Beyond the Rage (14 page)

26

Back in Glasgow, Kenny brought the two young men up to his flat. He left them in the living room and went into his kitchen for some more painkillers and something he could use to make a cold compress.

Some paracetamol dissolving in his stomach and a pack of frozen peas wrapped in a tea-towel against his head, he returned to his guests. Mark was standing by the window taking everything in and Calum was sitting on the sofa, straight-backed, both feet on the floor.

At the window Mark was looking up and down the street. ‘Hey, you can pure see in to folk’s bedrooms at the other side of the street. D’ye ever catch anybody shagging, Kenny?’

‘Your knee okay, then?’ Kenny asked Calum, pointedly ignoring Mark.

Calum nodded.

‘Man, this place is so cool,’ said Mark. ‘When I get my act together I’m going to get me some of this.’ As he spoke, his eyes coasted around the room, taking in the electronics and the expensive furniture. ‘You’re a lucky man, m’man.’

‘Luck has fuck-all to do with it, m’man. Turn it down a notch, will you, Mark?’ Kenny asked, making a face. He recognised his irritability and chewed it down. Sometimes the man’s energy was too much for him. He sat opposite Calum and looked from one to the other. They were so different. The one chunkier and lively, the other leaner and steadier.

What was he going to do with them? He thought back to the moment when he sent Mark the text: what was he thinking about? At that point he hadn’t thought beyond having some back-up. He didn’t think he really needed it, but some sixth sense had prompted him. Good job he had sent the text. If he hadn’t, he might well be warming a cell in Dumfriesshire that very morning as a suspect of an attempted murder.

Diana. He wondered how she was.

Alexis. Where the fuck was she?

One thing was for sure, she hadn’t been taken by the shooter. Mark reported that he jumped into a car on his own. So where had she gone? He was beginning to regret coming back up to Glasgow. He was disorientated; hadn’t been thinking straight. Mind you, he
’d
been thinking straight enough to remove all trace of himself, and then he
’d
abandoned Alexis. What a colossal prick. Not his brightest moment.

All he could see was that he needed to get the hell out of there before the police arrived. The shooter and his boss were in Glasgow, so that was where he needed to be. But only Alexis knew who the boss-man was, and she had vanished.

Mark walked across the room and sat beside his brother. He picked up a remote.

‘You got Sky Sports on this thing?’ he asked as he pointed it at the receiver.

‘No,’ said Kenny. ‘Put on a news channel, will you?’

‘The
news
?’ said Mark in a dismissive tone.

‘In case the shooting we’ve just come from has reached the media,’ Calum explained.

‘Oh, right.’ Mark’s eyebrows all but merged with his hairline. ‘Fuck me, we could be on the telly.’

What was he going to do with these two, Kenny thought again to himself. Calum returned his gaze, nothing showing on his face, looking as if one word was enough for him to spring into action, but until then energy would be conserved. Mark leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rocking in position, his face and body charged with the possibilities of this new connection with Kenny. All action; little thought.

The news channels were full of the latest natural disaster. Black heads bobbing in floodwater. Naked children without the energy to swat flies away from their faces. The Westerner raped their lands for centuries, moved out and they continued to pay the price.

He fired up his laptop. Opened the BBC website and looked for West of Scotland news. There was nothing. Not yet anyway, but he was sure it would make the news. Thankfully, guns were rare in this part of the world and therefore newsworthy when used. The fact that an old woman was shot should get everyone clutching at their breasts in panic.

‘Hungry?’ he asked them.

‘Thought you
’d
never ask, mate,’ Mark grinned. ‘I’m hank marvin.’

Calum nodded.

Kenny considered what might be in his fridge and freezer and nodded. The staple of the Scottish male was waiting for his hand to put it together. ‘Bacon rolls do you?’

‘Champion.’

‘Thanks.’

Fifteen minutes later they had each munched their way through two bacon rolls and two cups of coffee. Kenny felt a little nauseous, but he knew he needed some fuel in his body or he would collapse. He forced the food down with a grimace while skimming through the various news channels. Nothing.

