The Health of Strangers

by Lesley Kelly

  ‘Biggest we’ve got is a seven, I’m afraid. Would you like to try a different shoe?’

  Mona tried to summon the energy to choose something else, and failed.

  ‘No, thanks.’ Sensible boots it would have to be.

  She ate some pasta in front of EastEnders, then sorted through her wardrobe for potential outfits, which she quite enjoyed. She generally hated the whole ‘getting ready to go out’ thing, but this was more like dressing up for a play. She chose the outfit that resembled the girl in the store’s image most closely, then pulled her trusty Dr. Scholl’s on. She hesitated, then went into the bathroom, opened the cabinet and pulled out some make-up. She squinted at the finished result, then stepped back into the bedroom to survey the overall look. She couldn’t be sure, but she was about ninety per cent certain she could blend in.

  Mona checked her watch. 9.30. Still plenty of time before she was due to meet Maitland. She paced up and down the hall a few times, then she grabbed her car keys and set off in the direction of Amanda’s flat.

  Over the next few hours in the pub, Bernard learned a great many things. He learned the best way to disarm a violent suspect. He learned how to gauge if a suspect was about to become violent. And he learned that Paterson had thought he was a ‘bloody idiot’ when he first joined the team, but had reconsidered this and now thought that he was a ‘bloody idiot with potential’.

  Bernard gave a wan smile. ‘Thanks for that.’

  ‘No, really,’ Paterson pointed at him with his pint glass. A small amount of lager splashed over the side and landed on Bernard’s leg. He thought it best not to complain.

  ‘I thought, “What are they doing sending me this over-educated loon who keeps quoting statistics at me?”’

  Bernard tried to smile enthusiastically, but the alcohol had gone to straight to his brain. The world was starting to look fuzzy.

  ‘I thought, “He’s exactly the kind of waste of space we’re getting in the Police now, no good in a bar brawl but can quote chapter and verse on equalities legislation. Just the sort that gets himself promoted and hugs a desk for the next twenty years.”’ Paterson stopped for a mouthful of lager. ‘But you, Bernard, you’re all right.’ He belched. ‘And it’s your round again.’

  Bernard stood up and realised he was very drunk. He’d had four pints, which was more than he’d had since . . .well, more than he’d ever downed in one go. Consumption of alcohol was not compatible with top-class sportsmanship. He wondered if he dared return with a soft drink.

  ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘A pint of lager and a Coke. And another couple of bags of crisps.’

  He looked over to see Paterson deep in conversation with the checked cap man. The two of them looked over at him, and Bernard immediately felt paranoid. What was his boss saying about him?

  ‘There you go, pal, pint of Tennent’s and a Coca Cola for the lady.’

  ‘There aren’t any ladies,’ Bernard turned round in confusion, then saw the barman’s smirk. ‘Oh, very funny.’

  He walked very slowly back to the table but still managed to spill a fair amount of Paterson’s pint. Paterson pointed in disgust to Bernard’s Coke but didn’t say anything.

  ‘So,’ said his boss, leaning uncomfortably close to him, ‘do we now know each other well enough for me to ask you a very personal question?’

  ‘Eh,’ Bernard attempted to move discreetly in the opposite direction from his Team Leader, ‘what would that be?’

  ‘When did you get the Virus?’

  Bernard lowered his drink, and stared at Paterson. ‘Is that a very personal question?’

  ‘Well, you know how it is,’ he leaned back, then took a long drink, ‘if somebody says they got it in the First Wave, it’s fine, but if they were in the Second Wave or later, there’s a pretty high chance that they lost somebody. I mean, even these days there’s a pretty high death rate . . .’

  ‘One in forty chance of death if you catch it now. You were in the First Wave, then?’

  ‘Oh, God, aye. Me, the missus and the kids were all laid up for a week with it. I was cursing at the time, of course, no idea how lucky we were to be immune to this new strain. And you?’

  ‘Second Wave.’

