Laidlaw himself couldn’t see how until Gus Hawkins rose and put on a parka. He looked round the room, then at Laidlaw. It was a strange moment. Laidlaw felt that at last someone had heard not just the words of his anger but the pain behind them and was admitting that he shared it. They were in contact with each other.
‘You got a car?’ Gus said.
Laidlaw nodded.
‘I’ll take you one place. That’s all I’ll do. It’s up to you.’
In the car Gus explained her name was Gina. She was Italian. Tony Veitch had been with her. Gus didn’t know her surname but he knew the tenement she lived in. When he got out of the car and said he would walk back home, they smiled at each other like a shared secret.
‘I hope you get it right,’ Gus said.
‘For both our sakes,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Eh?’
Gus nodded.
32
The name on the door was the first Italian one he had come to. He rang the bell. She was wearing black cords and a black blouse loose at the waist. She looked like a woman you might jump a few lights to get home to.
‘Gina?’
She appraised him for a moment and he saw her generous smile bloom on a misunderstanding, like a flower that comes out too early. She had assumed he had been told about her, was chancing his arm. He felt as if he had picked her purse.
‘I have little time this now. But-’ She looked at her watch. ‘You come in for a few minutes. Only a few. All right?’
He came in. She closed the door and walked ahead of him into the sitting-room. She was wearing backless high-heeled shoes. As he gave her a cigarette, lit it and sat down opposite her to light his own, he thought again that such trustingness was a dangerous trade to practise. There was an open travelling-bag on the floor with three freshly ironed shirts lying on top of it.
‘I’m not havin’ much time,’ she said, and smiled again. ‘You’re nice.’
‘That’s you and my mammy think that,’ Laidlaw said.
He had a brief reluctance to process the moment into practicalities. This was a pleasant hiatus. He liked the decadent innocence of her assumption. But it was unfair to prolong it.
‘You are shy?’
He laughed.
‘I didn’t think you’d notice.’
‘You want to talk? You have a problem?’
‘Thousands,’ Laidlaw said. ‘You got a spare year? No. Listen, love. There’s something I better explain. I’m a policeman.’
It was farewell to commercial Eden. Suddenly, what had looked like growing into an uncomplicated exchange was a computer job. Complex things were happening in her eyes. Her face had set like concrete. To complete the alienation, he resignedly passed across his card.
‘This is unfair,’ she said, giving it back. ‘I don’t like policemen. Some take without payment. You didn’t say.’
‘I’m saying now. Come on. You would’ve let me in anyway, love. Look, I just want to ask you some questions. About somebody who’s dead.’
‘I don’t know anybody who’s dead.’
‘We all do. Some of them still walking about as well. This was a boy called Tony Veitch.’
She hadn’t known he was dead, he was sure. Her face showed the first shock of impact and then a series of withdrawals into the implications of the fact. She didn’t know how to react. What had looked like being sadness became thoughtfulness, worry and then panic.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You have to go. I’m expecting someone.’
She half-rose.
‘Wait a minute,’ Laidlaw said. ‘That was a sudden decision.’
‘He is coming,’ she said.
She made it sound like a tidal wave, or Grendel at least. She crossed and put the shirts carefully into the travelling-bag, as if that solved everything. She turned vaguely, seeming to look for something she couldn’t find. Laidlaw wondered if it might be sandbags. He stood up.
‘Gina. Who is it?’
As her head swivelled, Laidlaw appeared again in her vision and her hand gestured him away like a midgie.
‘He didn’t tell me any of this.’ Her hand went to her mouth, sealing it. ‘I can’t talk to you. He is coming soon.’
She was starting to cry. Laidlaw took her by the shoulders and felt the tremors of her panic, like a small earthquake. He held her firmly, earthing the hysteria. The comfort of his contact, perhaps a gentleness of touch she was starved of, finally released the emotion in her and she lay against him and abandoned herself to crying. With his arms round her, he let her cry. She needed the confession of tears to admit to herself that she could no longer cope with what was happening.
Eventually he said, ‘Sit down, Gina.’
She sat down slowly. He gave her a handkerchief and, as she dabbed at her face, he lit a cigarette and gave it to her. He walked through to the small kitchen, filled the kettle, plugged it in. He watched her from the doorway.
‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’
The realisation that he was staying renewed the panic in her.
‘But he’s coming.’
‘Gina, who the hell is coming? Unless it’s Godzilla, you’re over-reacting, love. Let him come. I’ll wait with you. Who is it?’
‘A man.’
‘I’m a detective, Gina. I’d worked that out.’
His attempt to make her laugh hadn’t succeeded but she did look at him as if she was actually seeing him. She sniffed determinedly and the hiccoughing of her body subsided. A small calm had been achieved.
He rinsed out a couple of mugs, found the necessary things and made the tea. She didn’t take sugar. With their cups of tea they looked like a nice couple nicely at home.
‘Who is he, Gina?’ he asked.
He had given her time to make her decision.
‘His name is Mickey Ballater.’
‘Tricky Mickey,’ Laidlaw said. ‘That’s what they used to call him. So that’s who’s turned private detective. The Birmingham snooper. What’s the connection with you?’
He could see her wondering about catching amnesia.
‘Gina. I’m going to wait here till he comes anyway. It would be better, for me and you, if I knew what I was getting into.’
‘He comes to the door last week. And he is staying here since.’
‘But why? Why does he come to your door?’
She closed her eyes, shaking her head.
‘It is a dirty story.’
‘Most of them are. Some folk just tell them nice.’
‘Paddy Collins?’
Laidlaw nodded.
‘I am from Naples. My husband is from Naples. We are married and come here. My husband is cousin with a family with a café. He is to work. But he doesn’t work. We quarrel, he leaves me pregnant. I have the baby. I meet Paddy Collins. He is all right. But soon he makes a suggestion. How I should manage to live. I am not going to do it. But I do it.’
Laidlaw wondered how often he had heard the poignancy of whole lives reduced to the compass of a small ad. Was it her problem with the language that made it sound so simple? He imagined a terrible inarticulate pain behind the words, but perhaps he was being fanciful.
‘Don’t misunderstand. I am not blaming Paddy. Perhaps I do this anyway.’ She looked at him defiantly. ‘Sometimes I don’t dislike it.’
He shrugged, abjuring judgment.
‘But then a bad thing. A very bad thing. Paddy takes me to meet someone. He is not to know what I do for living. Then I did not know why. Now I know. His name is Tony Veitch.’
‘Let me guess,’ Laidlaw said. ‘It sounds like an old script. You and Tony get together, right? But after a time you develop a husband. And it’s going to take money to buy him off. Because he’s found out.’