Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Murray
kicked
his
way
out
of
the
sleeping
bag.
'You're
not
meant
to.
That's
good
tea.
Too
expensive
to
waste.'
He
gathered
up
the
papers
scattered
on
the
desk
and
turned
them
face
down.
Stewart
looked
on
with
amusement.
'Secrets,
eh?
If
you'd
had
them
locked
away,
you
could
have
let
me
sleep
in
here
and
you
could
have
had
the
bed.
What's
happened
to
the
girl
that
used
to
work
for
you
–
the
one
with
the
big
tits?'
'Marge.'
Murray
frowned.
'Her
mother
took
her
away.'
'I
can't
believe
it,'
Stewart
said
with
relish,
preparing
himself
to
be
persuaded.
'Not
you,
Murray.
What'd
you
do
to
her?'
It
was
a
sore
point.
'The
stupid
woman
thought
the
whole
place
was
an
office.
When
she
found
out
I
lived
in
the
back
room,
she
didn't
think
it
was
suitable.'
'Just
as
well,
you
can
get
into
trouble
with
them
at
that
age.
What
age
was
she
–
fifteen?'
'Seventeen –
don't
be
stupid.
She'd
sat
her
exams
in
typing
and
shorthand.
Didn't
pass
right
enough
–
but
for
what
I
can
pay,
I
was
lucky
to
get
her.'
As
they
went
through
the
lobby
into
the
back
room,
Stewart
said,
'Seventeen
...
'
lingering
on
the
word.
Murray
put
on
the
heater
and
brought
out
tea
and
coffee.
'She
was
just
starting
to
cope.
I
can't
be
here
all
the
time.
How
can
I
run
a
business
without
somebody
here
to
answer
the
phone?'
'Seventeen,'
Stewart
said
as
if
to
himself.
He
sat
at
the
table and
waited
until
Murray
passed
him
a
cup
of
coffee.
'There's
something
about
their
tits
at
that
age
.
.
.
'
'Last
night
you
were
sitting
in
that
chair
crying,'
Murray
said.
When
he
felt
his
temper
slip,
he
spoke
more
quietly.
'You
didn't
want
to
go
home
to
Lynda.
You've
been
married
over
twenty
years
but
you'd
have
slept
on
the
floor
here
rather
than
go
back
and
face
her.'
For
a
horrible
moment,
Stewart's
tough
morning
face
crumpled
into
the
abject
mask
of
the
previous
night.
He
bent
his
head
and
sipped
the
scalding
coffee.
When
he
looked
up,
he
had
managed
a
smile.
'Billy
Graham
has
a
hell
of
a
lot
to
answer
for.
Do
you
remember
when
you
rounded
up
all
the
whores
in
Bath
Street
and
walked
them
down
to
the
evangelist
meeting
on
the
corner?
You
made
them
take
off
their
shoes
and
walk
down.
It
was
raining
and
they
had
to
stand
there
in
their
bare
feet
and
sing
hymns.'
'Every
time
you're
drunk
.
..
I'm
starting
to
think
that
guy
was
you.'
They
looked
at
one
another
in
silence.
'I've
felt
like
killing
myself,'
Stewart
said.
'Doing
it
all
the
way.
You're
not
the
only
one
with
a
conscience
,
but
this
woman
I'm
going
with
isn't
just
another
easy
ride.
She's
special.
I'm
due
a
wee
bit
of
happiness.'
'Happiness.'
There
wasn't
any
expression
in
the
way
Murray
said
the
word.
It
might
have
come
from
a
language
he
had
not
learned.
'It's
wee
Sally
that's
killing
me. Jenny's
just
a
cow – she's
past helping.
That
bastard
she
works
for
just
laughed
when
I
said
I'd
report
him
to
the
Law
Society.
What
can
I
do?
I
can't
fill
in
a
fucking
lawyer.
It'll
end
up
with
another
abortion.
And
Peter's
going
to
hell
–
I
wanted
him
to
follow
me,
but,
oh,
no!
All
right,
I
said,
what
about
the
army
then?
But
he
says
he
doesn't
want
to
get
shot
in
Ireland
–
little
shit!
Sitting
about
the
house
.
..
Let
me catch
you
with
drugs,
I
said
to
him,
and
I'll
put
you
inside
myself.
Bugger
them.
It's
not
my
fault
– I've
always
been
firm
with
them.
It's
Sally,'
his
voice
glutted
with
tears,
'she's
just
a
magic
wee
kid.
She
loves
her
daddy.'
'She's
lucky
there
right
enough.'
'How
could
I
expect
you
to
understand?
You'd
have
to
be
a
father
to
know
how
I
feel.'
It
was
a
relief
when
the
extension
bell
announced
that
the phone
was
ringing
in
the
front
room.
It
was
a
long
time,
years,
since
Murray
had
seen
Eddy's
wife.
If
he
hadn't
quit
the
police
and
left
the
city
so
abruptly,
he
would
have
been
the
best
man
at
her
wedding.
Leaning
against
the
desk,
looking
down
at
the
traffic,
he
listened
to
her
voice.