G03 - Resolution (36 page)

Tonsa cocked her head and narrowed her lips. “What ye doing here?”

Uncertainly, Maureen thumbed back to the chapel doors. “Urn, your brother,” she said. “He invited us.”

Tonsa seemed to be staring at Maureen’s hands and her mouth hung open, a wetness glistening behind the mesh veil. Unnerved, Maureen clasped her hands behind her back. “I think I met you years ago,” she said. “At the Barras.”

Tonsa looked at her face.

“With my brother, Liam?”

Tonsa lurched forward, like a drunk falling and catching herself. “Your brother,” she said loudly, dead-eyed as ever. “He battered me.” She threw out a loosely cupped hand, as if she was going to punch Maureen in the stomach. Maureen looked at it. A ragged red scar ran from the wrist to the base of her thumb. “Cut me,” said Tonsa. “My hand don’t work right now.”

“Why on earth would he do that?” Maureen asked.

“Screwed him over a deal.” Tonsa looked at her hand, as if seeing it for the first time, and unsteadily traced the length of the scar. “He was teaching me a lesson.”

“Yeah?” Maureen retorted. “If he did that, why did ye drop the charges?”

Tonsa’s hand fell to her side. “He said he’d do the other hand.”

Maureen pretended not to believe her. “I think you know a friend of mine as well,” she said.

“Who’s that?”

“Mark Doyle? I saw ye having a drink together in Brixton once.”

For the first time ever in their long, if distant, acquaintance, Tonsa’s eyes displayed an expression. She nearly smiled. “Cheerio,” she said flatly, and climbed gracelessly back into the Jag on all fours.

When they rang the bell there was no answer, but they could hear a radio coming from round the back, the tinny sound of quacking voices rattling down the tall alley between the houses. Maureen and Leslie followed it to the garden, and pushed open the rotting wooden gate. As they turned the corner they saw Liam sitting on a kitchen chair, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, his back, chest and thighs sunburned pink, as if they had been slapped. He was smiling, with his feet up on another chair, watching Siobhain at the far end of the garden. She was pottering around the shrubbery in a giant straw hat and sleeveless sundress with cherries on it, shouting remonstrances back at him about keeping it nice and putting the work in. Liam nodded and smiled, calling yeah, yeah, sure thing. Siobhain had a small wicker basket of old gardening tools and was poking at something in the bare soil, pulling out stringy plants. It was such an unexpected and self-sufficient scene that both Maureen and Leslie hesitated for a second in the damp shadows.

“Hello?” said Maureen, as if she had never been there before.

Liam and Siobhain stiffened guiltily as they looked up and saw them.

“How long have you been there?” said Liam.

“Oh, right?” smiled Leslie. “Nothing to hide, then?”

Siobhain grinned, and Leslie stepped into the sunny garden and walked over to her, punching her arm playfully. Siobhain shrugged innocently, as if it had been a game, as if she hadn’t been involved in a deception.

Liam and Maureen were standing still, staring at each other. Liam raised his hand and brushed the hair off his face. “Give us a hand with the tea, Mauri,” he said, and jogged down the steps to the kitchen.

Maureen followed him, watched by Siobhain and Leslie, who were no longer laughing, knowing that something was amiss. It was dark in the kitchen. Liam pulled cups from the open cupboard onto the worktop.

“Are you blushing,” said Maureen flatly, “or sunburned?”

“A bit of both,” he said, and turned to face her.

Maureen was furious. “I specifically asked you about Siobhain,” she hissed, “and you lied to me.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” he said quietly.

“This isn’t everything” she shouted. “Liam, this is Siobhain. She’s had a shit time and a miserable fucking life and the last thing she needs is some melancholy rake trying to save her from herself with beef injections.”

“Excuse me,” he said, genuinely insulted, “I’m not a rake.”

“Aye, ye are,” she yelled. “You’re terrible to women. Remember, I know ye were unfaithful to Lynn with that bint Marsha, and ye dumped poor, stupid Maggie for Lynn—”

Liam pointed in her face. “You didn’t even like Maggie,” he shouted, as if that were the nub of the matter.

“What fuckin’ difference does it make whether I liked Maggie or not?”

“Well,” he said, noisily arranging the cups on a wooden tray, “it mattered to me.”

“Bollocks,” said Maureen, to his back. “The point is that you’re horrible to your girlfriends and Siobhain’s very vulnerable.”

