Garnethill

by Denise Mina

  Siobhain was beautiful. For a fleeting moment Maureen wondered if Douglas had been having an affair with her too but when Siobhain smiled her eyes were so sad that Maureen knew she was depressed and had been for a long time. Douglas didn’t go for that sort of thing. Siobhain’s eyes were pale blue, framed in dark lashes, and she had high soft cheekbones. Her nose was arrow-shaped, pointing downwards to her rounded pink lips and perfect white teeth. Her dark hair was speckled with swatches of frizzy grey and was matted at the back. She was overweight but looked as if that was a recent development: her body was still adjusting before the extra flesh settled and became watery; the fat sat in pockets on her frame, her skin taut over it.

  Someone very busy had dressed Siobhain. Her red nylon trousers and brown jumper were ill-fitting and didn’t match. Every so often she would reach up slowly and pull at the elasticated waistband of the trousers or the neck of the jumper, but mostly Siobhain just sat and watched the television with the dignity of a pietà, her quiet hands sitting in her lap, palms upward like dead birds.

  Tanya told Maureen that she had seen her the day before and her name was Helen. Maureen agreed that this was the case.

  ‘You gave me a dog.’

  ‘I did, Tanya.’

  Tanya talked about the dog for a while, then stopped suddenly and announced that she was going. She left without saying goodbye. Maureen slipped into the empty seat next to Siobhain. She waited for a moment before she spoke.‘Are you very sad, Siobhain?’

  Siobhain turned her head slowly and looked at her without surprise.‘I am,’ she said. She spoke slowly, in a soft Highland accent, with the perfect diction of someone using their second language.

  Without a flicker in her expression Siobhain’s eyes over flowed and Maureen wept with her. They sat watching the television and crying for a while.

  ‘Would you like me to brush your hair?’ asked Maureen.

  ‘I would.’

  Maureen took the metal stabbing comb out of her handbag and gently eased the tangles from Siobhain’s hair, starting from the ends and working her way slowly up to the crown so as not to tug and hurt her. By the time she had finished they had both stopped crying. ‘Why are you sad?’ asked Siobhain.

  ‘Oh, I dunno. A lot of reasons. Someone died. My family, you know.’

  ‘A friend of mine died too,’ said Siobhain.

  ‘Was that Douglas?’

  ‘No,’ said Siobhain.‘He died, I heard that. I met him but he wasn’t my friend. My friend died a long time ago and life was spoiled for me.’ ‘Who was it?’

  ‘My brother.’ She paused.‘Who was your friend?’

  ‘Douglas.’

  ‘I am sorry for your grief,’ said Siobhain, as if repeating an ancient consolation in translation. Maureen thanked her.

  ‘I saw your Douglas. He came to see me the day he was killed. That’s why you have come to see me here, isn’t it?’ Maureen nodded.‘What time did he leave here?’ ‘About the end of the old cartoons. About half past three.’ It was later than lunch-time, the time the police were particularly interested in.

  ‘How did you know Douglas? Was he your doctor?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Siobhain.‘I didn’t know him.’

  ‘Why did he come to see you, then?’

  ‘Because my name was on the list.’ She pointed to the television.‘This man is getting everyone else into trouble. He’s telling lies about the other characters.’ She was watching a banal Australian soap.‘Do you watch this programme?’ ‘No, not really. Shall I give ye peace until it’s finished?’

  ‘No,’ said Siobhain, keeping her eyes on the screen.‘They put the same one on again in the evening. I watch it both times.’

  ‘What list was your name on?’

  ‘Your Douglas had a list of us.’

  ‘Of who?’

  ‘Of the women. He said there were others, I thought I was the only one. He knew about the hospital. I don’t know how. I have never told. He gave me this.’

  She reached down by the side of her chair and pulled a handbag onto her lap. It was an old-lady-style handbag, red patent leather with hoop handles and a gold clasp. She snapped it open and showed Maureen the inside. It was empty except for a brown envelope and a bundle of new twenty-pound notes rolled up with an elastic band. Maureen couldn’t calculate how much was there: she had never seen so many. The roll was as thick as a man’s fist. Siobhain shut the bag and dropped it carelessly onto the floor.