  ‘Oh.’ Paterson contemplated his pint. ‘Did you . . .?’

  The unspoken question floated between them. Bernard chose not to answer.

  ‘So, you were one of the lucky ones.’ Bernard took a long sip of his Coke, while he got his emotions back under control. ‘Must have been great going through the Second Wave knowing you were safe.’

  ‘It was strange. I remember one day, at the height of the panic, I turned up at the Station to find that only me and one PC – also immune – had turned up for work. Everyone else was either ill, caring for a family member, or so completely bricking it that they weren’t leaving the house.’

  Bernard spluttered. ‘So the entire Leith Police response consisted of two people?’

  Paterson shrugged. ‘It wasn’t like anyone was in danger of being mugged, raped or burgled. Any bastard approached you, all you had to do was cough.’

  They looked at each other, then started to laugh, with great aching sobs of mirth overtaking them both. Bernard felt himself tip over into hysteria. He put his hands over his face and tried, unsuccessfully, to stop the tears from flowing.

  ‘So, Bernie,’ said Paterson.

  Bernard wiped his eyes and looked blearily up at his boss.

  ‘Who do you blame for today’s state of affairs?’

  Bernard ran the back of his hand across his eyes, and thought for a moment. ‘Well, in no particular order, the Government for not listening to the likes of Bircham-Fowler during the First Wave. If they’d taken on board his warnings about the pandemic not tailing off, they might have been better prepared for the Second Wave. I blame the pharmaceutical companies for rushing into vaccine tests that ended up killing their test subjects, thus pandering to every conspiracy theory going that the Health Service was actually trying to kill people . . .’

  ‘Making our job ten times harder . . .’

  ‘Making our job ten times harder. And I blame the general public for being so stupid as to listen to the conspiracy theorists and, for example, not going to the doctor when they’re ill because they think the pills will make them worse. And,’ he stopped for a crisp, ‘I blame the chickens who started all this.’

  ‘Of course. Let’s not forget the good old fowl.’ Paterson poked his arm. ‘If I’d said to you five years ago, Bernard, that we’d lose a million people to an illness and the country would still manage to keep going, would you have believed me?’ He started on his new pint, making an impressive dent in it with just one swallow.

  Bernard thought for a minute. ‘Yes, actually I would.’

  ‘No!’ His boss looked at him in disbelief. He pointed the glass at him again, but this time Bernard managed to swing his leg out of the way before the lager cascaded over the side.

  ‘No, really. In the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 they estimate three per cent of the world’s population died. And that was hot on the heels of the First World War. And life went on.’

  Paterson slapped Bernard’s leg, and was surprised to find it wet. He wiped his hand on his own leg and carried on. ‘So, Bernie, how did they cure Spanish flu?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Bernard. ‘They didn’t. It just ran its course.’

  Paterson stared at his half-empty glass. ‘Well, that’s depressing.’

  ‘I suppose it is. But without the Virus I would never have had the joy of working for the Health Enforcement Team.’

  The two of them looked at each other then burst out laughing.

  ‘How did you end up at the HET, Bernie?’

  Bernard thought for a minute how best to explain the disappointing trajectory of his life so far. ‘Well, I spent the first fifteen years of my adult life playing professional badminton and studying Sport Science, then realised I’d got as far as I could. Trouble was, I was qualified for
nothing else, so I did a Masters in Health Promotion and this is my first job.’

  ‘Another depressing thought. Anyway drink up that Coke. It’s my round and I’m not coming back with anything other than two pints.’

  Bernard started drinking, and the room began to quiver. Paterson stepped past him to the bar, and he used his time alone to look at the picture of his son that he still carried in his wallet. He felt the tears welling again. He’d messed everything up. He hadn’t saved his son, and he couldn’t save his marriage. And now, when he should be at home with his wife, he’d somehow got himself trapped in the pub with his boss, too drunk to stand up.

