Dead Won't Sleep (12 page)

‘Not quite. I’ll be going there in a little while. I’ll give you a ring later. Need to go now, I’ve set the alarm on the house.’ She hung up. She needed to talk to someone, but not McGuire. Not right now. She phoned TJ’s mobile, checking her watch at the same time to see if he was out busking yet. He answered immediately.

‘Hey, Rosie. How goes it?’

‘Things could be better.’

‘Has nobody shot you yet?’

‘Not yet.’ She swallowed. ‘TJ, listen. I need to see you right now. I need your help.’

He told her he was on his way to his busking pitch outside O’Brien’s, but he could leave that for a while. She arranged to pick him up at the top of Buchanan Street.

‘You all right?’ TJ said. ‘You sound a bit edgy.’

‘I passed edgy about ten minutes ago,’ Rosie said and hung up.

She pulled into the side of the road when she saw TJ standing in a shop doorway, and gave the horn one quick toot. He caught sight of her and walked towards the car. Rosie felt relief as she watched him, moving towards her with his casual, confident stride, his black saxophone box slung over his shoulder. Just knowing that TJ was around gave her a sense that things would work out. Though she chided herself for her weakness in relying on him, she was always glad when she did, because he had never let her down.

‘Sorry, TJ,’ she said as he got in the car.

‘No problem, darlin’, what wouldn’t I do for you?’ He glanced in the back seat at Gemma, who smiled at him.

‘Who’s this? Are you collecting weans now?’

Rosie took a deep breath and told him what had happened. Every now and again, TJ kept glancing over his shoulder to Gemma, who was sitting upright and looking anxiously from one to the other.

‘Jesus,’ TJ said when Rosie finished. ‘Oh sweet Jesus, Rosie. This is definitely a new one on me.’ He laughed. ‘Tell me, pal, do you actually plan these things just to test me out?’

Rosie recalled how TJ had pulled her out of more than one hole the last two years. No questions asked. No obligations.

‘I wish it was a game,’ Rosie said. ‘I wish. But what are we going to do, TJ?’

‘What do you mean me
we
, Kemo Sabe?’ He laughed. He ran his hands through his greying hair and stared out of the windscreen. Everyone was quiet, then Gemma piped up.

‘Is that your man, Rosie?’

Rosie and TJ glanced at each other.

‘This is TJ,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s my best friend.’ She felt TJ staring at her.

‘I’ve no got a best friend,’ Gemma said. ‘Used to have. Her name’s Linda. She went to live with her granny ’cos her ma’s in the jail.’

Another silence.

‘What we going to do?’ Rosie whispered to TJ.

‘We’ll have to take her back,’ TJ said. ‘Even if we leave her close to the home, you know, at the bottom of the road or something.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You can’t keep her, Rosie. You can’t just keep somebody’s kid.’

‘I know, I know . . .’ She turned to Gemma and took her hand.

‘Listen, Gemma. Now you have to listen to me and try to understand.’ Rosie rubbed the back of the little girl’s hand.

Gemma nodded slowly.

‘Darlin’, it is very important that you go back to the home. If anyone knows you were here with me I would get into a lot of trouble, so I don’t want you to tell anybody. Okay?’

Gemma nodded again, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Now . . . Once you go back to the home, I’ll make arrangements to come and see you at least twice a week. I’ll even ask the social workers if I can get you out for an evening. Maybe we’ll go to the pictures?’

The child looked less downcast.

‘Maybe I can stay in your house for a night? Maybe we could sit on the balcony?’

Rosie looked from Gemma to TJ, who shrugged and looked out of the window.

‘We’ll see,’ Rosie said. ‘I promise you, Gemma. No matter what, I’ll come and visit.’

‘Promise? You won’t forget?’

‘I won’t,’ Rosie said, feeling her voice crack, remembering what it was like to be forgotten. ‘Never. I promise.’

Gemma sat back in the seat and both Rosie and TJ turned around to look at her. TJ brushed his hand across Rosie’s and shook his head, half smiling. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Come on. Before we all end up in the pokey.’

The combination of red wine, stress and exhaustion was fatal for Rosie. She was already quite drunk and they were only halfway through the meal. She was at that stage where she talked non-stop, and TJ was listening intently, asking questions now and again, that would set her off on a rambling, colourful explanation.

