The Storm Without (10 page)

I hung up. I hoped I hadn't sounded too harsh; it was easy for someone like me — with no ties, no immediate family — to forget that Claire had a life of her own now. Could I judge her for not looking out for my mother? I doubted it.

The front door was open as I walked in; a familiar musty smell greeted me. I turned, closed the door. I noticed condensation clinging to the windowpanes. I ran a desultory finger down the layer of moisture: the place was going to ruin. Maintenance had always been my father's job.

I called out, 'Hello … anybody home?'

No answer.

I walked the length of the hall to the kitchen. As I pushed the door there seemed to be something blocking the way. I eased back, heard a shuffle of old bones and knew Ben was lying in the way. I gave the dog a moment to right himself, tried the handle once more.

He greeted me with his tail wagging, 'Hello, boy …'

I reached down to pat his head, then I noticed the state of the kitchen. He'd relieved himself, defecated on the floor. By the looks of things he hadn't been out for days. He seemed to sense my discovery, slunk back from me, ears pinned down. The look of shame on the old dog's face was heartbreaking.

'It's all right, fella …' I took him by the collar to the back door, led him out to the garden. He lolled down the steps and released his bladder, his arthritic legs shaking as he tried to hold himself up.

'God Almighty …' I looked back indoors. 'What have you been playing at woman?'

I left Ben to sniff around the lawn's edges. The sight of him dug at me; reminded me of an old reel I'd seen of pit ponies being led out to grass for the first time in their sorry lives. I turned for the door.

'Mam … Mam … Where are you?'

I stood still, waited for a reply but none came. My first reaction had been anger; hurt at the sight of the dog and the house, but now I was struck by worry. Where was she? What had happened?

I raced through to the living room: empty. I turned for the dining room, likewise no-one in sight. I bolted up the stairs and knocked on my mother's bedroom door. There was no reply. I battered louder, called out: 'Mam! Mam!'

Silence.

I turned the handle and went inside. A thick foetid air greeted me. The bed hadn't been made, probably hadn't been touched in days, weeks maybe. The curtains were shut tight, blocking out the daylight. I moved towards the window, flooded the room with light. Dust particles danced. I flipped the latch and let the breeze come inside. I stood staring at the carnage of a life in ruins. The room was a mess. Dinner plates piled by the bed. Chocolate bar wrappers on the floor. Empty bottles. Was this really the way my mother was living?

I kicked out at the mattress, walked back through the door. In the hallway I stood for a moment wondering what had gone on, where she could be. For a second I felt defeated, I rushed into the spare room; it was empty. Then I made for my sister's room. My late father had turned it into a study. A place to go and pretend to read, follow his few interests; in reality, it was a place to nap and hide from the world.

Something stirred in the corner of the room as I entered. At once I recognised the huddle of bones on the floor.

'Mam … what the?'

I leant over, touched the sleeve of her dressing gown. She stirred some more, muttered. The smell of drink was thick in the air. I tried to get her upright; she was almost lifeless in my arms. As I sat her against the wall a bottle of Grouse was evacuated from the folds of her gown. It rolled away from us, barely a drop of liquid swilling in the bottle's base. I lashed out with the heel of my shoe, knocked the bottle to the other side of the room.

My mother was drunk as twelve monkeys. I realised at once I'd have to get her walking, talking. I needed to pour some coffee into her. 'Come on, Mam, let's get you on your feet.'

A groan. 'What … What's going on?'

'We're going to get you up and about.' I raised her; her head lolled from side to side. Her face looked pale, almost grey. I'd heard the expression
close to the grave
before but I'd never actually witnessed it in a loved one at such close quarters. The sight of my mother provoked shame in me, deep shame for what she'd become. But, also, I felt a new responsibility grip me: this was the woman who had raised me; now the world had turned and I was going to be the one who had to look after her.

My mother seemed suddenly electrified with an energy, a rage: 'What the hell's going on?'

'Mam, we're going to get some coffee into you.'

'I don't want coffee!'

I had to struggle to keep my grip on her. She pushed me away. Her strength surprised me. Her frame was so thin, wiry. 'Mam, now c'mon …'

She cursed at me. I loosed my grip on her. 'Just leave me. Leave me. Get out of my house.'

I watched her press her shoulder to the wall, manage two or three steps before she slumped against the plaster and let herself slide onto the carpet once more. She curled over and seemed to pass instantly into deep, heavy sleep. I picked her up, she was so light. Nothing of her, that's what people would say. I returned her to her bed. I pulled the duvet over and made sure she was comfortable, sound. She looked lost to the world. Deep in dreams. I wondered what they were about.

For a moment I stood, just watching, but the sight was too painful. I moved away, closed the window a little, drew the curtains and placed a glass of water by the bedside. I left her to sleep it off.

Downstairs, I brought the dog in. Cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. I was opening a new packet of Marlboro, sparking up, when my phone started to ring in my pocket.

It was Claire. The sight of her name in the caller ID made my pulse race with anger. I knew she wasn't to blame, but I knew that's how siblings operated. The weight of family grief was a load to be shared.

'You got my message.' I was brusque.

'I did, yeah …'

There didn't seem any point in pleasantries now. 'Then maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on with our mother?'

There didn
'
t seem any point in keeping things from her. At least, that
'
s what I
'
d decided at this moment. I knew, full well, that I might feel differently after revealing what I
'
d uncovered. I waited for Lyn in the drawing room of my Queens Terrace guest house with a shot of Talisker in hand, the ice clinking every so often on the side of the glass. It was too cold for the ice to thaw. I didn
'
t mind, it kept an edge on the whisky.

