Denise Mina - Resolution

Liam looked as if she'd slapped him. Frightened and offended, his mouth hung open and his eyes slid to the grass behind her. She felt suddenly cold, as if something small and hopeful had died inside her. He tried to speak but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"You can't just do whatever the fuck you feel like," insisted Kilty, behind him. "You have to have some regard for these people. They brought you up and stayed in and spent their money feeding you and dressing you and were nice when they were tired and stuff like that. There's an obligation to do the right thing by them."

Leslie sighed theatrically. "But you shouldn't have to betray yourself to spare their feelings."

"Boy or girl?" muttered Maureen.

"They're good people," said Kilty. "They're just different from me."

"Girl," said Liam.

They sat and smoked and fought on the bank for a while, until the chill wind coming off the loch began to eat into them. Maureen looked out at the water, somehow knowing this was the last time she would see Loch Lomond, or the last time she'd see it like this anyway, without blood on her hands, with the precious conviction intact that she'd never really done anything irreversibly bad in her life. She looked up at the summit of the hills and saw herself falling, tumbling, hurtling down towards the deep, cold water. She felt like running back into the reception and shagging someone in the toilets.

"Shall we go and get our coats?" asked Kilty.

Maureen shook her head as they stood up, wanted to say no, wanting to stay. Liam rubbed her back too roughly before she was standing up properly and almost pushed her over. "Don't worry," he muttered.

Maureen wanted to be sarcastic and make light of it and say, thanks, yeah, that helps a lot, but her mouth wasn't working.

Kilty thought they should go in and do one last tour of the reception to make it look as if they'd been there all the time. They went over to their table and sat down, drinking what was left of the wine. Liam guzzled spring water and watched Maureen nervously. On the dance floor three kilted men stood in a row, baring their arses to unwilling witnesses. One young buck's mother got up, slapped him on the back of the head and dragged him away. The others whooped and hollered with delight, baring their arses again. Maureen surreptitiously trawled the table for bits of leftover drinks, downing anything she could find. Kilty turned to her. "We're getting the fuck out of here." She grinned. "You look very pale. Have you got a bug like Leslie?"

"Tired," said Maureen, and stopped dead. Si McGee was across the hall, wearing a white dinner jacket with satin lapels and a red handkerchief in the breast pocket, smoking a slim cigar. He was standing in a group of men, nodding at Mr. Goldfarb, as thick white smoke oozed lazily from his mouth and crawled up his face. Maureen caught Leslie's sleeve. "McGee," she said. "McGee's over there."

"Where?" said Leslie, looking around.

"The one with no chin," said Maureen, panicked. "Kilty, who's that man in the white dinner jacket?"

Kilty looked across to her father. "He's a guy from the Polish Club."

" That is Si McGee ," insisted Maureen.

Kilty looked at him again. "From Benny Lynch Court? No, that guy was at St. Aloysius with the rest of them."

"Yeah, he was a scholarship boy," said Maureen.

"No," said Kilty, absolutely certain. "He's got a string of estate agents around Lanarkshire. He's quite well off."

"Introduce me," said Maureen, pushing Kilty in front of her.

"Look, Mauri, don't say anything rude," Kilty primed her, as they made their way across the dance floor. "You really don't know anything about the guy except that his mother died. Will you behave yourself?"

"Yeah, I will," said Maureen, nudging Kilty on with her shoulder.

Si McGee was not pleased to see her. He tried to smile as Kilty introduced them, holding out his hand as if he'd never met her before.

"I'm sorry about your mother," said Maureen, as his eyes took in her tight dress.

"Yes," he said, his accent even more clipped than it had been in the hospital. "Thank you."

The businessmen looked at him curiously. "Is your mother ill?" said one.

Si looked at his shoes, forcing a smile again when he looked up.

"Mrs. McGee died," said Maureen, making herself look gauche and thoughtless.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Si," said Mr. Goldfarb, rubbing McGee's arm and looking reproachfully at Maureen. "So sorry. Was it sudden?"

"Yes," said McGee, taking Maureen by the arm and leading her away from the group, "quite sudden."

He was tall actually, standing next to her, holding her arm tightly. She had thought him smaller. She lifted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to wriggle her arm free, but he held on. She stopped walking, keeping her body rigid, and his grip was so strong that her feet skated along the polished dance floor. Kilty caught up with them.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me," shouted Maureen, attracting the attention of the arse-baring men on the dance floor and subsequently the entire wedding party.

"I thought you were falling," said Si, just as loudly. "You seem very drunk."

"I saw you at my house," bawled Maureen. "You were at my house."

Kilty took Maureen's other arm, and Si let go graciously, wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

"What did Ella do that was so bad?" hissed Maureen, just as her feet slid away from under her. She landed hard on one knee, blushing and cringing. An appalled hush fell over the hall. One of the arse-baring men giggled loudly. Si shook his head pityingly, and looked back to his friends for support. People around the dance floor whispered among themselves.

"Why did you drag me over here?" said Maureen, unsteadily pulling herself upright. "Are you going to beat me up now?"

Si McGee stepped back, surprised. "I thought you might want to come to my mother's funeral," he said.

Maureen stared at him and he stared back, his eyes wide and calm behind the glasses, mouth hanging open, meaning no harm. Distracted by a tiny movement, she looked at his neck. The roll of fat on his chin was quivering, giving away a hidden tension inside. "Where's the funeral?" she asked.

"Ten thirty on Monday, St. Stephen's in Partick."

"I'll see you there," said Maureen defiantly, taking Kilty's arm and walking away.

"Mauri," said Kilty, when they were safely ensconced in the car, "I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it, but you were really out of order there."

"What did she say?" asked Leslie.

"She asked the guy if he was going to beat her up, apropos of nothing, when he was trying to invite her to the funeral."

"His neck was shaking," said Maureen.

Worried, Liam glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

"It was," she drawled sullenly. "His neck was shaking."

It was only eleven o'clock when Liam dropped them off at Garnet-hill. Too tired to speak, they climbed the stairs slowly and went about getting ready for bed. Maureen put on the television to fill the irksome silence. The door banged and Leslie, passing and unthinking, opened it. A woman with a square face and a crew cut stuck a tiny tape recorder in her face. "Maureen O'Donnell?"

"Eh, no," said Leslie. "She doesn't live here anymore."

The woman sighed heavily.

"I'm Aggie Grey. If you see her," she said, loudly enough for Maureen to hear, "will you tell her my paper'll pay a lot of money for her story?"

"I won't see her," said Leslie.

"Just, if you do."

"I won t."

Grey turned to go.

"Haven't you got anything better to do with your time?" said Leslie.

The woman turned on the stairs. "What do you mean?"

"Is this your life, harassing innocent bystanders?"

Grey stumbled back a step, and caught herself on the banister. "It's part of my job," she said.