‘So,’ he said, thinking out loud, ‘I’m in the loo. Diana answers the door. She gets shot. Alexis will be next but I disturb the killer by running down the stairs. He hides from me. Alexis runs – where to? Only place could be the back door.’ He faced Calum. ‘Was the back door open when you cleaned down the kitchen?’

‘The door was closed, but I didn’t check if it was locked.’

Kenny tried to recall the view from the kitchen window. He got an image of a well-maintained garden. Some trees and bushes. Could there have been a hut?

‘I need to find out how Diana is,’ Kenny said.

‘Want me to be the grandson again?’ asked Calum.

‘Good idea.’ Kenny returned to the search engine. Mumbled, ‘Hospitals in Dumfriesshire,’ as he typed. Got a hit, dialled a number. Handed the phone to Calum.

‘An old woman was brought in this morning with a gunshot. Can you tell me how she is?’ Same voice, same note of concern. ‘No one’s been brought in? Who am I? I’m her grandson, Davie.’ A pause. He looked over at Kenny.

Kenny heard the electronic crackle of a male voice coming down the telephone line.

‘This is not a prank, mate,’ said Calum. ‘I saw her body. The blood was all over the place. I’m no telling you where I am.’ He hung up.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ asked Kenny.

Calum was wearing a grim smile. ‘They’ve had no gunshot wounds today. In fact the receptionist can’t remember the last time they did have to treat a gunshot wound. He was going to call the police on me for wasting his time.’

Kenny pulled up a mental image of Diana the last time he
’d
seen her. The wound was in the upper part of her chest. With luck it would have missed all of her vitals and exited the other side. If so, she
’d
be in a lot of pain, would possibly need a blood transfusion, but her life wouldn’t be in danger.

Could Alexis have doubled back and taken both her and her mother somewhere safe? Man, he couldn’t think straight. That bump to the head was causing him serious trouble.

He leaned back on the sofa, let the leather comfort his aching muscles and closed his eyes. How tired was he. He felt the pull of sleep and fought it. Not yet. There was work to do.

‘Describe the shooter.’

‘Kinda ordinary,’ Mark shrugged.

‘Slim with a hint of muscle,’ said Calum. ‘About five ten. Short dark hair. Walked like he knew how to take care of himself.’

It was the same guy. Kenny was sure of it. Hired muscle. But who was he working for? He needed to get out onto the streets, speak to some undesirables, find out who this guy was. Glasgow was a small city. Someone was bound to know.

He closed his eyes. So tired. The knock to the head must have taken more out of him than he realised. Five minutes. He could sleep for five minutes.

‘Shouldn’t we get you checked out for concussion?’ asked Calum.

‘I’m bloody fine,’ Kenny replied, sitting up straight. ‘Totally fine. Nothing that a few hours kip wouldn’t cure.’ He
’d
suffered through the symptoms of a simple concussion several times before. The doctors would just take a note of his vitals and leave him in a cubicle for a couple of hours before coming back to check on him again.

He made a mental inventory of his body and his reactions. Nausea, tired and irritable. Confused thinking, initially; that had made him leave without finding Alexis. Apart from that he was fine. He just couldn’t afford to take another one to the head for a few more days.

He closed his eyes.

Five minutes. All he needed was five minutes.

His phone rang. Anxiously, he read the display. Disappointed, he answered.

‘Ian, what is it?’

His cousin’s voice sobered him instantly.

‘It’s Mum,’ Ian said.

27

Corridors. Kenny hated corridors. He hated the way his footsteps echoed along them, the linoleum they used for the floors and the inevitable grey paint on the walls.

For most people corridors were a sheltered link from one room to another. A way of moving from A to B. To Kenny, they signalled an institution. Miserable places where the needs of the helpless were met by the uncaring. He
’d
been in a couple as a boy. When his dad disappeared, he was taken to an orphanage before his Aunt Vi claimed him. It took her six months to satisfy the bureaucrats; six months in which he needed the love and support of those closest to him but received nothing but lukewarm food, cold sheets and a cool disinterest. Then when the hormones, assisted by a gutful of anger, surged through his body, a number of misdemeanours got him locked up in a borstal.

