‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘tell me more.’
She knew he was aware that she read domestic situations more astutely than he did, although that knowledge didn’t always sit easily with him. He’d said himself more than once that she’d have made a good detective.
‘Every marriage has its darker moments,’ she obliged. ‘Even ours. But we tend to bury the corpses and get on with things. Tonight, I thought some of them were sitting with us at the table. When we were talking about the hours you boys put in and I said you’ve been told that if you’re coming home after midnight you’ve to take the couch so you don’t wake me up...’
‘And Ena said Laidlaw prefers to stay out.’
‘It was what she said afterwards, though, about it being like having a soldier who only ever comes home on leave.’ Margaret paused. ‘I’m guessing something’s happened and that’s why she was keen to have us round. She needs to feel she has witnesses. Does Jack play the field?’
‘I’ve not long met the man,’ Lilley argued, before proffering a sigh to fill the silence. ‘He sleeps some nights in a hotel in town; says it’s so he can stay close to whatever he’s investigating.’
‘He’s a good-looking man, though.’
‘You think so? I hope you’re not getting interested.’
She laughed and placed her free hand on his thigh. ‘I’m spoken for. Besides, he’s too dangerous.’
‘And I’m not?’
‘Maybe he’s a different type of dangerous — there were moments I could sense him ticking like a bomb. More than that, it was as if Ena wanted him to explode, so we’d see what she has to deal with. Did you not feel that, Bob?’
‘Maybe she’s not worked out yet who it is she married.’
‘Has he even worked that out himself?’
‘Let’s say he’s a work in progress, then, and thank our lucky stars we’re past all that.’
‘Did I not say? I’m leaving you next week.’
‘Mind and take the mortgage with you.’ Lilley smiled as he did some thinking. ‘You’re right in one respect — it was awkward seeing him in his home setting, like he wasn’t comfortable there. Maybe he’s a streetsman, the way Davy Crockett was a woodsman. Davy could read all the signs in the wild, he’d lived there so long. Probably wasn’t so good on the domestic front. I think Jack’s like that with Glasgow: he brings the city home with him, and that’s too much for even a decent-sized living room to contain.’
Margaret seemed to be considering his words as she slowed, the lights ahead changing to red. ‘Bit of a romanticised notion you’ve got of him, no?’
‘I think he is a romantic, in a weird sort of way. He really believes there’s truth to be found on the streets that exists nowhere else.’
They watched as two men weaved down the pavement, their heated discussion conducted in nothing but curses and adverbs.
‘Do you want to deal with that?’ Margaret asked.
‘I’m off duty. Besides, that’s not a fight, it’s a decibel contest. Look at the bellies on the pair of them — they’re like Lambeg drums, big and noisy but with nothing but air inside.’
‘You’re even beginning to speak like him,’ Margaret said with an indulgent smile.
The lights changed to green and they set off again.
‘Another thing about Jack is, he’s deep,’ Lilley went on. ‘I got no sense of that from the house — everything in there seemed to be more Ena’s than his. On his desk at work he has these foreign books. Spanish, French, Danish maybe. Philosophers. Yet all I saw in the living room was Catherine Cookson.’
‘He’s in hiding, then, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’ve not known him nearly long enough to form a view.’ Lilley paused. ‘We’re going to have to return the favour, aren’t we? Invite them round to ours?’
‘Would that be such a bad thing? Maybe away from the kids they can find out what it is they like about one another.’ Margaret paused, moving up through the gears. ‘Then again, in public they’ve maybe perfected the happy families act. Could be that’s why the meal had to be on her territory, masks removed.’
‘You really think she wants us on her side and not his?’
‘I doubt there’s room in that marriage for neutrals.’
‘And have you decided whose colours you’ll be wearing.’
‘Hers, obviously.’
‘Even though he’s a good-looking man, and a romantic with it?’
‘Never bet against the wife, Bob. You should know that by now. Speaking of which, I’m going to bed when we get in, and you’re fetching me a cup of tea and maybe a wee brandy.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lilley said, giving a salute as Margaret squeezed his thigh again.
‘Are we the only people we know who’ve not seen that film?’ Ena asked as she busied herself washing the dishes.
‘You don’t do X certificates, remember. Even a musical like Cabaret.’
‘Al Pacino’s supposed to be very good, though.’ She glanced towards Laidlaw, who was drying the wine glasses. ‘They seem nice, don’t they?’
‘Salt of the earth.’
‘You once told me armies salt the earth to stop crops growing.’
‘Well, that’s true.’ Laidlaw opened a cupboard door.
‘Next one along for glasses,’ Ena informed him.
‘It’s been a while,’ he said. Then: ‘Why exactly did you invite them?’
‘Any reason why not?’
‘It’s just unusual, that’s all.’
‘Inviting people to dinner?’
‘Us having people to dinner. It’s all a bit...’
‘Middle class? Did I miss you cleaning the coal dust from under your fingernails before we sat down?’
‘I’m not much of a one for small talk, you know that.’
‘Which explains why you didn’t say much of anything.’
‘I kept smiling, though, didn’t I? And I talked about the kids.’
‘You don’t get extra marks for doing something any father would do without having to think twice about it.’
‘Maybe that’s because most people don’t think before they speak. As a result, most of what passes for conversation is just dross. Sifting through it is what gives me those dirty nails.’ He saw the look she was giving him. ‘Present company excepted, obviously. Your conversation is always the stuff of legend.’ He snatched up a couple of plates with the dish towel.
‘When you’ve done those, can you bring the bowls through?’ He nodded and complied. There wasn’t a separate dining room, but the living room was big enough for a large drop-leaf table and four chairs. He started piling up the pudding bowls, while struggling to think back to what the starter had been. He paused and looked around him. Two armchairs and a matching floral sofa; framed photos of the three children on the wall unit; china ornaments that had belonged to Ena’s mother — there had been only one casualty so far due to the kids. A smoked-glass bowl sat on top of the unit, a ceramic cat attached to its rim, eyes locked on a smaller ceramic mouse inside. There was a tiny amount of Antiquary still in Laidlaw’s glass, so he finished it, rinsing it around his mouth. In the past, he had tried reading the meaning behind the bowl and the scene playing out on and within it. Was he the cat or the mouse? Was the bowl Ena’s idea of their marriage? Or did she just think it a charming and witty addition to the room?
He was all too aware that he had been neither charming nor witty during the meal. But he’d been placid, she couldn’t say he hadn’t been that. Placid and polite.