"You pull," said Maureen to Kilty, "and I'll push."
Maureen tucked her hands under Leslie's legs and Kilty tugged at her arm. Leslie's face erupted into a wonky, reluctant grin. "Fuck off, no, stop."
Maureen climbed out of the van and tumbled round to Kilty's side.
"Chuck him, chuck him, chuck him," chanted Kilty, banging her fists on an imaginary table. "Look how miserable you are." She pressed her fingers on Leslie's cheek and flicked her face away. "Get on with your life, lovely woman. Ye're coming to the wedding?"
Leslie shook her face free of Kilty's hand and let the van roll down the hill to the lights.
"She is coming?"
"Aye," said Maureen. "We're all coming."
Kilty's brother was getting married in two days' time. Predictably it was to be a huge affair, a thirty-grand extravaganza, with a reception in Cameron House, a castle hotel on the banks of Loch Lomond. The venue presupposed a car. Kilty didn't know her brother's friends and had insisted on bringing Liam, Leslie and Maureen. Maureen knew that part of the reason Kilty liked being seen with them was because they inspired shock and disappointment when introduced.
Maureen and Kilty sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee while they counted out the coins and notes from the week into freezer bags of fifty quid. Maureen wanted a whiskey but knew Kilty would object. She didn't approve of Maureen's drinking and had sat her down the previous spring and suggested she get help for it. Having worked in a detox unit in London for a while, Kilty was a bit overcautious. Given a choice between giving up drinking or disguising it in front of Kilty, Maureen opted for the latter.
As they counted, Maureen told her the story of Ella and the small-claims case, about the hospital and Ella crouched on the crossbar and the way Si was with her. As she told the story she felt the familiar heat in her belly and the tension in her neck. She liked it.
"So," said Kilty, sweeping a pile of pound coins into a plastic bag, "what makes you think the son did it?"
'Cause she was so scared of him, she said, 'Get me out.' He was really creepy and she said she'd had a fall and he told the police she'd been mugged. And then suddenly she's dead."
Kilty looked unconvinced. "Is it any of your business?"
"No," said Maureen, trying to remember why she suspected Si, "but it's weird, isn't it? She wouldn't speak when her son was there and he watched her all the time. Like, on Saturday, he really didn't want me to be left alone with her and even when I was changing her into a nightie he left the door open a bit."
"Kinky," said Kilty, tapping a sheaf of fivers into a tidy bundle.
"The guy in the morgue said she'd died of a heart attack."
"But you don't think she did."
"I don't know," said Maureen. "If she did, it was because she was terrified."
"Could the son have bribed them to say that she died of a heart attack?"
"Nah," said Maureen, wondering if Kilty was getting her to talk herself out of it. "ltd cost a right few bob to get them to change the cause of death on a certificate, wouldn't it? He'd need to bribe doctors and everything. He didn't look that well heeled to me."
"What if he just bribed the guy in the morgue to say it to you? D'you think he'd know you'd come back to visit and ask about it?"
"Yeah." Maureen thought of the poly-bag with the nighties and the soap in it. "He knew I'd be back."
'Cause if the police think she was mugged and died of her injuries they'll be looking for a murderer. Do you think it could get a bit heavy?"
Maureen hesitated. She didn't know. "Well," she said sourly, "are ye not going to come with me, then?"
Kilty sat up and looked at her. "Keep your fucking hair on," she shouted, breaking into a grin. "Drama, drama, drama."
"How could we find out the cause of death?"
"Dunno," muttered Kilty. "Ask her doctors?"
"I don't know the doctors."
They went back to the count, filling Liam's bags with notes because he had other people to collect from. Maureen took most of the smash for herself, because it was going in the cupboard and she didn't need to carry it anywhere. There were six bags each for Maureen and Leslie.
At seven o'clock exactly Liam knocked at the door and Kilty went to let him in. "All right, Kilty?" he said, coming down the hall with a fag in his hand. "How are ye?"
He looked pissed off and tired, and Maureen guessed he was nervous about his resit the next day. He had three people to visit before he came to her and they weren't always as cooperative as she was. "You all right, Liam?" she asked.
"That fucking wee arse up in Springburn wasn't in."
"He's done that before."
"Well, he won't be doing it again. I'm not supplying him anymore."
"All set for your exam tomorrow?"
Liam flushed and looked nauseous. "Don't even talk about it. Have you seen this one?"
He handed her a Sunday newspaper from the day before. On page five it carried a double-page story detailing Maureen's breakdown and her stay in hospital. It had a whole lot of rubbish about how she'd met Douglas when she was still in there and had fallen madly in love with him. In the accompanying photograph, taken after a bad fight during a family dinner, Maureen was arm in arm with their oldest sister, Marie. Marie was beaming and pretty, wearing a beautifully cut scarlet dress. Next to her, Maureen looked sulky and rude. It was taken during the good times for Marie, before she and her husband had become Lloyds Names and gone bankrupt, before her husband left her and went off to farm wheat in the Ukraine. "This is unmitigated crap," she said. "Why's Marie in this picture? She should sue them."
"Look." Liam leaned over her shoulder, pointing to an italicized paragraph at the bottom of the article. Marie had sold her story to the paper.
"How fucking dare she?" breathed Maureen. "She wasn't even there-we haven't spoken to each other for fucking years."
"I know. She's a shit."
Maureen was staggered. "She wouldn't even know I'd gone out with anyone called Douglas if he hadn't been killed."
"I know."
"Let's see," said Kilty, and took the paper from Maureen.
Maureen looked at Liam furiously, demanding some sort of response, but Liam just shrugged. "They offer a lot of money, Mauri, and she's bankrupt, ye know. Winnie's furious with her."
"That's rich," said Maureen. "She gave them that picture of me in Millport."
"Yeah," grinned Kilty. "I like you in that picture."
"But," said Liam, "Winnie was blacked out at the time and doesn't remember doing it."
"Thank fuck it's a Tory rag. At least no one in Paddy's will have seen it."
"I wouldn't worry about it," said Kilty. "It's funny seeing you in the paper." She leaned across and poked Liam in the tummy. "And you're still driving us up to the wedding?"
Liam sat down at the kitchen table. "Aye, yeah." He held the cigarette between his teeth, sliding the freezer bags across the table and dropping them into his bag. "Haven't ye got any other hillbilly pals ye can frighten your family with?"
"No," said Kilty seriously. "You're the roughest people I know."
Liam rubbed smoke out of his eye. "Do you get out at all?"
"I don't want to know real rough people," said Kilty, going back to read the paper, "just slightly rough ones like you."
Liam smiled at Maureen. "Isn't that a nice thing to say?"
"She's got the patter right down," said Maureen, draining her coffee cup.
"Is it two o'clock we're picking you up at?" asked Liam.
"Yep," said Kilty. "Outside my house."
Liam looked around the table curiously. "Mauri, don't you always get pissed on Monday nights? Why are you two drinking coffee?"
"We're going out," said Kilty.
"Yeah," said Maureen, "we're going out."
Chapter 19
The Glasgow underground system has two concentric tracks, one running clockwise, the other anticlockwise. The trains are painted orange, hence the nickname the Clockwork Orange. Through a peculiarity of design, the Bridge Street underground station sucks down air from ground level, and halfway up the short flight of stairs is a windy vortex. Kilty and Maureen left the cold platform, battled through the buffeting Arctic wind and walked out into a calm, sunny Gorbals evening, just south of the river.