When Kenny arrived in such a place, bursting with acne and attitude, the term borstal had officially been replaced with ‘Youth Custody Centre’. His time had been brief and vital, but the education he received there was not the one intended by the authorities. He learned when to blend in, when to make use of his natural aggression and how to hide the evidence of nocturnal masturbation. This was expressly forbidden and to the young Kenny it was bizarre that the guards would check their beds each morning for stiff sheets.

He also observed that in the main the boys around him were stupid, lacking in education and minus the drive to do anything about it. He vowed that he would do what he needed to do, but that he
’d
never get caught again.

When his sentence was over, there was Aunt Vi at the end of a corridor, ready to pat his shoulder, offer advice and the shelter of her home.

This time the corridor was in a hospital and again, Aunt Vi waited at the far end, but now he was the visitor. She
’d
suffered from a massive stroke, Ian told him.

She was in the High Dependency Unit in Southern General Hospital. This was situated on the far side of the River Clyde and would take him twenty minutes, traffic-dependent. Visiting time began at 2:30pm, which had given him a couple of hours to sleep.

Not that he could.

He
’d
sent the brothers packing and lay down on his bed. His mind wouldn’t allow him rest. It jumped from one worry to the next. Aunt Vi, Alexis and Diana. His father. He
’d
promised himself he
’d
find out the truth of his past, but the danger that Alexis was in had thrown all of that from his mind.

His stomach twisted and his jaw ached with it all. When he was a teenager and in this much turmoil he
’d
simply find a car and take a joyride or he
’d
find a boy bigger than him and challenge him to a fight.

He was beyond all that now, wasn’t he? But if a certain sick fuck had been in front of him right then he
’d
have taken take great joy in jumping on his head until grey matter leaked out of his ears.

His heels thunked on the concrete-grey, linoleum-clad floor as he walked down the corridor to where his aunt was being looked after. He approached a desk and several tired faces turned to address him. He gave his aunt’s name. A nurse stood up and walked over to the desk. Her uniform struggled to contain her, buttons threatened to pop from chin to knee.

‘You’ll be Kenny,’ she said, her face warmed through with concern. ‘She’s had a hard time. Don’t expect too much, son.’

Son. She looked younger than he was.

She pointed where the corridor split in two. He was to go to the right. ‘Room Four,’ she said.

The door had a glass panel, through it he could see his uncle in a chair by the bed. Vi was out of his line of sight. Colin was leaning forward, one hand reaching across the bed, his full attention on the bed’s occupant. To Kenny, he looked smaller and thinner, his face slack with worry and the sudden onslaught of age.

Kenny took a deep breath and replayed the nurse’s words.

Don’t expect too much.

He set his features and walked in to the room. His Uncle Colin looked up at him, his face registering nothing by way of a reaction to Kenny’s appearance. It was like he had left the room minutes ago on an errand and simply returned.

‘I sent Ian home,’ Colin said, his eyes back on his wife. ‘He’s been here all night. Needs to get some sleep.’

‘How is she?’ Kenny asked, finally turning his attention to his aunt.

Shock stole a gasp from his lungs. He closed his mouth and set a smile on it. When had he seen her last, he tried to recall. It was only a matter of weeks ago. The difference was incredible. If Colin’s pain hadn’t been so evident, he would have thought he was bent over the wrong woman.

Her body had shrunk, barely causing a ripple on the sheets that covered the low-lying line of her limbs. Her head and shoulders were held up by a small tower of pillows, her face twisted to the side. Her bottom lip had worked its way to the left, a swollen lump. One eye was closed and the left eye seemed to have grown to dominate the space all but vacated by the other. This eye fixed on him as he moved closer to the bed.

