Denise Mina - Resolution

A knock at the door stopped them dead. "Won't be a moment," called Maureen, in a stupid singsong voice. She pulled the sheet up, too embarrassed to smooth the nightie under Ella's bare backside, and sat on the bed.

The women composed themselves, Ella carefully slipping her broken teeth back in, fitting the snapped edges together and catching her breath. "Please," she whispered, watching the door, "get me out of here."

"Look, you're safe in here," said Maureen. "There's nothing-"

The door opened and Si came back in. "Ooh," he said, looking at the nightie pooled around his mother's waist, "that's a nice one."

The nurse with the auburn hair was chatting to a porter in the corridor but she broke off when she saw Maureen lingering there, waiting to catch her.

"Do you know what happened to her?" said Maureen, playing the concerned daughter. "She won't talk about it. The nurse last night said she'd fallen over but it's both sides of her face."

The nurse folded her arms. "Don't you know?"

"I know she didn't fall." Maureen folded her arms too.

"Didn't your brother tell you?"

Maureen looked at the floor. "My brother and I don't talk, I'm afraid."

The nurse nodded. "I see, I see. Your mum was mugged, in her house."

Maureen was skeptical. "Shouldn't the police be told, then?" The nurse didn't like her. "The police have been up twice for a statement," she said coldly. "She couldn't tell them much. Luckily your brother was here to hold her hand."

Angus was back in his room. the door was shut, the spy hole open, meaning they could look in at him at any time. He listened for footfalls outside, for air moving in the corridor. Being perpetually on show required a condition of alertness, so much so that he had stopped swallowing his medication on alternate days. They gave everyone in here medication, to make them slow and malleable. Slo-mo pills to make the population manageable. He wanted to have been off everything before the case came up. He had things to do.

He lay on his bed, turned to the wall so that his face was hidden, and thought about her. Cheap clothes, hair tidied. If his friend did as he had promised, Maureen would start to get the envelopes soon. He tried to imagine her looking at the pictures – the shock, the dismay, disgust even, perhaps being excited by it. Probably not. He rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head, crossing his feet. There was a crack on his ceiling, a ragged pencil line coming from a corner. Cheap clothes, hair tidied, opening an envelope, and still a week to go before the court case. He knew what she was up to, knew what she was thinking. He could play her, make sure she said what he wanted her to say in the witness box. She was getting him out of here.

And after the trial, when he got out, the police would clamor to protect Maureen O'Donnell. They would form a cordon around her, a cushion to keep him away from her, to stop her being one of his girls. Angus looked at the cracked gray ceiling and allowed himself a wry smile. Let them.

It was sweltering in the van. Leslie hadn't been able to find a shaded spot to park in and the black plastic seat burned the back of Maureen's legs as she sat down. They opened both the windows and Leslie drove fast through the town, trying to whip up a breeze in the cab. Maureen told her that Ella might not have fallen over and about the nasty edge to Si.

"He's got a posh accent like mine," said Maureen.

Leslie smiled. "Your accent's not that posh."

"Yeah, but I don't talk like Home Gran, do I? I think he hit her."

"Why?"

Maureen had promised not to tell anyone about the small claims. "She kept asking me to get her out of the hospital. She's really scared of him. He's creepy, like, puts a sexual slant on everything, and he's angry…"

Leslie didn't look convinced or even interested, but then, she was going home to a Saturday night of crying Cammy and fuss.

They were both covered in a sheen of sweat by the time they got to Garnethill. The road was lined on both sides with parked cars and Leslie had to stop in the street to drop her.

"Shouldn't you tell the police about the picture?"

"Nah," said Maureen. "They couldn't trace her and I don't want them up at my house."

"The girl might be from Glasgow. It might be important."

"Didn't ye see that Wonderland Club case on the news? Sixty men and each of them had handed over ten thousand pictures of kids for membership."

"Well, it's up to you," said Leslie, looking up at Maureen's window. "Will you be all right up there?"

"Yeah," said Maureen. "I think Angus just wants to frighten me." She took the bags out of the back of the van, leaving behind some fags for Leslie's traumatic weekend. She called through the van to her, "I've left sixty fags here for ye, Leslie. Good luck tonight."

"Cheers."

She shut the back doors and Leslie drove off down the hill.

The moment Maureen looked up she knew something was wrong. Her close door was jammed open, lying flat against the wall. No one staying there ever did that. It wasn't a safe area and they had to keep the door shut all the time so that people thought they had a buzzer entry system. Someone who didn't belong there was inside.

Maureen looked at the floor inside the close. Sometimes when he washed the stairs Jim Maliano left the door open to dry them, but the floor was dry today and dusty. She stepped into the close, stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened, the sweat on her face and arms suddenly chill. The noise of TV game shows and the high, excited voices of sports commentators whistled under the neighbors' doors. She couldn't hear anyone in the close but felt the still air moving a few floors up, heard the gentle scuff of material brushing against material. Quietly, she walked up to the first landing and stopped. Someone was up there. An alarming trickle of sweat escaped from her hairline, startling her as it ran down her cheek. She raised her hand, patting her face audibly, and the presence above her shifted at the noise. She considered going down again and slipping out the back. She listened. They weren't all the way upstairs, they weren't outside her door. The close had eight flats in it-they could be visiting anyone. She heard sudden footsteps, someone falling from foot to foot, coming towards her quickly, just round the corner.

He was watching his feet as he walked and his dark hair appeared before the rest of him. He looked up at her. "Hiya," he said simply.

Maureen dropped the bag and a deep, joyous laugh gurgled up from her belly, an intoxicating blend of relief and delight. "Vik Patak, you gorgeous bastard. How the fuck are you?"

It was teatime. Beyond the drawn red velvet curtains Saturday traffic passed noisily a few blocks down, leaving the city center to catch its breath before the evening began. A soft light seeped in through the heavy curtains, the blue sky casting a pink and yellow sheen on the ceiling. Somewhere in Garnethill, beyond the bedroom window, a bird was hollering. Maureen stretched out, arching her back off the bed and grinning to herself. Vik caught a curl of Maureen's dark hair on his toe and tugged it playfully. She looked at him, still smiling. "Ye okay?" he said.

"Oh, aye." Wondering at skin so soft, Maureen placed her fingertips on his bare hip, the skin slick to the bone. She traced the tight dip of powder skin before the small swell of his belly. She didn't even want a drink. "I'm glad you came to see me," she said.

Vik rolled to face her, resting his head on her thighs. "Shan told me about that Farrell guy's trial coming up. I came to see if you're all right."

"I'm fine," she said, resenting the intrusion of reality into the handsome moment. "Has Shan been called as a witness?"