She would probably regret this, but right now she felt good. TJ had insisted on taking her to the small Italian bistro downstairs from his flat in the city centre. She told him she was too tired to go anywhere except her bed after the day she’d had, but TJ convinced her she was more in need of some company and a few hard drinks than a rest. Eventually she agreed, and when the bistro’s owner, Giovanni, welcomed them at the bar with a hug, and a gin and tonic that barely touched the sides, she was soon feeling a whole lot better.

Two hours earlier they had driven Gemma within
about fifty yards of the children’s home and dropped her off.

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Rosie had said. ‘You couldn’t make this up.’

It was his plan, and he told her just to do it and keep quiet. It was the only way. Gemma had promised to go straight to the door. She would say she’d gone for a walk and got a bit lost. She’d only been missing for just over an hour, and unless the children’s home was run like a prison camp, they probably wouldn’t even have missed her. They had watched from the car as she walked along the street towards the big, grey sandstone building. She pushed open the door, giving them a furtive wave before she went inside. They waited for about five minutes, keeping an eye on the door to see if there was any activity, but there wasn’t. They left then, telling themselves there was nothing more they could do.

‘I feel wrecked already.’ Rosie rubbed her eyes as TJ filled up her glass with red wine. ‘You shouldn’t have allowed me to drink when I’m this tired.’

‘Nonsense. You’ve hardly had a couple of glasses.’ He downed his drink and gave her a devilish look. ‘Hey. Let’s get hammered. You’ve no work tomorrow, and you’ve already cost me a full night’s busking by dragging me into your kidnapping scam.’

Her eyes flicked across his face, the sallow skin and dark features that TJ had said was the Black Irish in him. His father had been from Donegal and his mother
was from Glasgow. But he always joked that his ancestors were sailors from the Spanish Armada, who jumped ship when they saw the beautiful Irish girls. The romance got lost somewhere between the Irish sea and the rat-infested Glasgow tenement he grew up in.

‘You never tell me all of your story, TJ.’ Rosie was always fascinated by his tales of growing up, and how he just walked away from Glasgow one November morning when he was twenty-two and didn’t come back for twenty years. He’d lived in New York, trekked across Europe, and for a couple of years lived in Cuba.

‘What’re you talking about? I’ve told you loads of stories. What’s to tell?’ He smiled, running a finger around the rim of his wine glass.

Rosie sipped her wine, watching him order coffee for both of them when Giovanni came to the table, then said, ‘Yeah, but I can never really get inside your head. I mean, you’re out there busking, and you say you don’t need to do it for the money. What’s that all about? Don’t you ever wonder, after all the travelling and restless stuff, what’s going to happen? When will it stop?’

She blinked, knowing she was beginning to sound a bit drunk. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t mean to decipher your life. But you know, TJ, I just wonder about you sometimes.’

He leaned forward, lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.

‘It’s okay.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘So what if I keep
travelling? Why stop? Why stay in one place? Who made that rule? I’m happier when I’m moving. It’s when I stop that I feel unhappy.’

Rosie took his cigarette from between his fingers and had a drag of it, then gave it back.

‘Are you unhappy now?’

He smiled. ‘Yeah. Because you keep smoking my fags, Gilmour. Can you not buy your own?’

‘I don’t smoke. You know that.’ She took his again, had another draw, and handed it back to him.

‘Aye. Not much, you don’t.’

‘You never answered my question.’

‘Do you hacks never take a day off?’ He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘No. Right now, right at this moment, I’m not unhappy. I like being with you, Gilmour.’ He looked at her, then away. ‘You’re nuts, but you’re not predictable. Once you get predictable, we’ll not be having these touching little interludes.’ He clinked his glass with hers.

Rosie grinned back. ‘Well that’s good to know. Good that we’ll be mates till the bitter end.’

TJ raised his glass and they clinked again.

He called Giovanni for the bill, and insisted on paying it despite Rosie’s protests.

‘I’ve got a great idea,’ TJ said as they stood up. ‘Let’s go to the salsa dancing and drink tequila just for the sheer badness of it.’

Rosie laughed. ‘Can you salsa?’ She put on her jacket.

‘Can I
salsa
?’ He knotted his scarf around his neck. ‘Did I not live in Havana for nearly two years? I’m talking snake hips here, darlin’.’ He shimmied as he shoved his arms into his jacket.

Giovanni walked them to the door and kissed Rosie on both cheeks, then did the same to TJ.

‘I love you, Giovanni,’ TJ said. ‘I want to have your babies. They’d be beautiful.’

