Twelve Days of Winter by Stuart MacBride

worry, he’ll be here.’
    ‘He better be. I’m not going back to that bloody prison!’
    ‘Shhh! What if someone hears you?’
    ‘I’m not going back: if I go back I’m telling them all about you!’
    ‘He’s. . . He’s. . .’ Come on, Norman. He wouldn’t let her down like that, he
wouldn’t
. He was just having trouble parking, or—
    A pair of headlights flashed on the other side of the railings. ‘There!’ She grabbed Geddes by the elbow and hurried her down the wheelchair ramp and out onto the road. Helped her into the back of the Volvo estate. Val sat up front with Norman and little Donald.
    Geddes kicked the back of Norman’s seat. ‘About bloody time you showed up! And what the
hell
do you call these clothes then?’
    Norman stole a glance at Val. ‘There’s a suitcase in the back: lots of different things. I didn’t know what you’d like so—’
    ‘Not more of that frumpy shite!’
    ‘They’re perfectly good clothes.’
    ‘Yeah, if you’re bloody
sixty
.’
    Val fastened her seatbelt, making sure it didn’t squash little Donald inside her coat. Really he should be in a car seat, but that would give the game away. Besides, it would mean letting go of him, and Norman was a
very
careful driver. ‘Can we just go please?’
     
    The last train to Aberdeen didn’t leave until ten past eleven, so they sat in the North Station car park on Blackwall Hill, eating fish and chips.
    Geddes kicked the back of Norman’s chair again. ‘What time is it?’ The words mumbled through a mouth full of chips.
    ‘Ten fifty.’
    ‘For fuck’s sake. Where’s my ticket?’
    Norman sighed and handed it over. ‘I’ve booked you into a little B&B for tonight, and a taxi in the morning to take you to the ferry, so—’
    ‘And my money?’
    Another sigh, only this time it came with an envelope.
    Geddes ripped it open and counted the contents. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’
    Val twisted as far round in her seat as she could without disturbing little Donald. ‘That’s all of it. That’s what we agreed.’
    ‘Aye, but I’ve been thinking. Wee Rolf’s my flesh and blood isn’t he? I
love
the little bastard. Don’t think I can give him up for a measly three grand. You know what I mean? Could get more than that sticking him on bloody eBay.’ She smiled. ‘I want seven.’
    Silence settled into the car.
    Norman looked away. ‘We haven’t got that much.’
    ‘Borrow it. I’ve been watching them adverts for three days now: “Want a low-cost personal loan?” Seven thousand or I take the kid with me to Aberdeen.’
    ‘We. . . It’ll take days to get one sorted—’
    ‘That’s OK, you can send the money on. I’ll just keep the wee sod till you get it.’ She stuffed the envelope and it’s three thousand pounds down the front of her ‘frumpy’ top.
    ‘No!’ Val flinched back, her hands covering little Donald’s head. ‘You can’t take him back! I
need
him!’
    ‘Come up with the other four grand and he’s all yours.’ She opened the back door. ‘Now give me the kid.’
    Val grabbed Norman’s arm, tears making the car blur. ‘You can’t let her take him!’
    ‘I. . .’ Norman bit his lip. ‘I’ve got my redundancy money at the house.’
    ‘How much?’
    He closed his eyes. ‘Enough.’
    Kathy closed the door again. ‘OK, let’s go get it.’
     
    Norman drove them down Shalster Road, sticking to the speed limit, not doing anything to attract attention. Past Montgomery Park, across the River Wynd, up into Castleview, then out through the city limits into the darkness.
    ‘Where the hell do you two live, in a bloody cave?’
    Val shook her head. ‘It’s a small cottage, on the other side of the hill. You know, by Dundas Woods?’
    ‘You bloody would. Teuchters.’
    Ten minutes later, the Volvo’s wheels bumped through potholes as Norman coaxed the car up a rutted track into the forest, headlights casting thick shadows that writhed and squirmed through the