Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

The internet was full of Saskia, although her name hadn’t yet been released.

While Beckie and Neil ate breakfast and argued about whether cats were too intelligent to be trained (Beckie) or not intelligent enough (Neil), Flora sat on one of the sofas with her laptop, trawling through the newsfeeds, trying to concentrate through the pulses of pain just above her eyebrows.

With the sound muted, she watched an STV reporter standing on the street outside the entrance to the close, while in the background a little crowd of people had gathered and a policewoman stood in front of the ‘Police – Road Closed’ sign, hands behind her back, face impassive. Behind her, blue and white police tape was stretched right across the road, and between the Road Closed sign and the tape there were white vans and police cars parked and people milling about, some in black police uniforms, some in white forensic suits, some in plain clothes.

She closed the page and did another search for ‘Glasgow woman dead’. A BBC article was the first hit. It said that a woman had been found dead in a flat in the Haghill area of Glasgow and police were treating her death as suspicious. And that she was understood to be a former social worker who had recently been suspended from her post with Glasgow City Council pending an inquiry into her conduct.

She closed her eyes.

‘Mum?’ said Beckie. ‘Can we?’

She looked up. ‘Hmm?’

‘When Mia’s cat has kittens, can we have one? Dad says we can if you agree.’

‘I didn’t say that, Beckie,’ Neil said quickly, aiming an appeasing smile at Flora. He thought she was still angry with him – about the ‘assault’ on Carly Johnson and/or his new laissez faire strategy. He thought that was why she’d burst into tears when he’d started apologising again about it as they were preparing breakfast. He thought that was why she was so touchy and trembly and snappy.

She wished she could tell him about Saskia. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him why she hadn’t called the police.

Instead, she’d told him she hadn’t gone to see Saskia after all. That she’d decided he was right, and they couldn’t trust her. That she would ask Deirdre about the Johnsons instead.

‘So can we?’ Beckie persisted.

‘No we can’t.’ She sighed. ‘Beckie. Do you really think getting a kitten is a good idea?’

Beckie’s face became expressionless. ‘Because the Johnsons might kill it?’

‘Oh, no darling, I just meant – kittens are a lot of work…’ She shut the laptop and came over to the table and draped her arms round Beckie’s neck. ‘The Johnsons aren’t going to do anything bad to us. And even if they try to, the police will arrest them.’

‘They already tried to and the police haven’t done anything.’

‘Well, they’ve cautioned them. So if they do anything else, they’ll be in big trouble. And now we’ve got the CCTV, we’ll have them on camera if they come anywhere near the house.’

What if she’d been caught on CCTV at Saskia’s? What if even now the police were on their way here to arrest her?

But if she was on CCTV, surely whoever had killed Saskia would be too?

The Johnsons.

She wasn’t going to kid herself that anyone else could be responsible.

They’d killed Saskia. They must have found out that Saskia had been suspended from her post for hurting children. And they’d managed to track her down and kill her.

And if they were capable of that, what might they do to Flora and Neil and Beckie?

‘They can’t do anything to us, darling,’ she finished lamely. ‘And now we’re going to forget all about them and have a really fun day. After we’ve been to Cairn Hill, how about we have lunch at the Bistro?’

‘Okay.’ Beckie wriggled out from her arms and stood. ‘I have to brush my teeth.’

When she’d left the room, Neil said, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Why on earth would you tell her she can have a kitten?’

‘I didn’t. But would it be such a terrible idea?’

‘Do you really think I have the energy at the moment to cope with a demanding small animal? Because it would be me dealing with it, wouldn’t it?’ She sat down at the table opposite him and rubbed her forehead. ‘Beckie can have her tablet in the car, just this once, so I can get some sleep.’ It was the only thing guaranteed to keep her quiet.

‘We shouldn’t be inconsistent about these things, Flora.’

‘I’ve got a really bad headache and I need to sleep in the car, okay?’

Neil raised his eyebrows – Whatever – and left the room.

Connor’s sitting in his PC World uniform with his laptop, reading all about Mair’s tragic and untimely demise, and he’s like that: ‘What if there’s another CCTV camera that yous didnae clock?’

Ryan rolls his eyes at me and he’s all, ‘Dinnae you have a cow, Wee Man. We was in wigs and that, eh, and I had a right fat belly on me, and the neb on Maw – you wouldnae have picked us out a line-up yoursel’.’

Connor’s no happy. ‘The motor, but?’

‘Stolen fucking motor with false plates?’

‘Aye…’ goes Connor.

‘Aye,’ goes Ryan. ‘So shut it with your fucking whinging. We covered all the bases. Gold stars all round. We’re no in performance-below-acceptable-standard territory here, eh?’ And he’s chuckling away to hisself.

Connor’s on another verbal at his work for performance below acceptable standard. They get in the shite if they just sell the punter what they’re wanting without any of they crap extra care plans and add-ons and that, and the manager’s telt the wee diddy he’d better start pushing the crap or else.

Jed wakes up and goes, ‘That bint’s motor’s gonnae be picked up in the vicinity though, eh? She’s no gonnae have false plates. Get on the polis, son, and get clyping on the bitch. You saw this bird looking suspicious and you got the plate.’

I roll my eyes at Ryan and he rolls his eyes at me. Are we the only ones in this fucking family with any fucking sense?

‘Naw Da, no yet,’ goes Ryan. ‘The plan, aye?’

‘The plan? The plan? Away and shove your fucking plan,’ goes Jed, and falls back asleep, the prick.

Flora was woken from a heavy doze by Beckie’s whine at the bedroom door. ‘I want to say goodbye to Mum.’

‘Mum’s asleep – we have to let her rest,’ came Neil’s voice.

‘It’s okay, I’m not asleep,’ she called, and Beckie shot into the dark bedroom and wormed into the bed and pressed her cool little body against Flora’s side.

‘I don’t want to go to school,’ she said. ‘I want to stay here with you. Can I?’

Flora’s heart turned over. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but you have to go to school. You have to give out the party invitations, don’t you?’

God. This bloody party.

‘I should stay and look after you.’ Beckie’s fingers stroked Flora’s arm.

‘Well, darling, really I think I just need to sleep.’

‘The doctor said it was nothing serious?’ Beckie had asked her this about three times since Flora had been back to Dr Swain about her tiredness and headaches and general – well, he’d said it was depression and upped her dose of the SSRI, but it would be a couple of weeks until she felt any effect. Meanwhile, it was a struggle to get out of bed, let alone cope with the nightmare their lives had become.

‘It’s definitely nothing serious, Beckie. I promise you. The best thing you can do to make me feel better is go to school so I know you’re with your friends and teachers having a nice time.’

‘I won’t have a nice time though.’

‘Beckie,’ said Neil gently, and Flora lay passively as he eased back the covers and lifted Beckie out of the bed. They’d all regressed in the last few days, Beckie behaving like a much younger child, and Neil and Flora treating her as such.