She watched the high summer sun set quickly, like an orange rolling off a table, and suddenly found herself sitting in a blue gloom, holding an empty glass, looking out over the street at closing time. Dispensing with formalities, she drank straight from the whiskey bottle, the tiny vacuum in the neck kissing the tip of her tongue. At the foot of the dark hill a string of orange streetlights flickered awake. It was a beautiful city and Maureen was glad she had lived here.
Chapter 3
No," said Cindy, watching her lift the upright Hoover out of the cupboard.
Ella McGee ignored her, unwound the flex and carried the plug to the wall socket.
"I said no."
Ella crouched down and punched the plug into the wall.
"She's right, Mrs. G.," said Kevin. "He said not tae."
"Well," Ella smiled up at the bouncer, "I think I know a wee bit more about cleaning than he does."
"Look, you." Cindy came around the desk and stomped towards her, moving gracelessly in her high heels and miniskirt. "Don't fucking…" She tried to bend down to take out the plug but her tight skirt stopped her so she shouted instead, "Not when there's punters here, ya daft old cow. He's fuckin' telt ye."
And it was then that Ella made the worst mistake of her life. She elbowed Cindy in the leg, hitting her hard on the shin. Cindy reached for the desk on her way down, pulling the cheap table over, knocking the phone on the floor. Ella stood up and looked at her. Her skirt had ripped at the side, showing her baggy off-white knickers. Ella had never liked her – she thought she was something.
Cindy looked up at the old woman in the tracksuit, grinning down at her. "You fucking cunt," she screamed.
Kevin stepped towards them. "Girls, enough."
They heard steps on the stairs and Si appeared from the basement, hurrying up to the hallway when he saw Cindy on the floor. He helped her to her feet, saw the ripped skirt and sent her off to get another one.
"I want paid for it," said Cindy, looking at Ella.
"You'll get paid for it," he said. "Go to the back office and see if Cath's got one."
Cindy tottered down the hallway, huffing as if she'd hurt herself. Si righted the desk and picked up the phone, sitting the receiver in the cradle. He wouldn't look her in the eye and Ella knew it was bad. "Put that Hoover away," he said.
"That carpet needs going over – it's a right state."
Margaret's head appeared at the mouth of the stairs to the basement. She looked at her brother and Si turned to Ella. "Look, we need to talk to you."
It was his own office, not the place's office, and no one was allowed in but Margaret and Si. It annoyed Ella. She'd tried to get in to clean it a couple of times, once when he was there and once when he was out. He wouldn't let her in and Cindy swore she didn't have a key. It wasn't anything special, just a dark room at the back of the basement, bars on the window, a fire escape leading to the alley, a desk with an open newspaper on it and a locked safe he must keep the money in. He could have trusted her, she would hardly have robbed him.
Margaret sat on the desk and Si took the chair. They seemed quite tense, the two of them, glancing at each other and looking away quickly, as if they'd been discussing her. Sometimes she felt she didn't know them at all. "That daft cow," she said. "She was trying to pull the plug out of the wall and she fell over. Did ye see her, Magret? Split her skirt right up her arse, so she did."
Margaret ignored her and looked at her brother. He sighed at the desk. "Look, Mum," he said heavily, "ye can't work here anymore."
Ella was stunned. "How no?" 'Cause you're a fucking trouble-causer," sneered Margaret. She'd a nasty, coarse manner about her sometimes.
Si touched his sister's arm, telling her to shut up. "Mum, ye can't get on with any of them, you're always doing things we ask you not to do." He had a nicer voice, a cultured voice.
"Like what do I do?" said Ella.
Si pointed up to the ceiling. "Like hoovering when there are men in -
"That carpet was a state." She nodded adamantly. "Ye want the place to have a bit of class, don't ye?"
"You don't listen," he said, shutting his eyes. "You don't listen to me."
"Simon," Ella laughed indignantly, "I don't need you to tell me when a carpet needs cleaned -"
"Get out now," said Margaret flatly.
"I will not get out," said Ella, looking to her son for support. Si blinked, cutting her off, and when he opened his eyes again, he was looking at the paper. Ella poked a finger at him. "You owe me my wages."
"Don't fucking pay her," said Margaret, and turned back to her mother. "Get out."
"I won't leave till yees give me what I'm owed."
"Don't fucking pay her, she's a waste of money."
Margaret and her brother looked at each other, smiling a little, enjoying humiliating their old mother, even now, in their thirties, savoring the power shift.
"I'll tell the polis about ye," said Ella, casting up a familiar threat they had used against her when they were children.
Si and his sister sniggered at her impotence. "They know about us," he said. "We've got a license for this place. D'ye think they really believe we're giving saunas until three in the morning?"
"They don't know about they foreign women, do they?" said Ella, and their smug faces fell. "They don't know ye keep them locked up through the wall there, do they?" She had expected them to react, maybe shout at her, but when she saw Margaret's hand coming out and the overhead light glint on the shaft of metal she knew she'd overplayed her hand by a mile. She lifted her hand to defend herself and the knife caught on her palm, sliding easily through the bridge of skin between her thumb and forefinger.
It was a deep cut, right through the flesh on her hand. Margaret laughed and watched Ella's hand bleeding onto the desk. Si pulled the newspaper under it, protecting the desk. Without saying sorry or even offering Ella her money, Si took down the first-aid box, covered the cut in cotton wool and wrapped a bandage round it. When he had finished he told her it would be best if she went home.
Cindy smirked at the appointments book as Ella walked past the desk. She had a red miniskirt on now, with zips up the side, and looked as cheap as the rest of them. She'd put the Hoover away and the carpet was still filthy. Kevin muttered that he was sorry as he opened the door for her. She kept it together until she got out into the dark street, and then Ella McGee cried all the way home.
Chapter 4
Outside the kitchen window the morning sky was as clear as a baby's conscience. Below, at the base of Garnethill, the slip road to the motorway was clogging up and the heat began to rise from the dawning city. Maureen sipped her coffee and shuddered compulsively, remembering the sleepy vagueness in her limbs just before the alarm. She looked out at the blackened silhouette on the horizon. It was the jagged tower of an old fever hospital, built a mile away from the city. Around it, peering over the shoulder of the hill, she saw the smashed onion domes on the smaller buildings, looking like caved-in heads.
Maureen had been dreaming about her stomach splitting open again, about Michael being in the room, touching her with razor fingers, making her bleed between her legs. It was getting worse – it was getting worse because he was out there somewhere. Acknowledging the fear tripped her mind to the image of Michael lying on the floor.
She kept thinking of a dark room. She shut her eyes. He was lying on his side ten yards from her, his breathing labored. Maureen's face was sore down one side, smarting from a punch or fall. She walked over to him, raised an arm for balance and brought the heel of her boot down on his head, again and again, felt the cracking of bone shudder up her leg, again and again, until Michael was dead.