‘You might need to find her a stepladder, but aye, she seems really nice.’ She was maybe five-three, but only because she was wearing heels.
‘Marcie, Marcie, c’mere and meet ma boss,’ said Mandy, walking over to take her friend by the forearm. She’d clearly forgotten we had been introduced earlier, though we hadn’t really talked. ‘Yous stay here while I go find that lanky eejit,’ she said and pushed her glass into my chest for me to look after.
‘Maybe I should hide this,’ I said, and Marcella laughed.
‘She’ll only go buy a fresh one, and that might be worse.’
‘True enough.’
‘So, you’re Mandy’s boss? Does that make you a chief something-or-other? I can’t imagine anyone being boss over Mandy.’
‘Oh, no, I’m just a lowly sergeant. And you’re right, I’m not really sure I see myself as Mandy’s boss. My job is really to just let her get on with hers. What do you do yourself?’ I said and drank, but then laid both my glass and Mandy’s down as I suddenly felt I’d just about had enough.
‘I’m in HR,’ she said and sucked from her straw. Her eyes watched me. ‘I can see you dying a little inside. Don’t worry, I get that a lot and I won’t bore you with details.’
‘No, I’m sure it’s …’ I was glad to see Mandy returning, dragging the boy behind her. I had no idea where I was going next in the conversation.
Mandy unceremoniously pushed between us. ‘Marcie, this here is our probationer. Now he doesn’t look like much, but he’s a good lad and he’s … how old are you today?’
Morgan, despite any Dutch courage, looked mortified. ‘I’m, uh, twenty-five.’
‘Right, twenny-five. So, you know, plenty stamina, you know-what-a-mean. Sarge, pint!’
I handed Mandy her glass and she waddled off.
‘Happy birthday. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name before,’ said Marcella.
‘Oh, it’s Morgan. Morgan Finney.’ He pushed out his hand and they exchange an awkward, limp shake. I looked around for an escape route, but there was nothing obvious. Maybe just head home, I thought.
‘I’m Marcella. Only Mandy gets away with calling me Marcie. Morgan’s an unusual name?’
‘Oh, yeah. Capital M, small organ,’ he laughed. ‘Blame me parents.’
‘For the small organ?’ Marcella sipped again from her straw.
‘No, for … you know, the name, like.’ He had no idea he was being teased and it was like watching a train wreck, frame by frame.
‘Right. Well, I’m all out here,’ Marcella said, shaking her empty glass. ‘I’m going to the bar. Can I get you gents something?’
We both said we were fine. Morgan’s face was giving off heat. ‘Why do you do that?’ I said, as Marcella disappeared into the bar crowd.
‘What?’
‘That thing you do with your name.’
‘Oh, that. Well, I just … I dunno, like. I suppose I’m just trying to put people at ease. Open up with a joke, you know?’
‘I’m not sure it has the effect you’re aiming for. My advice, stop belittling yourself. Have a bit of confidence, or at least pretend you do. Especially if you’re being introduced to a woman.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. She is a bit of a ride, isn’t she?’
‘Uh, not the phrase I might use, Morgan, but if you mean Marcella is attractive? Yeah, I suppose.’
‘Right. I’ll go for a piss, and when I come back, confidence!’
‘Good luck. I’ll see you on Monday.’
The lad slunk off and I started digging through the pile of coats under our table for my own.
‘You’re heading off?’
I nearly bumped my head on the table as I stood. Marcella had returned already.
‘You decided against the drink?’
‘Yeah, bar’s busy and I think I’m about done anyway. Mine is the black one there.’
I lifted her coat and handed it to her. ‘Morgan’s just gone to the bathroom. He’ll only be a minute if you did want to hang around a little longer?’
She wrinkled her nose as she tucked the coat over her arm. ‘Thanks, he seems like a nice lad, but I prefer guys with a little more road under the tyres.’
