The Stone Gallows (20 page)

I held up my hands. ‘I won't keep you, I promise. Just let me speak to your man here and I'll be on your way.'

‘Certainly.'

But she held her ground, foot tapping slightly in a sensible black shoe, obviously not wanting to move out of earshot just in case I was planning to ask her boyfriend to help me knock over a bank. I glared at Jason until he took the hint and got out of the car. We walked about ten yards away, keeping our voices low. Miss Gwen watched us flintily, possibly concerned that I might suddenly stab her boyfriend in the heart with a shiv made out of an HB pencil.

‘Jason, what the fuck are you playing at?'

‘I told you. She's my girlfriend.'

‘Where the hell did you meet her?'

‘In an Internet chat room. I told her I was an airline pilot, she told me she was an airline hostess. When we agreed to meet up for real, we both had a bit of explaining to do.'

‘Jesus wept.'

‘Look, I know what it looks like, alright? But I swear, there's nothing like that. It's just a normal relationship.'

I wanted to punch him, to put him down on the ground and stamp on his face. The psychologists are full of shit. Leopards can't change their spots and paedophiles can't control their behaviour. ‘Dump her.

Dump her or I'll do it for you.'

‘What?'

‘I don't know what kind of sick, twisted game you're playing, but she's not like you. She's not some little schemie. She's got values. Don't lead her on like this. Messing her about could screw up her career.'

‘I'm not leading her on.'

‘Does she know what you were in for?'

He said nothing.

‘What did you tell her? Some pathetic little white collar crime?

Stealing the company pension fund?'

‘I swear to you, I'm a changed man.'

‘The only thing that guys like you change is their stories.'

Behind us, a couple of kids lounged by the school gate, probably waiting for teacher to disappear so that they could light up. Gwen had got into the passenger seat of the Merc. Jason heard the slam of the car door and started to back away. ‘You leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you.'

He turned, bolted for the car, lunging behind the wheel and grinding the ignition. I called out, hoping she could hear me over the rev of the engine. ‘He's a paedophile, Gwen. He's a beast.'

There was a squeal of tyres. Twin dark tracks of burnt rubber were burned onto the surface of the road as the Merc fishtailed away from the kerb.

The two kids stared at me, a boy and girl of about twelve.

‘What's that teacher's name?' I asked.

‘Miss Morris.'

‘Miss Morris's boyfriend is a paedophile.'

‘Fuckin' everybody's a paedo these days, pal,' said the boy. ‘You'reprobably a fuckin' paedo an' all.' He looked at his pal. ‘He probably wants to give us a sweetie and show us some puppies.'

‘Fuck that. If he gives me a cigarette I'll show him my fanny.'

The two of them screamed laughter and ran for it. I watched them go, hoping that they weren't as jaded as they sounded.

7.8.

When I finally made it back to the office at just after half past four, Joe wasn't there. Instead, I found a message on the answer machine.

In the background, I could hear chatter and music. Pub life.

‘Cam. We're in the Scotia, but I don't know for how long. We're going to hit the town to celebrate. You're welcome to join us, but I don't know where we're going yet. The lads want to see the city, so I was thinking about packing us all in a cab and heading to the West End. Give us a call on my mobile and we'll arrange to meet.'

Great. Except that when I dialled him, I got a bland female voice explaining that the person I was trying to call wasn't available. The useless pillock had switched his mobile off. He probably thought it was still switched on, and when we finally met up tomorrow morning he would have an insulted air, as if I deliberately hurt his feelings by not coming out to play.

It didn't matter anyway. I had made plans for the evening – or rather, Liz had made plans for me. Since there was little of value I could do at the office, I headed home. By five thirty I had showered and dressed in a nice shirt and a pair of almost clean jeans. When I looked about as presentable as I could hope for, I knocked on her door. She opened it in her underwear. ‘Jesus!'

Clothed, she looked good, but in red lacy bra and cami-knickers she looked amazing. Sexy. Damn sexy. All the curves in the right places. I pointedly looked away. ‘Sorry,' I lied.

