When Siobhain had finished her tea she took Leslie to help her finish the weeding by the far wall, leaving Maureen and Liam alone. The sun was sliding behind the house, a bank of thick shade sneaking up on them.
"So," said Maureen, lighting a fag, "what else have you lied convincingly about?"
"Nothing," said Liam, savoring the last of the sun.
"You beat Tonsa up, didn't ye?" she said suddenly.
Instantly defensive he turned to her, sucking his teeth in a hiss. He saw her eyes and dropped the stance.
"Ye cut her wrist – she could have bled to death."
"I didn't cut her," he said quietly.
"You did beat her up, though, didn't ye?"
Liam nodded faintly. "Mauri, things happen sometimes-"
"Did you hit her in the face?"
He wrinkled his brow as he watched Siobhain and Leslie. "Things got out of control. I'm not proud of it. I got into a situation…" He squirmed in his chair, avoiding her eye. "I can see in hindsight… I got into a situation and there was nothing else I could do. I wish it had gone another way. I wish I was a better person and had never been in that position. But I'm not, I was there and there was a situation…"
"Did ye cut her?" she said.
"No," he half smiled, "I never cut her. There's a lot you don't know about Tonsa, a lot ye don't want to know about her. Tonsa's got a bad knife habit. She cuts herself and other people when she can get away with it. 'Member she was in the paper with her boyfriend when he got slashed? 'Stop These Evil Men' headline? Well, it was Tonsa. Tonsa cut him."
He looked at her, expecting relief or some sort of reaction, but she was staring at the ground in front of her, neck limp, thinking. She could see it all clearly now, proud Ella the Flash and Tonsa playing a knife over her hand, switching her skin, muttering threats not to tell, while Si sat and watched. She could have said something to the mortician at the time if she'd known, but Liam had lied about Tonsa. He'd been lying to her about Tonsa for over a year.
"I met Benny on Friday," she said to hurt him. "I had a cup of tea with him."
Liam stared at her but she didn't look at him. She was waiting for him to shout at her that Benny was a bastard, but he didn't.
"How is he?"
"He's sorry."
"Is that enough for you, that he's sorry?" Liam asked. "Even though he helped Farrell fuck you over, after all he did?"
"No," she said, "it's not nearly enough. But I'm glad he's sorry. He asked after ye."
"Did he?" Liam twisted his mouth, suppressing a smile, and turned back to the garden.
It was a long shot, she knew, but it was worth a try, just in case. "You've lied to me about the baby, haven't ye?"
Liam drank the end of his tea. He put the cup down so carefully she hardly dared to look at him.
"Haven't ye?"
He sat very still for a while, one hand clutching his hair, the elbow resting on his knee. She touched his sunburned back and he flinched. "What is it?" she said, watching her searing white handprint fade on his red skin.
Liam looked away from her. "She's called her Maureen," he said.
Maureen O'Donnell sat very still as the iron entered her soul.
Chapter 40
It was getting dark, a depth of darkness they hadn't seen for weeks. Clouds were gathering overhead and the heat was intensifying. The city was headed for a storm.
Leslie shook her head. "Not there."
Maureen knew she was right. They were crouched behind the hedge at the back of the house and could see Una sitting in an armchair in the kitchen. The baby was asleep in the white plastic carry-chair, sitting on the table. Her little arms and legs stretched and flexed in her sleep, as if in dreamy remembrance of a watery time before now. Una had been watching the television from her chair but her head was slumped forward now. They had been in the dark lane for forty minutes, crouched behind the hedge. The vomit spill Maureen had left there a few nights ago had dried hard.
"God, my fucking knees are gonnae snap," said Leslie.
Maureen stood up and gestured to her to follow her out to the road. They walked round the corner to the bike, lighting badly needed cigarettes.
"Could he just be at home on his own?" said Leslie.
"Liam says he's not to be alone."
"At Winnie's, maybe?"
The last time Maureen had spoken to her, Winnie said they didn't like him and hadn't seen him for a while, but she hadn't spoken to Winnie for a long time and didn't know what the state of play was. "Mibi," she said.
"Come on," said Leslie. "We'll check out his house first."
Ruchill was a wasteland between two rough areas. Damp housing thrown up in the fifties had recently been ripped down, leaving a Hiroshima landscape of roads crisscrossing empty rectangles of grass and rubble and a line of occupied tenements skirting the main road, like a Wild West film set. The devastation ended with a sharp dip down a hill to a deep burn. At the other side of the road the burned-out tower of the old fever hospital, blackened and brooding, watched the road.
The entrance to Michael's flat was round the back through a narrow, opencast staircase cut between the extended backs of shops on the ground floor, leading up to the raised back court.
Leslie turned off the engine and they sat and stared at the stairs. They didn't know which house was his and would have to climb up to the trap of the back court to find out. They got off the bike and stood looking around aimlessly. Above them, beyond the sharp railings, a clothesline swung in the scorching wind. Leslie cleared her throat. "You wait here and I'll go up," she said. "Stay with the bike."
"No, I'll go," said Maureen, insisting out of obligation.
"I'll go," said Leslie. "Ye can't leave a bike unattended in an area like this."
But there was no one around to protect the bike from. As Leslie walked away Maureen noticed that she kept her helmet with her so that she could get away quickly. She watched Leslie engulfed by shadow then emerging at the top of the stairs. Leslie waved like an elated climber, then disappeared again.
Maureen looked around. Five hundred yards away a small estate of new buildings had lights on and windows open, the sound of Monday-night television wafting faintly across the flatland. The wind was coming from the east, bringing blistering heat with it, stinging her eyes. She looked above the tenement and saw the charred hospital tower. She could see it from her window. She remembered the winter past and how the tower had haunted her after Winnie told her Michael was staying up here. She had come up on her own and set fire to it, promised herself that she wouldn't let him take her down. She took a deep breath, remembering the cold snow on her face and the heat from the fire. Three days ago she couldn't think of Una's house without feeling sick, and now here she was outside Michael's. She thought of Una's baby flexing in the little chair and wanted to run back to the kitchen window to check that she was still there.
Leslie seemed to have been gone for a while. Maureen looked up just in time to see a head being swallowed in the darkness of the stairs. She didn't know who it was, didn't know who was coming towards her, and found herself moving behind the bike, holding on to the helmet by the mouth strut, ready to use it if she needed to.
It was Leslie and she was smiling. "He lives on the second floor but he's not in. Why don't ye go up?"
"Naw, it's all right," said Maureen casually. "We should find him."
Leslie put her hand on the handlebar as if she were touching base. "Go," she said. "Go and have a look."
Reluctantly, Maureen moved towards the stairs. The steps were steeper than they looked and the chill walls enfolded her, blocking the hot wind. She looked back to the bike from the dark. Leslie was resting her bum on it, ankles crossed casually in front of her.
The smell of rancid milk hit Maureen as soon as she reached the raised back court. Bags of rubbish were piled up by the back door, nipped and ripped open by nameless small animals. She approached the door and looked at the names.