‘What’s it like being returned to the scene of the crime, eh?’ a slightly slurred voice asks.
I turn towards the voice and it’s Donald Murston, still in his coal-black suit but with his fat tie loosened. His face is red and shiny with drink. His expression is still pretty hard — you imagine Don’s expression will be hard until the day he dies, and possibly some time beyond — but he looks friendly enough, so long as you make the requisite allowances.
‘Mr M,’ I say, nodding to him. I can feel myself sobering up again, fast, though whether it’s fast enough is debatable. Does he know about Grier and Fraser and me and our little confrontation ten minutes ago? Has he come over to tell me to get out? ‘Glad I was able to be here,’ I tell him. I’m on the brink of adding, Thank you for that…but some rogue remaining shred of self-respect intervenes and stops me. ‘I’m glad I’ve been able to say goodbye to Joe.’
‘Aye, and saying hello to a lot of drink I’m payin for, eh?’
His glittery eyes inspect me and I try to work out if he’s actually upset or just fucking with me for a laugh. Somehow I suspect he doesn’t know anything of the micro-tussle between me, Grier and Fraser in the corridor earlier. This is just a generalised piece of intimidation — if that’s what it’s meant to be — not anything triggered by specifics.
‘Well, thanks for that too,’ I tell him. ‘I’d have been happy to pay, but…I think everybody appreciates your generosity.’
I am being so fucking polite and restrained here. I’d be quite impressed with myself if I wasn’t all too aware how horribly easy it would be to really upset him. Always assuming he isn’t really upset already, of course.
He swings an arm, sort of slaps me medium-weight on the upper arm in what is probably meant to be a bluff, manly sort of way. ‘Nah, it’s all right. Just thought it might be funny for you, being back here after that night, you know?’
‘Well, it is,’ I admit. ‘I’ve…I’ve spoken to Ellie. Apologised to her. Took all this time to be able to do that, face to face. Which. Well…But, for what it’s worth—’
‘You behaving yourself down there in the big smoke, aye?’
Fair enough; I was starting to ramble. ‘Aye, yes. Working away, you know.’
‘You got anyone special?’
‘Eh? Well, no.’ This is a bit surprising. What age am I again? ‘No, I’m away so much—’
‘Good job we didnae catch you that night, eh?’
‘Aye,’ I say, breathing out with a sigh as I scratch the back of my neck. ‘Aye. It’s as well.’ I look into those small, sharp-looking eyes of his. I can see Powell Imrie sort of hovering a table away, hands clasped. ‘I understand why you were so angry, Mr M. I’m sorry,’ I hear myself say. Jeez, what am I getting into here? ‘You took me into your family and I—’
‘Aye, well, aye, never mind,’ Don says, seemingly made as awkward as I am with all this. ‘She’s my darling girl,’ he tells me brusquely. ‘I’ll do anything for her. Both the girls. Both of them. Always. But Ellie especially.’ His gaze shif ts from me to somewhere over my shoulder. He smiles. Real smile, too. ‘Ah, an talk of the devil, eh?’
Ellie, returned, wears smart but casual black jeans, lilac blouse and dark jacket. She walks straight up to us.
‘Dad, Stewart. You two okay?’ she asks, looking and sounding tense, wary, though hiding it well.
‘Fine, braw, good, aye,’ Don says.
‘You’re not running Stewart out of town again, are you, Dad?’ She smiles, to undercut the question a little.
‘No, well, he’s off tomorrow, that right, aye?’ Don says, fixing me with his gaze.
‘Aye,’ I say. ‘Back down the road tomorrow.’
‘And anyway,’ Don says, still looking at me, ‘we weren’t tryin to run him out of town the last time.’
I think his eyes narrow a wee bit. Do his eyes narrow a wee bit? I think they do. I think his eyes narrow a wee bit.
‘We were tryin,’ Donald says slowly, ‘to get our hands on him.’ That last sentence sounds like about half of a longer sentence, but Don has censored it.
‘I told Donald I’d apologised to you,’ I tell Ellie. My mouth is getting dry. I wonder where I left my pint.
‘Yes.’ Ellie looks from me to her dad. ‘And he did.’
‘Aye, well,’ Donald says. ‘But that doesn’t make everythin all right, does it?’
There is, technically, a question mark at the end of that sentence of Donald’s, but it’s about as vestigial as they come.
‘No,’ Ellie says. ‘Not by itself.’ She looks calmly at me, then says to Don, ‘Stewart tells me he still has feelings for me.’ Her gaze swivels in my direction while Don just stares at my nose. ‘Isn’t that right, Stewart?’
I take a moment before answering, ‘Ah. Ah, yes, that’s what I said. It’s true. I also said I didn’t expect anything—’
‘Aw aye?’ Don says, and he doesn’t sound or look even slightly drunk now. ‘That’s funny. I still have feelings for Stewart, too. I’ll bet the boys, I bet they still have feelings as well.’ He glances at Ellie. ‘But maybe no quite the same as your feelings.’