She ducked behind the door, peeping out from behind it. ‘I thought you were Katrina. She's been over twice already.'

Katrina lived in the bottom floor flat. Hated me but liked Liz. ‘I got home early. Thought I could take you out for a meal before we went to the cinema.'

‘Ten minutes?'

‘No problem.'

And it wasn't. But then, she had given me something to think about while I waited.

7.9.

Exactly twelve minutes later, she knocked on my door. ‘Ready?'

‘Ready.'

We headed out of the flat. She'd dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a red T-shirt that told everybody she was an angel by daylight. It was getting dark. As we walked along Paisley Road, she grabbed my arm.

‘Himalayan Heaven?'

The Himalaya was a restaurant that was almost halfway between the flat and the cinema. We'd eaten there a few times before, and while it wasn't the best curryhouse in Glasgow, it was by no means the worst. Liz was on first name terms with the owners, the Singhs. Two years ago, their youngest son had been knocked off his scooter while delivering a takeaway. Liz had been part of the team that glued him back together, earning their eternal gratitude and a lifetime's supply of cut-price meals.

We were shown to a table in a quiet corner, near to a stereo that was playing a sitar version of ‘Hey Jude'. Within minutes a small mountain of snacks had materialised.

‘How were your three hips and an elbow?' I asked.

‘Fine. They also tossed us an ankle at the last minute. We fused it, but that's pretty much all we could do.' She said. ‘Chronic arthritis.'

‘And what about your junior doctor friend? Did you happen to come across him on your travels?'

‘I spotted him on the far side of the canteen. He didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed.'

‘Some people don't embarrass easily.'

She dipped a piece of chicken chaat into pakora sauce, before tearing into it like she was a cavewoman and it was a particularly tasty piece of the very last woolly mammoth. ‘What about you? You have a good day?'

‘Yeah, I suppose.'

‘What did you do?'

I thought about Jason. ‘Paid a visit to an old friend.'

‘Who?'

‘Somebody I used to work with.'

She pointed a chicken bone at me. ‘Now you're being all mysterious. What are you up to?'

I shrugged. ‘Just trying to clean up the streets of the big bad city.'

She clasped her hands together and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘My hero.'

‘Just doing my job, Ma'am.'

‘You ever thought about rejoining the police force?'

I took my time answering. The truth was, I missed it every day. ‘I'm not sure I'd be welcome.'

‘Why not?'

I didn't particularly want to answer her, so I “accidentally” dropped a piece of pakora into the dip, before making a big fuss about fishing it out. Unfortunately, my cunning plan to distract her failed. She pointed the chicken bone at me. ‘Stop farting around. Why not?'

‘I just don't want to.'

‘For God's sake, Cameron.' She picked the last of the meat from the bone and tossed it on her plate, shiny chicken juice on her chin. ‘I bet they would be glad to welcome an experienced copper like you back.'

‘Somehow I very much doubt it.'

Thankfully, the waiter brought our drinks over – a pint for Liz and mineral water for me. As usual, he plonked the pint down in front of me, following the basic rules regarding beverage consumption in Scotland: Man equals Lager; Woman equals Water. I waited until he left before reversing them, resisting the urge to lick the condensation from the side of the glass off my fingers.

7.10.

One Chicken Jaipuri, one Lamb Tikka Garam Masala and
way
too many pakoras later, we made our way to the cinema, walking with the ponderously slow steps of the chronically overfed. The drizzle had let up for a while, and the streets were quiet. Pretty much nothing happens in Glasgow on a Wednesday evening. Even the drunks have to take a night off once in a while.

The cinema was one of those soulless multiplexes that specialise in cramming as many screens as possible into a small space. We bought a couple of Cokes before making our way into the auditorium. The place was almost deserted, so we chose seats nearer to the back, directly in the middle. I'm always careful where I sit; with my height it's easy to piss people off.

After three minutes, Liz wriggled in her seat. ‘I want some Maltesers.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘I like to finish a meal with something sweet.'

