Narey said nothing, just looked at her feet as they kicked through the dirty snow. There weren’t as many people down at the far end of the street; fewer shops equalled fewer crowds. She glanced across the road at the University Café and contemplated the benefits of a cup of tea, a plate of homemade lasagne and a chocolate snowball. She tugged on Danny’s arm and, seeing no traffic, dragged him across the road.
The University Café was one of her favourite places in the city, virtually unchanged from when it had opened nearly a hundred years before and owned by the same family, the Verrecchias, from day one. As soon as they pushed through the doors, they were assaulted with heat and steam and the smell of food on the go. It was a mostly studenty crowd that was in and Narey smiled to herself at Danny’s mock dis approval. There was space in the corner at one of the narrow Formica tables and she sat at one of the flip-down red vinyl seats and patted the one next to her, knowing full well that he’d pretend to be put out.
She opted for the lasagne and Danny ordered a fish supper on her recommendation. The students on the table next to them seemed to think it was still morning — maybe for them it was; fry-ups and breakfast rolls were the order of the day.
‘So does he make you happy as well?’ Danny asked her as if the previous conversation had never ended.
‘Can I ask you something, Danny?’ she replied.
‘Sure.’
‘Our neighbour there,’ she nodded towards the student nearest them, ‘has a morning roll with a sausage in it, right? So in the west of Scotland vernacular that is obviously a “roll ’n’ sausage”. My question to you is: does that mean a “roll and sausage”, a “roll on sausage” or a “roll in sausage”? I’ve never been sure.’
Danny shook his head at her.
‘That is one of those questions to which there is no definitive answer, like “Is there life on Mars?” or “Why do women talk so much shite?”. The sausage is in the roll not on it so it has to be a “roll and sausage”. But stop avoiding the question: does Tony make you happy?’
She let her head fall back against the wood-panelled wall, narrowly avoiding one of the tall jars of old-fashioned sweets that were dotted around.
‘Yes, I think.’
‘Good, I think. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I’d suggest you remember that with all this crap that’s going on. And before you bite my head off, there’s something else you should remember.’
‘I do mind but okay. What else should I remember?’
‘You.’
She made a face but Danny ploughed on regardless.
‘I ask how your dad is and you say he won’t get better. I ask how you are and you say you’ll be fine, as if you don’t matter, as if it’s all about your dad. Is that right?’
‘Listen, Danny…’
‘No, you listen. I’ll answer the question for you: it’s not right. It isn’t right at all. And I know that because I’ve got a better idea of how your dad would feel about it than you have. Do you really think he’d agree that you don’t matter?’
A waitress slipped a steaming plate in front of each of them. Rachel smiled her thanks and waited for the girl to leave.
‘Gimme peace, Danny. And stop trying to psychoanalyse me. I’ll deal with my dad in my own way and my own time.’
‘And how is that going to affect you and Tony?’
‘Pass the salt.’
‘Okay, two final things. First, your dad wouldn’t thank you for doing anything that would make you unhappy. Secondly, you really need to use less salt. It’ll fuck up your arteries.’
Narey sprinkled more salt on her lasagne, paused to stick two fingers up to Danny, then sprinkled on some more.
CHAPTER 42
This time when Winter and Danny drove back into Bridgend Caravan Park, they knew just where to head. Danny parked outside Tommy Baillie’s home, recognising the bashed car that sat beside it. The snow piled on top suggested that neither it nor Baillie had gone anywhere for days.
Their exit from their own car attracted the attention of a yelping dog, a brown and white mongrel that seemed unperturbed by the cold or the snow. The barking brought the wary head of Tommy Baillie to the caravan window and he nodded to his visitors before opening the door to greet them.
‘Come away in,’ he told the two men. ‘Far too cold to be standing avri on a doorstep. The chill’s going right through my old bones. Not seen weather like this in years.’
They followed Baillie inside, immediately grateful for the warmth of the caravan, and accepted his invitation to take a seat. The old man had a pipe on the go, puffing it contentedly as he waited for his guests to settle themselves.
‘So you have some news of young Sam, I hope, gentlemen.’
‘We have,’ Danny agreed. ‘But it’s not…’
Before Danny could go any further, he was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door and, the stocky figure of Jered Dunbar walked in without waiting for an answer. Closing the door behind him, he stood and glared at the visitors in his usual sullen and threatening fashion.
‘Uncle,’ he nodded at Baillie.
‘Relax, Jered,’ Baillie told him. ‘Gentlemen have just come to let us know what they learned about cousin Sam and his activities in Glasgow.’
Jered stood grudgingly by the door, accepting the old man’s counsel to relax but still obviously on edge.
‘And to get some information in return,’ Danny reminded Baillie. ‘This arrangement was to benefit both parties, Mr Baillie.’
A flicker of a smile crossed the man’s mouth as he nodded in agreement.
‘Ah, yes, your long-lost girl. A proper sadness that was and all. I think it is only right we help each other after such a terrible thing, Mr Neilson.’
Danny levelled Baillie with a hard stare.
‘Yes, except the help you were offering us was a load of old bollocks.’
Jered immediately took a step forward, anger blazing in his dark eyes, but Danny wasn’t fazed for a second.
‘Cool your jets, son,’ he growled dismissively. ‘The grown-ups are talking. Listen and you might learn something.’
Jered looked towards Baillie, who nodded quietly, and the younger man fell back against the caravan door, still bristling with resentment.
‘I think Jered was a bit perturbed by your rudeness, Mr Neilson. He’s not used to guests talking in such a manner. Explain yourself, please.’
‘My pleasure. We’ve gone out of our way to find out what your boy Sam has been up to. And what we’ve discovered is very interesting indeed.’
Danny saw the looks that flashed between Baillie and Jered.
‘And it was our intention to pass this information on to you,’ he continued. ‘But now we learn you aren’t going to be keeping your side of the bargain — because you can’t. The girl who died wasn’t a runaway gypsy bride and there wasn’t any sort of honour killing.’
‘I never said there was,’ Baillie replied softly.
‘No, you didn’t, you devious old bugger. But you let us think there might have been.’
Baillie puffed on his pipe and tilted his head to one side as if considering the suggestion.
‘Well, I suppose I can see how you might have got that impression, Mr Neilson. But a bargain, in our community, is a bargain.’
‘And in ours, a con is a con.’
Danny let the impasse hang between them, sensing the impatient irritation of Jered and the calmer but still expectant air of Tommy Baillie.
‘So what are you proposing, Mr Neilson?’ Baillie enquired. ‘I’m keen to find out what young Sam is up to so that we can help him.’
‘I’m proposing another bargain.’