"Everyone says that," said Maureen, "but no one says what's wrong with him."
Winnie put the sodden biscuit into her mouth and chewed it. "He was taken into hospital today. Una says he turned up at hers in a minicab and his eyes were flickering about. She thinks he's had a fall and bumped his head. He falls over a lot."
"He's a bit young for taking tumbles, is he not?" said Leslie.
"Oh, aye, he's my age," said Winnie, adding, "twenty-one," as a weak joke. "He's in some state." She looked guilty.
"Is it the drink?" asked Maureen.
"I don't know what it is. Maybe he was always a bit missing. He might always have been like that-sure, what would I know? I was pissed the whole time I knew him. They've got him up in Gartnavel Royal for observation."
"Are you still drinking?" said Leslie. It was a redundant question. If Winnie had been drinking they would have known all about it.
Maureen and Winnie looked at each other. "I've no choice. They tell me my liver's gonnae explode if I drink again." She reached across the table and took Maureen's hand, squeezing tight. "You've made my year coming here like this," she said.
"Mum, I missed ye," said Maureen.
Winnie looked up and Maureen saw the angry questions in her eyes, asking why didn't ye phone me back if you missed me, why hurt me like that when I'm such a soul and the world's too much for me as it stands. But Winnie didn't say anything, just squeezed her hand again and made the best of it.
"Liam told me what they called the baby," said Maureen, and Winnie blanched.
"What did they call it?" asked Leslie.
Winnie and Maureen looked at each other and Winnie turned to Leslie. "Una called her after Maureen," she said diplomatically.
"That's pish," said Maureen. "She didn't name her after me, she gave her my name."
They sat in their makeshift beds in the dark living room, looking out over the city again, more peaceful than they had been the night before. Maureen thought about Michael's house, about facing it, and she knew she could do it. She felt a spark of sick excitement in her gut.
"She's very funny," said Leslie solemnly, assuming that Maureen was thinking about the same thing as her.
Maureen smiled, feeling not a little proud of her mum. "Yeah. I told ye."
"I know. Ye told me loads of times but I never met her sober and at the hospital she was always, frankly, a complete arsehole. It's amazing that drink can change someone that much, when ye think about it."
"The dark side of Winnie is a dark place indeed," said Maureen, settling down into her bed. "You seem calmer about Cammy."
"I never, ever want to see him again," said Leslie. "In a way I'm glad it happened. I was worried that I hadn't given him enough of a chance. You should see Kate Mclntyre – honestly, she's dead hard looking, ye know? Wears tops open to her navel."
Maureen put her hands under her head, and knew that she'd phone Mark Doyle in the morning. She had decided she was going to do it and nothing she did anymore had repercussions. "Leslie," she said, sitting up suddenly, "I've never told ye this because I didn't want to break your heart but I'm going to say it now. Cammy's a very, very unattractive man."
"Is he?" said Leslie curiously. "I thought he was good looking."
"No," said Maureen definitely. "He's a dug. And his chat was rubbish. And he was a sulky wee shite."
"Oh, I know that."
Maureen settled down again in her bed. "A shite-talking dug."
"From hell?" said Leslie uncertainly.
"From hell."
Leslie sighed contentedly.
A car pulled up outside and a minicab driver hooted his horn.
"Good night," said Maureen, already nostalgic for her old life.
"Good night," said Leslie.
Chapter 41
DEMOCRATIC DEMOGRAPHIC
It was cool outside the window. the rain had run itself out overnight but the pavements were still wet and the damp made the buildings seem more solid, as if their foundations had grown. She felt calm, very clear about what she had to do about Michael and Si McGee, but she wanted to check that there was nothing better they could do for the women.
On the phone Hugh had been snippy with her. He'd refused to come to the house to see her and wasn't there when Maureen turned up fourteen minutes late, which was out of character enough to be a deliberate slight. He'd suggested an international chain coffee shop in Sauchiehall Street. Maureen had bought a black coffee and had to break a tenner to pay for it, and only discovered when she asked for an ashtray that she couldn't smoke in the cafe.
"We didn't just make up the rules ourselves. We asked our customers if they wanted smoking areas and they said they didn't." She had a blond ponytail pulled through the back of her baseball cap and it swung when she spoke, flicking her shoulders, like a new device from those clever engineers at the Dandruff Be Gone company.
"Who did ye ask?" said Maureen, annoyed at the prices, the presumption and the pertness of the server. "You've only been open for a millisecond."
"Well," she smiled, "we didn't ask in here, exactly. We asked in other shops."
"In America?"
"And several in London," she said.
"You asked people in America if I can have a fag and they said no and that makes it a democratic decision? It's not just a cynical ploy to get me to pay four pounds for a coffee then leave quickly?"
"I think you should leave her alone now." Hugh was at her elbow.
They sat down on a plastic sofa by the back wall.
"I take it this is about the trial tomorrow?" said Hugh, looking stern.
"No," said Maureen. "I've discovered something and I want to know what to do about it."
"I think you should just keep your mind on the trial, Maureen."
"Yeah," she said, "I am, but here's the thing. Women are being smuggled into Scotland via an agency in Poland and they're being prostituted here. I've been told that if I tell the police they'll send the women home and refuse to prosecute the men who've organized this-"
"Wait." He stopped her. "Wait, you're way ahead of the game. Where are these women being held?"
"I don't know."
"How do you know the police aren't dealing with this?"
"Is that right or wrong, Hugh? The police won't do anything about it?"
"You shouldn't interfere, Maureen. It's not a case of us being willing to do something. We do our best. We can only work within the legislative guidelines, ye know-we can't go about doing whatever we feel like."
"I heard you'll just send them home."
Hugh sighed. "Probably. Look, we don't even have the interpreters available to question foreigners. In an ideal world there would be a special unit to do this but we don't have the resources or the authority to set one up."
"You don't have the resources?" she said mockingly.
"Or the authority. We're not the fucking A-team," he said, and she could see he was angry with her. "You know, we might be ineffective in some ways but the public aren't always exactly helpful. D'you know that your neighbor has put in a complaint against the officers at Stewart Street for coming up to your door all the time? Did ye know that?"
"Yeah," said Maureen.
"Did you put him up to it?"
"No," she said. "No, I didn't."
"He's citing fourteen incidents and while the investigation's ongoing we're on a warning."
"Right." She sipped her coffee. "Want some?"
"You don't get it," said Hugh, sitting very still.
"Don't get what?"
"If Angus Farrell gets out next week, and Joe wants an excuse to leave you there alone, it's perfect. You'd be completely unprotected."
Maliano. She could almost see him, opening his front door, nipping across the close and leaving the letters. Two steps across and two back. Sober, she'd never considered him a genuine threat, but here he was, clearing the ground for Angus. He watched her all the time, knew the hours she kept, knew when she was at work. And if Angus knew someone like Benny there was no reason why he wouldn't know Maliano.