by Denise Mina
Maureen pretended to try to remember. ‘I fell asleep and woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,’ she said. ‘So, you didn’t go out?’
‘No. Leslie was there with me. And Kilty. We all slept in the living room. Why are you asking?’ Liam looked down his nose at her. ‘Just asking.’
She should push it: he’d be suspicious if she wasn’t suspicious. ‘It’s a strange thing to just ask. Where were you?’ ‘At Siobhain’s house,’ he said, ‘watching a video.’ They sat smoking and looking out at the sunny green. ‘I really love her, Mauri.’
Mauri looked at him, at his curly black hair and straight nose, at the prematurely ageing skin beneath his eyes. ‘I’m glad, then,’ she said. ‘I hope ye stay together for the longest time and are really happy.’
Liam smiled up at her. ‘Really?’ he said, touched and pleased.
‘Yup.’
Liam grinned and stretched out a leg in front of him, looking away down the road and then back at her. ‘I’m thinking about asking her to marry me.’ ‘Oh, fuck off,’ snapped Maureen.
‘Hey, you said you were pleased,’ said Liam, raising his voice.
‘You’ve known each other all of two minutes,’ shouted Maureen.
Everyone on the steps was looking at them. ‘We’d have a long engagement,’ said Liam earnestly. She found herself laughing. ‘A long engagement?’ she repeated.
Liam thought about it and laughed too. ‘Yeah,’ he grinned, ‘a long engagement.’
‘Who are you, the Duchess of Argyll?’
‘You. Hello.’
Maureen turned and found Suicide Tanya staring down at her. She was wearing a grotesquely feminine Laura Ashley dress with a rosebud pattern on it, tottering in a pair of battered court shoes with a worn-down heel. Maureen suspected that Laura might have meant her to wear a bra with the dress: the cloth belt around the waist strained under the weight of her breasts. Next to her stood a pencil thin myopic man wearing women’s glasses, a dirty grey T-shirt and a Confederate soldier’s hat. ‘Suicide, how are ye?’ ‘Aye,’ shouted Tanya. ‘This is Reb. He’s my partner.’ Maureen nodded at him. ‘How’re ye?’
Reb didn’t nod back. His glasses were so thick Maureen doubted he knew where he was. ‘This is my brother,’ she said and, turning to introduce him, saw that Liam was at once enchanted and repulsed by Tanya and her beau.
‘Hiya,’ shouted Tanya. ‘I’ve seen Angus.’
‘Very good,’ said Maureen. ‘Were ye in the court, then?’
Everyone on the stairs was watching Tanya now. She was hard not to watch. As she turned to tug the elasticated sleeve from the groove in the fat of her arm, Maureen saw that the dress wasn’t even done up properly. A couple of token buttons had been fastened but the waves of fat on her back tugged the material this way and that, leaving gaping holes of stretched red skin. Maureen realized she was witnessing the sexual awakening of Suicide Tanya. At the bottom of the stairs two young men in suits were sniggering at her, one covering his face with a fat hand, and Maureen suddenly felt precious about her. ‘You look lovely, Tanya,’ she said, inadvertently prompting a grin from Liam and some journalists standing nearby. ‘Have ye been going out together for long?’
Tanya blanked the pathetic attempt to patronize her. ‘Angus Farrell’s a murderer and murdered Douglas,’ she shouted.
‘I know, Tanya.’
‘It was in the paper. Reb telt me. Are you going to the court to look at him?’
‘Dunno,’ said Maureen. ‘Are you going back in?’
‘Yes. Later,’ said Tanya, shoved her hand into Reb’s and reeled away down the stairs towards the road. ‘Who or what was that?’ asked Liam quietly.
Maureen explained that Suicide Tanya had been at the Rainbow Clinic and had introduced her to Siobhain. She kept trying to kill herself and was something of a celebrity among the emergency services. The last time Maureen had heard of her, Suicide was being hoisted off a shed roof in Shettleston by the fire brigade.