  ‘What was the money for?’ asked Maureen.

  ‘He thought giving me the money would make him feel better.’

  Maureen was confused.‘Had he harmed you in some way?’

  ‘No, he didn’t harm me. He was upset about the hospital. I can't tell you. I never told.’

  ‘Can you tell me where and when you were in hospital?’

  ‘Yes, I can tell you that.’

  Maureen wrote as Siobhain told her that she had been in the Northern for three years between 1991 and 1994.‘I was in the Northern,’ said Maureen,‘nineteen ninety-six. George III ward. I hated it.’

  Siobhain looked miserable.‘It was finished by then,’ she whispered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Siobhain’s face flushed with panic and her breathing became sharp and shallow.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Maureen, patting her hand.‘Don’t tell me. Don’t think about it.’

  The blood drained slowly from Siobhain’s face and she began to breathe regularly again. If the police came to see Siobhain they’d ask about the hospital and the money and they wouldn’t stop just because she lost her breath.‘Have the police been to see you yet, Siobhain?’ ‘No. Will they come?’

  ‘I don't know. I expect they will. I’d like you to avoid talking to them.’

  Siobhain lifted her hand slowly and stroked the back of her hair three times. She laid her hand in her lap again and looked at Maureen.‘Then I will,’ she said.‘They say I’m sick but I’m not. My heart is broken.’

  Maureen smiled warmly.‘You’re living in the wrong time, Siobhain,’ she said.‘Broken hearts are a bit too poetic for doctors to understand.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Siobhain ‘It’s the poetry they can’t understand.’

  They bent their heads close and looked one another in the eye, as intimate as lovers.

  ‘Can I come and visit you again?’ said Maureen.

  ‘I would like that.’

  ‘We could go to the shops,’ said Maureen, as she stood up,‘and you could buy some nice clothes with the money in your bag.’

  ‘I don't want nice clothes,’ Siobhain said flatly, and turned back to the television.‘I got that money because I wore nice clothes.’

  The receptionist had evidently decided she was all right. She took the trouble to lift her head and say cheerio as Maureen passed on her way out.

  15

  Dirty

  The Triumph Herald was parked outside the Dennistoun day centre. Liam was sitting inside with the window rolled down, watching the door and smoking a fag. He hooted anxiously and waved her over, opening the passenger door as she walked up to the car, letting it swing wide over the pavement. Maureen bent down and looked inside.‘Hello,’ he said coyly,‘I’s a bit pissed off last night. I thought I might have annoyed you.’

  ‘No, no,’ she lied.‘How did you know I’d be here?’

  ‘Leslie said. Joe McEwan’s looking for both of us. We’ve to go down to the station again.’ ‘Did he seem annoyed?’

  ‘I don't know, I didn’t see him. Benny said he phoned this morning.’

  Maureen threw her bag into the back seat and got in, shutting the door behind her and taking his fag off him. ‘What’s happening about Maggie?’ she asked, and took a draw.

  ‘I dunno,’ he said, and half smiled.‘I bumped into Lynn yesterday.’

  L
ynn was Liam’s ex-girlfriend. They had dated each other adamantly for four years and then split up suddenly after a petty fight. Two months later Liam was going out with bland Maggie. At the time Maureen and Leslie gave the relationship a month, tops, but that was over a year ago now.

  ‘Did you bump into her by accident?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is that the first time you’ve met her since ye split up?’ Liam grinned.‘Aye.’ ‘So . . . what?’

  ‘So nothing,’ he said innocently, and started the car.‘You hungry?’ ‘Starvin’.’

  ‘What do you want to eat?’

