I was grateful when the undertaker announced that we should go. There were two limos for six passengers… Thornie had a vehicle all to himself… so there was plenty of space. Jean offered Alex a seat in hers, as a close blood relative, but she chose to stay with me. The pace was indeed funereal, but the drivers were experts and we arrived at exactly the right time.
The service took half the time that the drive had. Psalm twenty-three, prayer, hymn, prayer ending in Lord’s Prayer (the Scottish version where we forgive debtors and our debts are forgiven too; that’ll be right!), eulogy, committal, benediction. All crematoria seem to operate to the same tight timetable, but at least the place was full of Thornton’s enduring friends, the minister knew all about him and wasn’t reading from a script provided by the family, and oh, as I was reminded, those Lanarkshire Proddies sure can sing. I didn’t join them; I only do that when I’ve had a couple of drinks and I know that somebody’s listening. Alison did, though; I hadn’t realised that she had such a nice contralto voice.
When it was all over, and Jean and I had shaken hands with the departing mourners at the door… I couldn’t let her do that on her own, and Lowell was too new on the scene… we moved on to a hotel in Bothwell, a place that must make a small fortune from the proximity of the crematorium, for more salmon sandwiches, more Bristol Cream, stories about the departed and the laughter that always comes from the release of tension. It unsettled Alex; I could see that either she was going to cry or she’d let someone have both barrels, so I took her into a corner and explained that one day she’d be doing exactly the same herself, probably after seeing me off.
Jean saw us and came across to join us. I left them to their aunt-niece chat and walked across to the corner that Alison and Lowell Payne had commandeered. I shook hands with the sergeant properly. It had been perfunctory at Thornie’s place. ‘Good to meet you,’ I said. ‘How’s Strathclyde taking to its new chief?’
‘Mr Govan? He’s way above my head, and I’m a long way from Pitt Street, thank heaven, but from what I hear he’s shaking things up.’
‘I’d expect no less,’ I agreed. ‘He lectured at a course I was on at Tulliallan; not a man to sugar the pill.’
‘I’ve heard much the same about you.’
I smiled. ‘I didn’t know I was being watched.’
‘We take an interest in you through here, since you’re one of us. Ever think about coming back?’ he asked.
‘Not once. Not once in fourteen years.’ In fact, John Govan had sounded me out, after his lecture, to see if I’d consider a move to Glasgow, but I’d declined, politely, as it pays to be with the most powerful police officer in the land.
‘Shoe the other foot,’ I continued. ‘Have you ever considered a move east?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘but Jean wouldn’t like it, and what she wants she can have as far as I’m concerned.’
On the basis of my background check and our brief acquaintance, I’d have found him a slot, but I decided not to pursue it. ‘How’s Hamilton?’ I asked him. ‘When I was a boy, the River Clyde was like the Berlin Wall, dividing it and Motherwell. The twain never met.’
He smiled. ‘It’s okay. There’s worse places to be… Motherwell, for example.’
‘It wasn’t always like that. There was a working-class morality about when the steel industry was at its height.’
‘Yes, but with the Protestant jackboot on the neck of the Catholic minority, through its old police force.’
I couldn’t argue; he knew the local history of my home town. He was an interesting guy, and forthright with it. I could see why he hadn’t been earmarked for higher rank. ‘Those were the days,’ I said to Alison. ‘I’m glad I missed them.’ I looked back at Lowell. ‘You’ll be a Hamilton boy, then?’
He nodded. ‘Born and bred.’
‘Big place, I know,’ I ventured, ‘but have you ever heard of a family called McGrew?’
‘Sure, as in Alafair. She was a budding actress, and good at her personal PR from an early age. Her name was always cropping up in the Hamilton Advertiser, for winning awards at the Athenaeum, or getting a bit part in Take the High Road.’
‘What’s the Athenaeum?’ Alison asked.
‘Royal College of Music and Drama in Glasgow,’ I told her. ‘Some very well-known people came out of there.’
‘Alafair hasn’t come up to Ian Richardson’s level, though,’ Lowell added. ‘I haven’t seen much about her lately.’
‘Career change. She married a footballer.’ I almost added, ‘And started playing away games,’ but decided to hold that back. ‘But he plays for Hibs,’ I went on, ‘hence her absence from the Advertiser, and from the telly.’
Sergeant Payne was sharp. ‘It wouldn’t be the guy Drysalter, would it?’
‘It would indeed.’
‘The hit and run victim?’
‘The same. Someone hit him, several times, with a baseball bat, and ran away… but that information stays within our domestic group, Lowell, okay?’
‘Sure, sir, Bob… whatever.’
Alison laughed. ‘I have the same trouble, sometimes.’
‘Which she’s getting over,’ I said. ‘I’ll be calling her “Ma’am” soon.’
‘You will this weekend. On board my brother’s boat I’m the first mate and you’re a deckhand.’
‘Shit, I thought you were the stewardess.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Speaking of which, we should be making a move. We’d better collect Alex and say our goodbyes. You know what happens at these things, Lowell, don’t you? Bets are laid on who’s going up the chimney next?’
He nodded towards Uncle Moffat, who was holding a large whisky in two small hands. ‘There won’t be too many takers,’ he muttered.
‘Thornie said the same thing about him after Myra’s funeral, but the old boy’s seen him off.’
We shook hands for a third time, as Alison went to rescue Alex from the great-aunts. ‘Do me a small favour if you can. See if you can pick up any local knowledge about Alafair’s family background.’ I took a card from the ever-present stash in my breast pocket and slipped it to him. ‘Just for fun. I’d like to know how she became the girl she is.’
The last leg of the journey was much less sombre than the first two. Alex promoted Alison to the front passenger seat, so that she could retreat into the back and listen to the Spice Girls and others on her CD Walkman.
‘Well,’ I began as I negotiated the complex interchange that led to the motorway network, ‘what did you think of that crew?’
‘What do they think of me,’ Alison countered, ‘that’s the question.’
‘Don’t let that worry you for one second. You and Jean seemed to get on fine and that’s all that matters.’
‘She seemed all right. Was Myra like her?’
‘Not much. Jean’s much more reserved than she was. She’s coming out of it now, though, having rectified her mistake.’
‘What mistake?’
‘Her first husband. Prick.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘That description was generous. But you’re right about Jean and me, we’ve always got on.’ I didn’t see any need to tell her how well we’d got on at one time. ‘The great-aunts, though, they’ve never been close to us. They didn’t approve of Myra. They thought she was “flighty”, a fine old Lanarkshire word for a girl with a bit of personality. She was that all right. As for old Moffat, he may be doolally now, but even when he had his wits about him he was an old cunt, pardon my French.’ I glanced in the mirror, but Alex was isolated by her headphones and couldn’t have overheard. ‘You can tell at funerals, those who’ve come along out of respect and those who’re there with an eye on the will. Those who were can forget it. Thornton changed his will after Myra died; he discussed it with me because he felt I should know. Before then everything was to be split equally between his two daughters; afterwards, Alex replaced her mother as a fifty per cent beneficiary. It’ll be a tidy amount too; she and I will need to discuss how it should be invested. If the aunts had known that they wouldn’t have looked in her direction.’
‘You can choose your friends,’ Alison began to quote, ‘but…’