Chapter 31

Maureen rolled over uncomfortably and felt the strains and bruises from another night on a floor. Siobhain was standing over her head like a colossus, looking down at her.

"Siobhain," Leslie called softly from the kitchen doorway. "Come away from there, hen. You'll scare the shit out of her."

Siobhain turned around and waddled into the kitchen. Maureen rubbed her face and sat up. She had a tremendous amount of crusty sleep in her eyes. Leslie brought out a coffee for her and sat on the settee watching her drink it. "So, what's the deal today, then?"

"Just hang around here with Siobhain and don't answer the door without checking it first. When we get to Millport all you have to do is sit tight and I'll take care of everything."

"Right," said Leslie quietly. "Maureen, you're not going to stab him, are you?"

"Nah." Maureen climbed out of the sleeping bag and rolled it up. "All being well I won't even touch him."

Leslie nodded soberly and patted her knees with her open hands.

"Are you losing your bottle, Leslie?"

"Yeah," Leslie said. "To be honest I think I am."

"Why?"

"Dunno. I just don't feel like attacking anyone at the moment. You losing your bottle, Mauri?"

"No," said Maureen certainly. "I'm not. I'm getting angrier."

"Maureen, what are you going to do to him?"

Maureen didn't want to tell her. It would be better if no one else knew and she didn't want to have an ethical debate about it. "I'm going to stop him," she said, picking up the phone book.

"Brush your teeth before that, eh?"

Maureen found the number and phoned the Isle of Cumbrae tourist board, asking for information about three-bed flats in Millport. The man on the other end of the phone spoke in a strange transatlantic drawl and kept trying to make personal conversation, asking her if she'd ever been there before. She said no in an attempt to guillotine the conversation but he launched off into a speech about the sights on the island. She finally managed to get contact numbers for five addresses from him. Two of the flats were in the same close – the close they had stayed in the last time they were in Millport, the time Liam and Leslie had taken her, the time of the photograph in the papers. It would be best to get the flats in the same close, in case he found them before she found him.

She called one of the contact numbers and booked the flat for a week starting tomorrow. She hadn't planned it but when the young woman at the other end asked her for a name and contact phone number she found herself making things up, lying so fluently she felt completely in control, she didn't even hesitate when the woman asked her to spell her false surname. Then she rang Liam, gave him the phone number for the other flat in the close and asked him to book it for her. "What for?" he said. "Are you trying to get away from the police for a bit?"

"Yeah."

Minutes later he phoned back to tell her he'd done it. "She asked for my number. I just made it up off the top of my head, is that all right?"

"Should be," said Maureen. "Unless they call to check it."

She wanted him to talk about something, anything, get him to tell her a long story so that she could listen to his voice for a while because there was a chance that she wouldn't come back from Millport. "Has Benny been in touch?"

"No. I had to phone him eventually. He said the police had questioned him and taken his prints. He wanted to know if they'd asked me about him."

"What did you say?"

"I said no. Listen," Liam said, "you know Marie's home this week?"

"Yeah, Una said the other day."

Liam paused. "Did you see her?"

"Yeah."

"For fucksake, Mauri, I told you not to go near them, I told you-"

"I know, I know, I'm not going to."

Someone rang Liam's front doorbell and he had to go. "Stay away from them."

"I will, doll, I will," she said. "You take care. Good-bye."

The insistent caller rang Liam's door again. "Yeah, Maureen," said Liam, bewildered by her solemn tone. "You take care as well."

She took a shower and used Leslie's damp toothbrush, scrubbing hard, making her gums bleed at the sides. She glanced at herself in the mirror. She looked rough. Her skin was gray, her eyes were pink and she had dark shadows under her eyes.

Back in the kitchen Leslie handed her a plate of buttery toast and another coffee. "And where are you going today?" she asked.

"South Side. We're going to Millport tomorrow. Can you get the time off okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, no bother. Is that where it's going to happen?"

"Aye."

"Right," said Leslie, nodding gravely. "Right."

Siobhain was sitting on the veranda, staring at the bald hills out the back.

"I haven't heard her speak yet," Leslie said.

"She's a beautiful voice," said Maureen. "You'll hear her one day."

Maureen went out to the veranda and sat down on the deck chair next to Siobhain, holding her hand and talking about the games the children were playing down below. It was rainy and they wore jackets and hats and wellies. She remembered from the hospital how important it had been to her when people took the time to talk. She explained that they were going to Millport the next day, and, although she couldn't be sure, she thought Siobhain squeezed her hand a little.

She picked up the beeper, put her overcoat on, borrowed Leslie's woolly hat and went downstairs to get the bus over to Levanglen.

Maureen pulled the hat down over her forehead and followed the signs straight to the dispensary. It was a small hole in the wall with sliding frosted-glass windows and a bell next to a handwritten sign telling her to ring for attention. She pressed it and stood away. A honey blond nurse wearing a white uniform and cerise lipstick slid the frosted window back. "Can I help you?" she said, and smiled the most uncomplicated smile Maureen had seen in a long time.

"Yeah, I wonder if you can. I'm looking for Shan Ryan."

"Shan's having his lunch."

She stepped back to let Maureen see him. He was sitting at a desk with his feet up, dressed in a nurse's white button-over jacket with a big ID badge hanging from the breast pocket, eating salad from a Tupperware container. She had guessed that he was half-Asian from his name and she was right. His skin was dark and he had shiny black hair but his almond eyes were khaki green. When he stood up to come to the window Maureen could see that he was at least six foot tall. He stood noncommittally behind the honey blond nurse and looked at Maureen expectantly. His front teeth were large and straight and white, his broad lips seemed unusually red.

"Urn, listen, I just wanted to ask whether you used to know Douglas Brady?"

Shan ignored the question and let the honey blond nurse answer. "The guy who got killed?" she asked.

"Yeah. He used to work upstairs as a therapist."

"I heard about that. His mum was an MEP, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," said Maureen. "Did you know him?"

"No," she said, "I never met him myself, I've just started here, but-"

She turned to Shan Ryan. "Me neither," he said, turning and walking back to his seat at the desk. He picked a cherry tomato out of his salad and sat down, looking Maureen in the eye as he bit the tomato between his front teeth, slicing it in half.

Maureen watched him. "Did you know Iona McKinnon?"

Shan glared into his lunch box.

"Sorry," said the nurse, filling in the silence, "I didn't know her either. Shan?"

Shan looked faintly surprised and shook his head. The nurse turned back to Maureen. "Sorry 'bout that," she said, smiling her delicious smile. "Are you a policewoman?"