Denise Mina - Resolution

"Are you okay?" The police officer looked worried.

She had called out and somehow fallen onto the floor, banging her arm on the chair.

Paulsa had called the police officer rather than touch her himself. A red smut grew on her arm, seeping into her sleeve. Huffing with pain, Maureen looked up and saw Shirley, her legs crossed, a zigzag thread hanging down from the hem of her skirt, and she knew this part wasn't a dream because it was too detailed.

"I fell asleep," said Maureen.

She went to the loo and locked herself in a cubicle. She pulled up her sleeve and peeled back the tissue, ripping off the scabs, making them bleed. She wrapped fresh tissue paper around her forearm, salvaging two strips of not-very-sticky tape to secure the ends.

Back in the witness room, Shirley continued with her crossword while Paulsa stared guiltily at the floor and patted his damp face with a paper tissue, leaving little patches of white fiber on his forehead. When the door opened everyone turned to face it desperately, as if the air supply had been cut off and suddenly restored. The policeman stuck his head into the room. "Lunch. Back by one forty-five sharp."

Everyone else seemed to know where they were going. Outside the room Shirley and Paulsa disappeared through the front door. Maureen stood outside the paneled room, feeling lost, and then she saw them. They were standing in a crowd, Winnie, George and Liam, Leslie and Kilty, Vik and Shan, all introducing themselves to one another and shaking hands. Even Leslie's cousin Jimmy Harris had made the effort to come and raised his hand, smiling. The rest of them turned in unison, beaming at Maureen like a homecoming dream of comfort and joy.

The small cafe in the basement of the court had been painted a grating shade of howling yellow. Maureen looked down the table at Liam, Vik and Shan, chatting, establishing common acquaintances, and it felt strangely natural. She had studiously kept them all apart in case Vik thought she meant to get serious. None of it seemed to matter anymore. Leslie and George were talking, and Winnie was making Kilty laugh.

Liam seemed tired and jumpy. It hadn't occurred to her before now but there would have been a phone call in the night, bad news, someone needing to identify Michael. Liam was keeping it from her, protecting her. She caught Winnie's eye and saw the strain there, as if Winnie hadn't seen enough trouble in her life.

She reached forward to put down her sandwich and felt the twice-used tape on her right forearm peel away from the skin. The tail of the tissue unfurled slowly, resting inside her sleeve. She put her arm on her lap and tried to remember not to use it.

"Mauri," said Winnie, "look. See them?" She dipped her head in a secretive manner, gesturing to a table behind her. "That's his family," she whispered. "Don't they look mental?"

Two women in old-lady tweed overcoats were sitting at a nearby table, looking poor and slightly ashamed of themselves, carefully picking the salad out of their sandwiches, laying it aside. One had a small elaborate growth on her chin, a bulbous lump of extra skin with smaller lumps on top. Next to them sat a gangly young boy in his early teens with the same uncomfortable look, dressed in a tracksuit and T-shirt and highly polished brogues. Maureen could almost hear the conversation in the house before they left, the for God's sake, he wasn't going to wear that, oh, all right, then, but change the shoes at least. As Maureen looked at Angus's family she could imagine him having miserable Christmas Days in ugly houses, being a teenager and growing his hair long. The two women would have turned up at his every school play, been intimidated and ruined his graduation. She could see Angus trying to shed them as his income crept up and his tastes changed. He had a history, a background and a cause. Liam saw her looking at them and leaned across the table. "Bet Hannibal Lecter didn't have to wave back to a family of hillbilly freaks at his trial," he muttered.

Maureen smiled. Two women and no father. In the penny-dreadful version of the story those women would be the monsters who had turned him into a sexual predator and the missing man simply a source of sadness to him. She sat back, looking down the table at all of her friends. Still feverish with exhaustion, she imagined lifting them all away from here, taking them to a cliff-top table overlooking a calm sea and having a lovely dinner together, a last supper. Winnie would be funny and George would be dear. Jimmy Harris wouldn't look so hungry and Leslie would have her baby in her arms. At the end of the night Maureen would retire with Vik and they'd cuddle each other and talk lazily about nothing much as they dozed off into a deep sleep. As she looked at them, Maureen felt she was in an idealized afterlife, where all was love and peace and everyone she cared about was looked after.

Liam finished his sandwich quickly and nodded her outside for a smoke. She was nervous that he might ask her about last night or following Michael. "Why are ye wearing a top that says 'porn star' on it?" he said, when they got to the steps.

"Cheer myself up," she said.

"You don't look well."

"I'm very tired," she said, remembering to use her left hand to rub her eye. "I didn't sleep last night at all."

He looked at her curiously. "Ye were asleep at ten o'clock when I phoned."

"Oh," she said stiffly, "yeah, but I woke up then and I couldn't get back to sleep."

The steps were busy with smokers. Three uniformed policemen stood at the bottom between the gates, comparing something on their ungainly utility belts. A crowd of well-dressed confident people were standing in a circle and laughing loudly. Maureen saw nervous Aggie Grey hanging on the edges of the group and realized why they were happy. They had no interest in the case going either way, they were journalists. Aggie spotted Maureen coming down the steps and averted her gaze, smiling at the ground, making a discreet thumbs-up. Maureen did it back and when she looked again Aggie was smiling up at the building.

Joe McEwan was a couple of steps down from Inness, absent-mindedly scraping the arch of his shoe on the stairs as he talked. He looked up and saw Liam and Maureen coming out of the door. He shot them a polite smile, pressing his lips together and looking away. Liam gave the same smile back and sat down a distance away, resting on a pillar to light up. The last time Maureen saw Liam and Joe together they had hated each other. She could tell they had seen each other in the meantime – recently, by the looks of things. Joe would have told Liam about Michael. She could see Liam asking him not to tell Maureen, just until the trial is over, please, just until then. Neither of them had any idea that she was involved; Joe McEwan had finally decided that she was a victim of circumstance just when she stopped being one. Liam gave her a cigarette and she took it in her left hand, leaning over the match in his hand to catch a light.

"Are you Maureen O'Donnell?" It was one of the men from the group of journalists.

"No," said Maureen.

"I think she's still in the canteen," said Liam helpfully.

Maureen looked out over Glasgow Green, busy with lunchtime sunbathers. Leslie and Kilty came out and Vik and Shan joined them all, and they sat on the steps of the High Court and smoked and were together.

The afternoon was shorter. Shirley had relaxed a little and answered when Paulsa asked her the time. Maureen went to the loo to have a fag every so often, just to keep herself awake. She found a newspaper tucked behind the cistern as if someone was coming back for it. She read an article about how television was damaging everyone in some indefinable way. Back in the waiting room she soaked up the sun through the small window and planned her night. She was going to have a bath, a long, hot bath, and she was going to drink whiskey.