‘You been in the wars, Aunt Vi?’ he asked. It felt like his voice was loud and harsh in the confined space.

He could tell that she was fighting to respond to his question but whatever her brain demanded of her body nothing happened; the signals blocked and incapable of reaching muscle. Her eye seemed to grow larger in her urgency to communicate with him.

‘You alright, Colin?’ Kenny asked, keeping his smile loaded and locked on his aunt.

‘Just feckin’ dandy,’ said Colin.

The eye moved to Colin’s face. Even now, Vi was working to keep the peace between them.

‘You want a break? Want to go for a coffee or something and I’ll keep her company?’

Colin said nothing. Simply sat where he was, gripping his wife’s lifeless hand in the great wedges of skin, bone and muscle that were his. He opened his mouth as if to speak and closed it again. He was so tired he was beyond making a decision.

Kenny studied his uncle – the brown Marks and Spencer cardigan, the jut of his Adam’s apple, the grey stubble and the throb of defeat in his eyes. If Vi didn’t recover from this, he expected the next phone call from Ian might be to say that his Uncle Colin had driven headfirst into a tree.

‘Uncle Colin, take a break. I’ll sit with Vi for ten minutes.’ As he spoke, Kenny moved towards the seat his uncle was crouched in, his actions telling the older man that he
’d
not take a refusal. Without taking his eyes from his wife, Colin got to his feet as if it was a monumental effort to reach his full height.

‘See you in a minute, love,’ he said and gave his wife’s hand a little shake then, without a glance at his nephew, he left the room.

Kenny was used to his uncle’s gruff treatment of him and on this occasion brushed it off like lint from cloth. Sitting down, he adopted his uncle’s posture and gripped Vi’s hand in both of his. Her focus was completely on him now, her stare unwavering. So much so he wondered if she had lost the ability to blink.

‘You’re in the best place, eh?’ he said, completely at a loss. It was apparent that his aunt was able to understand what he was saying; he just didn’t know what he should say other than a stream of inanities. A sentence about the weather edged towards his tongue but was blocked off by his refusal to issue the words.

‘They ran out of grapes down at the gift shop.’ He smiled and held his hands out. ‘Sorry. Oh and the Lucozade was also gone.’ He laughed. It always seemed as a child that when he was forced to visit relatives in the hospital that everyone came supplied with Lucozade and grapes. Like they were on some universal prescription.

He looked at the living petrification that the stroke had visited upon his aunt. How quickly the human body could be turned off. This was not his aunt. She was in there somewhere and all that was required was some arcane science to bring her back to the surface.

Holding her hand was giving him an anchor of sorts, her skin as dry as cotton, the bones so light he fancied that it was nothing but slender straws held together by muscle. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her skin. Emotion clogged his chest, restricted his breathing. Tears stung his eyes.

‘You’ve got to get better, Aunt Vi,’ he whispered onto the back of a hand as ineffective as a glove. ‘Who else have I got?’ He fought for some control. This wasn’t fair. She could understand everything and he shouldn’t be putting her under any pressure.

He lifted his head to see a tear squeeze from the corner of her eyelid. He reached for it and wiped it dry. Smiled ruefully. ‘If only I could return you to you so easily.’

A memory breached. One of the few times he could actually remember his mother and his aunt together. He must have been about five or six. He
’d
fallen off his bike and his knee was a patch of gravel and torn skin. His howls could have woken the catatonic.

Mum and Aunt Vi came rushing to his rescue and between them they carried him into the kitchen. Once there, they sat him on the table. The very table he found his mother slumped over all those years later. As he sobbed, snot bubbled out his right nostril. His chest heaved and he tried to tell the women what had happened.

‘A dog...’ – sob – ‘...ran out...’ – sob.

His mum pressed his head to her chest and issued words of calm and soothing while Aunt Vi picked at the stones that had been pushed through his skin. When he wouldn’t calm down, his mother lost patience.

‘What’s all the crying for?’ she said. ‘Big boys don’t cry.’

