Denise Mina - Garnethill

"So?"

"He phoned three times. Same guy."

"It probably was Douglas," said Liam.

"No, I don't know if it was. They were phoning from a phone box and he should have been at work. I don't think he'd have called back when she said I was out. Wouldn't want to seem too eager."

Liam stole another spoon of ice cream. She pushed it toward him. "You have it. I don't want it."

The sugar and caffeine were finding their way into Maureen's system. The shaky feeling evaporated like a hangover after a whisky and she felt relatively calm. She sipped her coffee. It was bitter and hot. She took out her cigarettes and lit one.

"Do you think you're being set up?" asked Liam.

"Maybe. I don't know what the cupboard thing means yet. If I could find out what was wrong with the cupboard…"

"Stop trying to find things out, pet. Leave it to the police," said Liam, without a hint of irony. "They'll sort it out."

"I'm just… I'm thinking."

"Keep out of it. You don't want to get involved in this."

"I'm already involved."

"Okay," he said. "You don't want to get more involved, Mauri. Don't meddle."

"I was only thinking."

"Leave it, Maureen."

"There's no harm in thinking about it."

Liam was exasperated. "Look, some scary fucker cut Douglas's throat when he was helpless and tied to a fucking chair. Nice people don't do that. These are unpleasant, dangerous people. This isn't Taggart. Bad things happen to the good guys."

"Bad things happen on Taggart "

"Maureen," he said, "there are very nasty people in the world. You're not like them, you're not fit for them. You've no idea what people are capable of doing to each other, no idea."

"But how are they going to catch the right person?"

"Do you think that's what the police are about? Catching the right person?" He ruffled her hair. "You're not fit for these people, Mauri. Just stand back and shut up and you'll be all right."

On the way back to Benny's Maureen stopped at the cashpoint and took out the last twenty quid from her account. If the bank withdrew her £100 overdraft facility before the end of the month she wouldn't be able to pay her meager mortgage.

She waited until Benny had gone to bed before she lay down on the settee and did the breathing exercises she had learned in the Northern. They were supposed to help her sleep but each time she started to relax images and phrases from the day flashed in her mind, startling her awake.

Liz was reveling in the drama of it all. The mustachioed policeman had been to the office and questioned her, asking her to sign a statement to the effect that Maureen had not left the office for any longer than five minutes during the previous day. The walk to the house took ten. Maureen had been in the toilet for fifteen minutes but Audrey had spoken to her. Liz said wasn't it lucky Audrey was a chain-smoker.

Maureen looked up a couple of times during the day and caught Liz staring at her with undisguised awe. She asked three times about going to the police station. Maureen didn't want to talk about it. She had woken up on Benny's settee with trembling hands, a throbbing headache and a terrible sense that the worst of it wasn't over. It felt like her night terrors. She wanted to be at work, pretending it was a normal day, but Liz was desperate to be part of the show. "I think friends should trust each other," she said, over lunch.

"I need a piss," said Maureen, excusing herself as only a lady could.

Mr. Scobie seemed more traumatized about it than either of them.

When Maureen went off to hide in the toilet during the morning she saw him walking toward her down the corridor. He looked panic-stricken and ducked into a cloakroom to avoid running into her. She thought about going after him, just for badness' sake, but decided against it.

In the afternoon he shuffled nervously into the ticket office, keeping his back close to the wall, and handed them their wages. Maureen had a tax rebate in hers and the brown envelope held £150 in tens and twenties. "I'm sorry to hear about your trouble, dear," said Mr. Scobie.

"Thank you, Mr. Scobie."

"Will you be taking any more days off?" His voice cracked mid-sentence. "Or can I leave the shifts as they are?"

"You can leave them as they are." fine.

He scuttled back out. Liz sniggered when she was sure he was out of earshot.

Winnie phoned late in the afternoon. "Please come and see me," she said. "Please do. Just to make me feel better because I'm worried about you."

Maureen agreed to come over after work.

"Now, promise me, you won't get a bus or anything, just get into a taxi and come here and I'll pay it at the other end."

"You don't need to do that. I can pay it."

"I insist," said Winnie. She sounded stone-cold sober.

Maureen didn't want to go. Sober Winnie was almost as much work as Very Drunk Winnie and Very Drunk Winnie was a lot of work. She was angry and vindictive, shouting carefully personalized abuse at whoever happened to be in front of her, casting up any failure or humiliation, however petty, always going straight for the jugular. It was her special talent, she could find anyone's tender spot within minutes. Sober Winnie was an emotional leech, demanding affection and reassurance, bullying them with her limitless neediness, crying piteously when she didn't get her own way. She shit-stirred between the children, rumor mongering and passing on distorted comments. When anyone tried to stand up to her she cast herself as the victim and rallied the other children to her support, causing schisms. Liam said she had a rota written up somewhere and victimized the children in turn. It had worked better when they were younger: Maureen and Liam only pretended to buy into it all now, faking shock at Una's unkind comments about Maggie, pretending to care when Marie said Maureen would never recover from the hospital. But Una still played along fully and if Maureen didn't go and see Winnie today then, as sure as a fight at a wedding, she'd get a worried phone call from Una tomorrow, asking her why she was avoiding Mum, what had Mum done, couldn't Maureen see she was upsetting her.

There was a time when Very Drunk Winnie was the best of a bad choice for Maureen: it was a straight fight and she could take it because Winnie didn't know anything about her. She had been careful never to discuss the things that mattered to her in front of the family, Liam excepted. She told her friends that she didn't have a phone and wouldn't let boyfriends come to the house. She lied about where she was going at night, she even lied about her 0 grade subjects. So when Winnie went for Maureen's jugular she was slagging her about fictitious habits, friends and events. What happened between them in hospital had changed all that. Now Winnie had more to cast up to Maureen than the rest of them.

Winnie behaved strangely during the hospital visits. She brought an endless succession of inappropriate presents like earrings and makeup and fashion magazines. She monologued about the neighborhood gossip, who had died, what was on telly last night. She wouldn't acknowledge the fact that they were in a psychiatric hospital or talk to the staff. But Maureen was bananas at the time and lots of things seemed strange. Leslie had read up on familial reactions to abuse disclosure and said that it was normal for the non-abusing parent to feel incredibly guilty, maybe that's what was wrong with Winnie.

Maureen didn't have a lot of time to think about it: the memories of the forgotten years were coming back thick and fast, through dreams, in flashbacks, over cups of tea with other patients. She became a compulsive confider. Looking at the fading bouquets of flowers on the wallpaper above the bedstead, counting and counting and counting until it was finished.