‘Mags?’
‘In here,’ a sleepy voice replied.
He found her curled up in the recliner, a pile of jotters discarded on the floor.
‘Hey,’ Lorimer hunkered down by Maggie’s side, ‘what’s all this? Falling asleep on the job?’ he teased.
‘Mm… Sixth year creative writing folios. Must’ve dropped off.’
‘Riveting stuff then,’ he remarked, giving the jotters a cursory glance.
‘Less of the sarcasm, pal.’ Maggie’s mouth curved into a smile in the darkness. ‘Some of them are not bad at all.’
‘Just a wee tad soporific,’ he suggested, the laugh in his voice making her try to pull herself into a sitting position.
‘That word always reminds me of Peter Rabbit,’ Maggie mumbled, rubbing her eyes. ‘You know, when the Flopsy Bunnies all fell asleep.. soporific effect of too many lettuces…’
‘Come on, bed for you.’ Lorimer leaned over, one arm around Maggie’s shoulders as she gave an enormous yawn.
As they shuffled upstairs, Maggie lifted her head from his shoulder, stopping suddenly. ‘Oh, how did today go?’ She paused, waiting for a reply that was not immediately forthcoming. ‘Grim, was it?’
‘Yeah,’ Lorimer replied shortly, nudging her up towards the top of the stairs. ‘Come on, you’re bushed.’
Maggie Lorimer nodded to herself. Okay, if he didn’t want to discuss it, then that was fine with her. She’d learned a long time ago to let her husband begin any conversation about his work, whether it was about a case of serious crime or the day-to-day annoyances of administration. But this was a bit different. Acting Detective Superintendent William Lorimer had been appointed to another division to review a case that was going nowhere, the type of job that no self-respecting senior officer relished one little bit. There was always a degree of scepticism when a review took place and Lorimer knew well that it was the last thing he’d want on his own turf.
Listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom, Lorimer curled under the duvet. It had been grim down in K Division. Failte Gu Grianaig the sign had proclaimed as he’d entered the town. Welcome to Greenock. But his welcome, if it could be called that, had been pretty frosty. But that was to be expected. Nobody enjoyed being told that their own DCI was incompetent, especially under the circumstances. Colin Ray had messed up, that was obvious, but his wife had been dying of cancer! What more did they want from the guy? Lorimer’s sympathies had been for his fellow officer who had made zero progress in the case of wilful fire-raising in Kilmacolm. But how he had come to be put in as a review Senior Investigating Officer was still something of a mystery. Okay, the request had come from the usual admin channels, but he still felt uneasy about it. Someone in K Division had reported Ray as being less than satisfactory on this job. That was the rumour anyhow. And if he was a betting man, William Lorimer would have put his money on the female DI who had set out to give him such a hard time today.
It was as if Rhoda Martin was on a guilt trip, he thought, remembering the way she’d glowered furiously at him. That was more than resentment on behalf of her old boss who had taken sudden early retirement. And she’d agreed too readily that the case needed to be reviewed, receiving some raised eyebrows from those among her fellow officers who’d been present in the Greenock division. So why did he have the feeling that there was more to her attitude than met the eye?
As Maggie slipped in beside him, Lorimer turned on his side towards her. Folding her into his arms and letting her rub her cold feet against his own warm legs made any thought about Rhoda Martin vanish. That could wait till tomorrow. Right now there was only room for one woman in his bed.
CHAPTER 9
It was nice being wheeled along the pale laminate floors, the porter skilfully manoeuvring each doorway with not so much as a single bump. There was a nurse with her too, but none of them spoke as the walls slid past. She’d been glad to sink against the cushioned back of the chair, her feet supported by the metal rests. It was surprisingly comfortable; but then, weren’t there experts designing things like that, always bent on improving the… what was that word? The girl at the library. Her husband worked in that field. What was the word..? She frowned. It had been like this ever since that silly young doctor had asked her questions about who the prime minister was. Really! As if she didn’t know a simple thing like that. But some other things had eluded her; words that she knew she should remember, just hovering out of reach. ‘On the tip of my tongue,’ she wanted to say, but that particular organ had taken sides against her, too, refusing to let the words come out as they normally did.
She was guilty of talking too much, she knew that. Sometimes Maggie cut off their conversation with a reminder of work to do in the evenings (she always had such a pile of marking, poor lamb) and she’d put the telephone down with the sense that she’d been rattling on good style, hardly letting her daughter put in a word at all. Now, ironically, that renegade voice of hers was refusing to cooperate. Maybe she was just tired. It had happened before: after her operation. She’d hardly been able to string two words together, feeling the edges of speech slip away into a void.
Maybe that was why they weren’t engaging her in conversation right now. They knew she was too weary, wanted to spare her voice, perhaps. But, as Mrs Finlay listened to the chatter above the desk at the nurses’ station she felt… diminished.
Everything was different down here. She knew there was a nurse just behind her — aware of a flap of striped, grey skirt and beige stocking-ed legs — a tall girl anyway, but from this disadvantaged point the girl seemed to have taken on Amazonian proportions. Mrs Finlay felt as though she had fallen into a strange Swiftian world. It was true, that cliche about people in wheelchairs being ignored. She might have been part of the mechanism itself for all the notice that anyone took.
Mrs Finlay had seen it first when the tall, good-looking man at the end of the corridor had paused. A consultant, she’d decided, noticing his well-cut suit and colourful silk tie; he’d hesitated before an open door several yards in front of her then raised his hand in a salute. Was it someone who had recognised her? She’d seen so many already. Or was he simply being polite? She’d attempted to lift her own hand in reply, the smile automatic, eyes bright. But then as the chair rolled nearer, she realised that he was looking over her, at someone else entirely, and in that moment she knew just how invisible she had become. Nobody up there within the able bodied of the population towering over her really took any notice of a woman in a wheelchair, except to acknowledge that there was one. A woman-in-a-wheelchair.
Strangely she didn’t resent it. The experience was still too new, untested and, besides, it was only a temporary change until she was better. It wouldn’t be long — surely — until they fixed whatever had happened to this stupid side of her; this frozen space that had somehow closed down in that spasm of pain. It had been like a jolt of electric current surging through her, then snapping off one of her terminals. Now all they needed was the right sort of engineer to fix it. Just like the nice young boy who had come to sort her TV when everything had changed to digital.
Mrs Finlay smiled to herself, unable to see the crooked lift of her lips. Yes. Someone would fix it.
Now they were off again, rolling along another long corridor, and she had no idea what was happening, where she was being taken. At the turn of a corner she saw a patient being wheeled along, travelling towards them. It was a woman. And as they passed, their eyes met for an instant and Mrs Finlay saw an expression of pity in the other woman’s face followed by the merest nod of fellow feeling.