  ‘Any variation on the theme of red meat.’ It was a brisk, sunny day. The light in Scotland is low in the autumn, gracing even the most mundane objects with dramatic chiaroscuro. Deep hard shadows from the tall buildings fell across the streets, litter bins stood on the pavement like war monuments, and pedestrians cast John Wayne show-down shadows as they stood at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the road. They drove west up Bath Street, passing alternately through withering puddles of shade and warming blasts of sunshine, heading up to a drive-through burger place at the poor end of the Maryhill Road.

  Maureen hadn’t been there for a few months and the area had suddenly become desolate. Subsiding buildings had been bolstered up or else abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up with fibreglass. The city surveyors had always known there was an ancient mine there; they thought it was safe but the medieval miners had left weaker struts in it than they had supposed. Maryhill was falling into a five-hundred-year-old hole.

  The drive-through was busy with thrill-seeking lunch timers. Liam parked and Maureen ran across the road into the burger bar. When she crossed back to the car Liam had nodded off. She knocked on the window. He opened his eyes and sat up slowly, grinning as if he’d had a dirty dream, and opened the door for her.

  ‘Nothing happened with Lynn, then?’

  ‘Ahh, well.’ He rubbed his red eyes.

  They ate with the windows down and the radio on.

  Maureen asked him what time he’d left Paulsa’s house.

  ‘About two-thirty.’

  ‘Where did you go then?’

  ‘Went to Maggie’s to pick her up and we went to the town to get flowers for her mum. Why?’

  ‘Were you with her all day?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘Because,’ said Maureen,‘I met someone who saw Douglas alive and well at three-thirty that day.’

  ‘Very good,’ he said and nodded.‘Very good indeed.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if the police didn’t speak to her, though. She’s a bit vulnerable.’

  ‘We’ll keep her as a last resort, then,’ said Liam. He tried to squash her burger into her face every time she went to take a bite. They ended up throwing chips at each other and giggling childishly. Whatever it was he and Lynn did when they were alone it suited Liam well. With Maggie he had been precious and moody but when he was with Lynn he recovered his gleeful spontaneity. They went for a coffee in a nearby shopping arcade to calm themselves before going to the police station.

  Given that arcades are the poor precursor to shopping malls, this was a poor arcade: it was full of fancy-goods stores, 99p shops, with window displays of discount toilet rolls, and frozen-food shops. Many of the units were empty or to let. A small central space was furnished with benches and fake trees stuck in large pots. The pots had been used routinely as ashtrays and were full of cigarette ends and greasy ash. Above, a clear Perspex roof lit the resting shoppers in an un flattering splat of light.

  Liam needed razors so they went into the supermarket, then walked back to a baker’s shop with a café. It was a grimy, self-service joint. The pile of trays at the counter hadn’t been washed properly and the cups were stained. Dirty dishes sat uncollected on all the tables.

  They picked a tray from the bottom of the pile and shuffled sideways along the counter. Maureen bought the coffee and began the search for the least dirty table. She stacked up the used dishes and moved them to an empty table before she sat down. The table top was strewn with crumbs and sticky patches of what appeared to be jam.

  ‘I don't really want to drink out of that,’ said Liam, pointing at his cup. It had ring stains on the inside and a chip on the handle.

  ‘It’s good for you,’ said Maureen.‘If you eat germs you get immune to them.’

  Liam wiped a space on the table in front of him with a paper napkin.‘That sounds like an excuse for bad housekeeping to me.’

  ‘Aye, right enough, I’d never thought of it that way,’ she turned her cup round to a chipless part of the rim.‘Mum used to say it to me. What’s she up to?’ ‘What d’ye mean?’ said Liam.

  ‘What’s Mum’s new thing? She’s said Dad’s name twice in the past week and Una was looking well shifty.’

  He raised his eyebrows.‘It’s nothing, Mauri,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  That meant it was bad. Normally she wouldn’t have asked Liam. They had an unspoken rule about Winnie that they didn’t discuss her except in joking, disparaging terms, and even then it was as a release mechanism so that they wouldn’t take her too seriously. They never gossiped about her or told each other what she’d been saying about them: they were old enough to know that none of it mattered, it could only hurt them and she’d be picking on someone else next week. But Maureen had a feeling that Winnie’s recent behaviour related to something more sinister than usual, and she needed to know. Liam sipped his coffee nonchalantly and grimaced.‘That tastes of tyres,’ he said.

