Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

I pointed down the hall. ‘You take the door on the left, I’ll get the right.’

‘ When things seem dark and scary, there’s no need to be afraid… ’

Babs squared her shoulders and stomped down the corridor, hauled her door open as I hobbled to the next one. She stuck her head inside. ‘Boxroom: clear.’

‘ Just think of lots of lovely things, like crisps and lemonade… ’

Mine opened on a small bathroom that reeked of ammonia. A towel hung over the side of the salmon-pink bath, stained with brown streaks. A couple of small plastic bottles lay in the corner along with a box of hair dye. ‘Clear.’

‘Airing cupboard: clear.’

The last door opened on the kitchen: fitted units, pink fake-marble work surface, peach tiles on the floor. The back door hung open. The window above the sink looked out over a rain-soaked garden caught in the glow of a security light…

‘ And you can sing the “Bravery Song”, whenever you get a fright… ’

Virginia Cunningham was clambering up onto a set of plastic garden furniture arranged against the back fence. Her red towelling dressing gown flapped out behind her, showing off a pair of pale legs, massive spotty pants, and a pregnant bulge. Had to be at least seven months gone.

‘ And, before you know it, everything will be all right! ’

‘Babs! Back garden.’

Babs pushed past me, stomped across the kitchen. ‘Come back here!’

‘ So forget the ghosts and goblins — no they can’t scare us today… ’

‘And go easy. No violence.’

‘ Cos we can sing the “Bravery Song”, and make them go away… ’

Cunningham got one pasty leg hooked over the fence before Babs grabbed a double handful of dressing gown and pulled. Cunningham wobbled, then threw her arms back — the dressing gown slipped right off and Babs ended up on her arse in the wet grass.

‘ The “Bravery Song”, the “Bravery Song”, sing it and you’ll feel big and strong… ’

I limped out onto the top step as Cunningham pulled herself up the fence, now wearing nothing but mismatched underwear. ‘Seriously? You’re doing a runner in your bra and pants? Think it’s going to take long to catch you?’

She froze. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

Babs scrambled to her feet, reached out, and grabbed the strap at the back of the industrial grey bra. ‘Slip out of that. Go on, I dare you.’

Cunningham shut her eyes. Rain plastered her hair to her head. ‘Shite…’

She stood in the kitchen, dripping onto the peach tiles, clutching the dressing gown shut over her pregnant belly. ‘Can I at least get some clothes on?’

I leaned back against the fridge freezer. ‘Soon as you tell us where you were last night.’

Pink flushed her cheeks, hot against her pale fleshy face. ‘I was at home. Here. All night. Didn’t go out.’

‘And you can prove that, can you? Got a witness?’

Alice cleared her throat. ‘What do the Offender Management Unit think about you being pregnant?’

Cunningham just stared at her. ‘I want some clothes. And I need a pee. This is against my human rights.’

‘Right.’ The fridge freezer was covered in kid’s drawings. I pulled one free of its Blu-Tack. A happy stick-man family, grinning beneath a smiley yellow sun. ‘Home alone. No witness. No alibi.’

She raised her chin, taking the swell of skin underneath with it. ‘Didn’t think I needed one. Want me to pee on the kitchen floor? That what gets you off? Pregnant women peeing?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Fine. Go: pee.’ I pointed at the hallway. ‘Babs, stand outside the door and make sure she doesn’t try anything.’ Well, it wasn’t as if she’d be able to wiggle out the bathroom window.

Cunningham waddled off with Babs in tow.

As soon as the toilet door clunked shut, Alice pulled a face. ‘I’m very uncomfortable with the thought of her having a child, I mean what if it’s a boy, do they think she won’t sexually abuse it just because it’s hers, because most abuse happens within the family and I really don’t think the child’s going to be safe, well, unless it’s a girl, and even then… Where are you going?’

‘Living room.’

‘Oh. Can I come too?’

The kids’ show was still playing — a pair of idiots in fluorescent dungarees dancing with a third idiot dressed as Jacob Marley, chains rattling as he went. ‘ Oh, I used to be quite scary, but I’d much rather be nice. Because having friends and having fun- ’

I dumped the kid’s drawing on the coffee table, picked up the remote and jabbed pause — the trio froze, mid-song.

The tripod by the TV had a small camcorder mounted on it, the kind with the little screen that swivelled out of the side. It was pointing at the sheepskin rug in front of the electric fire.

The sound of a flushing toilet filtered down the corridor, followed by a clunk — that’d be the bathroom door — then another clunk. Bedroom.

Probably hadn’t even washed her hands.

Alice stood by the door, looking back over her shoulder, both arms wrapped around herself. ‘Do you think we should have a word with her social worker and the monitoring team, only she really shouldn’t be-’

‘I think they probably already know she’s dodgy.’ I moved around behind the camera and tilted the screen up a bit. Pressed the power button.

‘Virginia Cunningham. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it, given her track record: the cunning virgin?’

Maybe not so cunning after all. The screen lit up blue, with a row of icons along the bottom: rewind, play, forwards, record. I pressed play and the screen filled with the sheepskin rug and fire, obviously shot from here.

‘Ash? Don’t you think it’s ironic?’

Cunningham waddled into shot, dressed in a matching set of black bra and pants, the blue veins on her legs visible through her pale skin, bellybutton popped to an outie. She lowered herself to the rug in three awkward grunting steps, clearly having trouble with her pregnant bulge. Then she pouted at the camera and started rubbing herself, licking her lips, peeling off her bra.

I hit rewind and she jumped to her feet, lurched backwards out of shot.

Singing came from somewhere down the hall outside. Not a great voice, but not awful either. ‘ When things seem dark and scary, there’s no need to be afraid. Just think of lots of lovely things, like crisps and lemonade … ’ That would be Cunningham − somehow Babs didn’t seem like the kind who’d need to sing the ‘Bravery Song’.

‘ And you can sing the “Bravery Song”, whenever you get a fright. And, before you know it, everything will be all right… ’

Someone else reversed onto the screen — a small boy, blond, wearing nothing but a vest. Red welts on his bare arms and legs. Couldn’t have been much more than four or five. I jabbed the pause button and there he was, staring at the camera with wide blue eyes, tears on his cheeks, snot glistening on his top lip.

‘ So forget the ghosts and goblins — no they can’t scare us today… ’

I set it rewinding again. Cunningham backed into shot, naked except for two black leather gloves.

‘ Cos we can sing the Bravery Song, and make them go away… ’

And then she was… I switched the thing off. Stepped away from the camera.

‘Ash? Are you all right? You’ve gone all red.’

‘ The “Bravery Song”, the “Bravery Song”, sing it and you’ll feel big and strong… ’

I turned away, stared at the closed blinds. ‘Get her. Get the rancid bitch in here. Now .’

‘ And you can sing it all night long, till good things come along. ’