Lawless by Alexander McGregor Page A

her a groupie and she laughed. Then she took McBride back to the flat in Craigiebank where she lived by herself.
    He didn’t ask why she was also alone on Christmas Eve or why her tidy, anonymous apartment contained so little evidence that it was the festive season. He didn’t care. The last thing he wanted to do was to open up her particular can of worms when he had demons of his own.
    His selfishness extended to his performance in bed. He took what he wanted and, after claiming his moment of satisfaction, his instinct was to go as swiftly as politeness would allow. However, he stayed – not out of consideration but because the soulless room in the Apex was a worse alternative. So he made a weak joke about it not being quite the time of the year for a second coming, embraced her briefly, then turned on to his side, trying to convince both of them that he had fallen asleep.
    The next morning the strangers observed the ritual of a breakfast that consisted of coffee without milk or meaningful conversation. McBride, feigning the need to deal with some urgent business back at his hotel, declined the offer of a shower and dressed quickly. At the door on the way out, he held the woman whose name he was struggling to remember in his arms and squeezed her gently.
    ‘That was a great night,’ he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. ‘Thanks for everything – really. Give me your number and I’ll ring you before I leave town.’
    She scribbled quickly on a scrap of paper on the table in the hallway. ‘My pleasure – any time. Hope the book goes well. The name’s Carol, by the way.’
    Then they remembered at the same time what day it was. ‘Merry Christmas!’ they said in unison.
    McBride was halfway down the garden path before the significance of his bed-mate’s name hit him and he wondered whether she was being serious or had more wit than he gave her credit for – not that it made any difference either way.

11
    It took McBride less than an hour to realise that the only thing worse than spending Christmas Day with the wrong person was to celebrate it alone.
    He’d given up trying to find an available cab and, as he made his way on foot back to the Apex, every house he passed seemed to be packed with happy families. The only people out walking were couples in their party clothes, arms linked and carrying bags heavy with parcels, as they made their way to share company with those behind the brightly decorated windows.
    McBride turned off the main road and crossed into the dock area where the only pedestrians he would be likely to encounter would be far-from-home seamen, who did not celebrate Christmas, making their way to and from ships. It lengthened his journey but shortened the time he had to kill.
    Back in his hotel room, he changed out of the clothing of the night before, conscious of how strongly it smelled of mediocre perfume. Then he showered, dressed again and called reception to ask for his evening meal to be sent to his room in a few hours’ time. There was not the kind of money on earth that would have persuaded him to sit at a solitary table surrounded by laughing hordes in party hats pulling Christmas crackers.
    He left the hotel immediately afterwards and drove purposefully away from the empty city centre, taking a route that was familiar but which he hadn’t followed for a handful of years. He journeyed for thirty minutes before pulling up at the gates to a park. McBride sat in contemplation for a moment then walked inside. After a hundred yards, he halted at a deserted children’s play area. He gazed vacantly at the frost-covered roundabout and climbing apparatus. Then he sat on a swing, pushing himself gently back and forward, his eyes still directed at his surroundings but seeing the past.
    It was where he and Caroline had taken Simon and where their son had always laughed loudest in games with young playmates. It was also the spot where they had gone with his ashes after driving north