Giovanni laughed, his big belly shaking under his apron, and slapped TJ on the back as they went out into the freezing night.

The salsa bar was dark. Rosie could barely make out the faces of the people at the tables next to her. TJ told her that the darkness was all part of the ploy to make it more like the smoke-filled basement bars in Havana he’d more or less lived in, where everything seemed mysterious and sexy in the candlelight. On the dance floor, couples gyrated to the music. Some of them actually knew what they were doing and snaked their hips towards each other in a sexy sway to the sultry music. Others were women out on a girlie night, just getting bladdered. Fat bellies and backsides swivelled in no coherent direction. Rosie looked at her watch and knew she should be asleep. But what the hell? She was having fun. TJ brought two tequilas and a couple of slices of lemon to the table.

‘Why are we drinking tequila?’ Rosie asked. ‘Isn’t that Mexican? Should it not be rum?’

TJ shrugged. ‘Yes, of course, but tequila’s much more fun. More instant.’ He sat down and clinked his tiny glass with hers. ‘Right. Come on then.’ They both swallowed in one. Rosie could feel the shot burning all the way down and stuffed the lemon into her mouth to take the taste away.

‘Tastes like toilet cleaner.’

‘Really? I’ve never tasted toilet cleaner. You hacks really know how to live.’

He lit a cigarette and offered it to Rosie. She could still feel the drink burning her stomach and took a long draw from his cigarette. A waitress passed by and TJ ordered two more tequilas. Rosie protested, but she didn’t mean it. Just go with the flow . . . see what happens after a few more of these . . . tomorrow was another day . . . But if she kept this up, it would be a sore one.

Two shots later, TJ was holding her hand and touching her arm. A little tingle ran through her.

‘Next year,’ TJ said, looking her in the eye, ‘assuming we’re still friends and you haven’t been shot, I’ll take you to Cuba. You’d love it. I could show you stuff there. It’d be a real blast.’

‘It’s a deal.’ Rosie clinked his glass. ‘In fact, why wait till next year? Let’s go tomorrow. Get the hell out of here.’ They both laughed. But her stomach took a funny little leap. Did he want more than friendship? She hoped not, and she hoped she didn’t either. But right there and then, she would have gone to Cuba with him. Just
kept on going and never come back. That would really be living on the edge. Jesus, it must be the tequila! She waved to the waitress and ordered two more.

‘That’s it, Rosie. Just go with it,’ TJ laughed, and clapped his hands.

This was getting crazy. The music changed, and in a minute the dance floor was full. TJ stood up and put his hands out towards her.

‘Come on, Gilmour. I love this song. I used to play it on my sax in a bar in downtown Havana. Come on.’

‘I can’t dance like that.’ Rosie got up. ‘I’ll make an eejit of myself.’

‘Bollocks. I’ll show you.’ He took her hand and weaved his way through the chairs to the dance floor. He held her hand and showed her a few steps. Rosie was a little unsteady, and he moved closer and pulled her towards him.

‘Just move to the sway of my body.’ He held her close. ‘That’s it. Just get my rhythm and keep on going. It’s a bit like dry humping.’

Rosie was giggling. This was good. They swayed and danced on the crowded floor, TJ swirling like an old pro. And when the music stopped, they were locked somewhere between a dance and an embrace, their cheeks touching. He turned her face towards him and kissed her full on the lips. Not exploratory. Hard and decisive. She felt his tongue flick into her mouth and she kissed him back. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough.
When they pulled back Rosie could feel his breath on hers as she looked into his eyes.

‘Let’s go home,’ TJ whispered, and gripped her hand tightly as they left the dance floor.

She followed him as he lifted their jackets, and they walked out of the club in silence.

His flat was only a couple of blocks away, and they didn’t speak until they got to the front door. Rosie was lost for words, but she could hear her heartbeat. She should stop this now, but she couldn’t. What if it ruined everything? She knew what was going to happen, but she couldn’t think beyond that.

‘You okay?’ TJ pushed open the main door of the flats.

Rosie nodded and they went inside the dark hall, towards the staircase leading to TJ’s flat on the first floor. He took her hand as they walked up the stone stair and Rosie could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t feel so drunk now. TJ stopped on the stairway. He turned to her and pulled her towards him. He was breathing fast as his lips ran over her face and neck, and she could feel him hard against her. He touched her breasts and she put her arms around him. He started tugging at her jeans. Jesus!