‘Ah. Well, I’m sure he’ll be disappointed, but he’ll get over it. Mandy on the other—’
‘I mean you,’ she said, and there wasn’t a hint of embarrassment. I, on the other hand, must have started shining like Morgan. ‘Shall we get out of here?’ she said.
‘Right, yeah.’
The blaring music was muted instantly by the heavy door closing behind us and a new buzz was in the air. More music and voices drifted down to us from George Street and a mix of smells hung in the still-warm air. Beer, traffic and the ubiquitous scent of yeast from Edinburgh’s breweries mixed to form a familiar city centre aroma.
‘So, what do you think?’ said Marcella.
I was about to answer when she looked both ways along the path before pulling me down to her height for a kiss. Our lips locked hard and there was the smallest clash of teeth before we found a rhythm. She sucked gently on my bottom lip as we separated.
‘I’d invite you to mine, but I have the worst flatmate. We can go to yours? Are you far?’ she said.
‘Uh, I’m actually just down the hill, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I sort of have the worst flatmate too.’
‘That’s a shame. I guess it’s not meant to be.’
She kissed me again, pressing me against the glass of the pub. I hoped Morgan wasn’t standing right on the other side. Her tongue was in my mouth and my hands had found the small of her back around the inside of her coat. ‘Maybe … If we’re really quiet, it might be OK.’
‘I can be quiet,’ she said.
We walked, making awkward conversation. The type that pretends what happened hadn’t just happened and what’s going to happen isn’t right there in the front of your mind. I wondered if this kind of thing happened in all corners of the world or whether it was a purely British phenomenon. We headed downhill out of the centre and in to New Town, and were at the front door in less than ten minutes. We kissed again before I turned the key and led her into the dark hall. I had intended to take her straight to my room, but a noise caught my ear. Something wasn’t right.
‘Stay here a minute,’ I whispered.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. Just give me a minute.’
The sound was coming from the living room. I could feel a breeze from the kitchen. Either a window or the back door was open – or had been forced open. I looked around and had to nudge Marcella to the side to get to the hiking pole Dad left by the coat stand.
‘Call the police. Treble-nine,’ I said and then pushed open the living room door. A dark mass was writhing in the centre of the room. My heart was thundering in my chest. I hit the light switch and raised the pole to strike. There was a yell and there was a moment where I couldn’t look away despite wanting more than anything to do so. My father’s pale arse was still jackhammering. Evidently he was too in the moment to realise, and perhaps misinterpreting the yells coming from the woman under him as vocalised pleasure.
‘Jesus fuck, Dad!’ I said and finally managed to tear my gaze away. I dropped the pole and left the room as I heard my Dad protesting and apologising in the same breath.
‘I’m really sorry, Marcella. This isn’t going to happen tonight.’
‘Yeah, I was just thinking that. Never mind, I’ll leave you to whatever that is. Give me a call sometime,’ she said and left. I wondered briefly if she knew she hadn’t given me her number.
A moment later, a middle-aged woman crept past me in the hall, saying goodnight in a tremulous voice while carrying various items of clothing.
‘Goodnight, Heather,’ I said and closed the door over. I took a deep breath and went to the kitchen to turn on the kettle and wait for my father to find his underpants before having what would surely be a painful conversation.
CHAPTER ELEVEN<
br />
The Takeaway
I left the house early next morning, nursing a bit of a hangover. I’d have tried to sleep past it, only that would have risked another run-in with my father.
I walked to the city centre again, even passing the source of the hangover as I went. It was a little after seven and the pavement was wet from an overnight rain, but the sky suggested a bright day ahead. The streets were already busy with yellow-vested workmen finishing off the structures that appeared every August for the Festival. The whole of George Street was full of them and with only two days to go before the celebrations kicked off, it seemed impossible they’d be finished in time. However, I’d seen how incredibly quickly Edinburgh was transformed before, and how quickly it was dissembled to normality the moment September arrived.
Commuters hurried towards Waverley station while I queued alongside others who had the time to spare for coffee served from a converted VW camper van. I’d also buy a bottle of water, I decided, feeling my mouth tacky and a dry scratch at my throat.