‘Reb seemed like a nice guy,’ he said facetiously.
‘I like Tanya,’ said Maureen, raising her voice so everyone else on the stairs could hear her. ‘She knows people are laughing at her, it hurts her. They put her on this medication to stop her killing herself and she can’t control her voice and it makes her a bit thick.’
‘Sorry,’ said Liam. ‘She certainly cuts a dash, though.’ Maureen relaxed a bit and watched Tanya leave. ‘I’ve seen her wearing a backless gold halter-neck,’ she whispered, and Liam winced. Maureen watched her undulating back disappear through the gate and reflected that even Suicide Tanya was sustaining a relationship with a man.
When Shirley, Paulsa and Maureen had gathered in the room again after lunch, the police officer came through and asked them to come with him. He led them through the lobby, past the door of the court Angus was appearing in, and along a corridor to a small door with the number ‘1’ on it. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Shirley.
‘This is the prosecution waiting room,’ said the officer, as if that meant anything to any of them. Maureen and Paulsa nodded to each other, trying to show they weren’t completely out of their depth. Shirley, who wasn’t out of her depth, didn’t bother trying to convince anyone of it.
It was a larger, windowless room with seats bolted to every wall. Overhead lights were muffled by a dropped panel. On each of the four walls hung an indistinct impressionist print in a thin gold frame. A smaller door at the back of the room had a stern notice on it, prohibiting unauthorized entry.
One hour into the afternoon Shirley was called to give evidence, leaving Maureen alone in the small room with fraught Paulsa. This, she suspected, was exactly what he had feared. As the door shut behind her Paulsa sniggered like a teenager on a frightening first date. Maureen pretended not to notice and went back to making up words that would fit into the spaces of the crossword. He sniggered again. ‘Are you trying to get my attention?’ she said, without looking up.
‘Nut,’ he said petulantly.
‘What are they going to make you say out there?’
‘In the court?’
‘Yeah, in the court.’
Paulsa lifted his bony shoulders past his ears.
‘Won’t be good for me, though,’ she said, ‘whatever it is.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Paulsa said, in a high voice. ‘You’re not on trial, are ye?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m not. Are you going to tell them Liam gave me the acid?’
‘God, shit, no.’ Paulsa moved across the room, sitting one chair away from her, leaning over confidentially. ‘They’re going to ask me about the acid you bought from me.’
Maureen lowered her paper. ‘You’re not mentioning Liam in your evidence?’
‘No. Just about the acid you bought from us. They’ve got me on another charge. I haven’t got a choice.’
She smiled at him, relieved. ‘I understand that, Paulsa, I won’t hold it against ye.’ ‘Liam will but.’
‘Paulsa, Liam’s retired.’
‘But you’re his sister. He’ll fucking kill me.’ They were let go at half four and Maureen watched Paulsa slope off out of the building. Liam was in the clear, they weren’t even going to mention him.
Minutes ago Angus had been no further away than through that door. Maureen remembered him listening to her describe the incidents with Michael, giving her cigarettes and tissues, telling her how not to die five times a day, handing her a future. He was a pragmatist, wasn’t interested in connecting or empathizing, just focused on practicalities and problem-solving. He was through the door and it meant nothing to her. She went outside for a cigarette.
As the door opened to the green, Maureen smelt the sweet grass and saw the yellow sun dancing across the roofs of passing cars. The soft breeze caressed her face, brushing her hair back like a kind mother; the sun warmed her itchy arms and loosened her t
ired neck. Here she was, she thought, content and enjoying whatever she could, living her dream.
A man walked along the dark road at the top of the hill and turned into the park, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched around his ears. Ten yards past the gates he disappeared into a thicket of bushes. A big moon hung over the blue city and Kilty, Leslie and Maureen were sitting very still, heavy hearts beating quickly, wishing they could smoke or drink or leave.
Liam had phoned Maureen at home, telling her that something had come up and he might not be in court tomorrow morning. He sounded stiff and strange but she didn’t want to press him. It would be a complication to do with Michael and she didn’t want to take in another shred of information. She couldn’t stop thinking about Liam now, wondering where he was and what had happened, wondering whether she should have asked.