“Oh, that’s shite.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, blame the guy, Mauri.” He opened the rattling old fridge. “Cherchez the fucking guy.” He took out some milk, smelled it and put it on the tray. He was arguing the way he always did, evading the point, skipping sideways.

“If you treat her badly,” warned Maureen, “if you fuck her about, Liam, I’ll fucking kill ye.”

Liam held on to the worktop behind him with both hands, like a man standing on a precarious ledge. “I’m not gonnae,” he said.

“How can you possibly know that?” said Maureen.

“She’s …” He hesitated over the wording, got flustered and waved his hand in front of his face. “I really like her.”

“Liam, really liking someone isn’t enough. This woman has a precarious grip on her mental health. It’s not enough just to mean well.”

They looked out of the window at Siobhain and Leslie. Siobhain was bossing Leslie around the shrubs, getting her to crouch down near the back and pull out the weeds she couldn’t reach.

“Just because she’s been ill,” said Liam, “that doesn’t mean she never gets to go out with anyone, does it?”

“No, but it means she needs to go out with someone responsible, someone who’ll be careful with her.”

“I can be those things,” he said, backing off across the kitchen. “Anyway, she’s allowed a life. She’s allowed boyfriends. It’s not like I’ve knocked her up or hit her.” He stopped and looked at his sister. “It’s a nice thing,” he said softly, “a good thing. I’m not going to feel bad about it.”

“Would you have nipped her if she was still as fat as fuck?”

“Mauri,” he said, reproachfully, “she nipped me, and it all started when she was overweight. I didn’t want her to go on that diet. I tried to get her to stop it.”

“Why would ye do that, Mr. New Man?” said Maureen tartly, knowing that all of Liam’s girlfriends had been slim.

Liam smiled up at her. “Take it from me, even love can’t blind ye to methane.”

The kettle whistled to a pitch on the stove and Liam turned off the gas, used a tea towel to pull the stopper off the spout and poured water into a teapot.

“I can’t fucking believe you lied to me.”

“Tell the truth, Mauri,” Liam said playfully, “ye can’t believe I lied to you convincingly.”

He was right, and it annoyed her. “Why did you lie?” she said, sounding accusing to cover her embarrassment.

“Siobhain wanted to keep it a secret. She was worried it wouldn’t last.”

“Do you think it’ll last?”

Liam glanced out of the window. Siobhain was getting angry, pointing at Leslie’s feet and raising her voice. “Well, it’ll last for me,” he said. “I think she’s fantastic. She’d probably stay with me for the garden as much as anything else.”

He watched Siobhain through the window, and Maureen could see he meant it, he did care for her, but she was worried. Liam would always need to protect Siobhain, save her from hurt and harm. She foresaw his life, saw everything given over to looking after Siobhain. And when he failed, as inevitably he would, the recriminations and self-loathing, the acid self-blame. Liam was always looking after some poor damaged bird. First it had been her and now Siobhain. She wanted more for him.

Maureen carried the tray out to the garden and Liam brought out two more chairs. They sat in a little circle, sipping tea like visitors from a neighboring plantation, as Siobhain talked them round the garden. She had planted the herbs near the back door so they could be picked easily in the middle of cooking. She’d put the virulent mint on the other side of the door, hoping to keep it away from the other herbs. It made such a nice smell and she hoped it would waft into the kitchen in the late summer, when it was better established. The shrubbery was full of weeds because the feckless neighbors let dandelions and nettles grow on their side of the fence.

Maureen thought ahead to the trial and wondered idly whether Siobhain might be in league with Angus. Perhaps he still had control over her and had made her leave the letters and parcels outside Maureen’s door. She screwed up her nose at the thought, knowing what was prompting her suspicion. She was resentful at being so completely deceived and was not a little possessive of Liam. As Maureen listened to Siobhain talking, her sense of foreboding subsided and she could see that Liam and Siobhain might be a good thing. If Siobhain was allowed to take those chances maybe Maureen, too, could have a boyfriend, a normal boyfriend.

When Siobhain had finished her tea she took Leslie to help her finish the weeding by the far wall, leaving Maureen and Liam alone. The sun was sliding behind the house, a bank of thick shade sneaking up on them.

“So,” said Maureen, lighting a fag, “what else have you lied convincingly about?”

