Jimmy was sitting in the chair, worrying about what to tell the police the next day and drinking the last of the MadMan when he heard the noise in the hall. "Ya wee besom." He stood up and stepped across to the door. "Will ye get to your bed?"
Alan wasn't in the hall. Jimmy looked up the stairs. He wasn't on the stairs either. He looked up at the door to the boys' room and it was shut just as firmly as it had been when he'd let Maureen O'Donnell out. He looked down. A brown envelope was lying on the floor, dropped through the letter box. Jimmy picked it up and ripped open the flap. He pulled the photographs out and looked at them. She had been badly beaten right enough but the injuries were healing. He could see that the bruises were yellow and green now, not black as they would have been. She was wearing a paper hat from a Christmas cracker, sitting at a table with a big dinner in front of her and four or five other women, smiling for the camera. She was sitting on a settee with a lassie with bad teeth and a flat nose. Ann was standing by a tree with a whole lot of other women and on the wall behind them hung a big sign showing where the fire exits were. It was Ann's last Christmas, Christmas Day in the shelter. Jimmy ran his finger over her dear face and wept, thanking Maureen O'Donnell once again for all her kindness.
Chapter 26
Leslie slipped her arm through Maureen's and they made their way back to the bus station. It was cold and misty as they walked down the hill. Maureen's bag banged off her back as they hurried across the busy street.
The night-bus passengers were gathered together in the freezing concourse, smoking hard, trying to get enough nicotine into their systems to last the seven-hour journey Apart from a couple of well-fed, healthy students, who were roughing it, most of the travelers were going to London to look for work, to fulfill errands or to visit family who had moved away. The shoal of waiting passengers started at some invisible stimulus, grabbing their bags, shuffling quickly towards the glass wall, itching to get on. Maureen looked around but the bus doors weren't open and the lights weren't on. The crowd put their bags down again, lighting another last fag, bidding another last good-bye.
The night bus to London is a Glaswegian rite of passage. Most people try it once, attracted by the twenty-quid ticket, the comfortable seating and the promise of arriving in London as fresh as a daisy early in the morning. Only the poor or desperate do it twice. Maureen had done it many times. She always forgot how bad the journey was until she got to the station but her experience had given her a number of tips. The upstairs deck was the most comfortable because it was far from the smell of the chemical toilet and was usually warmer, which made it possible to sleep. It tended to attract the crazies but it filled up more slowly, making it easier to get and keep a double seat to herself. The double seat was the big prize: it meant she could stretch out and leave the bus without aching everywhere.
She took off her overcoat and put it into a plastic bag, pulled on a big jumper and took out a newspaper, a bottle of Coke and the bag of chocolate toffees Leslie had brought for her. Leslie pulled the neck of Maureen's jumper straight and looked angry. "Phone me. Take care when you're down there, okay?"
"I'll be fine, Leslie, don't fuss me."
They stood close together, smoking and watching for signs of the driver. A gangly man wearing a blue nylon uniform sauntered casually down the side of the bus, keeping his head down, pretending not to notice the forty pairs of eyes behind the glass watching him like an aquarium of hungry piranhas. He leaned down to the side, unlocked the boot, and the mob surged towards him, shoving and jostling to be first. He checked Maureen's ticket, took her bag and threw it into the hold.
"Right," said Leslie. "Take care."
"I will."
They hugged each other tight. Leslie backed away, stepping onto the shallow pavement in front of the glass wall as Maureen climbed on board. A different driver was waiting to double-check her ticket. He was short with a fags-and-sunbed-withered face, a jet black curly Afro perm and blindingly white false teeth. "On ye go," he said, in a strangled, nasal squeal.
She had to wait patiently in the queue, edging up the stairs one at a time. The top deck was full of people sorting themselves into the chairs. Maureen bagsied a double seat one down from the back row and sat by the aisle, putting her paper and sweets and Coke on the seat by the window. She had learned that the best method for keeping a double seat was to look more obnoxious and unwelcoming than anyone else. She pretended to read her paper, sticking her elbows across the armrests, refusing to look at anyone coming up the stairs. The crowd outside the window diminished as the passengers filtered onto the bus, the aisle emptied and the passengers settled. Maureen was beginning to think she'd get the double seat to herself. Leslie stood on the pavement, watching her, looking very small and far away. She waved and Maureen waved back.
A mob of cheery drunk men appeared at the side of the bus, flinging their bags at the driver and piling in through the door. They climbed the stairs with difficulty, pulling at one another and laughing. The first man up the stairs spotted the empty backseat. "Look, boys," he shouted, "the very dab."
They fell up the aisle in a haze of stale smoke and beer, taking up the back row behind Maureen, tugging their jackets off and congratulating one another on their den. They were almost settled when a disheveled wee man emerged from the stairwell. He was a good fifteen years older than the rest of them and wore thick specs and a dirty yellow anorak zipped up tight at the neck. He looked around, spotted his pals on the backseat and cursed. "D'yees no' save a seat for me?"
Behind Maureen's head the men jeered at him, telling him to sit down.
"Cunts," he said, spotting Maureen's precious extra seat. He stood next to her, waiting for her to move. Maureen sighed and stood up, moving over to the window, sitting the sweets and Coke on her lap. The man aimed his body and fell into the seat, landing heavily and clearing his throat. "Right, hen?" he asked the headrest in front of him. He turned and squared up to her, making a small, defensive mouth. The lenses on his glasses were so thick they distorted his eyes into tiny things, a blurry mess of blue and red and crumbs. "Are ye no' fucking talking tae me? Too good fur me, is it?"
A bald man shoved his face between the headrests behind her. "Jokey," he said, "shut it."
Jokey looked around the bus indignantly. He coughed and nonchalantly scratched his bollocks.
"Don't worry, hen," the bald man said to Maureen, "he'll be sleeping in a minute."
Maureen was looking at a long night of Jokey snoring and dribbling, with nothing to comfort her but a bottle of Coke and a bag of chocolate toffees. Leslie waved from the pavement again and Maureen waved back at her. A speaker above the stairs crackled to life and the Afroed driver spoke, sounding bored and telling them that they were in Glasgow but were going to London. He must have been doing the job for a long time because he had anticipated all their tricks. "There will be no smoking on this journey," he said. "There will be no drinking." The backseat gang interrupted the announcement to cheer the mention of drink. "There will be no fighting." They cheered louder. "Passengers are informed that they must keep their feet and bags out of the aisle at all times." The men hoo-rayed and whistled. "Anyone found to be breaking these rules," continued the driver, "will be put off the bus at the side of the motorway and left there."
The men stopped cheering.
"We will be stopping at the Knutsford services at three thirty a.m. for refreshments. We will be leaving the Knutsford services at three fifty a.m. Any passengers not on board will be left behind. A member of the team will shortly be coming around to serve you tea, coffee and sandwiches. We hope you enjoy your journey with Caledonia Buses."