands flew to her face. Snot and tears distorted her words.
‘Elizabeth has a cold. She needs her mother.’
Belle staggered towards Stevie. Fever had swallowed her strength and she moved with the same staccato gait that had propelled the provost through the corridors of the City Chambers. She held out her arms.
‘Her name is Melody. You’re right, she needs her mother.’
The child was about six years old. Skinny, with long limbs that suggested she might have grown tall, like Belle. Her hair was white-blonde, her half-open eyes blue, her skin brown. Melody’s pupils shifted, but the virus was in its final stage and she could not focus.
Belle said, ‘Please, give her to me.’
Stevie placed the little girl in her arms.
Belle sank to the floor. She put her face to her daughter’s. ‘I’m sorry I left you.’
Ruby was on her feet. Her nose was still bleeding and the lower half of her face was a bloody mask.
‘You’re not having her.�
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She lurched towards Belle and Melody. Stevie split her knuckles against Ruby’s skull. The provost made a sound that might have been no or some word of encouragement. Ruby reeled forward. Stevie hit her again. The woman fell. Her head slammed against the tiled floor with a noise that was a combination of a thud and a sickening snap. Stevie pulled back her boot, ready to kick her again, but she caught sight of the blood on her toecap and stopped.
Bream was on the bed, Belle on the floor, keening to her daughter. Stevie went to the cot. She lifted Evie from beneath her blankets. The toddler’s face was red from crying, her cheeks slathered with snot and tears, but she was alert, her temperature normal. Stevie kissed her on the forehead. The child tried to wriggle from her grasp. Stevie zipped the child inside the front of her jacket, so that only the top of her downy head showed. She kissed her again and whispered something soft and soothing.
Bream was mumbling. He might have been calling to her, but Stevie did not spare the provost a look. She lifted the baby blanket from the bed, draped it over Willow’s body and went in search of Magnus.
Fifty
The City Chambers was fractured, as sure as if a fissure had cracked its walls apart. The voices of the men who had loitered confidently in the halls had grown to a pitch and then splintered into silence. Stevie ran along the unlit corridor, clutching Evie to her chest. The child was crying, her small body heaving with distress.
‘Shhh, Evie, shhh.’ Stevie rubbed the child’s back through her jacket, trying to soothe the toddler. She shouted: ‘Shug … Shuggie?’ Her voice echoed against the Chambers’ marble surfaces. ‘Shug? … Magnus? … Shug?’
Stevie swore beneath her breath. She ran to the corner of the landing, a junction in the corridors that wrapped around the building.
‘Magnus? … Shug?’
Stevie swivelled on the balls of her feet, sweeping her eyes across the atrium, trying to take in the corridors and landings. The movement soothed Evie who stopped crying.