“Nothing,” said Liam, savoring the last of the sun.

“You beat Tonsa up, didn’t ye?” she said suddenly.

Instantly defensive he turned to her, sucking his teeth in a hiss. He saw her eyes and dropped the stance.

“Ye cut her wrist — she could have bled to death.”

“I didn’t cut her,” he said quietly.

“You did beat her up, though, didn’t ye?”

Liam nodded faintly. “Mauri, things happen sometimes—”

“Did you hit her in the face?”

He wrinkled his brow as he watched Siobhain and Leslie. “Things got out of control. I’m not proud of it. I got into a situation …” He squirmed in his chair, avoiding her eye. “I can see in hindsight … I got into a situation and there was nothing else I could do. I wish it had gone another way. I wish I was a better person and had never been in that position. But I’m not, I was there and there was a situation …”

“Did ye cut her?” she said.

“No,” he half smiled, “I never cut her. There’s a lot you don’t know about Tonsa, a lot ye don’t want to know about her. Tonsa’s got a bad knife habit. She cuts herself and other people when she can get away with it. ‘Member she was in the paper with her boyfriend when he got slashed? ‘Stop These Evil Men’ headline? Well, it was Tonsa. Tonsa cut him.”

He looked at her, expecting relief or some sort of reaction, but she was staring at the ground in front of her, neck limp, thinking. She could see it all clearly now, proud Ella the Flash and Tonsa playing a knife over her hand, switching her skin, muttering threats not to tell, while Si sat and watched. She could have said something to the mortician at the time if she’d known, but Liam had lied about Tonsa. He’d been lying to her about Tonsa for over a year.

“I met Benny on Friday,” she said to hurt him. “I had a cup of tea with him.”

Liam stared at her but she didn’t look at him. She was waiting for him to shout at her that Benny was a bastard, but he didn’t.

“How is he?”

“He’s sorry.”

“Is that enough for you, that he’s sorry?” Liam asked. “Even though he helped Farrell fuck you over, after all he did?”

“No,” she said, “it’s not nearly enough. But I’m glad he’s sorry. He asked after ye.”

“Did he?” Liam twisted his mouth, suppressing a smile, and turned back to the garden.

It was a long shot, she knew, but it was worth a try, just in case. “You’ve lied to me about the baby, haven’t ye?”

Liam drank the end of his tea. He put the cup down so carefully she hardly dared to look at him.

“Haven’t ye?”

He sat very still for a while, one hand clutching his hair, the elbow resting on his knee. She touched his sunburned back and he flinched. “What is it?” she said, watching her searing white handprint fade on his red skin.

Liam looked away from her. “She’s called her Maureen,” he said.

Maureen O’Donnell sat very still as the iron entered her soul.

It was getting dark, a depth of darkness they hadn’t seen for weeks. Clouds were gathering overhead and the heat was intensifying. The city was headed for a storm.

Leslie shook her head. “Not there.”

Maureen knew she was right. They were crouched behind the hedge at the back of the house and could see Una sitting in an armchair in the kitchen. The baby was asleep in the white plastic carry-chair, sitting on the table. Her little arms and legs stretched and flexed in her sleep, as if in dreamy remembrance of a watery time before now. Una had been watching the television from her chair but her head was slumped forward now. They had been in the dark lane for forty minutes, crouched behind the hedge. The vomit spill Maureen had left there a few nights ago had dried hard.

“God, my fucking knees are gonnae snap,” said Leslie.

Maureen stood up and gestured to her to follow her out to the road. They walked round the corner to the bike, lighting badly needed cigarettes.

“Could he just be at home on his own?” said Leslie.

“Liam says he’s not to be alone.”

“At Winnie’s, maybe?”

The last time Maureen had spoken to her, Winnie said they didn’t like him and hadn’t seen him for a while, but she hadn’t spoken to Winnie for a long time and didn’t know what the state of play was. “Mibi,” she said.

“Come on,” said Leslie. “We’ll check out his house first.”

Ruchill was a wasteland between two rough areas. Damp housing thrown up in the fifties had recently been ripped down, leaving a Hiroshima landscape of roads crisscrossing empty rectangles of grass and rubble and a line of occupied tenements skirting the main road, like a Wild West film set. The devastation ended with a sharp dip down a hill to a deep burn. At the other side of the road the burned-out tower of the old fever hospital, blackened and brooding, watched the road.