Denise Mina - Resolution

George was wearing a porkpie hat and carrying a copy of the National Enquirer , grinning so widely that the void of teeth at the back of his mouth showed, like an old horse. Behind him, standing on the stairs, tucking one edge of her dressing gown into the other, was Winnie. She had just woken up and her face was shiny with night cream. When she saw Maureen the surprise made her foot slip and she sat down heavily, showing off her blue-veined legs, exhaling Maureen's name as if in prayer. Overcome, George dropped his magazine and opened his arms. Maureen threw herself at his chest, wrapping her arms around him, feeling his soft belly convulse as he cried through a grin. Wrapped in his arms she remembered standing on his feet to dance, remembered George slipping a fake Valentine card into her schoolbag and putting chocolate bars in her pockets when things were bad at home. She remembered late nights when he'd come home from pubs bringing wee vests and matching pant sets for her when she was far, far too old to wear them. They hung on to each other, crying and digging into each other, banging their heads together until George managed to push her away by the shoulder. He tried to speak but his face crumpled and he glanced at Leslie, mortified. He ran off into the front room, shutting the door after himself.

Winnie stood up, righting her dressing gown, smiling and perplexed. "Would ye like a cup of tea?"

She was a stranger. No longer the louche mother of yesteryear, Winnie scuttled around the familiar kitchen, putting the tea on the table and asking questions, quite coherent, politely pretending to remember Leslie being at Una's housewarming party when Winnie had been famously drunk and woke up the next day certain she hadn't gone.

"Ye probably don't remember," said Leslie. "It was a while ago now."

"Oh," said Winnie uncertainly. "No, I'm sure I do remember ye being there. I remember ye from when Maureen was in hospital."

Maureen waited for the conversation to turn sour: mention of her stay in hospital was usually a cue for recriminations and drama.

"What's that mark on your head?" said Winnie, kindly brushing over it.

"A bruise," said Maureen, raising her hand to touch it. "I've had it before and I don't know where it's coming from."

"Will ye have some Dundee cake?" said Winnie.

Leslie nodded eagerly. Winnie set the tin on the table and proudly lifted out the cake. It was homemade, dark and heavy. Winnie smiled at Maureen. "I made that," she said, tapping it with a big knife.

Maureen smiled back. "You're dead clever, you."

Winnie nodded, shoved the knife in and watched the side crumble away, revealing dry clumps of unmixed flour, oily patches and hardened candied fruits.

"Oh dear," she said, "I've made a royal cunt of it."

"Is it all right if I smoke?" said Leslie politely.

Winnie and Maureen laughed hysterically. Leslie joined in but didn't understand. She watched Maureen banging the table, Winnie crossing her legs and twisting away as if she were bursting for the toilet. When they finally calmed down, Winnie explained. "The sights this kitchen has seen," she said. "Ye can do anything but sacrifice a goat on the table."

Leslie took out her cigarettes and offered them round but Winnie refused, saying she'd never got the hang of it. She picked up the packet and looked at the French health warning. "Liam give ye these, did he?"

Leslie didn't want to get him into trouble so she shrugged. Winnie had been told during his dealing days that he managed bands, and Maureen didn't suppose Liam would confide in her now. Winnie rolled her eyes. "At least he's not selling those drugs anymore. That was a nightmare." She looked at Maureen's open mouth. "Yes," she said, "your old mum's not completely stupid. And I know he wasn't just selling mara-ha-joanna for pain control either, so don't try it."

Maureen was astonished. During her drinking the one consistent feature of Winnie's behavior was going for the jugular on any given day but she'd never mentioned Liam's dealing.

"Did ye always know?" asked Maureen.

Winnie smiled wisely. "He told me last week," she said, and got another laugh.

THEY WERE SITTING QUITE cozily together now, Winnie and Leslie and Maureen. George came in and out of the room on various pretexts, smiling and giving Maureen the thumbs-up whenever he caught her eye. Maureen knew this might be the last time she saw George and Winnie, the last time they were ever really together, and she was trying to enjoy them. Winnie had given up the attempted pretense of being Homemaker of the Month and had settled for opening a packet of Jammie Dodgers.

"He's very ill, you know," she said seriously, dunking a biscuit in her tea.

"Everyone says that," said Maureen, "but no one says what's wrong with him."

Winnie put the sodden biscuit into her mouth and chewed it. "He was taken into hospital today. Una says he turned up at hers in a minicab and his eyes were flickering about. She thinks he's had a fall and bumped his head. He falls over a lot."

"He's a bit young for taking tumbles, is he not?" said Leslie.

"Oh, aye, he's my age," said Winnie, adding, "twenty-one," as a weak joke. "He's in some state." She looked guilty.

"Is it the drink?" asked Maureen.

"I don't know what it is. Maybe he was always a bit missing. He might always have been like that-sure, what would I know? I was pissed the whole time I knew him. They've got him up in Gartnavel Royal for observation."

"Are you still drinking?" said Leslie. It was a redundant question. If Winnie had been drinking they would have known all about it.

Maureen and Winnie looked at each other. "I've no choice. They tell me my liver's gonnae explode if I drink again." She reached across the table and took Maureen's hand, squeezing tight. "You've made my year coming here like this," she said.

"Mum, I missed ye," said Maureen.

Winnie looked up and Maureen saw the angry questions in her eyes, asking why didn't ye phone me back if you missed me, why hurt me like that when I'm such a soul and the world's too much for me as it stands. But Winnie didn't say anything, just squeezed her hand again and made the best of it.

"Liam told me what they called the baby," said Maureen, and Winnie blanched.

"What did they call it?" asked Leslie.

Winnie and Maureen looked at each other and Winnie turned to Leslie. "Una called her after Maureen," she said diplomatically.

"That's pish," said Maureen. "She didn't name her after me, she gave her my name."

They sat in their makeshift beds in the dark living room, looking out over the city again, more peaceful than they had been the night before. Maureen thought about Michael's house, about facing it, and she knew she could do it. She felt a spark of sick excitement in her gut.

"She's very funny," said Leslie solemnly, assuming that Maureen was thinking about the same thing as her.

Maureen smiled, feeling not a little proud of her mum. "Yeah. I told ye."

"I know. Ye told me loads of times but I never met her sober and at the hospital she was always, frankly, a complete arsehole. It's amazing that drink can change someone that much, when ye think about it."

"The dark side of Winnie is a dark place indeed," said Maureen, settling down into her bed. "You seem calmer about Cammy."

"I never, ever want to see him again," said Leslie. "In a way I'm glad it happened. I was worried that I hadn't given him enough of a chance. You should see Kate Mclntyre – honestly, she's dead hard looking, ye know? Wears tops open to her navel."

Maureen put her hands under her head, and knew that she'd phone Mark Doyle in the morning. She had decided she was going to do it and nothing she did anymore had repercussions. "Leslie," she said, sitting up suddenly, "I've never told ye this because I didn't want to break your heart but I'm going to say it now. Cammy's a very, very unattractive man."