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She made sure the TV worked, turned the heating on full to make it seem inhabited, pulled the curtains shut and double-bolted the door on her way out. She took the gloves off as she ran back down two flights. Siobhain and Leslie were resting on the half landing below.

"This is us," said Maureen, slipping the other set of keys into the door and pushing it open.

"It's the flat we stayed in when you got out of the Northern," said Leslie, walking up the stairs quickly, leaving Siobhain to negotiate the last few steps herself.

"The very one," said Maureen.

It had been decorated since they were last there: Maureen remembered white chip wallpaper in the hall and constantly having to resist the urge to pick at it. It had been painted pale blue since then. The living room had a new blue carpet and the walls were papered with a gray and pink swirling pattern. It was a botch job: the corners were curling up and overlapping edges were threatening to spoil.

"I remember this settee," said Leslie, flopping onto it. "We used to fight about who had to sleep on this, remember?"

"Yeah."

It was gray velour with raised diagonal stripes. A pine table with matching chairs was sitting under the window. In the bedroom there were twin beds, separated by a dark wood table with a red-shaded lamp and an ashtray on it. Siobhain came in through the front door.

"Right," said Leslie, "I don't give a shit about who's due it, I'm sleeping in a bed tonight."

"Siobhain," said Maureen, "you take the other one. I have to get up early in the morning."

She would have to be up at six to catch the first ferry coming to the island.

Siobhain seemed to be perking up a little. She looked out of the window at the fairy lights and nodded when Maureen asked her if she wanted a fish supper.

When Leslie went downstairs to the chip shop Maureen got some plates out of the cupboard in the kitchen and put the television on for Siobhain. Leslie came back with a selection of food for them to share. Siobhain ate the entire haggis supper without offering them any and then ate anything else they put in front of her, washing it down with a giant mug of sweet tea.

"You must have been hungry," said Leslie to Siobhain, looking at the front of her jumper. It was covered in bits of haggis and batter.

Siobhain blushed. "I was," she whispered, and Maureen could have cried to hear her voice.

The original Planet of the Apes with Charlton Heston was on TV. Leslie and Siobhain wanted to watch it so they humped the TV through to the bedroom, sitting it on the chest of drawers at the foot of the beds. They took turns in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and changing into their nightclothes.

Maureen waited until she was sure they had settled down in the bedroom before filling the kettle and turning it on. She took the flask and the Boothy box out of the Asda bag and opened the box reverently. She put the filter in the cone and tipped the coffee into it, sat it on top of the flask and poured the boiling water over it, listening as the frothy bubbles dried and cracked on the side of the paper. It was essential that there was only enough coffee for one, so she measured it, filling the screw-top cup to the brim with steaming coffee and putting the rest down the sink.

Working carefully now, she painted two tiny parallel lines on the inside of the silver lip with the Tipp-Ex, scratching at the sides when it had dried to make them as narrow and invisible as possible. It would be her marker, the part she could touch with her lips without endangering herself.

Holding the Marigolds open by the rim, she held them up to the light and looked through them to check for holes. They seemed intact. She pulled them on and took Paulsa's plastic bag from her pocket, pulling it open, ripping the bag recklessly. She folded the perforated sheet quite loosely and dropped it into the flask, watching as the porous paper floated on the coffee, soaking it in and turning brown until it buckled under the weight and slid under the black surface. She screwed the lid on tight and put the ripped wrapper and the Marigolds safely in the plastic bag.

The cupboard under the sink was full of cleaning products, put there by the hopeful owner as a reminder to the tenants. She swept them aside, put the flask near the back and washed her hands maniacally before getting into bed.

She lay down on the lumpy settee, looking out over the moonlit bay, sweating gently and listening to Leslie making comments about the film in the other room, saying substitute lines for the character in silly voices. She remembered Leslie doing the same for her when she was ill.

Chapter 34

FIRE

It was still dark when the pocket alarm went off, beep-beeping her awake. She grabbed it and sat up, remembering instantly why she had set it. In the kitchen she lit a fag and made a pint of strong coffee with lukewarm water, drinking it down despite the taste. Reaching under the sink, she picked up the flask and took the Marigolds out of the bag, slipping them on, taking special care not to touch the outside of them with her bare hands. When she lifted the flask out and unscrewed the lid she could see little flecks of dissolved paper floating on the surface. She unfolded a fresh filter paper and put it into the cone. Holding the cone over a saucepan, she tipped the flask gently. Lumps of soggy paper slopped out with the coffee, catching on the sides of the filter paper. When the coffee had filtered through she warmed it gently over a gas ring, watching carefully, making sure it didn't get too hot. She didn't know whether heat could spoil acid. She added a touch of cream and poured in the three sugars.

After decanting the coffee back into the flask, she filled the saucepan with some diluted bleach and cleaned the work top. She put every trace of the wrappers and filters into the thick plastic bag, rolled it up tight and put it in the bottom of her rucksack.

She dressed in her black jeans, boots and jumper, pulled on the woolly hat, Leslie's leather gloves and her overcoat, leaving off her telltale tartan scarf. She checked her pocket for the stabbing comb, telling herself that it was him, she was right. It wouldn't come to that. The flask would be enough.

The green bus arrived just in time to meet the ferryboat backing slowly up to the concrete ramp, churning the dirty water beneath it. The crowd of waiting pedestrian passengers walked on quickly, afraid that they might miss it, bumping and jostling the few disembarkers. Three cars rolled off. Few people came to the island in the morning: most of the passengers were traveling to work on the mainland. Adjusting her eyes to the grainy half-light, she managed to get a good look at everyone leaving the ferry and waited until the last minute before getting on so that she didn't miss anyone.

She climbed the steep metal ladder up to the top deck, watching the swell and spill of the black water illuminated by the white light of the ship. Across the bay a string of lights at the power station swung steadily in the rising dawn breeze. Her nose was numb with the cold. She pulled her overcoat tight around her and lit a cigarette. It was one of Leslie's, it was a stronger brand than she was used to.

The ferry crossed the bay and pulled into Largs. There was no undignified jostling here: the ticket collector held everyone back until the ferry was empty. Maureen stayed behind the lifeboat on the high deck and looked down at the pedestrians waiting to board. If he was catching this ferry he wasn't on foot.

Only one car rolled on, an Astra with a woman driver. When the ferry was halfway back to Cumbrae Maureen clambered down onto the car deck, standing behind the metal ladder, and looked in at her. She didn't know her.