She studied his face under the street lights. He could be Davie’s older brother. Or his dad. But she’d been told Davie’s dad was dead. ‘Where is Davie?’ She asked.
‘He’s waiting, close by. There’s been some trouble the past couple of days, he doesn’t want to be seen in public. You know how it is, eh? But he really wants to see you. You okay coming with me?’
She hesitated and his smile broadened. ‘Don’t worry, hen. I’m an old friend of Davie’s, from way back when. I knew his maw.’
She cocked her head, studying his face. ‘You look like him, you know that?’
He laughed. ‘Aye, it’s been said before. Come on, I’m parked just a wee bit down the road.’
He took a couple of steps away but she hung back, still not sure. He moved closer to her. ‘I understand your caution,’ he said, reasonably. ‘You’ve never met me. I get that, I really do. And if you don’t want to come with me, that’s okay. I’ll just tell Davie you didn’t want to come, eh? He’ll be okay with it, I’m sure.’
She thought about it. He seemed okay, at least on the surface, but Vari was wise enough not to believe everything a man said. She had no way of being certain Davie had left that note or if he sent this guy. And there was something about him, something hiding underneath the pleasant exterior and the friendly smile. Vari had been with enough bastards to recognise one when she saw him.
‘Tell Davie I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Tell him to gimme a shout when all this is over. But I’m not going away with you, mister. I don’t know who you are.’
He stepped back, spreading his hands in front of him. ‘Fair enough, hen,’ he said. ‘I understand. And can I say, you’re a smart girl? I hope my lassie is as smart as you when she grows up. No hard feelings.’
He held out his hand. She looked at it then back to his face. He was still smiling, but something else lurked in those blue eyes. Nevertheless, she reached out, shook the hand, but let it go almost immediately. He smiled and without another word turned in the direction of Cumbernauld Road. Vari watched him walk confidently down the street, his hands in the pockets of his black woollen mid-length jacket, collar turned up. He didn’t look back.
As Vari made her way back along Alexandra Parade to her flat, she felt certain she had done the right thing. Davie was a pal of Rab McClymont’s, she knew that, so it was reasonable to assume he would be involved in things that might mean he had to lay low, but that guy just didn’t seem right. If Davie had wanted to see her he would not have sent a complete stranger, he’d’ve asked Bobby Newman to come get her. She considered walking down the hill to Sword Street but decided against it. She still didn’t want to just turn up at Davie’s door. No, she’d get home and give Bobby a phone, let him know. That would be the best thing to do.
It only took her five minutes to walk from the park to her street, but as she arrived she felt the first gentle drops of rain caress her cheeks. Then suddenly it came lancing down as if someone had flicked an ON switch. She ran the final few feet to her close but was soaked through before she reached shelter. She suddenly felt quite tired, so maybe it was best she hadn’t seen Davie that night. It had been a tough day in the supermarket, she felt as if she’d not sat down all through her shift. Her shower had revived her slightly, but now she felt washed out again. She just wanted to get in the flat, get out of her wet clothes, make a cup of tea and sit down in front of the telly. Didn’t matter what was on, she’d just watch it. She rooted around in her little handbag for her keys as she climbed the stairs. They were in her hand as she reached the door.
She didn’t hear him behind her.
Not until it was too late.
She turned just as he reached her, one hand fastened over her mouth, the other wrapped round her throat, his face pressed into her ear.
‘You should’ve come with me, hen,’ he whispered. ‘Now it’ll be even worse…’
23
DAVIE HAD NEVER
envisaged Rab as a husband and father, let alone a suburbanite, but nevertheless, there he was, standing in his spacious kitchen in Bothwell, a large striped apron strapped to his expanding belly as he dropped some sliced potatoes into a pot on the stove. The only concession to the young man Davie once knew was the can of Tennents Lager in his hand and the scowl on his face as he heard about the pictures taped to Davie’s door. Davie didn’t mention Lomas’s death or the visit by the Black Knight. There was a time he would’ve told Rab everything, but not now. Too much had happened and though Davie still trusted the big fellow, it was only to an extent. With Joe’s passing, Davie found himself trusting people less and less. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly why he trusted Rab less these days, he just knew he had to keep his own counsel about certain matters. Maybe it was because Rab was involved in the drug trade, with which Davie was uncomfortable, or maybe it was the sight of him in the apron that was just so damned off-putting.