I thought about last night’s kitchen conversation, Dad an undulating blend of embarrassment, apology and anger. He was sorry he’d instigated his relations (his words) in the living room, only they’d been out in the garden sharing a bottle of wine, but it had become chilly and when they’d reached the couch, well, things had progressed quicker and further than he’d anticipated. Though had I needed to make such a bloody fuss? His overriding concern being that the whole thing would mean Heather would likely never want to come over, or worse, never see him again.
I pushed the memory out of my head. We’d have another go at a chat tonight; a little more time will have passed and we’d both have the alcohol out of our systems – or at least I would. I saw I had a text from Alyson as I got to within three of the front of the queue. It had arrived some time along my walk.
In Edinburgh today, probably for the foreseeable. You about for lunch?
Followed by a sandwich emoji. I stepped out of the line and typed.
How about breakfast instead? Where are you?
I tried to give her directions to Leith Links, but she wasn’t getting it, despite the fact she was spitting distance from the collection of fields, footpaths and playparks that served the good people of Leith. I told her to google Tesco and I’d meet her outside there. It took me longer than I expected to get down Leith Walk; not the first time I’d underestimated just how long the street is. I arrived at the supermarket and saw Alyson finishing a cigarette. She mashed the remainder into the top of a bin when she saw me.
‘Did I know that you smoked?’ I said and kissed her cheek, the tobacco smell making me gag a little.
‘Just the odd one when I’m stressed. I’d given up before we started in the police. I had a pretty bad habit before then.’
Alyson and I had joined the police in the same intake. I was pretty unaware of her at Tulliallan, the police training college, but we’d become friends after being stationed together before our professional paths diverged.
‘You’re working on this murder at the church then?’ I asked in a hushed voice, assuming this to be the source of the stress and her reason for being in the capital.
‘I am, yeah, but let’s wait until we find somewhere a bit quieter.’
We made our way to a cafe just off Leith Walk and then took our selections to a bench at the Links, barely saying a word.
‘Explain something to me,’ she said as we sat. She waved a hand at the park around us. ‘Leith, is it Edinburgh, or is it not?’
I laughed. I needed this explaining to me as well when I moved to the city. ‘Officially, yes. Unofficially, it sort of depends on who you ask. Leith was once a separate town from Edinburgh all together, before it was swallowed up by the “City of Edinburgh”. Don’t ask me the date, twenties or thirties, I think. But even now, if you ask a resident where they’re from they’re as likely to describe themselves as a Leither, rather than mention the city. Where Leith starts and ends is beyond me, but locals will happily point you to the very paving slab where you’ve left its confines. People can still be a bit territorial about it, so be careful.’
‘Noted. Rough night?’ Alyson asked as I drained my bottle of water.
‘You have no idea,’ I said and gathered myself before enquiring, ‘If you’re here, does that mean they think this priest murder is related to the Bradley case?’
She nodded as she bit into a croissant. She washed the mouthful down with a sip of her massive coffee. ‘Officially it’s still under wraps, but this morning we’ve been getting calls from journalists, so it looks like the cat is out of the bag, or soon will be. Likely be a press conference this afternoon to try to get in front of it.’
‘How do you think they’ve gotten wind of it?’
Alyson paused as an elderly couple crossed in front of us. ‘It’s not clear. It might be that some sharp-eyed journo saw me or anyone else from the team here in Leith, but I suspect someone at the station has loose lips. It doesn’t really matter. It would have come out soon enough anyway.’
‘You think it’s the same person? Same killer?’
She nodded again. ‘Place is full of prints and fibres. We even have a decent shoeprint. Not that it does us much good at this stage.’
‘Because nothing’s on file?’
‘Right. The shoeprint helps us lean more heavily on the killer being male. Size eight is the estimate, but other than that we’re as we were before, only one more body.’
‘Shit. What’s the connection between the bodies?’