‘That’s forty minutes,’ said Kilty, under her breath.
‘Maybe they’re not coming at all.’
Neither Maureen nor Leslie answered. They had both decided that they weren’t coming but didn’t want to leave yet, just in case. ‘What if we—’
‘Ssh,’ said Leslie. ‘Another twenty and then we’ll go.’
‘I need the loo,’ said Kilty.
‘Just wait,’ said Maureen.
Another ten minutes passed and they were wriggling around, shuffling their numb buttocks on the cold step, when three cars and a large white van came round the corner, lighting up the Park Circus Health Club with their headlights. They stopped in the street and all the doors opened, everyone piling out and running up the stairs to the door. They didn’t bother to knock, they had a big metal bar with handles on it and smashed the door open at the first try, shouting that they were the police and to stop.
In the hall a woman turned and ran, the yucca plant got knocked over and everyone was shouting, women screaming, doors being smashed in, orders to stop. All around, the genteel square lights went on and people came to windows to watch the furore, squinting out into the darkness. A woman at a third-storey window was holding a baby. She smiled and said something to a man standing at her shoulder. Two neighbours spotted each other at their windows across the square and waved.
Aggie Grey had tipped them off. The police had informed her of their timetable so she could get there with the photographer and do their media department’s job for them. When she had passed it on she told Maureen it was top secret and she had to sit somewhere that the police wouldn’t see her. She told Maureen to sit in the dark, not to move, smoke or do any bloody thing that would draw attention to herself. Everything Maureen had told her had checked out, from the agency in Warsaw to the Newcastle connection. Aggie said she had even found a file interview with an anonymous woman who had been through the network and managed to get away while she was in Dublin. She was still trying to source the interview but they had enough confirmation to run the story anyway.
Aggie was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a photographer at her side. He raised his camera in readiness and waited, setting off flashes as the police began to filter out of the club’s smashed door, bringing with them skinny women in thrown-on clothes, one holding a bandaged hand in front of her. The body-builder had a surgical collar on and his massive arms cuffed behind his back. Two or three men were hustled into the back of the van, covering their faces or looking away.
When all the noise and bustle was done, when the cars had shut their doors and driven away and the van had left the square, when the neighbours had finished waving and shrugging to each other, the three women were left alone on the stairs. Leslie lit a cigarette. ‘Good one,’ she said.
46
Plummy Twit
Maureen was alone in the witness room. Paulsa had been called to give evidence and had been in there for forty minutes already. He had arrived this morning in slow-blink, tiptoeing mode. She couldn’t imagine anyone managing to sustain a conversation with him for longer than three minutes – he seemed pretty off it and she didn’t suppose he would make a very good witness. She was the last one, knew she would be the final witness and hoped she would be left until the afternoon. She didn’t want the jury to come up with a verdict before Monday.
She was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with trousers she had bought that morning, and felt grown-up and ready for them. She hadn’t seen Liam before she came to the witness room, didn’t know if he was out there or not. She suddenly thought that he might have been arrested for Michael, or something to do with Michael, but it was nonsense. She knew it was nonsense.
There was only an hour left until lunch when the door opened and the police officer gestured for her to come with him. She stood up, gathering her newspaper, breathless with nerves. He led her through the back door, along a narrow passageway and into an antechamber with an intimidating large oak door at one end. Next to the door stood a bald man in a black gown and bow-tie. He nodded to the uniformed man, acknowledging acceptance of the package. He took the newspaper from Maureen, set it down on a chair at the side and opened the door.
It was very bright in the court, lit from above by windows in the ceiling. The body of the room was hidden behind a large wooden wall but she could hear a thundering silence, a man coughing, someone whisper. The usher pointed her up a small, steep set of wooden stairs and, as Maureen climbed, the room came into view.