‘You practically ate an entire sheep.'

She giggled. ‘I'm going to the snack bar. Want anything?'

‘I think I'm good, thanks.' Actually that was an overstatement. I was so full that it wouldn't matter if Tom Cruise was battling terrorists or a giant, robotic bunny rabbit; I was probably going to sleep all the way through it.

I waited for her to return, listening to the piped-in music, while adverts flashed up on screen. Half-price sale on at Tile-It-All; I'd apparently be crazy to miss it. Behind me, the swing doors banged, and I turned my head, thinking it was Liz returning.

Instead, it was another couple. The lights were dim, but I could see that they were both young and good looking. They made their way to seats a few rows in front of us, his arm on her waist, either guiding her or copping a feel.

Liz came back just as the lights dimmed, slouching back into the seat next to me. Not only had she bought Maltesers, but she had got a quadruple scoop sundae. And two spoons. I shook my head in mock protest. ‘You can't be serious.'

‘I had to go to the ice cream counter. Had to.'

‘Was there some kind of medical emergency?'

‘The counter assistant had a heart attack.'

‘So you helped to resuscitate him?'

She shook her head. ‘I helped myself to the Chocolate Cookie Dough.'

‘Good thinking.'

She opened the bag of Maltesers and scattered some over the ice cream before pressing a spoon into my hand. ‘Guess who I saw?'

‘Who?'

‘My Junior Doc. The one that thinks Tom Cruise is symptomatic of Hollywood's decline. He's with a student nurse. I mean, that's just
slumming
.'

‘The bastard.'

She passed the ice cream over to me and took out her mobile phone, thumb blurring as she tapped a message.

‘What are you doing?'

‘I'm asking my friend Jenny to ruin his evening. He's on call tonight. I'm sure she can think of a reason to drag him back to work.'

‘Hell really doth hath no fury,' I said, glad that I hadn't been forced to stand Liz up. God only knows how she would have punished me.

A few minutes later, just as the movie started, there came the unmistakable sound of a pager going off. Liz and I laughed silently in the darkness as her unwitting victim rushed past.

7.11.

Three hours and several thousand explosions later, the movie was over and we were home, standing outside the door to my flat. No fresh graffiti on my door today, but the pink splodge remained. Apart from the sound of squeaking bedsprings from somewhere behind Lee's front door, the place was silent.

Liz said, ‘You want a coffee? I actually bought some today.'

‘Sure.'

I followed her upstairs. At the front door, she turned to face me. ‘I should warn you, the place is a tip.'

She wasn't kidding. I'd never been in her flat before, and it came as a surprise to find out that it was at least half as big again as my own.

The settee itself was a lumpy green thing that looked like it had seen better millenniums. Clothes – tops, bras, knickers – spilled out of drawers and peeped from underneath the coffee table. Liz instructed me to sit while she went to the kitchen. I did as I was told, trying not to look too closely at her underwear. The settee was surprisingly comfortable.

I don't know what I expected, but there were stacks of books. John Irving, Stephen King, Dickens, Ian Rankin. Very eclectic taste. I picked a Joanne Harris – Chocolat – off the top of one pile, only to find the pages stuck together. No doubt
with
chocolate. I found it easy to imagine Liz sitting there, reading her books, munching away.

She came back with the coffee, pressing a mug into my hands before sitting down next to me. A gap of about two feet separated us.

She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her, completely comfortable on her home turf.

I, of course, wasn't.

Late at night, invited in for coffee. . . was I missing something? I thought we were just friends, but perhaps I had misread the situation.

Perhaps she wanted more from me?

Or perhaps I was letting my own attraction to her lead me on. I'd seen
When Harry met Sally
, knew that Liz probably believed that we could be friends without the awkward question of sex getting in the way.

Except that – for me, at least- the awkward question of sex was getting in the way.

There hadn't been anybody for a long time. Since Audrey. There had been opportunities, of course. The girl at therapy, the client that took a shine to me – I'd been polite but distant. I was too wrapped up in being a miserable bastard.