to suck up to everyone else so they don’t get canned.’ He shook his head, finished his whisky, grabbed the bottle for a refill. ‘That’s what’s wrong with this fucking place—’
‘Glasgow?’
‘Planet Earth.’
‘It’s all we’ve got—’
‘Not for much longer, the way we’re fucking it up.’
Gilchrist held Jack’s blazing eyes for a moment, before saying, ‘Are you all right?’
‘’Course I am.’ He spilled some whisky on the table. Gilchrist watched him flourish his glass, thought he must have had a drink, maybe two, before they met. ‘All this money talk. It’s all everyone thinks about. Instead of all these rich capitalist bastards making more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes, they should be taxed to the hilt and the money put back into the environment—’
‘To save Planet Earth?’
‘We should abandon the monetary system. Go back to trading. That’d sort the fuckers out.’ He tilted his head back, almost emptied his glass then faced Gilchrist with a knowing grimace.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘it’s been a while since I got arseholed. Fancy a pub crawl down Byres Road?’
‘What about Kara?’
‘She’ll catch us up. Come on.’ He drained his glass, opened the bedroom door and shouted, ‘We’re going down the pub. Meet you in Curlers if you’re quick.’
But Kara didn’t make it to Curlers, or Tennents, but caught up with them as they were ordering a second pint in Jinty’s in Ashton Lane.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ She went on tiptoe to give Jack a peck on the cheek.
‘Didn’t know we were in a hurry,’ Jack said, and pulled crumpled notes from his jeans. ‘What’re you having?’
‘The usual.’
‘Can’t persuade you?’
She shook her head. ‘Just bottled water. None of that fizzy stuff. And no ice.’
‘Very sensible,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Wish I had your willpower.’
‘Both my parents were alcoholics. So I keep well away from it.’
He thought that standing in a pub, surrounded by drink, soaking in the alcohol-fuelled atmosphere contradicted her stance. And he noticed the past tense –
were alcoholics
– which had him thinking her parents were dead. While Jack pressed through the crowd to the bar, he asked, ‘So, how long have you known Jack?’
‘Several years, but we’ve only been together for about four months.’
Gilchrist nodded, and wondered why Jack had never mentioned her in all that time.
‘Jack’s upset,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen him cry before.’
‘Excuse me?’
She searched the bar, as if ensuring Jack was out of earshot. ‘His mother,’ she said. ‘She was very young.’
‘Forty-six,’ he agreed.
‘I lost one of my sisters to cancer,’ she went on, her voice as soft as a whisper. ‘I still can’t believe it. She was much too young to have died.’
Gilchrist held her gaze. Her eyes were the lightest blue, like a frosted sky on a winter morning. ‘How old was she?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-two.’
Twenty-two
. Kara’s sister had been around the same age as the girl in McLeod’s grave when she had been murdered. And older than Gilchrist’s brother when he had been killed in a hit-and-run. And he saw that he and Kara must have shared the same emotional pain, probably even the same tear-filled dreams. He wondered what life would have been like if his brother had not been killed, and how his own mother had put a brave face on it and struggled through the remainder of her life. And that thought made him realize something more troubling than an unsolved murder.
Had the girl’s parents been alive when she disappeared? Had they lived every year, every month, every moment since, torturing themselves over what might have happened to their daughter? And if they had been alive then, were they alive now?
‘Here we go, Andy.’
He took hold of a low-ball glass that glowed golden and chinked with lumps of ice.
‘And don’t try and tell me whisky’s a warm drink. That’s just another example of
‘Glasgow?’
‘Planet Earth.’
‘It’s all we’ve got—’
‘Not for much longer, the way we’re fucking it up.’
Gilchrist held Jack’s blazing eyes for a moment, before saying, ‘Are you all right?’
‘’Course I am.’ He spilled some whisky on the table. Gilchrist watched him flourish his glass, thought he must have had a drink, maybe two, before they met. ‘All this money talk. It’s all everyone thinks about. Instead of all these rich capitalist bastards making more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes, they should be taxed to the hilt and the money put back into the environment—’
‘To save Planet Earth?’
‘We should abandon the monetary system. Go back to trading. That’d sort the fuckers out.’ He tilted his head back, almost emptied his glass then faced Gilchrist with a knowing grimace.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘it’s been a while since I got arseholed. Fancy a pub crawl down Byres Road?’
‘What about Kara?’
‘She’ll catch us up. Come on.’ He drained his glass, opened the bedroom door and shouted, ‘We’re going down the pub. Meet you in Curlers if you’re quick.’
But Kara didn’t make it to Curlers, or Tennents, but caught up with them as they were ordering a second pint in Jinty’s in Ashton Lane.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ She went on tiptoe to give Jack a peck on the cheek.
‘Didn’t know we were in a hurry,’ Jack said, and pulled crumpled notes from his jeans. ‘What’re you having?’
‘The usual.’
‘Can’t persuade you?’
She shook her head. ‘Just bottled water. None of that fizzy stuff. And no ice.’
‘Very sensible,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Wish I had your willpower.’
‘Both my parents were alcoholics. So I keep well away from it.’
He thought that standing in a pub, surrounded by drink, soaking in the alcohol-fuelled atmosphere contradicted her stance. And he noticed the past tense –
were alcoholics
– which had him thinking her parents were dead. While Jack pressed through the crowd to the bar, he asked, ‘So, how long have you known Jack?’
‘Several years, but we’ve only been together for about four months.’
Gilchrist nodded, and wondered why Jack had never mentioned her in all that time.
‘Jack’s upset,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen him cry before.’
‘Excuse me?’
She searched the bar, as if ensuring Jack was out of earshot. ‘His mother,’ she said. ‘She was very young.’
‘Forty-six,’ he agreed.
‘I lost one of my sisters to cancer,’ she went on, her voice as soft as a whisper. ‘I still can’t believe it. She was much too young to have died.’
Gilchrist held her gaze. Her eyes were the lightest blue, like a frosted sky on a winter morning. ‘How old was she?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-two.’
Twenty-two
. Kara’s sister had been around the same age as the girl in McLeod’s grave when she had been murdered. And older than Gilchrist’s brother when he had been killed in a hit-and-run. And he saw that he and Kara must have shared the same emotional pain, probably even the same tear-filled dreams. He wondered what life would have been like if his brother had not been killed, and how his own mother had put a brave face on it and struggled through the remainder of her life. And that thought made him realize something more troubling than an unsolved murder.
Had the girl’s parents been alive when she disappeared? Had they lived every year, every month, every moment since, torturing themselves over what might have happened to their daughter? And if they had been alive then, were they alive now?
‘Here we go, Andy.’
He took hold of a low-ball glass that glowed golden and chinked with lumps of ice.
‘And don’t try and tell me whisky’s a warm drink. That’s just another example of
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