  A pint of lager was plonked on the table in front of him, spilling some of its contents as it landed.

  ‘Get that down you.’

  As Bernard picked up the glass, he wondered what would happen if he passed out here.

  9

  Mona pulled up near the Pioneer Arms and checked her watch. Bang on time. She’d sat outside Amanda’s flat for the best part of an hour and seen nothing except pulled curtains, no Heidi, no Amanda, and no mysterious male. As she approached the Pioneer she saw a slight figure stagger out of the pub, reel round in a complete circle, and come to rest against a parked car. It was only when Paterson appeared in the doorway that she realised the figure was Bernard. She felt an unaccustomed pang of concern for him, and picked up her pace. By the time she reached them, Bernard had slid down to the ground.

  Mona grabbed him by an arm and hauled him upright. ‘You will see him into a taxi, Guv, won’t you?’

  Paterson waved a reassuring hand at her, then fell over, giggling. Maitland appeared at her side.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the Guv got Bernard drunk.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Paterson was vertical again. ‘Just a bit of team building.’

  ‘I don’t feel too good,’ said Bernard.

  Mona let go of him, concerned that he might be about to throw up on her. She turned to Maitland. ‘Maybe we should see them both into taxis?’

  Maitland took her by the arm and steered her away. ‘They’re grown-ups. They’ll be fine.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Nearly midnight. I think we can safely join the party.’

  Mona cast a last worried look at her colleagues, who were now standing with their arms round each other’s shoulders. ‘OK. My car’s just here.’

  Mona slid the Ford Focus into gear and they drove off in silence. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional pub-goer winding his way home. It was, after all, a cold Wednesday night. Mona wondered who would go to a late-night, mid-week rave. Students, she supposed, but didn’t students all work these days as well? She felt the slow spread of excitement throughout her body. She remembered this feeling from CID, the hours of waiting before a raid, when every muscle felt pulled taut, aching for the off. She looked over to Maitland expecting to see a similar picture of exhilaration, but instead her colleague was staring, unsmiling, straight ahead.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’ He fidgeted around on the passenger seat. ‘Just trying to get comfortable in this ridiculously small car.’

  ‘You’re welcome to the lift, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He peered over at her feet. ‘Nice shoes. Glad to see you took my advice.’

  She slammed on the brakes, and Maitland bumped his head.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Sorry,’ she smiled back. ‘Just realised we need to park. Don’t want to leave the car too close.’ She signalled to pull out again, and turned the corner into a residential area at the side of George Heriot’s School playing fields.

  He peered at her. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’Much to her annoyance she felt a blush stealing across her face. ‘Yes.’

  He burst out laughing.

  ‘I think the traditional response is,’ she put on a Sean Connery accent, ‘My, Miss Whyte, but you’re beautiful.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far, but you’re certainly looking less of a hound than usual.’

  ‘Cheers, pal. Very chivalrous.’ She pulled up next to a Volvo, and reversed backwards into a space. ‘Let’s take the Ferry Road entrance. That’ll give us time to scope out what’s going on.’

  Maitland got out and slammed his door, which echoed loudly along the empty street. Mona glared at him.

  ‘Sorry.’ He looked round. ‘Where the hell are we?’

  ‘There’s a cut-through along the end of the school grounds.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yeah, it runs between the playing fields and the railway line.’

  Maitland looked doubtful, and she bristled with irritation. He never believed anything she said. She took off confidently toward the short cut, reflecting that Bernard, for all his faults, did tend to give way to her opinions.

  ‘Here it is.’

  Maitland made no effort to catch her up, and the two of them walked along the narrow lane in a convoy six feet apart.

  The lane led them out on to a main road. During the day, Ferry Road was one of the busiest streets in Edinburgh, the main route for traffic heading north through the town. At this time of night it was deserted. Mona stopped beside the pathway that led down to the cycle track. Maitland ambled up beside her, leaned on the fence and looked down the concrete steps.

