Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

Just another half an hour and she’d get up. Everything was ready downstairs, after all; Mum’s bed made up, all her new toiletries neatly arranged in the loo, their own brought up here for the duration. Maggie shivered. Duration. Where had that word come from? Was she already thinking of the time when Mum would be able to return to her own cosy wee place? She scolded herself for the thought. It would be fine. Mum was to have these health professionals in every day, after all. She’d not lack for company and they had even managed to sort out a DVD player for her to watch downstairs if she wanted to. Ever since Dad had died, Maggie had seen an independent streak in her old Mum that she really admired. Alice had never complained about being on her own. She’d just got on with the business of living, making a pattern to her week of Church, the seniors’ club, shopping and pottering about her bit of garden. Yes, Alice Finlay had managed all right, Maggie told herself. And now she deserved to be cosseted and looked after. Maggie cuddled closer into her husband’s back, relishing the warm fug under the duvet while telling herself that it really was time she was making a move.

Life was funny, wasn’t it? Here they were, a childless couple with plenty of room for a few kids to run around, yet it was an elderly parent who would be taking up some of that space instead. For a moment she wondered what sort of lives these three old ladies from Port Glasgow had lived. Had their days been like Mum’s before her stroke? And were their children stunned into disbelief by the idea that somebody had deliberately taken their lives away? Lorimer had talked to her about the case last night as they had lain together here, side by side, his hand clasping her own. Perhaps he had needed to expunge the thoughts of these old people from his mind before Mum came home to them? Somehow, Maggie thought, bringing Mum out of hospital today only served to underline the horror of these murders.

Alice Finlay was already dressed, her breakfast tray to one side waiting for the ward maid to reappear and take it away. It had not been so difficult yesterday getting her clothes on but today her fingers had seemed to be devoid of the strength she had built up again and she looked down at her cardigan, dismayed to see its buttons all awry. That was what old folk looked like, she thought, undoing the buttons slowly, her knuckle joints protesting at the effort. But I am an old person, she reminded herself; nearly at my three score years and ten.

It was odd how she had dreams of her younger self. And how on awakening she sometimes had to struggle to remember her real age. Twenty-six was the most common one. She was waiting at a bus stop, going somewhere or other, her clothes fitting neatly around the slim body she could still remember. And then she would remember Maggie, her baby, and suddenly time seemed to fast forward and Maggie was a school teacher married to that tall, dark policeman. And she was in hospital, waiting for the light to come in at those windows, grateful for another day.

Today she was going home. Not back to where she had fallen, no, not there. But to Maggie and Bill’s lovely house with the ginger cat and the open plan kitchen with its aromas of coffee and home-made soup. Alice felt her shoulders relax as she contemplated the move to her daughter’s home. It would be a sort of holiday: convalescence, they used to call it, after an illness that had left you so debilitated that you had to go to a rest home to build up your strength. Her great aunt had gone to one in Largs, she remembered, making the journey to Ayrshire an annual treat for years thereafter. Perhaps Maggie might take her down to the seaside one day once the weather improved. Pushing her in a wheelchair, maybe?

Alice smiled ruefully to herself. Maggie pushing her around! What a reversal of roles! It seemed only the other day that she was tucking her little girl into the navy blue Silver Cross pram and taking her for walks through the park.

‘Mrs Finlay?’ It was Sister Kilbryde. Alice looked up, her hands still clutching the edge of her unbuttoned cardigan.

‘You look wonderful this morning! All ready to leave us?’ she teased.

‘Well,’ Alice began, remembering to speak slowly and breathe carefully between her words, ‘it’s been an ex-per-i-ence,’ she said, smiling as the syllables came together. ‘You’ve been so good to me,’ she added fondly. And it was true. The nursing staff had been wonderful: never too busy to help her to the toilet or give her a hand with washing and dressing herself. For a moment Alice’s shoulders stiffened as she wondered what she would do without all of these health care professionals around her night and day.

‘Don’t you worry,’ Sister Kilbryde told her, the shrewd look assessing the old woman’s body language accurately. ‘There will be plenty of helpers to see that everything continues just as usual. The physios and occupational health people will be in to see you on Monday. And I’m sure your daughter and son-in-law will want to have you to themselves over the next couple of days.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps it’s no bad thing that there are no grandchildren running around, you know. What you need right now is a time of peace and quiet.’

Alice nodded, agreeing. She remembered those wee ones shouting and making a racket at visiting time last night, the parents doing absolutely nothing to quieten them down. That sort of thing would drive her mad.

‘But remember, Mrs Finlay,’ Sister Kilbryde added, patting Alice’s hand, ‘anything you feel anxious about, just give the ward a ring. There will always be someone to talk to and answer your questions. Okay?’

Alice gave a brief nod, smiling to cover the uncertainty she still felt.

‘Doctor will be in later this morning to see you then we can sort out all your paperwork for going home,’ the sister told her and, giving Alice another reassuring smile, the woman stepped away, nodding at the patient in the next bed as she went.

Alice breathed a long sigh. It would be all right. Of course it would. She was just being silly, her heart fluttering with the excitement of what lay ahead of her.

Rhoda Martin free-wheeled down the tree-lined drive, glad that the journey was almost over. Her cycle training hadn’t been as extensive as she would have liked and the run up here had taken a bit longer than she’d expected. Still, it was a lovely spring morning now and she could smell the fresh woody smell coming from the pines to her left. As she cycled more slowly along the narrow road, a couple of rabbits stopped their nibbling to look up at her, frozen like small brown stones against the green verges. Rhoda grinned, her feet pushing against the pedals. Hopefully she’d have a different effect on Daniel Jackson tonight. But by then, she told herself, she’d have been primped and pampered, hair washed and smelling sweet, not all sweaty under her Endura jacket. She gave an involuntary shrug. Serena might sport her Assos gear when they were out for a run but it was the best she could afford right now on a police officer’s salary. The Spa was in sight now, a low white building against the backdrop of the River Clyde and the Kilpatrick Hills beyond.

Rhoda slid to a stop then hefted the lightweight cycle towards the double doors of the Spa. It was only her second visit here. As a member, Serena had taken her the first time. She was never away from this place, Rhoda thought with a sudden pang of irritation. What money could buy for some folk! Still, it was her turn today and she was going to make the most of it. Then she’d be heading back down the road, ready to put things into action. As she entered the reception area she caught the pungent scents of Aveda candles mingling with some herbal tisane. Rhoda took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the tension across her shoulders that needed to be massaged away.