Tina looked at him angrily. ‘You tell me,’ she said.
Chris glanced at the closed door of the bedroom for a moment. ‘Come on through to the kitchen and tell me what’s the matter, eh?’
The girl hesitated for a moment then with a shrug that was supposed to look nonchalant followed him down the darkened passageway into the kitchen at its end.
‘Right, pal, what’s all this about? First you stand me up at the concert and now you come up here with a face like thunder. Am I entitled to an explanation or not?’ Chris folded his arms and smiled at her.
Suddenly Tina burst into uncontrollable sobs and threw herself into his arms. Her muffled words were lost as he patted her hair and held her close to his body.
‘It’s all right, wee one, come on, it’s OK,’ he soothed.
Tina gulped back more tears and looked up at him. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’
‘Not a word, sweetheart. Now how about starting again. It can’t be that bad, can it?’
Tina took hold of both his arms and held them, still gazing intently into his eyes. ‘You never knew at all, did you? She never told you?’
‘Told me what?’ Chris gave a small puzzled laugh.
‘You’re my big brother.’
For a moment the only sound in the room was the ticking of an ancient clock on the wall as Chris Hunter stared at the girl clutching his arms. ‘God! I can’t believe it!’
She nodded. ‘It’s true. Mum left you her violin in her will. She’s known about you for years, kept tabs on everything that happened to you, Dad reckons.’ She paused and smiled tremulously. ‘Only he’s not my Dad. Nor yours.’
‘What? Then who …?’ Chris Hunter’s voiced came out in a whisper as he tried to resurrect some of the world that was crashing around him.
‘A man called Maurice Drummond. He’s the Chorus Master of the City of Glasgow Chorus. He and Mum had a couple of affairs,’ Tina drew a deep breath, ‘and we’re the result.’
‘Are you sure?’ Chris asked, still staring at Tina as if she were the only credible thing in the room.
‘Sure. Dad says these DNA tests were bound to prove it as well.’ She looked up at his face. ‘Did you know you were adopted?’ she asked suddenly.
He nodded. ‘I’ve known for ages. Mum and Dad split up when I was little and she told me then. But I’ve never bothered about it. Mum was Mum to me. Still is,’ he broke off, the implication of his new identity hitting him suddenly.
‘My real mother has been murdered,’ he said, an expression of horror coming over his face.
‘Chris, I’m so sorry, I’m so very sorry.’ Tina began to weep again and buried her face into his jersey. But this time, as Chris Hunter stroked her hair, his attention was not on Tina but on something quite different that only he could see.
Simon turned away from the kitchen door, slipping into the shadows of the hallway. It all made sense now. Everything he’d just seen and heard made such perfect sense.
Chapter Thirty
The close mouth was in shadow when the man finally opened the street door. Four steps up and a long stone passageway ahead were illumined by the stained glass window high overhead on the first half landing. Flynn grinned as he turned his head, examining the old polished tiles along the walls. It was a ‘wally close’, a mark of prestige in Glasgow tenements once upon a time, Flynn knew. His wally close. The grin grew wider as he followed the man up two flights of stairs. He’d be doing this every day, he thought suddenly. Up and down to his new job, in and out the close to the bus stop along the road. Flynn blinked, surprised by sudden tears. Such an ordinary thing to be doing, wasn’t it? But it seemed like a whole new world to him.
‘Right, pal, this is it,’ the man turned to Flynn and handed him the keys. ‘You’ve got all the stuff you need to start you off. It’s not a lot, but it’ll do you until you can afford to replace it, eh?’
Flynn nodded. The guy wasn’t that much older than himself but he had the look of one who’d seen it all and more. Being assistant warden in a Glasgow hostel would have given him insight into the lives of loads of folk, he reckoned. Joseph Alexander Flynn was just another client being dropped off at his wee flat.
‘Want me to come in with you?’ The man smiled suddenly. ‘Show you how the oven works an’ all that?’
‘Naw, I’ll manage fine. I’m no’ goin’ tae be cookin’ a Christmas turkey, ah’m I?’
‘Well, there’s always Christmas dinner down at the Hamish Allan if you want to come?’
Flynn shook his head. He had other plans for Christmas day. With a lift of his chin he looked at the warden. ‘Ah’ve already got an invitation, thanks anyway.’
The man shrugged. He clearly didn’t believe him. Who would offer hospitality to someone like Flynn?
‘OK, I’m off. But you can come down and see us any time. You know that. Right?’
‘Aye. Right.’
Flynn waited until the man had turned down the first flight of stairs then he inserted the key into the lock (his lock!) and pushed open the wooden door.
His hand immediately felt for a light switch as he entered the gloomy hall. Flynn dropped his two bags on the carpet and carefully closed the door behind him. The hall was a small rectangle with doors opening off on either side. He pushed open the first one on his immediate right revealing a small bathroom. A cursory glance showed him a strip of bare laminated floor with a bath on one side and a washbasin and loo at the far end. He pulled the light cord making the porcelain gleam suddenly under the naked bulb. Well, at least it was clean. He had a sudden vision of Lorimer’s untidy bathroom with its rows of gels and jars that his Missus had left behind. Och, it wouldn’t take him too long to clutter up his own wee place.
Leaving both lights on, Flynn raced through to the other rooms. He barely took in the tiny kitchen with its basic appliances and formica topped table in the rush to find his bedroom.
‘Jeez!’ Flynn skidded to a halt as he opened the door. Once the front parlour of what had been known as a room-and-kitchen, the bedroom seemed bigger than any of the rooms back at Lorimer’s own place. Flynn’s eyes travelled up to the high ceiling with its remnant of plaster cornicing then to the huge bay window opposite the door. In a few strides he was across the room and gazing into the street (his street!).
Govanhill wasn’t a bit of Glasgow he’d known too well up until now, he realised, watching the people in the street below scurrying past, their arms full of bulging carrier bags. Three days until Christmas Eve, Flynn thought, a shiver of long-forgotten boyish excitement making his arms all gooseflesh. Or was it the cold? He’d need to find out how to turn on the heating, he realised, his eyes falling on the gas fire. Maybe he should’ve let the guy show him how things worked. Well, he’d have Mrs Lorimer’s old bossy-boots mum here by lunchtime. She’d be only too happy to show him what to do.
Flynn turned back to inspect the room with its single bed, old wardrobe and squashy chair. The bed had been made up already and Flynn ran his hand lightly over the brand new bedding. He smiled at the cartoon characters leaping across the duvet. This wasn’t standard-issue-stuff — for-the-homeless, he thought, recognising Lorimer’s hand in the choice of bedding. Well, he might be on his own but he’d have Bart Simpson for company at night. Throwing himself onto the bed, Flynn suddenly laughed out loud, the sound echoing around the bare walls of the room.
He was home!
Lorimer heaved a huge sigh as he closed the file. There was something very irksome about leaving this case unfinished with all its strands still hanging loose. They’d done an enormous amount of work compiling facts and figures since that October night in Glasgow Royal Concert Hall. And what had they to show for it: a cocaine dealer with links to a vast European market and an expensive violin that could lead to the uncovering of an organised crime ring? Allan Seaton had offered names in the hope that he would have a reduced sentence when his case came to court. So far only Carl Bekaert and George Millar had figured as his customers within the orchestra itself. There was no doubt in Lorimer’s mind that the violinist’s drug habit had been funded by the money he’d made from reselling the stolen instruments. Seaton and Bekaert had both mentioned George’s sideline in their latest statements.