side.
In the corridor the female officer was still talking to the doctor.
‘… not nice to come back to,’ she was saying. ‘I could strip it and shove the lot in the kitchen. There’s a washer dryer,’ she was telling him.
Lorimer listened, realising that this officer wanted to be kind in a practical way.
‘Not a problem,’ the doctor was saying. ‘Nothing I need there. Probably better for Mrs Gilmartin not to see the room like that again.’ There were noises from the bedroom and then the officer was whisking through the lounge and he could hear the slam of the machine’s door and its swish as the wash cycle began. Lorimer put his arm around Viven’s shoulders. He understood what the police officer was thinking: it would be less horrid for Mrs Gilmartin to return to the flat to see a bare mattress, blank and impersonal, rather than the place where her husband had died. He watched through the open doorway as the woman gathered up Charles Gilmartin’s clothes too, putting them carefully into the fitted wardrobe as neatly as she could.
‘I can’t sleep through there…’ Vivien broke off in a sob, gripping his hand as though she would never let him go, her eyes looking past him to the doorway and beyond.
Lorimer thought about the home he had left, the darkened corridor upstairs with its spare room where once he had given sanctuary to an injured, homeless boy. But Maggie had been far away then, overseas on that exchange project. How could he land Vivien on her in the middle of the night?
‘Isn’t there anyone…?’ he tried again.
‘Only you,’ Vivien said, smiling sadly. ‘There was only ever you,’ she whispered.
Lorimer hadn’t blamed her for not wanting to see her husband’s body taken away. Vivien appeared to be traumatised by the man’s sudden death and now, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of the Lexus as he drove through the city streets, she was silent, staring ahead, gloved hands clasped tightly together around the handle of an overnight bag she’d insisted on packing herself.
He’d called Maggie earlier, apologising for rousing her from sleep, telling her as briefly as he could what had happened to tear him from her side. She had been quiet, too, listening as he’d explained the situation, but
poor
woman
and
that’s
terrible,
of
course
she
must
come
had fallen from her lips as he had expected. Her natural sympathy and generosity was rushing out to this stranger coming to invade their home; no word of recrimination or anything about
your
old
girlfriend
mentioned at all. So why, Lorimer thought as the car sped along Pollokshaws Road on its way to the suburbs, did he feel so uneasy about the thought of Vivien Gilmartin spending time under his roof?
CHAPTER TEN
M aggie looked at the kitchen clock. It was twenty minutes to five, no longer so dark outside, a pale drift of coral on the eastern horizon heralding the new morning. She smiled as Chancer awoke in his basket, stretching from slumber. He looked up at her and gave a tentative miaow, as though questioning Maggie’s presence at this early hour. Soon he was wrapping himself around her legs and she bent down to tickle him behind his ears.
‘Suppose you think this is breakfast time, eh?’ The ginger cat reared up against the hem of her fleecy dressing gown in reply, evidently looking for more scratches on his furry head, and Maggie complied, hunkering down, letting the cat leap on to her waiting lap.
‘Don’t know what you’ll make of her, Chancer,’ Maggie murmured, caressing the cat, whose purrs had began to thrum though her body as she stroked his fur. ‘Don’t know what I’ll make of her either, poor thing.’ She sighed, leaning back against one of the kitchen chairs. It was almost an hour since he’d called and in that time she had made up the bed, putting fresh towels and a new box of tissues in the spare room, wondering just what else might be required for this unexpected house guest: Bill’s old
In the corridor the female officer was still talking to the doctor.
‘… not nice to come back to,’ she was saying. ‘I could strip it and shove the lot in the kitchen. There’s a washer dryer,’ she was telling him.
Lorimer listened, realising that this officer wanted to be kind in a practical way.
‘Not a problem,’ the doctor was saying. ‘Nothing I need there. Probably better for Mrs Gilmartin not to see the room like that again.’ There were noises from the bedroom and then the officer was whisking through the lounge and he could hear the slam of the machine’s door and its swish as the wash cycle began. Lorimer put his arm around Viven’s shoulders. He understood what the police officer was thinking: it would be less horrid for Mrs Gilmartin to return to the flat to see a bare mattress, blank and impersonal, rather than the place where her husband had died. He watched through the open doorway as the woman gathered up Charles Gilmartin’s clothes too, putting them carefully into the fitted wardrobe as neatly as she could.
‘I can’t sleep through there…’ Vivien broke off in a sob, gripping his hand as though she would never let him go, her eyes looking past him to the doorway and beyond.
Lorimer thought about the home he had left, the darkened corridor upstairs with its spare room where once he had given sanctuary to an injured, homeless boy. But Maggie had been far away then, overseas on that exchange project. How could he land Vivien on her in the middle of the night?
‘Isn’t there anyone…?’ he tried again.
‘Only you,’ Vivien said, smiling sadly. ‘There was only ever you,’ she whispered.
Lorimer hadn’t blamed her for not wanting to see her husband’s body taken away. Vivien appeared to be traumatised by the man’s sudden death and now, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of the Lexus as he drove through the city streets, she was silent, staring ahead, gloved hands clasped tightly together around the handle of an overnight bag she’d insisted on packing herself.
He’d called Maggie earlier, apologising for rousing her from sleep, telling her as briefly as he could what had happened to tear him from her side. She had been quiet, too, listening as he’d explained the situation, but
poor
woman
and
that’s
terrible,
of
course
she
must
come
had fallen from her lips as he had expected. Her natural sympathy and generosity was rushing out to this stranger coming to invade their home; no word of recrimination or anything about
your
old
girlfriend
mentioned at all. So why, Lorimer thought as the car sped along Pollokshaws Road on its way to the suburbs, did he feel so uneasy about the thought of Vivien Gilmartin spending time under his roof?
CHAPTER TEN
M aggie looked at the kitchen clock. It was twenty minutes to five, no longer so dark outside, a pale drift of coral on the eastern horizon heralding the new morning. She smiled as Chancer awoke in his basket, stretching from slumber. He looked up at her and gave a tentative miaow, as though questioning Maggie’s presence at this early hour. Soon he was wrapping himself around her legs and she bent down to tickle him behind his ears.
‘Suppose you think this is breakfast time, eh?’ The ginger cat reared up against the hem of her fleecy dressing gown in reply, evidently looking for more scratches on his furry head, and Maggie complied, hunkering down, letting the cat leap on to her waiting lap.
‘Don’t know what you’ll make of her, Chancer,’ Maggie murmured, caressing the cat, whose purrs had began to thrum though her body as she stroked his fur. ‘Don’t know what I’ll make of her either, poor thing.’ She sighed, leaning back against one of the kitchen chairs. It was almost an hour since he’d called and in that time she had made up the bed, putting fresh towels and a new box of tissues in the spare room, wondering just what else might be required for this unexpected house guest: Bill’s old
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