"You," said Inness, reaching into the hall to grab Kilty.
A sudden loud crack rent the air and Jim Maliano was standing in the close, his chest puffed out like an improbable superhero. He was wearing a blue shirt tucked tightly into his pink slacks. "Enough," he declared, tapping a small notebook with a specially sharpened pencil and pointing at the policemen individually. "The both of you have been up here before, causing trouble at this house. I have already been on the phone to your station. That's four times altogether I've done that and they assured me that the matter will be dealt with forthwith"
The policemen were smirking again but not as confidently now. They backed away from Maureen's door and turned on Jim Maliano. "And what is your name, sir?"
"My name," said Jim, pink and tremulous, "is James Maliano. My cousin is Detective Inspector Nicolas Farquharson of the Midlothian Police and he will be advising me how best to pursue my complaint against the lot of you at Stewart Street."
No longer confident that Jim could be bullied, they looked at each other. Something shrugged and hesitated before dropping an uncertain foot to the first step. Inness dipped his head, reluctant to give in, but his companion nodded him away.
"You," said Inness, pointing at Maureen, "be there."
He backed down the first two steps and Kilty stuck her head out of the door. "Bye-ya," she said, in a girlish falsetto.
The policemen glared at them.
"See ye later," sang Kilty. "Take care, now."
Jim Maliano was glaring at Maureen, and she wondered how she could possibly have suspected the officious little twit of being in league with Angus. "I have warned you," said Jim, "about the noise level in this close."
"Sorry, Jim," she said, backing into her hall. "Sorry about all of it."
Back in the living room they settled uneasily into their respective places on the settee but it didn't seem as cozy now, as if the visit had burst the boundaries of their evening, letting the big scary world seep into the house.
"Would they have jailed ye?" asked Leslie quietly.
"Yeah," said Maureen, holding her cold fingertips to her burning eyes.
"For not turning up?" asked Kilty.
"For thinking about not turning up," said Maureen, taking a long drink.
Kilty and Leslie watched her. "What d'ye think'll happen in the trial?" asked Leslie.
"Joe McEwan thinks he'll get off," said Maureen, drinking again.
"And then what?" said Kilty quietly.
"He'll come for me."
Leslie sat staring out of the window and thinking. As if she was going to hit Maureen's legs, she reached out quickly, snatched up the bottle of cheap, own-brand whiskey and filled Maureen's glass. "Bad timing," she muttered.
Kilty smiled, glad it was over. "Yeah," she said. "Bad timing."
Maureen drank again, enjoying it while she could. She decided not to tell them that Hugh had promised that her house would be full of policemen when Angus came. She'd tell them after the drink was done. As she drank she realized that delaying the trial meant she had an extra two days to do something about Michael, two more days to get herself together enough to face him. Being allowed to drink and a two-day stay of execution made the night feel quite luxurious.
"Why will he get out?" said Leslie.
"He's saying that I gave him drugs, and the drugs made him do the murders."
"Did ye give him drugs?" asked Kilty.
Maureen and Leslie looked at each other.
"She did," said Leslie.
"I gave him a load of bad acid but it was after the murders."
"We went to Millport on Cumbrae and he followed us on the ferry," said Leslie. "Because we had Siobhain with us and he wanted to kill her to shut her up. Mauri fed him the acid and tied him to a bed."
"Where were you?" Kilty asked her.
Leslie looked at her hands. "I shat it," she said. "I encouraged her to do it and then I shat it and left her to do it alone."
"You stayed with Siobhain," said Maureen. "Someone had to stay with her."
"I shat it."
"Where did you get the acid?" asked Kilty.
"I got it from a wee guy who knows Liam," said Maureen, "but they're going to say I got it from Liam and tell everyone he's a drug dealer. The uni might even chuck him out."
"You don't know that," Kilty reassured her.
"Naw, I don't, but they've raided him and they've got that evidence to bring so it makes it easier to get the audience to believe I did it-"
"The jury, Mauri," corrected Leslie.
"Yeah, the jury. Them."
They settled back, watching adverts, and Maureen thought of poor dead Ella lying on her cold metal bed, leaving nothing in the world but Si and Tonsa.
The Friday night porno started on television. Two women rubbed about on each other, one looking nauseous, the other in an advanced state of sexual excitement for no discernible reason. Maureen stood up and turned it off. "Look," she said, "I know you don't believe me about McGee but will you humor me over it for a wee bit?"
Kilty and Leslie looked at each other again and Maureen wondered just how close they were.
"For how long?" asked Kilty.
Maureen shrugged. The court case was this week and she'd have to decide about Michael before she ended up in jail. "A week," she said, randomly.
Kilty and Leslie looked at each other. "A week," agreed Leslie.
They sat with Maureen for a while to show her they were sorry for talking about her drinking. Eventually Kilty stood up and picked up her bag. "We going to look for Candy III at the Wayfarers' Club tomorrow, then?"
"Yeah," said Maureen. "Can we talk to your dad about Si McGee?"
Kilty smiled uncomfortably. "I dunno. He's not very keen on you at the minute."
Kilty promised to meet them the next evening and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Leslie waited until Kilty's last footfall had finished echoing around the close. "Mauri," she said, "why are you so afraid of Angus Farrell?"
"Nothing."
Leslie, not known for affectionate gestures, reached out and touched her arm. "You've been freaked by him since Millport. What happened there? I know ye didn't just feed him the acid, I know something else happened."
Maureen sighed into her chest. She wanted to speak, wanted to say it out loud, but it stuck in her throat and swelled. "You know the dreams?" she said. "About the fingernail and the blood?"
"Yeah," said Leslie, filling in the hesitation.
"He said…" She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "… Angus said Michael raped me."
Leslie sat back against the sofa and together they looked out at the black sky. "He said this in Millport, right?"
"Yeah."
"After you'd given him the acid? After you'd tied him up?"
"Yeah. But he was my therapist, he was astute, he knew things."
"Mauri, that's a lot of shite. He said it to hurt ye, to frighten ye. If ye'd been raped at that age ye wouldn't get a wee nick inside the wall of your fanny. It would be split all the way up."
"But he said-"
"Mauri, I think Angus Farrell probably said a lot of things to a lot of people."
Maureen looked into the deep swirling amber in her glass. "I feel as if I'm losing it again," she said, in the quietest voice.
Leslie was afraid she was right.
Without meaning to, they slept on the floor in the living room. It was the breeziest room in the house with the biggest windows and everywhere else was unbearably hot. When they woke up it was eight o'clock and they were already late for the market. Outside the window a pitiless sun glared over the city and they both wished it would rain.
The market was busy and the Saturday crowd of buyers were waiting impatiently for them. They served the backlog and settled on their wee stools, glad to be in the cold tunnel.
"There was guys here looking for the two of you earlier," said Peter.
"There was a gang of men when we got here," said Leslie.
"Two guys looking for you." Peter pointed at Maureen. "One of them had a suit on and the other one had a camera. Guy in a Celtic shirt was asking for you, Leslie."