Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

Callum flicked through The Monsters Who Came for Dinner , smiling at the old familiar illustrations.

Come on: there’d be plenty of time to read it after dinner.

He emptied his pockets, stripped to his pants, and threw his fighting suit in the washing machine. Set it to tumble dry.

Stuck his head back into the hall. ‘YOU WANT TEA?’

Nope. Whatever she was watching, it had her.

Callum stuck the kettle on and the oven too. Wandered through to the lounge.

Some posh English bloke with curly hair and big nostrils filled the TV screen — wandering through a forest somewhere, banging on about how tasty squirrels were if you cooked them in a nice ragout.

Elaine was curled up on the sofa with her back to the door, wearing her comfies, a tartan fleecy blanket pulled over her enormous pregnant bulge. A bowl rested in her lap, containing a mixture of marshmallows and crisps.

It wasn’t a big living room: barely enough space to take a three-seater sofa and an armchair; a fake coal fire that groaned and flickered; a coffee table with a collection of wooden ornaments on it; a TV, complete with squirrel-mongering celebrity chef; and four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed to overflowing with novels.

Their blinds were open, the darkness on the other side turning the window into a mirror — reflecting back one thin pasty body in blue underpants. The lights in the houses opposite twinkled through Callum, making him sparkle like the world’s least scary vampire. Then the eight o’clock train to Edinburgh rumbled past, its glowing windows making rectangular spotlights sweep across the back garden. Searching.

He crossed the room and closed the blinds, before anyone on board became overwhelmed with desire at the sight of his ancient Marks and Spencer’s lingerie going a bit baggy in the elastic. ‘I got pizza for tea. Well, technically I stole pizza, and I know it’s not Nutella and pickles, but—’

A grunt rattled its way free and Elaine sat up. ‘What? M’wake!’ She blinked at the room. Then the TV. Then Callum. Brushed the long brown hair from her eyes. ‘What time is it?’ Cracked a huge yawn, showing off a proper Scottish set of fillings. ‘Why are you in your pants?’ The corners of her eyes wrinkled. ‘What happened to your face ?’

‘It’s just gone eight.’

‘You look like someone ran over it with a washing machine.’

‘I’ve got pizza.’

‘Gah...’ Another yawn. Then she held out her arms. ‘I had a horrible dream. You abandoned me and Peanut because we got ugly and you didn’t love us any more.’

‘You’re not ugly.’ He hugged her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. ‘You’re beautiful. You smell of cheese-and-onion, but other than that, you’re safe.’

Callum picked one of Elaine’s discarded mushrooms and put it on his own slice, adding to the pepperoni. Sat back on the couch and stuffed in another mouthful, trying not to get any on his tartan T-shirt and joggy bottoms.

‘Urgh...’ She grimaced at him. ‘You eat like a wheelie bin.’

‘Yronlygelous.’ The words all mushed up as he chewed.

Sitting on the bookshelf, the flat’s phone launched into a tinny rendition of the South Bank Show theme tune.

Elaine curled her top lip. ‘Sod off.’ She pointed at the plate resting on top of her bulge like a makeshift tabletop. ‘We’re eating!’

‘If it’s your mum, I’m telling her we’re not in.’

‘Let it go to voicemail. They—’

‘Can’t. What if it’s important?’ He stuck his plate back on the coffee table and hauled himself out of the couch, walked round the back to the bookcases. Sooked his fingers clean and picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Hello?’

Still nothing.

He checked the caller display: ‘NUMBER WITHHELD’.

‘OK, I’m—’

Click.

Elaine turned and looked over the back of the couch. ‘Who is it?’

‘No idea, they hung up.’ He put the phone back in the cradle. ‘Probably some auto-dialling PPI tossers.’

Probably.

‘Callum, while you’re up?’

‘Mmm?’ He turned away from the phone.

‘Any chance you can grab the raspberry jam from the kitchen? I think it’ll go great with these anchovies.’

He tried not to shudder, he really did...

‘... another six arrests in the Holyrood sex-ring investigation. Weather now, and there’s more rain on the way, sorry, but it should clear up by the weekend for our very own Tartantula Music Festival in Montgomery Park! Fingers crossed. And if you haven’t got your tickets yet, stick around — I’ve got just the competition for you.’

Callum marched back into the bedroom, scrubbing his hair dry on a pink towel.

‘This is The Very Early in the Morning Show and you’re listening to me, Jane Forbes, on Castlewave FM, because you’re sexy, intelligent, and looking fabulous today!’

He grimaced at the naked creature in the mirror, then hauled on a pair of pants and yesterday’s suit trousers. Maybe not so fabulous. Especially now the bruises Dugdale gifted him had darkened to a deep lustrous purple, ringed with blues and greens. Lucky he hadn’t cracked a rib.

‘Right, we’ve got Sensational Steve’s Breakfast Drive-Time Bonanza coming up in thirty minutes, but that gives us loads of time for yet more stonking tunes!’

Elaine peered out from under the duvet. ‘Tmmsit?’

‘Half six. Go back to sleep.’ A clean white shirt and red clip-on tie.

‘No, m’up. M’up.’ She let loose a massive yawn. Sat up and had a scratch, long brown hair all flattened on one side.

‘Let’s kick off with a Tartantula festival favourite: Nearly Blind Vera, and their new single “Swarm”.’ What sounded like a full orchestra belted out of the speakers, swelling to a—

Elaine thumped her palm down on the clock radio and swivelled her legs out of bed. Shuffled out of the room in pink bunny slippers, rubbing at the small of her back. ‘Pfff...’

He pulled on clean socks and dry shoes, dragged a comb through his hair. Scowled at the purple stains on his forehead and chin. Wasn’t exactly the best impression to make at a Professional Standards review, but what choice did he have?

Callum knelt by the side of the bed and dragged out a big file box. Rummaged inside for the maroon half-size ring-binders buried under the flat’s insurance schedule, the mortgage documents, and the HP agreement for the telly.

Elaine’s voice belted out from the kitchen. ‘Did you stay up half the night reading again?’

‘Maybe.’ He tucked the binders into a small backpack, plucked the copy of The Monsters Who Came for Dinner from the bedside cabinet, and wandered through. ‘You don’t have to do that.’