When they had shared the Sword Street flat Rab had prepared every meal, Davie’s idea of providing food being limited to unwrapping a fish supper. Bobby had told him that Rab’s culinary skills now stretched further than a fry up, although he was no great chef. The food he made was fairly simple – roast chicken on this occasion – and Davie could smell the bird cooking in the oven.
He could hear music from the living room. Rab told him it was Gary Moore, his album ‘Still Got the Blues’ being Bernadette’s current favourite, and she was in charge of the
CD
player in the living room, where she was chatting with Bobby’s fiancée, Connie. She was a tall woman, a good foot taller than Bobby, but that didn’t bother him one bit. She had thick dark hair, an open, pleasant face and a laugh so dirty it needed an
X
Certificate. She was a primary school teacher, but Davie couldn’t tell from her language, which was salty enough to preserve beef. He wondered how she controlled her tongue in front of the kids. If Davie had to use one word to describe her, it would be ‘earthy’. And although she tried to disguise it, she could not completely conceal her dislike for Rab. Even if Bobby hadn’t told him, Davie would have spotted it right away. It was the way she avoided the big man’s eyes, kept away from him, turned her body away. If Rab noticed he didn’t say anything, being the perfect host. Connie, though, loved Bernadette. The two women were obviously the best of friends, but then Davie had begun to realise that Bernadette was one of those people everybody liked.
Davie had also met Rab’s son, Joseph. Davie felt something tug at his chest as he realised that Rab had named the lad after Joe. Davie didn’t think he would ever have kids, so he was glad and grateful that Rab had somehow memorialised the old man. He was a quiet boy, slim and sallow, and he seemed happy in his own company. He was in his room, watching a video, while the adults had their get together downstairs. Davie was glad for that because he had little experience with children and felt uncomfortable around them.
Davie wasn’t the only uncomfortable one. Bobby was squirming in an ornate wooden chair at the small table in the large kitchen – the actual meal would be eaten in the dining room Davie could see through a set of French doors. Bobby was finding it impossible to find the right way to sit. ‘What’s the deal with this chair, Rab? Was this thing designed by Torque-fuckin-mada? Would Bernadette think less of me if I asked for a cushion?’
Rab turned from the stone and gave Bobby a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Fuckin chair cost me seventy quid.’
‘You’d think for that money you’d be able to sit in it then. I’ve tried one cheek, then the other, then both cheeks at once, but it’s like sitting on a board here.’
Davie smiled as he sipped at an ice cold can of Coke Bernadette had brought to him. He still felt the touch of her fingertips on his own as she passed it over with a sunny smile. He had always thought Rab would end up with some hard-faced hairy from the schemes, not this soft-spoken, freckle-faced beauty with the soft Irish accent. Her eyes had lingered on his face just a touch longer than it should have and he was certain the brush of her fingers had been deliberate. He wasn’t too experienced in these matters, but he felt sure she was showing him more interest than he felt comfortable with.
Rab decided to ignore Bobby’s protestations. He stooped to stare at the chicken through the glass door of the oven, then sat in his chair at the table. Bobby watched how Rab positioned himself, trying to spot some sort of knack. He wriggled again.
Rab asked, ‘So what’s your da playing at, I wonder?’
‘Dunno, Rab,’ Davie replied. ‘He’s trying to goad me, I think, draw me out.’
Rab nodded thoughtfully as Bobby shifted his weight from one buttock to the other and asked, ‘What do you think will happen when you finally meet?’
Davie didn’t answer. The music in the living room changed to the Steve Miller Band and ‘The Joker’, which was right on the nose, for that was what his father was, some kind of joker, playing tricks. They would go up against each other someday, he knew that with a certainty he found disturbing. Him and me, he’d said to Audrey, but he was wrong.
It’ll be him, or me
, he thought.
