Craig Robertson - Snapshot

Winter laughed.

‘Aye, fair enough.’

‘You be careful, son. And you know where I am if you need me.’

Winter thanked him and hung up.

Five minutes later he was in the car before he could change his mind. It was less than an hour since he spoke to Cat but it seemed so much longer. He was driving back out to Dennistoun, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than he knew he should have with no idea what was in front of him.

What he was about to do was wrong but he couldn’t get away from it, it was the only thing he could do. What had happened to Addison and, God help him, what might happen to Rachel meant he had no choice.

He turned right off Alexandra Parade just after Alberto’s Cafe but instead of going directly down Whitevale Street, he turned off onto Ingleby Drive to get onto Whitehill Street. The road that the McCabes lived on ran parallel to Whitevale and something inside him wanted to drive past their house first to get a feeling for what he was doing.

He glanced up at the window of their red-brick tenement as he slipped by, wondering if Rory was sitting in front of his PS3, his crutches at his side. Maybe his mum was busy making tea. Maybe Rory’s mate Lee, the one that liked to wear balaclavas and was handy with his boots, was nearby too.

In front of Winter was the tower of the church with Duke Street beyond it, cars queuing at the junction and most of the way down the street no doubt. He headed that way, taking the long route and putting it off as long as he could. Past the self-service laundry and the Neptune chippy on the left, Coia’s Cafe on the right at the corner and then left onto Duke Street.

The street was mobbed and it made him anxious to get there quickly even though at the same time he was glad to be held up. The lights changed and he crawled past the discount stores, tanning salons, off-licences and bookies, the barbers and Greggs until at last he turned left onto Whitevale, past the other side of the church and up the street.

It was a four-storey bleached stone building that looked like it had been recently sandblasted into submission. He parked up, telling himself to keep calm. He took a deep breath and pressed the second-floor buzzer with McKendrick on it. It took an eternity until a tired-sounding voice crackled through the intercom.

‘Yes?’

‘Hello, Mrs McKendrick? Hi, I’m sorry to bother you.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I’m Tony. A friend of Ryan’s. We’ve met before but it was years ago.’

‘Oh right. I’m sorry but Ryan’s not here.’

‘I, uh, I heard about Kieran…’ he stammered.

‘Oh.’

‘I just thought I’d… that I should… I’m really sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I just wanted to pay my respects,’ he continued, the self-loathing growing inside him.

‘You better come up.’

The security buzzer blared and he pushed the door open. It was dark inside the close but he could see ancient yellow ceramic tiles in some art deco style lining the walls. They were probably fashionable once but they looked pretty awful to him. The close wound its way to the second floor and by the time he got there, Rosaleen McKendrick was holding the door open for him.

She was a small, weary-looking woman with reddened eyes that looked him over to see if she recognized him. He got the distinct feeling the path to her door had become well-worn and she was tired of it.

‘I think I remember you now, Tony,’ she lied generously. ‘The boys have so many friends. It’s hard to keep up with them all, especially the old ones.’

Her voice was frail, as if she was exhausted by the fight. She’d almost certainly been crying and the knowledge of that didn’t exactly make Winter feel good.

‘We used to play football together,’ he told her. Surely Ryan played football.

‘Oh right. He hasn’t played in years, not properly since he joined the Navy. He used to love it though.’

Winter was guessing that Mrs McKendrick was only in her mid to late forties, fifty at the most, but she looked nearer sixty. Her brown hair had hints of gray and was largely unkempt while nicotine stains were licking at her fingertips and snaking towards bitten nails. Losing a child would do that to you, he supposed. That and not sleeping for a month. He wasn’t happy with the thought that he could cause her a lot more sleepless nights but it wasn’t his choice any more.

Mrs McKendrick didn’t really want him in her house, much as she tried to hide it out of politeness. She probably thought her days of dutifully receiving well-wishers were behind her but here was a straggler, another well-meaning pain in the arse. She led him through to the front room and tried not to look too relieved when he turned down her offer of a cup of tea.

The living room was neat and tidy. Fading flowers packed four or five vases round the room and the mantelpiece overflowed with condolence cards. In the middle of it was a silver-framed photograph of Mrs McKendrick with two young men either side, both towering over her, and a younger girl in front. The younger boy was obviously Kieran, longish fair hair and wide cheeky grin, happy and only faintly embarrassed to be hugging his mum. Ryan was taller and broader, his dark blond hair close cropped with an air of confidence about him. Undoubtedly the man of the house. There was a determination about him too, a steely look in his eyes and a protectiveness. You wouldn’t mess with him, that was for sure. In front was Suzanne, gazing up at Ryan with undisguised admiration.

‘That was taken on my birthday,’ she said from behind him. ‘Ryan was home on leave and with Kieran about to go to university, well it just seemed a good time to get a photograph of the four of us. It turned out to be the last one.’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for the funeral,’ Winter told her after he sat down. ‘I was away.’

She nodded distractedly as if she couldn’t care less and began to light a cigarette, her hands shaking.

‘I haven’t been able to get hold of Ryan,’ he added. ‘Is he back at sea?’

‘Yes, yes, he’s back at sea.’

Something about the speed with which she answered made him doubt her. It was just too quick, too keen to confirm. She either knew that was untrue or else she doubted it herself. He wasn’t going to call her on it though.

‘I’m really sorry I missed him. Did he have to go back straight after the funeral?’

‘No, he was allowed back for three days after it. To look after me and Suzanne, I suppose. Then he had to go again.’

‘How was he, Mrs McKendrick?’

She looked up from a thread in the carpet that she’d been studying and considered the question as she dragged on her cigarette.

‘Not himself. Not himself at all. He blames himself for not being here when Kieran… but he couldn’t be. He’s got his career. But. .. he’s, he’s… he was…’

‘Kieran’s big brother?’ Winter guessed.

‘Yes. I kept telling him that it wasn’t his fault but he wouldn’t listen. He took it really badly. He wanted to know how it had happened and why Kieran’s pals hadn’t looked after him. He just couldn’t let it go.’

‘I guess he went to talk to them?’

‘He said he did but he was angry when he came back because they wouldn’t tell him much. Too scared of the police, I suppose. He was like a tiger in a cage when he was here. All he would do was talk about Kieran and things they’d done. Spent so much time in Kieran’s room. And he was always talking about Grahamston.’

‘Grahamston?’

‘Yes, he kept going on about it. It was like he was obsessed. He kept saying how terrible it was that he and Kieran would never be able to go to Grahamston again. How he’d promised Kieran that he’d go with him one more time and how you should always keep a promise.’