Read Online G03 - Resolution by Denise Mina - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Denise Mina
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machine. The baby might come tomorrow and tonight would be her final happy night. It was to be a night of drunkenness and a long look over the city.
She lit a cigarette and looked at the chrome lighter. It was Vik’s lighter, Vik the almost-boyfriend. It was a birthday gift from the guys in his band with “Let’s Get the Rock out of Here” inscribed on it in sentimental italics. He had left it in her house the last time he came to see her, when they’d had the big fight. For months afterwards she told herself that he had left it deliberately, that he meant to come back and get it. He never had. He had left her because she wasn’t very nice to him; she didn’t know how to be. She wondered if Sheila was right, if it could be her petulance and selfishness that made the relationship seem impossible. She’d always assumed it was the abuse. And then she thought about what Sheila had said about her motives and Michael and the baby. She stopped herself. Not tonight. Tonight she was alone and none of it had happened yet. Flicking back to the previous thought but one, she remembered Vik. She remembered his shoulders, the musty smell of his chest and his dark eyelashes. The memory made her skin bristle for him, but she did what she had been doing for three months and turned it round. She was glad she’d known him. He was a nice man.
Someone knocked on the door, not a polite knock but a slow, aggressive rapping. Knowing it would be Jim Maliano, angry and holding a packet of unwelcome broken biscuits, Maureen tiptoed out to the hall. She leaned into the spy hole from the side, so that if he pushed the packet of biscuits through the postbox he wouldn’t be looking at her feet.
It wasn’t Jim. It was an unfamiliar woman with cropped blond hair and a waistcoat over a T-shirt. She looked tired and utterly pissed off. She sighed and reeled round to the stairs, walking down them heavily, speeding up as she got farther away from the door as if she was glad no one had been in. The corner of a business card was sticking in the hinged postbox. Maureen waited until she heard the close door slam shut and pulled the card out. Her name was Aggie Grey and she was a journalist for a sleazy Sunday tabloid. She’d written “call me re ŁŁs” on the back of the card. Maureen threw it on the floor.
Chapter 8
DOYLE
The ringing phone cut urgently through the still morning. Maureen prized open her puffy eyes and felt her heart quicken. She threw back the duvet, fell onto her feet and staggered out to the hall. “Hello, Liam.”
“What?” said Leslie.
“Leslie?”
“Aye, it’s me.”
“I thought you were Liam.”
“No.”
Maureen rubbed her eyes open. Liam would phone her himself, she was sure he wouldn’t get Leslie to call her. “Why are you phoning me?”
“I’m going to be late today,” said Leslie.
A wave of relief washed over Maureen. “Aw, Leslie,” she said fondly, “don’t worry about that.” She stopped, realizing from the flattened tone of Leslie’s voice that she was lying down. “Wait a minute, are you in your bed?”
“Aye,” said Leslie. “I’m gonnae be late.”
“Have you just phoned me,” she said indignantly, “and got me out my bed to tell me you’re having a lie-in?”
“I suppose I did.” Leslie sounded miserable. “I’ve had a shit night.”
“Fuck’s sake.” Maureen tutted and was about to hang up when she lifted the receiver to her mouth again. “When are ye coming, then?”
” ‘Bout half nine.”
“Fuck’s sake,” said Maureen, and hung up. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. “Fuck’s sake.”
She tramped down the hall to the bathroom, filling the sink with warm water as she sat on the loo, splashing her face and wetting her hair to wake herself up. She was angry until it occurred to her that it was good: the baby wasn’t born.
Cammy was refusing to go quietly and Leslie was distraught. He’d been crying all night, telling Leslie that
She lit a cigarette and looked at the chrome lighter. It was Vik’s lighter, Vik the almost-boyfriend. It was a birthday gift from the guys in his band with “Let’s Get the Rock out of Here” inscribed on it in sentimental italics. He had left it in her house the last time he came to see her, when they’d had the big fight. For months afterwards she told herself that he had left it deliberately, that he meant to come back and get it. He never had. He had left her because she wasn’t very nice to him; she didn’t know how to be. She wondered if Sheila was right, if it could be her petulance and selfishness that made the relationship seem impossible. She’d always assumed it was the abuse. And then she thought about what Sheila had said about her motives and Michael and the baby. She stopped herself. Not tonight. Tonight she was alone and none of it had happened yet. Flicking back to the previous thought but one, she remembered Vik. She remembered his shoulders, the musty smell of his chest and his dark eyelashes. The memory made her skin bristle for him, but she did what she had been doing for three months and turned it round. She was glad she’d known him. He was a nice man.
Someone knocked on the door, not a polite knock but a slow, aggressive rapping. Knowing it would be Jim Maliano, angry and holding a packet of unwelcome broken biscuits, Maureen tiptoed out to the hall. She leaned into the spy hole from the side, so that if he pushed the packet of biscuits through the postbox he wouldn’t be looking at her feet.
It wasn’t Jim. It was an unfamiliar woman with cropped blond hair and a waistcoat over a T-shirt. She looked tired and utterly pissed off. She sighed and reeled round to the stairs, walking down them heavily, speeding up as she got farther away from the door as if she was glad no one had been in. The corner of a business card was sticking in the hinged postbox. Maureen waited until she heard the close door slam shut and pulled the card out. Her name was Aggie Grey and she was a journalist for a sleazy Sunday tabloid. She’d written “call me re ŁŁs” on the back of the card. Maureen threw it on the floor.
Chapter 8
DOYLE
The ringing phone cut urgently through the still morning. Maureen prized open her puffy eyes and felt her heart quicken. She threw back the duvet, fell onto her feet and staggered out to the hall. “Hello, Liam.”
“What?” said Leslie.
“Leslie?”
“Aye, it’s me.”
“I thought you were Liam.”
“No.”
Maureen rubbed her eyes open. Liam would phone her himself, she was sure he wouldn’t get Leslie to call her. “Why are you phoning me?”
“I’m going to be late today,” said Leslie.
A wave of relief washed over Maureen. “Aw, Leslie,” she said fondly, “don’t worry about that.” She stopped, realizing from the flattened tone of Leslie’s voice that she was lying down. “Wait a minute, are you in your bed?”
“Aye,” said Leslie. “I’m gonnae be late.”
“Have you just phoned me,” she said indignantly, “and got me out my bed to tell me you’re having a lie-in?”
“I suppose I did.” Leslie sounded miserable. “I’ve had a shit night.”
“Fuck’s sake.” Maureen tutted and was about to hang up when she lifted the receiver to her mouth again. “When are ye coming, then?”
” ‘Bout half nine.”
“Fuck’s sake,” said Maureen, and hung up. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. “Fuck’s sake.”
She tramped down the hall to the bathroom, filling the sink with warm water as she sat on the loo, splashing her face and wetting her hair to wake herself up. She was angry until it occurred to her that it was good: the baby wasn’t born.
Cammy was refusing to go quietly and Leslie was distraught. He’d been crying all night, telling Leslie that
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