He looked through the wide picture window to Rab’s spacious garden. It was a nice bit of ground, broad expanse of grass bordered by mature trees, illuminated by a series of lights set into the earth. It was warm indoors, but Davie felt something cold and dank wrap itself around him, as if there was some kind of threat out there in the gloom.
He became aware of Rab watching him intently. ‘What’s up, Davie? You’re sitting there like you’re ready to make a run for it.’
Davie realised he was perched on the edge of the chair, his hands gripping the Coke can tightly, denting the flimsy container’s sides. He forced himself to sit back, smile, shrug. He willed himself to relax.
‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘still not used to being out, that’s all.’
Rab glanced through the window, scanned the garden himself, saw nothing, then nodded. ‘It’ll take a while. It’s no easy.’
‘It’s these bloody chairs, Rab,’ said Bobby, still fidgeting. ‘They’re like something Vincent Price would invent.’
‘Quit your moaning, ya bastard,’ said Rab, smiling.
Bernadette appeared in the doorway and said. ‘Who’s moaning, and why?’
‘Bobby here cannae get comfy,’ said Rab as Bernadette moved behind him to lay both hands on his shoulders and stroke them. ‘Seventy quid a whack and his skinny arse cannae get comfy.’
Bernadette laughed, her eyes looking at Bobby then lighting on Davie, giving him another long look. Davie was certain some kind of signal was being given. Or maybe she was being friendly. Or maybe he was imagining it. He really wasn’t very good at this.
‘When’s this going to be ready?’ She asked. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Just about, doll,’ Rab replied. ‘Can’t rush it – it’s a skill.’
She laughed and kissed the top of his head, arms round his neck, flattening her breasts against his hair. Her laugh was almost musical, Davie noted. He watched the couple for a second, feeling like a peeping tom, then the chill returned to his flesh and he looked towards the garden once more, half expecting to see his father’s grinning face in the shadow of a tree.
‘Do us a favour, doll,’ Rab went on, jerking his head towards Bobby, ‘and get this eejit here a cushion to sit on. He’s giving me a pain in my arse…’
‘That’s nothing to the pain in the arse this chair’s giving me.’
Connie said from the doorway. ‘I’m going to have to fatten you up, snake hips, get some flesh about you. Gimme something to hang on to.’
Bobby laughed. ‘Cannae fatten a thoroughbred, darlin.’
Connie laughed too. ‘Aye, son, you keep telling yourself that. Thoroughbred, my fanny.’
Bernadette smiled. ‘I’ll get you something soft to sit on.’
‘Ach, if it’s something soft he needs, he can sit on my knee like one of those ventriloquist’s dummies. I’ll stick my hand up his arse and make him talk. Maybe we’ll get more sense out of him that way.’
‘Do that, hen, you’ll never get a word out him, cos he talks out his backside,’ said Rab with a smile and Connie smiled back, briefly bonding with him in a mutual need to have fun at Bobby’s expense.
Bobby gave her a smile. ‘I love you too, honey…’
Connie smirked. ‘Can’t blame you.’ Then she gave Davie a wink. That’s the kind of woman she was. Davie liked her.
Bernadette laughed as she and Connie left the kitchen again, just as the song switched to Sinead O’Connor telling the world ‘Nothing Compares To You’. Rab waited until he knew they were safely back in the living room before he said, ‘Going to Girvan to see that bastard Liam Mulvey tomorrow night. Want to come?’
It was Davie’s turn to shift in his chair. ‘I dunno, Rab…’
Rab gave him a sharp look. ‘What don’t you know?’
Davie inhaled then exhaled deeply before he answered. He knew this conversation would come sometime, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. ‘Drugs, Rab. Don’t think it’s for me.’
Rab blinked at him, then sat back in the chair. He gave Bobby a brief glance as he took a sip of lager. ‘What do you mean, you don’t think it’s for you?’
Davie paused to consider his words. ‘Joe never wanted involved.’
Something flashed on Rab’s face then, irritation perhaps, maybe shame, Davie couldn’t tell which. ‘Joe’s no here, Davie.’
‘Okay. I don’t want involved.’