  ‘What’s yours like?’

  ‘Tell me, Liam.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  She had to cajole him all the way through her coffee.‘I’m worried that she’s been talking to the papers about me, that’s why I need to know.’

  ‘Maureen, it’s got nothing to do with that, it’s not important.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell me then?’ Liam gave up on his coffee.‘I can't drink that.’ ‘Well, leave it, then,’ she said irritably.‘Tell me.’ He frowned and shoved his cup away to the side of the table. She caught his arm.‘Tell me. Right now.’

  Liam sighed heavily.‘It’s to do with Marie . . . and Dad,’ he said.

  ‘Has Marie remembered something?’

  ‘No.’

  Maureen stopped dead.‘What about Dad?’

  Liam sat back and shoved his hands in his pockets, swinging backwards on his chair.‘Look,’ he muttered, really don’t want to tell you. I just think you should stay away from them all, at least until this Douglas thing’s settled.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Maureen, I—’

  ‘DON'T LIE.’

  He took a deep breath and looked at her.‘Marie doesn’t believe you about Dad.’ ‘Marie doesn’t believe me either?’

  ‘None of them believe you, Mauri.’He laughed nervously, trying to make a joke of it.‘They don’t believe anything they don’t want to.’

  ‘I know Mum doesn’t but Marie was there when it happened. How could she not believe me?’ ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Which bit doesn’t she believe?’

  ‘None of it.’

  ‘What about Una?’

  ‘She definitely doesn’t.’

  ‘But Una was the one who brought it up in the first place. She only recanted to get Mum off her back. How could she not believe me?’ He shrugged.

  ‘Marie was there,’ squealed Maureen. The other customers eyed them furtively.‘She was fucking there. She saw Mum pulling me out.’ ‘Mauri, please.’

  ‘Those fuckers!’ shouted Maureen, curling over the table with fury.‘Fuckers!’

  A small boy at a nearby table started to cry. Liam pulled at her arm, trying to get her to sit up and calm down.‘Keep it down, Mauri, please. We could get arrested for a breach.’ She straightened up and took
his hand roughly, pulling him forward across the table.‘You tell me everything,’ she said fiercely.‘Everything. Why are they bringing this up now?’

  He blinked sharp little spasms and wouldn’t look at her. ‘Mum thinks you might not have remembered about Douglas properly.’

  ‘And where did that come from?’

  He picked at his fingernails.‘There’s been all this stuff in the papers about memory . . .’

  ‘This false memory stuff? They don’t believe me about Dad so I make up everything all the time?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  She slumped over the table, muttering curses to herself. ‘I’m sorry, Mauri, I’m sorry,’ Liam whispered.

  Maureen scrubbed at her eyes, dragging the soft skin on her eyelids back and forward, trying to get it together.‘They think I’m completely mental, don’t they?’ she said. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Have they told the police this?’

  Liam shook his head.‘After the show Mum made of herself at the station the other day I don’t think she’s exactly got the ear of the police. I wouldn’t worry about that. My God, it’s not as if you’re used to relying on their support, is it? I just think they’ll fuck our heads if you go near them. Promise me you’ll stay away from them until this Douglas business blows over.’

  ‘Let’s get out of this place,’ said Maureen.‘It’s dirty.’ They left the arcade and walked back to the car. Liam pulled the keys from his jacket pocket. He opened the passenger door for Maureen but she didn’t move to get in. ‘Not one of them believes me?’ she said.

  Liam rubbed his hands guiltily, as if he was implicated in his sisters’ duplicity.

  ‘No,’ he said,‘they don’t.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, totally, completely.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Una told you, because it’s all too much of a coincidence and I know you’ve questioned it so often and arrived at the same conclusion every time.’

  ‘Do you believe me when I say I didn’t kill Douglas?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I know you’re really hard, Maureen.’