the balcony to the stairs. “I work for the Place of Safety,” she said quietly.
Jimmy looked at her and nodded softly. “We’ve had hard times,” he said, “but… Ann knows … I can’t believe she’s going about saying that about me. I’d never hit her. You won’t believe me.” He turned away from her, patted his son’s bottom to let him know he was finished changing him and held out his hand for the older boy to come. The children swapped places on the strip of rug.
“I do believe ye, Jimmy,” she said, and she meant it.
“Ha,” he said, as if he’d never really laughed. “Thousands wouldn’t, eh?”
He looked at her, genuinely expecting a response to an inappropriate cliché. Maureen couldn’t imagine a suitably bland response. “If you didn’t hit Ann,” she said, “can ye think of someone who would?”
“Take your pick. There’s hard men up at this door every night in the fucking week looking for her. I’m left paying her debts while she’s off gallivanting with the child-benefit book. They’ve even threatened the wee ones in the swing park,” he said, yanking his son’s pink little body into worn pajamas. “All I know is that she left here without a mark on her.”
“When did she leave?”
Jimmy thought about it. He thought for a long time. He remembered that one of the boys’ birthdays was on 15 November and Ann wasn’t there for it. But Jimmy had money for presents so he figured that he’d probably had the child-benefit book that week. Ann had disappeared from Finneston around 10 or 11 November.
“That’s a while back,” said Maureen. “Did she go straight to the Place of Safety?”
“I don’t know where she went.” He pulled worn sweatshirts over the boys’ pajamas. It must get cold in the concrete flat at night. “She came back at the start of December for Alan’s birthday. I was at the shops and when I came back she’d been and gone. She telt him she hadn’t been to visit because she was up and down tae London all the time. Could have been a lie, but …” He touched the smallest boy’s head. “There’s plenty on this scheme think I’m lucky because it’s only the drink she’s into.”
Maureen looked around the desperate room, at the filthy bare floor and the cold children and the skinny man bent over them. Jimmy was anything but lucky.
“Can I make ye a cup of tea, Jimmy?”
It had been a long time since anyone had been kind to Jimmy and he didn’t know what it meant. He looked up at her, trying to work out her angle. “There’s nothing worth thieving,” he said.
“I’m just offering to make ye a cup of tea.”
He looked her up and down, licked at the dried spittle in the corner of his mouth and smothered a lascivious smile. He thought she fancied him.
“Aye, hen. A cup of tea. I’ll put the weans to bed.” He hurried the children off, carrying the smallest boy on his hip and holding the other one’s hand, leading them out to the hall. He called back to her from the door, “Don’t use the milk, I’ll need it for the night feed.”
She could hear Jimmy out in the hall encouraging the child up the stairs. She looked around the dirty flat at the broken toys and the worn clothes discarded on the floor. She went into the ragged kitchen. The bulb didn’t work. Light from the street cast a dull orange glow onto the worktop. There was no kettle and no cooker, just a chipped portable grill with a single electric ring on top. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw a small scale-scarred saucepan in the sink. She filled it from the tap as the red ring came alive, livid in the darkness.
Back in the living room she crossed her arms. There was no TV in the room, no family photos, no books or ornaments or mementos, nothing that wasn’t essential and secondhand. They didn’t even have a radio. Next to the armchair sat a stack of free local newspapers. Jimmy had been tearing them into strips for use as toilet paper. She could hear him
Jimmy looked at her and nodded softly. “We’ve had hard times,” he said, “but… Ann knows … I can’t believe she’s going about saying that about me. I’d never hit her. You won’t believe me.” He turned away from her, patted his son’s bottom to let him know he was finished changing him and held out his hand for the older boy to come. The children swapped places on the strip of rug.
“I do believe ye, Jimmy,” she said, and she meant it.
“Ha,” he said, as if he’d never really laughed. “Thousands wouldn’t, eh?”
He looked at her, genuinely expecting a response to an inappropriate cliché. Maureen couldn’t imagine a suitably bland response. “If you didn’t hit Ann,” she said, “can ye think of someone who would?”
“Take your pick. There’s hard men up at this door every night in the fucking week looking for her. I’m left paying her debts while she’s off gallivanting with the child-benefit book. They’ve even threatened the wee ones in the swing park,” he said, yanking his son’s pink little body into worn pajamas. “All I know is that she left here without a mark on her.”
“When did she leave?”
Jimmy thought about it. He thought for a long time. He remembered that one of the boys’ birthdays was on 15 November and Ann wasn’t there for it. But Jimmy had money for presents so he figured that he’d probably had the child-benefit book that week. Ann had disappeared from Finneston around 10 or 11 November.
“That’s a while back,” said Maureen. “Did she go straight to the Place of Safety?”
“I don’t know where she went.” He pulled worn sweatshirts over the boys’ pajamas. It must get cold in the concrete flat at night. “She came back at the start of December for Alan’s birthday. I was at the shops and when I came back she’d been and gone. She telt him she hadn’t been to visit because she was up and down tae London all the time. Could have been a lie, but …” He touched the smallest boy’s head. “There’s plenty on this scheme think I’m lucky because it’s only the drink she’s into.”
Maureen looked around the desperate room, at the filthy bare floor and the cold children and the skinny man bent over them. Jimmy was anything but lucky.
“Can I make ye a cup of tea, Jimmy?”
It had been a long time since anyone had been kind to Jimmy and he didn’t know what it meant. He looked up at her, trying to work out her angle. “There’s nothing worth thieving,” he said.
“I’m just offering to make ye a cup of tea.”
He looked her up and down, licked at the dried spittle in the corner of his mouth and smothered a lascivious smile. He thought she fancied him.
“Aye, hen. A cup of tea. I’ll put the weans to bed.” He hurried the children off, carrying the smallest boy on his hip and holding the other one’s hand, leading them out to the hall. He called back to her from the door, “Don’t use the milk, I’ll need it for the night feed.”
She could hear Jimmy out in the hall encouraging the child up the stairs. She looked around the dirty flat at the broken toys and the worn clothes discarded on the floor. She went into the ragged kitchen. The bulb didn’t work. Light from the street cast a dull orange glow onto the worktop. There was no kettle and no cooker, just a chipped portable grill with a single electric ring on top. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw a small scale-scarred saucepan in the sink. She filled it from the tap as the red ring came alive, livid in the darkness.
Back in the living room she crossed her arms. There was no TV in the room, no family photos, no books or ornaments or mementos, nothing that wasn’t essential and secondhand. They didn’t even have a radio. Next to the armchair sat a stack of free local newspapers. Jimmy had been tearing them into strips for use as toilet paper. She could hear him
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