It was grander than the small-claims court. The judge was sitting in a duck-egg-blue alcove above her, between two pillars and below a symbol of the crown, all ribbons and unicorns. Below the witness box, sitting at a large table, were the lawyers in their funny costumes facing the judge with their backs to the public. The overhead windows didn’t extend to the public gallery and the benches were in shadow. Liam’s face caught her eye. She went to wave, delighted to see him, but stopped her hand at her waist. Liam was looking worried and sitting next to Winnie. He seemed to be holding her hand. Winnie, she noticed, had not brushed her hair.
Straight across the room sat the jury, a mess of colour, body shapes and hairdos, a welcome injection of reality in the pantomime. They were in a little wooden pen, facing her on three benches of five, like a rollercoaster train dipping into the court room. She could tell by their expectant faces that she was billed as the finale. They were sitting forward, waiting voraciously. It was hot in the room and, high up in the booth, Maureen was hotter than most. She began to sweat furiously.
Angus was sitting to her left, in a wooden gallery, flanked by guards. He opened his eyes a little, like a pleasured child, and mouthed one word: Pauline. Maureen grinned at him and gave him a cheeky little wave. She saw the confusion and fear in his eyes and looked away.
The bow-tied man swore her in, holding out a Bible for her to put her hand on and she found herself taking the oath to someone else’s God very seriously. The man told her to sit down on the wooden seat and went off, clambering down into the body of the court and up another small set of stairs into the judge’s booth, standing slightly behind him.
A lawyer from the table went to stand up but hesitated with his knees half bent as the judge checked his watch. The judge nodded to him and he got up. He had a little black goatee beard, and wore a white wig and a gown. He walked all the way across the room and stood next to the jury, one arm laid along a dividing wall, his head tipped back affectedly. Beneath his gown his suit was expensive, his shirt well pressed. ‘Missss O’Donnell.’ It was a long hiss, a theatrical attempt to get everyone’s attention and, she felt sure, malign her as unmarried. ‘Could you tell us how you met Douglas Brady?’
Maureen cleared her throat and leaned nervously towards the microphone. ‘I met him—’ The microphone gave off a high-pitched crackle.
The bow-tied man came galloping over to her, leaning over the wall of the box. ‘Don’t lean in so far, stay back a bit,’ he said. She sat forward a little and he winked at her. ‘Super,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. She watched him go back to the judge’s box. His was the only friendly
face she could see in the room and she wanted him to come back.
‘Again, Miss O’Donnell,’ it was the advocate, posing at the other end of the room, ‘how did you meet Mr Brady?’ ‘I was leaving the Rainbow Clinic,’ her voice echoed around the sound system, every syllable sounding legally significant, ‘and I was waiting at a bus stop. He stopped his car and offered me a lift back into town.’ The advocate nodded, as if she was following his script. ‘You were, were you not, a patient at the Rainbow Clinic?’ They were going to ask about her psychi history, she fucking knew it, they were going to make her discuss it in front of all these people. She paused and caught her breath. ‘I was, yeah.’
‘Why were you a patient?’
It was a big question. She paused to think about it and another man in a gown and a wig stood up, saying something about the question, and the judge nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think you have to narrow that question down.’
They were all unbelievably posh. Maureen had never actually heard accents like that before, the wide vowels and rolling Rs. She had always thought she sounded plummy but compared to the lawyers she could be selling cockles and mussels from a barra.
‘Very well,’ the standing advocate resumed. ‘Miss O’Donnell, how did you come to be attending the Rainbow Clinic?’
She decided to be straight about it. ‘I had a nervous breakdown a year after I finished my degree,’ she said. ‘I was admitted to the Northern Psychiatric Hospital. After I left there I went to the Rainbow Clinic as an outpatient.’
The standing man was not pleased with this. He raised his eyebrows and furrowed his brow. She suspected that he had hoped she’d sound like more of an arse. ‘But you weren’t actually referred there, were you?’ he said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t like the psychiatrist I was referred to so I stopped seeing him and asked the Rainbow if I could see someone there.’
