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Authors: Allan Guthrie

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BOOK: Kiss Her Goodbye
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"You can't give up university just like that," Ruth had said the night Gemma told them of her plans.

Gem had an old school atlas open across her knees. She pointed to Edinburgh, then, with her finger, drew a line directly north. Beyond the Scottish coastline, she hit the group of islands where Adam's retreat was located. She looked up. "Further east than you think." She smiled at Joe.

Ruth stormed out of the room.

"I'm sure you'll love it in Orkney," Joe said.

"Thanks, Dad." She closed the atlas. "I better go see if Mum's okay."

Joe called Adam a few days before Gem left and told him to take good care of her. Adam promised she'd be well looked after. Really, he said, she was in extremely capable hands. Orkney was a lot safer than Edinburgh. Hardly any arseholes running around with baseball bats.

Joe told him what would happen if any harm came to her and hung up.

*

Joe's fingers were tingling as he pulled up outside the tenement block where he lived. He got out of the car. Fumbled for his house keys. Dropped them. He swore and picked them up off the pavement and headed inside.

He ran up the stairs to the flat. Couldn't help himself.

Ruth opened the door the minute his key scratched in the lock. She was a mess. Her eyes looked like she'd scooped them out, dipped them in a tin of tomatoes and put them back in. She sniffed. Wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She said, "Gem." She turned her head. Wisps of dyed brown hair shrouded her face.

He grabbed her hand. "Tell me."

Her hand slipped out of his grasp. She looked at him, lips stretched, gums pink and fleshy. He could have sworn she was grinning. Left of
center
, a single strand of saliva bridged her lips. She said, "She's dead."

He formed a fist. Slammed his knuckles into his open palm. He kicked the door. Let his hands drop. Ruth's shoulders were shaking. Her jaw quivered. She looked hideously old.

Joe wiped his hand on his trousers. "You're a lying cow." He turned his back on her.

"Don't go." She grabbed his sleeve. "I need you."

He swatted her hand away. Bile coated his tongue. He went to the bathroom. Locked the door. Spat in the sink. He felt dizzy. His armpits itched. He sat on the toilet and shouted through the door, "When did this happen?"

"Come out."

The smell of toilet cleaner made him want to retch. He lurched towards the door.

He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. His scalp hurt. He pulled harder. The pain was satisfying. He yelled. Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He let go. He looked ridiculous. A thirty-eight year old man trying to pull his hair out by the roots. "When I'm ready," he muttered.

He leaned against the sink. The cold tap dripped. He tightened it. No difference. Needed a new washer. Bugger it. He'd been meaning to get it fixed for a while. He watched drops of water explode against the grey enamel. Fascinating little liquid bombs. When he looked up at himself in the mirror he felt sick. Like he'd just drunk a few pints of cream.

Hands clammy, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Ruth was huddled in the corner, facing him. "What happened?" he asked her.

She didn't look at him. "Pills."

"Pills," he said, nodding. "Pills. What kind of pills?"

"Paracetamol."

He stared at the swollen veins on the backs of his hands. Putting on a bit of weight, maybe. His wedding ring was too tight these days. He cleared his throat. He couldn't say it.

After a while Ruth said it for him. "She killed herself."

Standing on the finishing line, clutching the hare to your chest — and you can't let go — as a thirty-five kilo greyhound sprints towards you. The dog rams you in the stomach. Bam. Joe struggled to get his breath back. Then, still panting, he said, "She wouldn't do that. Not Gem. Not my daughter."

Ruth looked at him, her red eyes squeezing tears down her face. "The police said there were no suspicious circumstances."

He stuck one of his knuckles in his mouth and bit it. It tasted salty.

"She was depressed, Joe."

He took his finger out of his mouth.

Ruth said, "They have to do an autopsy."

"Why, for fuck's sake?"

"Don't get angry. It's the law. They're doing it as soon—"

"I don't want to know." He caught himself grabbing a handful of hair again. Stopped just in time. He shoved his hands in his pockets where they couldn't do any damage. His legs were shaking. "When did it happen?"

"Last night."

His hands sprang out of his pockets, fingers splayed. "And you didn't tell me?"

"How could I?" She pressed her back against the wall. "I tried ." She put her head in her hands and spoke into her lap. "Your phone was turned off." She lifted her head, screamed. Joe raised his hands. She stopped after a while. Took several rapid breaths. Then, quietly, she said, "I didn't know where you were."

"Could have tried Cooper's."

"Nobody answered."

"What, all night?"

"Nobody answered, Joe."

"Could have left a message."

"I left hundreds of messages. Check your fucking mobile." She screamed again. Then took a long wheezy breath.

Joe said, patiently, "You could have left a message at Cooper's."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Hi, Sally. If you see Joe could you tell him his daughter's dead? Brilliant, Joe. Where were you, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Out."

"What, all night?" She was mocking him.

"Happens. You know it happens."

Now she was definitely grinning. "Young, huh? Was she? Pretty?"

"Don't start, Ruth."

"Dark-haired? Nineteen? Blue eyes? Remind you of your daughter, Joe?"

"Stop it."

"Remind you of Gem, eh?"

He shouted. "Stop it." He stepped towards her. "You're disgusting."

"Was she good, Joe? Was she?"

He shouted, "Shut the fuck up."

She pushed her face towards his. "Answer me. Was she a good fuck, Joe?"

He opened the door and hurried downstairs. Last thing he wanted was to batter Ruth. It wasn't her fault her daughter was dead.

That was the fault of the fucker who swore he'd look after her. Adam Wright had broken his promise. And now it was Joe's turn to break something.

