“You did well?” said Paddy.
Burns looked her up and down. “I looked for you, in the crowd. You weren’t here.”
Paddy waited for a punch line that never came. Finally she muttered, “Sorry about that. I had a lot of work on.”
He poked her in the chest, and let his finger linger there, making a slow climb up her long neck. “I wanted you to see me, could have done with your support.”
She took hold of his hand and pushed it away. “I’m not much support, Burns. I’m a jinx for open spots anyway, you didn’t want me here.”
“That’s right.” He fell back a step. “You’re a headliner, not a sideshow, are you?”
A member of the audience came over and took Burns’s elbow. “You were brilliant, pal. That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages and I come here all the time.”
Burns’s eyes lingered on Paddy’s neck until Lorraine fought her way through the crowd and stood by him. Swaying, she began to bump her tits on Burns’s arm. Burns put his hand around Lorraine ’s waist, watching Paddy for a reaction.
She grinned at him. “Oh, I wish I’d come now. You’re making me so jealous.”
Dub draped his arm over Paddy’s shoulder so they were standing in a foursome. “We were all great tonight. It was so fluid. Perfect night, one act just built on the previous one. There were no shifts of tone, no break in the atmosphere, you know, like there normally is? None of that.”
“Yeah?”
Burns shot her a dirty look and steered Lorraine away by the waist, leading her over to a table. Paddy watched them canoodling and shook her head.
“That guy is an out-and-out prick.”
“You think so?”
“He’s a fucking arsehole.” Burns was looking straight at her and she hoped he could lip-read.
“He’s fucking funny, though, Paddy. If we get him as a regular it would do the club’s rep a ton of good. Anyway, where were you tonight?”
She told him about Loch Lomond and Meehan and whispered about McDaid and the note. They drifted away from the crowd over to the audience chairs, sitting on the stage when the barman took their chairs to stack them up with the rest of them by the wall. Between them and Burns’s table the audience pulled on coats and finished drinks, talking too loudly because they sensed the excitement in the place.
Dub listened intently, his face inches from hers, and she was loving talking to him. She didn’t feel worried when Dub was there. She never felt fat or naive or imperfect with him.
He was leaning close, the better to hear her, and she looked at his big nose and the swirl of his ear, at his powdery white skin. She didn’t know why, it was nothing to do with Burns being there, but she wanted to kiss his cheek. He sat back and looked at her, his eyes clear and appreciative. “You’re fearless. I don’t know anyone like you.”
She was shocked by how much she wanted to kiss him. It would be easy, all it would take was for her to lean forward a few inches and her mouth would dock with his. Their eyes locked. He was her only friend. She sat back and slapped his leg. “God,” she said, focusing on his knee, “I feel as if I haven’t seen you forever, Dub.”
“And you. Even if he is a prick, thanks for bringing him here.” Dub smiled wide, glancing at her. For the first time she saw a trace of disappointment in his eyes. He had looked at her like that before, she realized now. She had seen him with that look many times over the years they had known each other and never understood it before.
She smiled back, glad she hadn’t kissed him. “You’re my best friend, Dub.”
Dub nodded at his feet. “I am.”
“Going to walk me to the station?”
Dub glanced over at Burns. Lorraine was almost sitting on his lap, her mouth firmly clamped over his. Burns had his hand halfway up her T-shirt. “Aye, I’ll walk ye.”
THIRTY-SEVEN. SICK
It was the best sleep she had ever had. Ten and a half hours of solid sleep, unconsciousness, broken only when she woke up and listened for the steady metronome of Mary Ann’s breathing.
Caroline was refusing to go back to John and tonight she was due to move into Mary Ann’s bed. She was sulky and depressed and snored because she smoked.
Mary Ann woke her up with a cup of tea and a warning that her train to London was from Central at eleven so she’d be leaving soon. Paddy sat up in bed, sipping the milky tea and watching as her sister checked through the pale blue cardboard suitcase, making sure she had everything she needed for a month away in France.
She had seven pairs of panties and undershirts, two bras, three tops and skirts, and a dress. The rest of the space in the suitcase was taken up with prayer books and rosaries and a French phrasebook Con had bought her in a secondhand shop.
When Mary Ann clicked the lid shut and set it on the floor her suitcase looked very small.
Paddy carried it down to the station for her. They waited for the train into town in silence. Paddy was afraid to talk in case she cried because she was going to miss her so much, and Mary Ann was afraid she’d cry because she was afraid.
“I’ve never been farther than Largs,” she said, her chin wobbling as she looked down the track.
“You’ll love it,” said Paddy, as if she’d been any farther. “I’m mad jealous.”
The train arrived and Paddy swung the suitcase onto the carriage for her. Mary Ann climbed aboard and stood between the open doors, looking out at her wee sister. Paddy couldn’t hold back anymore. She started to cry.
“Good-bye.”
Silently, Mary Ann grinned and raised a hand and began to cry herself.
“Say hello to God for me,” called Paddy.
The doors slid shut between them but Paddy held Mary Ann’s eye as the train slid off into the future.
She stood on the platform watching the tail of the slow train creeping down the track, hoping Mary Ann would be happy; that she was wrong to be worried; that she wasn’t about to break her poor mother’s heart.
She walked to Rutherglen in the rain to get to the chemists’. Luckily the pharmacist was no one she knew. She took the package over to the public toilets behind the Tower Bar. It was freezing, because the door was always left open, and smelled of carbolic soap and urine.
Ten o’clock mass would be coming out soon. When it did there would be a queue of women with pelvic floors ruined from carrying too many children, running over after the fifty-minute mass, but not yet.
Paddy locked herself in the far cubicle and took the stick out of the packaging, reading the directions and following them to the letter. She didn’t dare watch it during the four minutes but stood with her forehead pressed against the cold wall, begging a favor of a God she hadn’t spoken to since she was seven.
Outside the cubicle she heard approaching voices, familiar women’s voices. Mass was out and everyone she knew would be gathering outside. She’d have to talk to them when she came out, act natural whatever the result. She didn’t know if she would be able to.
Daring herself, she turned and looked at the white stick on the cistern. Two faint blue lines had formed, one in each window.
There was no mistake about it: she was pregnant.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Denise Mina is the author of Deception, the Garnethill trilogy, and Field of Blood, where Paddy Meehan made her first appearance, prompting the Boston Globe to claim: “Every once in a while, an author creates a stunningly original character. Denise Mina has done it in Field of Blood.” She lives in Glasgow, Scotland, with her family.
