Exile by Denise Mina Page A

into their nightclothes when Maureen knocked. They were standing close to each other, chewing furiously on their dummies, their little button eyes flicking nervously around the room. The older brother was three at most and knew he was in trouble. A skin-colored Tupperware beaker lolled on the floor, the hardboard discolored by a spill of red juice. The man grabbed the boys and slapped the back of their legs, keeping time with the blows as he shouted, “All — fuckin’ — day — ye — been — windin’ — me — up.”
    The boys raised their faces to the ceiling and bawled, their dummies sitting precariously in their open mouths as they found each other and held on tightly. Maureen hovered uncertainly in the doorway. “Are ye just looking after the weans yoursel’?” she asked.
    He turned and shouted at her, exasperated, “I’m doing the best I can,” he said. “Their fucking ma’s no’ here, is she?”
    “D’ye know there’s a nursery down the road?”
    The man paused. He didn’t know why she was telling him that.
    “If you’re not working,” she said, “and you’re looking after them on your own, you’d have a good chance of getting them places.”
    Apparently unfamiliar with good news, the man looked worried.
    “Ye’d get some time on your own,” she added, wondering about the blue sports bag, wary of looking straight at it.
    “Aye?” he said, watching his babies as they forgot what they were crying about and began to pull at a newspaper on the floor. “What’s your name?”
    “Maureen. What’s yours?”
    “Jimmy.”
    He tried to smile at her, sliding his lips back, but his face was too tired to pull it off. He had threateningly sharp teeth, which slanted backwards into his mouth. They looked like a vicious little carnivore’s, naturally selected because they slid deeper into the flesh when the victim resisted.
    “I’m going fucking mad here.” He picked up an old pair of Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas from the cold floor. “What d’ye want Ann for?”
    “I owe her some money,” she said.
    “You taking the piss out of me?” He said it as if everyone did and he was past caring.
    “No.”
    “You owe her money?”
    Maureen nodded uncertainly. Jimmy knelt down and started to dress the smallest boy, tugging him into his pajamas. The boy chewed his dummy, holding his daddy’s jumper.
    “Why are ye really looking for Ann?” he said.
    “What makes you think I’m lying?”
    Jimmy displayed his sharp little teeth again. “Ann owes everyone on this scheme money. If ye ask me, that’s why she’s off. Last I heard she was living with the Place of Safety people.”
    “Place of Safety?”
    “Aye.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She telt them I’d hit her.”
    It was painful to watch a man so ready to take a punch.
    “Did ye hit her?” she asked.
    “No.” He was adamant and Maureen was pleased. “I never hit her. Nor anyone else.”
    Maureen thought of him slapping the children, but then remembered that children don’t count as people. She leaned against the wall and felt the sandy texture of plaster rubbing into her shoulder. She stepped back and propped herself against the door frame. “Why would Ann say you hit her if ye didn’t?” She noticed herself changing her accent to speak to him, paring down her language, as if Jimmy was so thick he wouldn’t understand if she spoke normally. She hated herself.
    “I don’t know,” said Jimmy, squeezing the child into a pair of tight pajama bottoms. “The police said she’d had a doing. Maybe she wanted to hide.”
    “Did ye send her a Christmas card?”
    “A card?”
    “Yeah.”
    Jimmy looked blank and Maureen guessed that he didn’t have an extensive Christmas-card list.
    “What are ye asking me these things for? Who are you?”
    If he was going to turn nasty now was the time to do it. Maureen was glad she was near the front door and had a five-foot start on him. She mentally rehearsed opening the door and running along