THREE

Joe didn't know what happened to the rest of the afternoon. He'd needed a drink while he decided what to do about Adam, so he went to a few bars in the Grassmarket and had a couple of whiskies in each. Then he headed up Victoria Street and along the High Street.
He had another couple in
The World's End
and was feeling relaxed until a very short man tried to pick a fight with him. Worried he might kill the little twat, he left.

Twat. Twatt.

He remembered Gemma telling him, "Dad, you'll love this. There's a village in Orkney called Twatt."

It was getting dark outside when he got back to his car. He sat for a while thinking about the messages Ruth had left on his phone. Messages he hadn't heard yet. Fuck them. Fuck her. He started the engine and headed for Leith.

Rain dotted the windscreen as he crawled along Restalrig Road. Still early yet. The telephone kiosk at the bottom of the road was empty. Give it an hour or two, there'd be a huddle of whores round what Tina called "the fuck box," hiding whatever sexual transaction was being conducted inside. Further along, a skimpily dressed trio tottered on high heels towards the car as he drove slowly past. One of them, an unlit cigarette dangling from her glossy lower lip, looked about fourteen. The other two were older, smoking for real. Ten feet away their pimp stood under an umbrella, a Rottweiler crouched at his feet. Joe drove on. No sign of her. Maybe she wasn't here yet.

Since the police abolished the tolerance zone back in November of last year, she'd been a little harder to track down. She now moved in a random pattern around Leith. Normally he rang her mobile. If she was busy he left a message and she called him when she could. But… Shit, he didn't want to wait tonight. He'd drive down to the Shore. Try there.

He was about to put his foot down when he spotted Tina's shiny white handbag gleaming in the headlights. He looked up, peering at her face, making sure it was her. He blasted his horn. She recognized the car and smiled. She was probably thinking her luck was in. Only eight o'clock and Bob was here with his dough. Yeah. Bob. That's how she knew him. Her little half-wave made her blouse rise and the flash of bare stomach made Joe shiver.

He pulled over. Reached across to open the door.

She beat him to it. "You're early." She tugged at her skirt. Lifted her arse. Tugged again.

"If your skirt's uncomfortable," he said, "you can take it off."

"That'll be a first."

He didn't reply. After a while, still wearing her skirt, she leaned back in her seat and sighed.

"Nice and warm in here," she said. "Snug."

He drove in silence, trundling past Victorian tenements, a couple of newsagents, a pub.

She shifted in her seat. "Problems?" she asked.

"Could say that."

"Wife?"

He said nothing.

"Why don't you leave her? Nice guy like you. Why stick around?"

"Not that simple."

She put her hand on his thigh and kneaded his leg. Her fingernails, what was left of them after she'd finished biting them, were green. "You smell of booze," she said. "You drunk? You shouldn't be driving, you know."

"I've never been more sober in my life."

She squeezed his thigh. His leg trembled under her fingers. "You're early tonight," she said.

He was about to tell her he'd be away for a while when a couple of drunken arses stepped off the pavement ten feet in front of the car. One of them pointed his finger and tried to look threatening. Joe pointed right back at him. Didn't brake. Why should he? The bumper clipped the imbecile on the side of the leg. Joe saw him collapse in the mirror, spinning when he hit the ground. He clutched his knee. His friend gesticulated angrily.

"Stop the car." Tina reached into the back. "You still keep the bat here?"

Joe slowed to a halt. "Leave them, Tina."

"Won't be a minute." Tina grabbed Joe's baseball bat from behind the driver's seat and leapt out of the car. Joe opened the door on his side and got out and leaned against the roof. The uninjured man was shouting obscenities, ignoring his friend. Tina strode up to him and jabbed him in the gut with the end of the bat. As he bent over, winded, Tina stepped back and took a swing at his jaw. The bat shuddered on contact. He fell over on his side and shut up.

His friend looked at Tina, both hands clasping his knee. "Jesus," he said.

Ignoring him, Tina grabbed his unconscious friend by the trouser leg and dragged him partially onto the pavement. Joe walked away from the car. Approached her slowly. She was struggling with the dead weight. He placed his hand on her elbow. "Let me do it," he said.

She shook his hand off. "Take this." She gave him the baseball bat, then grabbed the other leg and hoisted the rest of the poor sod off the road. Tina offered her hand to the unconscious man's friend. He shook his head. Scrabbled to his feet. He waddled onto the pavement, tucked his head under his arm and started to cry.

"Okay, now?" Joe held out his hand and Tina's fingers brushed against his. "Let's go," he said. They went back to the car. She insisted on driving. He sat back and closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the engine.

"You going to put that away?" she asked him.

Opening his eyes, he saw her glance at the baseball bat lodged between his knees. He picked it up and lobbed it over the back of the seat.

She ran her hand through her hair. She had thick hair. Not like Ruth, whose hair was so thin that in places you could see her scalp through it. Probably from dyeing it all these years.

He put his hand on Tina's bare leg. It was cold and smooth. He let his hand ride up her skirt.

"You want me to stop the car and blow you? You pay for it, Bob. You ought to try it some time."

He shook his head. He felt like going home to his bed. Cuddling up to his crazy wife. Falling asleep. But he could hardly do that, could he? What he wanted was to speak to somebody who knew Gemma. Tina was okay, but she didn't know his daughter. Cooper, maybe? Cooper knew her as well as anybody. He'd known her all her life. Yeah, he'd go see Cooper in a bit. Joe rummaged in his pocket, extracted his wallet and opened it. He counted a thousand pounds in twenties.

"I'm not going to be around for a while," he said.

"I might miss you."

"Might?" He laughed. "You say the nicest things." He started counting the money again. Exactly a grand. Gently, he prized her hand off the steering wheel and pressed the money into her palm.

"What's that for?"

"Being so kind," he said.

She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

BOOK: Kiss Her Goodbye
13.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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