Alex Gray: Glasgow Kiss

Kyle Kerrigan was sitting on the far side of the classroom, next to the wall. He was leaning his head against it now, eyes on the magazine that the boy next to him had spread over the two desks.

‘Timetables,’ Maggie announced briskly, handing them out around the room. ‘You will see that there are a few gaps,’ she paused at the outbreak of cheers and grinned, ‘but they’ll be filled up with plenty for you to do. Remember we’ve got Charities’ Week to organise this year so you’ll need time for all of that, then you have to arrange your own Christmas ball.’

‘When do we get into the common room?’ someone asked.

‘Later on today,’ Maggie replied. ‘Once assembly’s over the janitor will come up and give you the keys.’

‘And can we do anything we like to it?’ another voice demanded.

Maggie raised her eyes to heaven. The janitor grumbled long and hard about having to whitewash the senior common rooms every year, but he did it anyway, covering each successive year group’s graffiti so that the walls were blank slates for more creativity. ‘Anything within reason,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll still come here for registration every morning after the first bell and I’ll be here if anybody needs to see me.’ She made a conscious effort not to look in Kyle Kerrigan’s direction though she could sense his eyes were trained on her. His face bore traces of bruising, something that might well have happened in the boxing ring but for some reason those scars had made Maggie shiver and wonder exactly who had inflicted them.

‘Right, next thing to do is to elect a form captain. Someone who is always at school on time ,’ she continued, deliberately looking at Jessica and producing a few grins. ‘Anybody want to volunteer?’

‘I’ll do it.’

Maggie raised her eyebrows then pasted a smile on her face as Kyle’s hand went up. ‘Okay. All in favour?’

A forest of hands shot up, not one of them going to deny this boy anything he wanted, not even a minor distinction like being Fourth Year form captain. Maggie nodded. ‘Fine. Sorted. Thanks,’ she said, but somewhere deep inside she had a queasy feeling that Kyle Kerrigan had sussed them all out. In fact, now that she looked his way she could see that he was watching for her reaction and, as she caught his glance, she blushed.

Jackie Montgomery smiled at the man as he raised his hand to say goodbye. Nice chap, she thought absently. Well mannered, too, not like some of the teachers here who treated the secretaries as though they were an inferior species. And such a lovely speaking voice, Jackie mused, watching as he pushed open the swing doors. She could’ve listened to him all day. Pity he’d only come to deliver some papers from the agency. The secretary shook her head and made a face. Probably had a wife and three kids at home, she decided gloomily; all the good-looking ones seem to have been snapped up early. Anyway, now that the Muirpark kids were back she’d have her work cut out with no time to daydream about passing strangers.

When the morning interval bell rang, Maggie hoped Kyle would stay behind, talk to her as he’d usually done last term, but he was one of the first to leave the room and Maggie was left with the feeling that somehow she’d let him down. Or was Kyle simply trying to avoid any discussion about the return of his father?

The clatter of feet in the corridor died away as one by one the rooms emptied. Maggie sat, relishing a few moments of quietness. Arching her back, she stretched then relaxed, massaging the muscles below the nape of her neck. A glance at her watch showed she’d need to stir herself if she wanted a morning coffee. The English base several doors along had facilities for making tea or coffee but she preferred the buzz of the staffroom two floors below, where she could join her friends from other departments.

The stairs were empty and her heels sounded distinct and hollow as Maggie made her way down but she paused, mid-stride, when she suddenly heard shouting coming from the floor below. What on earth? As she leaned over the banister, the sounds became louder, more insistent: a girl’s voice screaming abuse, then another voice, one that she knew. . Maggie moved forward, sensing trouble.

‘I hate you!’ the girl cried out, bursting through the door from the first-floor corridor.

Later Maggie would try to recall exactly what had taken place but at that moment all she saw was an angry, tear-stained face and blonde hair flying as the pupil stormed down the final flight of stairs. Then the door opened again and Eric Chalmers stood there, his face chalk-white.

‘No, Julie. Don’t do this!’ he called. Then, stepping forward as if to follow her, the RE teacher stopped dead, seeing Maggie Lorimer standing just above him. The look Eric gave her was one of sheer bewilderment, then, with a shake of his head, he slipped back through the door.

Maggie hovered on the stairs, uncertain whether to follow the girl. Or should she go in to see Eric? Standing there, dithering, she simply couldn’t decide. Was it any of her business? a little voice asked and, as if in answer, she moved on down, letting her feet take her towards the staffroom.

Later she would come to regret her moment of indecision.

But by that time the evil that had been let loose would have seeped into every corner of Muirpark Secondary School, destroying so many lives on its insidious journey.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Detective Chief Inspector William Lorimer put down the phone and allowed a grin of pleasure to spread across his face. It was a face that had seen too much human suffering and over the years the frown lines had deepened, making him appear constantly at odds with his world. But the smile changed such an impression in an instant, lighting up the keen blue eyes and softening the determined jaw. Lorimer did not often indulge himself in moments of self-gratification but this one was well deserved. To have news that he was to receive an official commendation was a little bit special, after all. The murder case had almost ended in disaster, and Lorimer was human enough to give a shudder at the memory of facing that mad gunman at close quarters.

His hand hovered over the telephone again, then dropped. She’d be in some meeting or other. Besides, it would be better to tell her face to face when they were both home tonight. Lorimer’s caseload was as busy as usual but there was no reason for staying on too late. He leaned back in his chair, surveying his surroundings. He’d been DCI in the Division for a good few years now and was comfortable in this room. Too comfortable, maybe, a small voice told him; a voice that reminded the DCI of his wife, who insisted his promotion to Detective Superintendent was long overdue. Lorimer let his eyes wander over the maps of Glasgow and the Van Gogh prints that he’d hung to remind him of a world outside his own, then realised he was searching for a space to put the commendation. He wasn’t a vain man but this was a matter for genuine pride and his team deserved the reflected glory such an accolade would bring. So he would display the certificate, not somewhere in-your-face but — he let his eyes roam around — yes, over there above the filing cabinets. That would do. It was directly behind him so he didn’t have to look at it day in, day out. But anyone who was seated opposite would be reminded that DCI William Lorimer was a hands-on sort of person, not the type of senior officer who wallowed in a morass of administration.

‘Sir?’ The voice interrupting Lorimer’s thoughts made him whirl around in his chair. He blinked for a moment then the grin reappeared on his face.

‘Didn’t recognise you without your uniform, Annie,’ he joked, making the woman blush. Annie Irvine had recently realised her ambition of joining the CID and now she was standing there in his office, almost a stranger in her smart new trouser suit.