‘That’s what we’re working on, working long hours on. It’s also kind of why I wanted to see you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Thing is, these twelve-hour shifts are hard enough, but then I have an hour commute home. It’s killing me. I was wondering how your dad might feel about me crashing through the week. I won’t lie, it might be a few months we’re talking about.’
‘Oh, Aly. Your timing could not be worse,’ I said, and relayed the events of the previous evening: Marcella, Dad’s arse and the conversation. ‘Compose yourself. It’s not that funny,’ I said. She was heaving laughs, slapping the seat of the bench and trying not to spill her coffee. ‘Seriously, I think I might need to move out, so if you find a place to crash, let me know if there’s another room.’
I wanted to ask more about the case, but that’s just not something you do. If I was to learn more, it would have to come unsolicited and Alyson was making noises about getting back to the office.
‘Come around for dinner at least. I’ll get you fed before you head back west. You’ll also be doing me a favour,’ I said.
‘In what way?’ We were walking back now. We dropped our debris into a bin by the path. There was a chorus of shouting and laughing coming from a primary school at the far end of the fields, kids arriving for the day.
‘With you there, Dad won’t want to bring up last night.’
She laughed again. ‘I don’t know, are you cooking?’
‘What if I said I’ll order takeaway?’
‘In that case you’re on.’ We reached the corner and I could see the marked vehicles parked outside of Leith station. I also saw the joy leave Aly’s face. It was as if someone had opened a tap beneath her chin. She really was stressed. ‘I might be as late as eight tonight, are you sure that’s OK?’
‘It’s fine,’ I said and gave her a hug. I watched her stop at the door of the office and take a breath before going inside.
I took myself to the cinema for a lunchtime showing of Disney’s latest attempt to milk every possible penny out of the Star Wars franchise and then found myself walking with yet another coffee. I’d be rattling like Alyson if I didn’t knock this on the head.
I was avoiding going home, it occurred to me, when I found myself thinking about what to do next. It was three o’clock and I was standing on Princess Street like a rock in a river as people, predominantly tourists, flowed around me. The faint buzz of bagpipes mixed with the noise of a thousand conv
ersations.
I headed back, chastising myself for being such a child. I’d sit down with Dad and have an adult conversation. I’d tell him how great it was that he’d met someone, that maybe the three of us could go out for lunch and we could push through the embarrassment and that it would all be fine.
When I reached the flat, I called out as I tossed my keys onto the hall table, but there was no response. In the kitchen I found a note. It was succinct.
At Heather’s, probably spend the night. See you tomorrow. Dad.
The note was breezy. Maybe he was already over the awkwardness, or perhaps staying at Heather’s, wherever the hell that was, was him now avoiding me. Irrespective, I was glad.
I got a text from Alyson at half-past seven alerting me that she would be an hour or so, I responded that it was fine and gave her the address. In fact, it was after nine when the door went.
Aly looked beat as I took her coat. I shook the rain from it and led her into the kitchen.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, seeing the plastic boxes of Chinese food lying on the worktop. ‘When did that arrive?’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll just nuke it. Are you hungry?’
‘Starving.’
‘Glass of wine?’ I said pointing at the bottle on the kitchen table where two glasses stood next to it.
‘Ach, I’d love one, but I better not, with the car.’
‘Oh, that’s another thing. Dad’s staying at his …’ I almost said girlfriend, but the word seemed ridiculous somehow. ‘… his new friend’s house tonight. So, if you want, you’re free to crash. I cleared the crap off the bed in the spare room if you want to just relax.’
‘That’s really good of you. Um, I didn’t bring a change of clothes … Do you know what, fuck it. Gimme that bottle.’
The bottle was done by the time we’d finished off the food at the table and talked about nothing at all important. I suggested we open another and switch to the living room. We carried our glasses through and Alyson stopped before she took a seat. ‘Show me where your dad was doing the shagging, I am not sitting there.’
Into the Dark Page 10
