Denise Mina - Garnethill

Siobhain drank quickly as she stared at the carpet, taking big gulps, leaving a brown smile at the corners of her mouth. Maureen took the cup and put it on the floor. "I really think you should go to Leslie's house, Siobhain, you shouldn't be on your own. The only thing is you'll need to go on the motorbike-"

"No," whispered Siobhain, shaking her head slowly. "No."

"Siobhain, I can't stay here all day and I don't think you should be alone just now."

"Stay."

"I really can't, Siobhain, I have to attend to some things."

Siobhain pursed her lips and turned her head, staring Maureen out with hurt, angry eyes. "Stay."

"I can't stay here, Siobhain. Can't I take you to Leslie's house instead?"

Siobhain turned her face away. "Stay."

"Siobhain, I can stay for a couple of hours but I can't stay all day."

Siobhain's fat face turned red and convulsed with impotent fury, her neck tight, her mouth open in a terrified silent scream. She stood up and shuffled forward, pushing and slapping at Maureen's arm and making her stand up. Tugging and pushing and nudging, she hassled Maureen out to the hall and opened the door, shoving her over the step and into the close. She shut the door. Maureen stood still, surprised to find herself in the cold close. She could hear Siobhain breathing heavily on the other side of the door. "Siobhain, at least lock the fucking thing."

Siobhain turned the snib and leaned against the door.

"I'll wait out here, okay?" said Maureen, addressing the door. "Okay?"

Siobhain didn't answer. Maureen could hear her shuffle back down the hall to the living room. Downstairs, the wee boy stopped playing and climbed up the first three stairs. He looked through the banister and caught Maureen's eye. He grinned at her. His front teeth were missing. She smiled back and he went back downstairs and began his game again.

Maureen sat down on the top step and smoked a cigarette to calm herself. She couldn't hear anything inside the flat. She knocked on the door, slowly so as not to scare her, and opened the letter box. "Siobhain, are ye there?"

The dark hall was still. The pool of light cast onto the carpet from the living room was steady. She wasn't moving.

"Are ye there?"

The wee boy stopped playing and came back up to look at her through the banisters again. He grinned at her. Maureen nodded. "Right, son?" He held up his football for her to look at.

"That's smashing, son. Away you downstairs now and play for a wee bit."

The boy disappeared again. She pushed the letter box open again. "Siobhain?"

She could hear Siobhain saying something, speaking very quietly in the living room, whispering almost. She had to concentrate hard to hear it, pressing her ear to the letter box. Siobhain was reciting the Saturday TV schedule to herself.

She phoned Leslie at work. "Hen," she said, "s me. Big fuck-off emergency, Siobhain's scared shitless. She thinks she saw the Northern man. I don't know if it's a flashback or what. I need a lift to Benny's and a body to stay with Siobhain while I go and do some stuff. Can you get away?"

"Where are you?"

"Phone box by Siobhain's house. She might not even let ye into the house, ye might be sitting outside her door. She chucked me out."

"How long'll it take?"

"Days, weeks, a month, I don't know."

Leslie thought about it for a minute. "I'm there," she said, and hung up.

Maureen came out of the phone box. She needed to take Leslie away for twenty minutes and didn't want to leave Siobhain alone, on the off chance that it hadn't been a flashback. She thought about the wee boy. She nipped across the road quickly and looked in the close. He was still there. "Hey," she said. "Wee fella? How long're you going to be here?"

"Till my tea," he said.

"What time's that?"

The wee boy looked blankly at her. He was six or seven, for fuck-sake, he didn't even know how to tell the time.

"Look," she said, "never mind about that." She took a quid note out of her pocket and held it in front of him. "See if a man comes past and goes up to that lady's house and tries to kick her door in. You come outside here and start shouting and get folk up there. Could you do that, wee man?"

"I'm not allowed out the close," said the wee boy, looking at the pound note.

"Can ye stand in the close mouth and shout, just here?" She gestured to the top step.

"Aye," said the wee boy. "I can do that."

"Remember, if a man goes up there and interferes with the door you've to come out here and shout like mad, okay?"

"Aye. How have I to? Is her man gonnae give her a doing?"

"Not if we stop him."

The boy looked at the pound note and back at Maureen, his eyes wide with surprise. "Can ye stop a man giving a mammy a doing?" He looked up at her, his face old and wondering, waiting for the answer.

"Ye can phone the police," she said. He bounced his ball once, shook his head and smiled cynically. "Ye can tell other people about it. That'll embarrass him."

He bounced his ball. "Right," he said, nodding and thinking about it. "Very good."

"Anyway, see the lassie upstairs? See if he comes and you shout loud, I'll give ye another pound when I get back."

He grinned at Maureen as though she had given him eternal life. "I'll shout dead loud," he said.

"And get people up to the door, eh?"

"Dead, dead loud," he said, and went back to playing keepy-uppy.

Maureen ran back up the stairs and held the letter box open. Siobhain was still whispering times and programs to herself.

LESLIE WAS PARKING OUTSIDE the close when she saw Maureen coming toward her.

"How did you get away?" asked Maureen.

"Said my mum was ill. So we're off to Benny's?"

"Yeah, I need to get my sick line and post it in or I'll be sacked. And then if you could come and wait with Siobhain – or get her to go to yours, that'd be best."

Leslie gave Maureen the spare helmet from the box and they drove up through the town, past the cathedral and up the Great Western Road, cutting up a side street to Maryhill.

Leslie drove through the bollarded end of Scaramouch street and stopped the bike. The usually empty street was packed with big new cars. They took off their helmets and looked around. These were company cars.

It sounded like a rumble. It was coming from one of the tenement closes. Suddenly, a belch of men staggered backward, spilling out of Benny's close, taking photos over their heads and shouting questions and instructions. Maureen shoved the helmet back on, scratching her rough tartan scarf down the back of her neck, knocking a dry scab off and making the skin throb. Leslie put her helmet back on and buckled it under her chin.

Joe McEwan was in the center of the crowd, his head down, fighting through them. McAskill was behind him, following in his wake. The journalists put their arms out, trying to hold them back, jostling and shouting at them. Maureen and Leslie stood at the end of the street and watched as McEwan single-mindedly worked his way through the journalists and headed for a blue Ford.

Maureen and Leslie jumped back onto the bike. "Follow him," said Maureen.

McEwan's car drove out of the far end of the street. Leslie put her foot down, spun the bike in the opposite direction and sped over the pedestrian dead end onto the Maryhill Road, turning a sharp right.

"No," shouted Maureen, over the noise of the bike, " follow "

Leslie didn't react. Maureen panicked. They were screaming up the Maryhill Road toward a red traffic light, going in the opposite direction from McEwan. She banged Leslie on the thigh. " The blue Ford ."

Leslie stopped the bike sharply. The back wheel leaped an inch off the road surface, bumping Maureen high off the pillion. "The fucking Ford. Follow the blue Ford!" she shouted.