girlfriend.
A
newly
bereaved
widow,
she reminded herself. She was a woman her own age with not a soul here in Glasgow to call family or friend.
But
she’d
called
Bill
, a little voice insisted. And that same little voice had asked
why
more than once since that telephone call.
‘It’s because he’s a policeman,’ Maggie said aloud, trying to convince herself that this was true. But why had she not turned to another woman, a friend from her past? Vivien Gilmartin had arranged this entire school reunion thing, hadn’t she? Surely the sort of person who did these things kept in touch with their pals over the years? Maggie frowned. There were only two or three women from her own school days that she would call good friends, and even then, their contact was more Facebook than face to face. It was something she regretted, though the demands of her teaching job seemed to take all of Maggie Lorimer’s time and energy these days.
She heaved a sigh, the sudden movement making Chancer leap off her knee with a small cry.
‘Better stick the kettle on,’ Maggie murmured, getting to her feet. Tea, the balm for every difficulty, she thought. Why was it that in times of crisis people always made endless pots of tea? She filled the kettle at the sink, glancing out at the sky. The streaks of pink were suddenly brighter, dazzling her eyes, and she blinked, wondering if the fiery sky presaged rains to come. This was April, after all, a month when all sorts of weather could be flung at the poor Scots in the space of a single day.
The
cruellest
month
, Maggie reminded herself, biting her lip. Would Vivien Gilmartin think of April like that for the rest of her life? Would she ever again feel that surge of joy from seeing the spring flowers and the blossom shaken from the cherry trees? Or would they become cruel tokens for the anniversary of her husband’s death?
Maggie pulled her dressing gown tighter around her slim body, shivering at the thought. It was cold, she realised. Better switch on the central heating, warm the place up before they arrived. Vivien was in a state of shock, Bill had said, didn’t seem to have taken in the enormity of what had happened. Soon the faint hum from the radiators had begun and Maggie was filling a hot-water bottle from the kettle. Tea could wait till they returned, and perhaps Vivien would want to go straight to bed anyway. Maggie hoped she would, saying a silent prayer that she and Bill could snuggle up together, catch up on their broken sleep for a few more hours. Thank goodness it was Saturday and there were no pressing cases to take her husband into the city today.
She took the hot-water bottle upstairs, looking out of the landing window at the street below, watching for the big silver car rounding the corner, but there was little life at this early hour, just a single blackbird flying silently over the garden. The bright dawn was already fading into a dusky lemon, the only trail of pink a jet scoring its way across the heavens. It was, Maggie fancied, as though the day was holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen.
Giving herself a shake, she opened the door to the spare room and pulled back the coverlet, sliding the hot-water bottle under the duvet.
‘Poor woman,’ she whispered aloud as she gazed at the bed. ‘Poor, poor soul.’
When the car finally came to a halt, the man beside her unclipped her seat belt and took her arm, roughly pulling her out into the cold morning air. Asa looked around her, blinking.
Everything was grey.
Tall stone buildings flanked the drab grey streets, their rooftops as dark as the thunderclouds that soared over the veldt. There were rows and rows of doors at street level, many windows up above, staring out like blind eyes. The girl shivered, looking past them to the sky, where only a few stars pricked the icy blue heavens. A strange bleeping noise made her jump and she turned to see the car flashing twice, the driver pointing his
A
newly
bereaved
widow,
she reminded herself. She was a woman her own age with not a soul here in Glasgow to call family or friend.
But
she’d
called
Bill
, a little voice insisted. And that same little voice had asked
why
more than once since that telephone call.
‘It’s because he’s a policeman,’ Maggie said aloud, trying to convince herself that this was true. But why had she not turned to another woman, a friend from her past? Vivien Gilmartin had arranged this entire school reunion thing, hadn’t she? Surely the sort of person who did these things kept in touch with their pals over the years? Maggie frowned. There were only two or three women from her own school days that she would call good friends, and even then, their contact was more Facebook than face to face. It was something she regretted, though the demands of her teaching job seemed to take all of Maggie Lorimer’s time and energy these days.
She heaved a sigh, the sudden movement making Chancer leap off her knee with a small cry.
‘Better stick the kettle on,’ Maggie murmured, getting to her feet. Tea, the balm for every difficulty, she thought. Why was it that in times of crisis people always made endless pots of tea? She filled the kettle at the sink, glancing out at the sky. The streaks of pink were suddenly brighter, dazzling her eyes, and she blinked, wondering if the fiery sky presaged rains to come. This was April, after all, a month when all sorts of weather could be flung at the poor Scots in the space of a single day.
The
cruellest
month
, Maggie reminded herself, biting her lip. Would Vivien Gilmartin think of April like that for the rest of her life? Would she ever again feel that surge of joy from seeing the spring flowers and the blossom shaken from the cherry trees? Or would they become cruel tokens for the anniversary of her husband’s death?
Maggie pulled her dressing gown tighter around her slim body, shivering at the thought. It was cold, she realised. Better switch on the central heating, warm the place up before they arrived. Vivien was in a state of shock, Bill had said, didn’t seem to have taken in the enormity of what had happened. Soon the faint hum from the radiators had begun and Maggie was filling a hot-water bottle from the kettle. Tea could wait till they returned, and perhaps Vivien would want to go straight to bed anyway. Maggie hoped she would, saying a silent prayer that she and Bill could snuggle up together, catch up on their broken sleep for a few more hours. Thank goodness it was Saturday and there were no pressing cases to take her husband into the city today.
She took the hot-water bottle upstairs, looking out of the landing window at the street below, watching for the big silver car rounding the corner, but there was little life at this early hour, just a single blackbird flying silently over the garden. The bright dawn was already fading into a dusky lemon, the only trail of pink a jet scoring its way across the heavens. It was, Maggie fancied, as though the day was holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen.
Giving herself a shake, she opened the door to the spare room and pulled back the coverlet, sliding the hot-water bottle under the duvet.
‘Poor woman,’ she whispered aloud as she gazed at the bed. ‘Poor, poor soul.’
When the car finally came to a halt, the man beside her unclipped her seat belt and took her arm, roughly pulling her out into the cold morning air. Asa looked around her, blinking.
Everything was grey.
Tall stone buildings flanked the drab grey streets, their rooftops as dark as the thunderclouds that soared over the veldt. There were rows and rows of doors at street level, many windows up above, staring out like blind eyes. The girl shivered, looking past them to the sky, where only a few stars pricked the icy blue heavens. A strange bleeping noise made her jump and she turned to see the car flashing twice, the driver pointing his
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