‘Don’t you do that, Vicky. Don’t be pressing that rubbish onto him. If little boys were allowed to cry, maybe they
’d
grow up to be real men and able to deal with emotional stuff.’

Through his sobs, Kenny watched his mother study his aunt as if she
’d
just dropped in from a far-flung corner of the Earth. Eventually her need to be dominant in her own home surfaced.

‘Don’t you tell me how to raise my son, Vi.’

His aunt shrugged, made a face at Kenny as if to say,
Sorry son, but I tried
, and without a word went back to cleaning the wound. Once she was finished she applied some disinfectant with the warning that it might sting. Then she moved out of the way to allow his mother the elbow-room to add a large brown sticking plaster.

That was his aunt, Kenny thought. Ahead of her time. Issuing advice long before the experts thought of it.

‘You know I’ve never said this, Aunt Vi. And it’s a disgrace that it had to wait until now, but I was very lucky to have you.’ He bit his lip and closed his eyes tight, trying to hold back the emotion that threatened to surface. ‘You were... are a better mum than I deserved.’

The door opened and the nurse he spoke to earlier bustled in. As she walked, her thighs rubbed together, making more sound than the tread of her feet.

‘Your aunt needs her rest, son,’ she said. The nurse looked at him, her mouth bunched tight like a knot at the end of a child’s balloon. Her expression an offer of sympathy and apology.

‘Right. Of course. ‘ He stood up and dried his face with his sleeve. ‘I’ll go find my uncle.’

• • •

He found his uncle in the hospital cafeteria sitting at a table on his own, a full mug of coffee in his hand. He was staring at the mug as if he needed instructions to tell him how to get the drink into his stomach.

Kenny joined the queue of people waiting to be served and looked around. The room was a long rectangle, painted hospital-blue with tables lined up along each wall like beds in a ward. By way of offering an atmosphere, the hospital authorities had placed a wooden trellis between tables. Each trellis supported the weight of an artificial plant. Given that official visiting times were over, most of the people at the tables were in uniform. Kenny made a face at the thought of spending his breaks from work in such a place.

The woman behind the counter offered him a smile at odds with the cool of the room.

‘What can I get you, love?’ she asked.

‘A mochaccino?’

‘What’s that, love? One of them fancy coffees?’ She laughed. ‘That’s a new one. Wait till I tell the lassies.’

‘White coffee will do,’ Kenny grinned, responding to her good cheer.

‘What about some munchies to go with it? You’re way too skinny, son. How about a nice wee muffin?’ She pointed at a basket that held some mass-produced bakery goods.

‘No, thanks,’ Kenny said. ‘I’ve had my chemicals for the day.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, adopting an expression meant to convey grief, ‘you’re on a diet?’

‘You got it,’ he replied. ‘I’ve lost twenty stones in the last twelve months.’

She paused in the act of pouring his coffee. ‘Don’t tell me. Gastric bypass? Everybody’s doing it these days. Here’s a wee trick for you, son.’ She leaned forward and held a hand to the side of her face. ‘Pop some chocolate cake in the liquidiser. It’s genius.’

Kenny laughed, shook his head and walked over to join his uncle. The older man didn’t move his eyes from the top of his mug.

‘You left her on her own?’ His voice was a low rumble.

‘The nurse told me to leave the room,’ bristled Kenny. ‘What was I to do? Tell her to go fuck herself?’ Kenny closed his eyes and listed the reasons why what he had just said was inappropriate. Then he listed the reasons why he was justified. It was a pretty even list.

‘Always were one with the smart mouth,’ said Colin. ‘Always knew more than everybody else.’

‘What did I ever do to you, Uncle Colin?’ Kenny asked, tired of the tension that was always between them. ‘Why could I never please you?’

Colin looked at him, the line of his mouth twisted as if he had just drunk something sour. ‘You were your father’s son.’

‘Great. Wonderful.’ Kenny clapped his hands. ‘Your wife is seriously ill. The gloves are off. C’mon, tell me more. What else have you been burning to say to me all these years?’