  ‘This is it then?’

  They walked down the steps and into the old railway line. The track had been concreted over to give a solid surface for walking or cycling, and on either side of the path the trees and bushes had been left to grow wild. In spite of the regular street lamps, it was a spooky place to be after dark.

  ‘So, what’s our story if anyone sees us?’

  Mona shrugged. ‘Same as everyone else. We’re going to a party.’

  ‘Yeah, people will think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.’ He turned to her with a serious expression. ‘Do you think we should hold hands?’

  ‘No, Maitland, I do not think we should hold hands.’

  Maitland laughed. After a pause he asked, ‘So, have you got a boyfriend then, Mona?’

  She walked on for a few steps, uncomfortable at the intrusion into her private life. It wasn’t, she supposed, an unreasonable question to ask of a colleague.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.’ She thought for a moment. Was she supposed to show a similar interest in Maitland’s life? ‘Am I right in thinking that there is a woman currently being stupid enough to waste her time on you?’

  ‘Certainly is. Do you want to see a picture?’

  ‘No, I was just asking to be polite. Anyway, shut up, we’re nearly there.’

  They walked on in silence.

  ‘You know,’ said Maitland, ‘if we’re nearly there I don’t hear too much in the way of party noise.’

  At that moment the railway tunnel loomed out of the darkness, and Mona could make out people moving about in the gloom.

  ‘Here goes.’

  As she went to walk toward the tunnel Maitland grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  ‘Careful, mate!’ A man on a bike nearly crashed into Maitland, who muttered an apology.

  Still holding Mona’s arm Maitland leaned toward her, and for a minute she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he brought his mouth close to her ear. ‘I know what they’re doing in there. Have you got earphones on you?’

  ‘Yeah, but . . .’ She tried to pull away, but he kept a firm grip on her arm.

  ‘It’s a silent rave.’

  She looked at him in confusion. ‘What?’

  ‘A silent rave – they’re all dancing around to their own music, probably to a synchronised playlist.’ Maitland looked along the track into the tunnel. ‘We can’t go in there without earphones – they’ll mark us as tourists right away.’

  ‘Have you got earphones on you?’

  ‘No.’ He looked annoyed. ‘I just splashed out a hundred quid on a new set and tonight, you know, I thought t
hey might get nicked or dropped or something.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to go in on my own.’ She felt slightly nervous at the thought, but also delighted at getting one over on Maitland.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea – give me yours.’

  ‘This is my call.’

  The sound of footsteps interrupted them, and they turned to see two girls walking along the cycle path in their direction.

  Maitland lowered his voice. ‘OK. Well, I can’t hang around here – I’m going to walk to the main road. If you don’t catch me up in,’ he looked at his watch, ‘say, forty minutes, I’m coming back to look for you.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  He took a step back and said loudly, ‘See you later, sweetie.’

  ‘Shoosh.’ The girls looked at him disapprovingly. One of them pressed her finger to her lips as she walked by.

  ‘Sorry,’ Maitland murmured.

  Mona exchanged a glance with her colleague, then watched as he strode off into the darkness. Then she took out her phone, plugged her earphones in, and walked into the tunnel.

  Bernard tried unsuccessfully to unlock his front door. He missed the small circle of metal completely, and his key scraped down the paintwork, scattering flakes of blue paint at his feet. He leaned his head against the wood, giggling. Pushing himself upright he tried again, focusing all his attention on the very small slot. This time he was successful, and he stumbled into his hallway. He closed the door as quietly as he could behind him, then undid this good work by tripping over his own feet and crashing through into the living room.

  He waited on all fours for Carrie to appear and shout at him. After a couple of minutes when nothing had happened he got up and hit the light switch. He debated putting the kettle on, but the pull of the sofa was strong. He decided to sit down, just for a minute, but felt his eyes closing. Just before the blackness hit him he saw a letter tucked into the mirror above the mantelpiece. His name was on the envelope.