The radio seemed to be stuck on WestFM, playing some Human League from the 1980s. I felt strangely transported back to more innocent times; could see the blonde girl singing about working as a waitress in a cocktail bar.
Music was so much better then. Maybe it was just because it was my music. My era. My youth. It seemed to have more heart. Everything looked too slick, too manufactured to me now.

Lyn appeared, seemed to tap into my reverie.
'
Don
'
t you want me, baby?
'

I smiled.
'
They don
'
t write them like that anymore.
'

Lyn took the strap from her shoulder, placed her bag on the ground next to her chair.
'
Oh come on, it wasn
'
t all great.
'

'
Two words: Ultravox, Vienna.
'

A laugh. She tipped her head back.
'
Kept off number one by Shuddap You Face, I seem to remember.
'

She had me. 'I think that's check-mate.'

A smile. She raised a finger in the air, hissed through her teeth. 'No kidding it is.'

I got out of my seat, went to the bar to collect a drink for Lyn. Diet Coke and ice — the ice crackled as it hit the fizzy liquid. My landlady, Mrs Kerr, still upright in her tabard, drew me a look as I passed over the cash. 'What?' I said.

'New lady friend, is it?'

I tilted my head, twisted down the corner of my mouth. 'Please …'

A blatant change of subject. 'Will you be joining us for dinner this evening, Mr Michie?'

'I don't think so … not this evening.'

Then, back on track. 'Oh, dining out are we?' A smile. Eyes over my shoulder towards Lyn. 'With erm …'

I took my change, turned away. 'Thank you.'

Lyn was tapping her foot to a new track on the radio as I arrived. It seemed a shame to break her groove, but I needed privacy. 'Look, would you mind if we took these upstairs?'

She lapsed into mock indignation. 'Douglas Michie … what kind of girl do you take me for?'

I held out my hand. 'My kind.'

'Well, in that case.'

As we left the drawing room, Mrs Kerr maintained her posture at the bar, glancing insouciantly as we passed. I thought to myself: you're as well hung for a sheep as a lamb.

Lyn managed a laugh at the picture on my bedroom wall. 'Oh, my God … I never thought I'd see that again.'

'Oh yeah, the Lassie dog.'

She giggled again, touched the side of her mouth. 'This place is in a time warp.' She turned to face me. 'Do they have the green lady picture … and those Spanish orphan kids anywhere?'

I shook my head. 'Erm, no.'

'Are you sure?'

'Well, I haven't seen them.'

'Maybe you should take a look.'

I pulled out the only chair, motioned Lyn to sit. 'I've had better things to do.'

She took the hint, lowered herself in the creaking upholstery and started to sip at her Diet Coke. For a moment, she looked almost guilt-ridden. It was as if she had suddenly recalled the fate Glenn faced and her recent levity felled her. 'Well, you better tell me what you've been doing.'

I knew she wouldn't like to hear it, but I had to come clean. After all, I never said I wasn't going to see Kirsty's parents. 'I visited the Donalds.'

'Oh …'

I had expected more of a reaction. 'They're good people.'

Nodded. 'I told you that.'

'They don't hate Glenn, you know …'

Her eyes stared out to sea. 'No?'

I laid it out for her. Relayed the highlights of my visit, what we'd discussed. How they appeared. 'I think they had their doubts about Glenn. I mean, they had pretty high expectations for Kirsty, and Glenn …'

'Was hardly marriage material.'

I held my words in check. Changed tack. 'I think I convinced them that there could be more to their daughter's death than the police are letting on.'

Lyn returned her gaze to me. Her brow tightened. 'What do you mean?'

I took a sip of my Talisker, lowered the glass. The ice crackled a little. 'The other night, I followed up on a hunch and let's just say it brought some focus to the investigation.'

She twisted in her seat, leaned forward. 'Go on.'

'I spoke to a contact I have on the force. I can't tell you what he said because that would place you and him in danger if it ever got out. But I think I'm onto something.'

Lyn put down her glass, stood up. She was inches from me as she spoke. 'Onto what?'

I looked away. I didn't know how wise it was to let her know what I knew.

Lyn reached out, grabbed my arm. 'Onto what, Doug?'

Our eyes locked. 'I was given a file.'

'A file, what kind of file?'

'A dossier … it was compiled by someone who'd been looking into some unusual goings on down at the Port of Ayr.'

Lyn scrunched her 'brows. 'I don't understand.'

'I didn't either, at first, but I looked through the file and I spotted a face that I recognised.'

'Who?'

She started to shiver before me. I held her hands in mine. 'It doesn't matter who. If the pieces of the puzzle click into place you'll find out in good time. There'll be no way of keeping it quiet … right now, the less you know the better.'

'But, I need to know, Doug. They have my son, I need to know …'

I tightened my grip. 'Lyn, if I'm right, this runs deep. Trust me, I have to keep you in the dark, for your own safety.'

'Oh, Doug …' She buried her head in my chest. 'I'm not strong enough for this.'

I placed my fingers beneath her chin, raised her face. 'Hey, you're plenty strong enough. I know you of old, remember?'

She smiled, a small smile that suddenly gave way to an uninhibited heartmelter. I didn't know why, or how, but my reassurance had done the trick. I could tell Lyn believed in me as our eyes met and locked again. She quickly pressed her lips onto mine and the fiery sting of Talisker was reignited once more.

The chips and curry sauce from the Harbour Views Chinese had solidified in the container by the time I got round to opening it. I
'
d bought them without really possessing a proper appetite. I had a hunger, but it wasn
'
t for food. The streets of Auld Ayr seemed to be closing in on me as I shuffled into the wind that wailed down Fort Street. By the Academy I was nearly bent double. The thought of tackling food deserted me and I loped towards the nearest bin to dump what should have been my comfort food. Any comfort was in short supply. My mind was racing with thoughts of Lyn, the case, and just what I had got myself into.