The receptionist returned before Winter could question Rachel further and they took possession of the large wooden fish, with a key attached, that was offered to them. ‘It’s a great place you’ve got here,’ Rachel was saying enthusiastically, looking around her. ‘I’ve always meant to come. Have you worked here long?’
‘Oh, it will be nine years now,’ the woman replied. ‘It’s a smashing place to work, I must admit.’
Rachel smiled again, thanked the receptionist and they made for their room.
‘Very nice,’ Winter hummed appreciatively as they got inside, the bottle of Prosecco on the table and the large double bed immediately catching his eye. But even they were quickly overtaken by the view across the lake from the floor to ceiling window.
‘Wow,’ he admitted. ‘Quite a view. I’m glad I brought my camera. You did well choosing this place.’
Rachel didn’t answer. Instead she walked over to the window and gazed out at the expanse of lake and the island on the horizon. The lake circled in front of them, almost but not quite coming together in the distance, the island neatly in the middle between either shore, before the lake widened again beyond it.
She watched a pair of ducks scudding low across the glassy surface of the lake, the waters rippled only by a trio of snow-white swans that were gliding gracefully at speed with fifty yards of wake behind them. It was a stunning scene but the beauty was lost on her. All the time, her eyes kept being drawn to the tree-topped skyline of Inchmahome as it blinked at her above the mist.
She stared at the island, lured by its darkness and mesmerised by its secrets. A shiver ran through her that she tried and failed to suppress. She was well aware that Tony, obsessively fascinated as he was with capturing Glasgow’s darkest moments through his camera, would have a very different view of Inchmahome from hers. If only he knew what she knew.
He had always had this thing about seeing beauty in death as he photographed it but Rachel had never been able to understand his thinking. For her, working on the streets of the no mean city meant death was anything but beautiful. It was ugly, and the more brutal the death, the uglier it was. She looked across the lake, beyond the serenity and splendour of the slowly swelling surface and saw only something hideous. She suddenly regretted their trip there, wondering whether they’d be better tucked up together in Highburgh Road instead. She was starting something and she had no idea where it would end — or even if there would be an end.
Lost in her worries, she didn’t hear Tony sneaking back across the room until he was behind her and his arms slipped through hers. She was still shivering.
‘You cold? Want me to turn the heating up a bit?
‘Hm? Yes, please. Full blast.’
‘Paradise, isn’t it?’ he asked as he muzzled into her neck.
‘Yeah. Paradise.’
CHAPTER 2
‘I just can’t sleep.’
‘Laurence, have you been taking your medication?’
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
‘Have you, Laurence?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Why only sometimes?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Sometimes I just don’t want to sleep.’
‘The dreams again?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve been through this, Laurence.’
‘I know but it’s the lake. I keep dreaming about the lake. I just can’t… just can’t stop myself. It’s the time of year. It gets to me.’
‘Laurence, we are going to have to schedule something. I thought we were making progress with this but sense a relapse that could be quite damaging.’
‘You always want to schedule something. It’s not doing me any good. I can’t sleep and when I do sleep it’s worse. She’s there all the time. I can’t stop thinking about her.’
‘Calm down.’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down. You don’t understand. No one can understand.’
‘Laurence…’
‘No. Don’t talk to me. Enough.’
CHAPTER 3
‘Christ, it’s freezin, man. It’s colder than a witch’s tit oot here.’
‘Tell me aboot it. My bollocks are like ice cubes, Pedro. How much longer are we gonnae stand on this fuckin corner?’
‘Telt ye already. Till we shift all this gear.’
‘Fucksake.’
Pedro cupped his hands together, blowing on them hard in a vain attempt at heat, and glared out at Marky from under his hoodie.
‘Stop moanin, man, will ye? We’re makin good money so shut your hole.’
‘Am just saying.’
‘Aye, well gonnae no, Marky, eh? These student bastards are pure minted and they’re taking this stuff like it’s sweeties. We’ll be oot of here in nae time.’
Marky smiled at that, a manic nodding driven by the cold and the thought of cold cash. His fake Lacoste trainers did a little Ali shuffle on the frosted pavement, a wee dance at the thought of soon being able to buy a real pair. The fact that they were making the dosh from the university poofters just made it all the sweeter.
‘Cool, Pedro, cool, man. I’m seeing a wee burd later and am gonnae need my dick in good working order. No gonnae be any use if it freezes and draps aff.’
Pedro swore under his breath. Sometimes Marky did his head in.
‘Gonnae shut your moanin gub, Marky? Am wantin out of here as quick as possible anaw, man. But it’s no ’cos I’m worried about you getting your Nat King. We’re wantin to be oot o’ here afore someone sees us, know ah mean?’
A muscle on Marky’s cheek twitched the way it always did when he was nervous.
‘Gilmartin’s boys?’
‘Naw, the Salvation Fuckin Army. Course Gilmartin’s boys. No exactly gonnae be chuffed if he hears we’re undercutting his troops, is he?’
Marky did another Ali shuffle but this time it wasn’t one of excitement.
‘He’d go mental, Pedro. Absolutely radio rental. Just as well he disnae know, eh?’
‘Too right, Marky boy. Who’s this wee burd you’re seeing anyway?’
Marky pulled himself deeper inside his dark grey hoodie, turning his head slightly away from Pedro’s flinty gaze.
‘Och, ye dinnae know her,’ he muttered, his feet dancing a slower beat.
‘Whit’s her name?’ Pedro persisted.
‘Disnae matter.’
‘Whit’s her name, ya wee nobber?’
‘Clarice.’
Pedro snorted in disbelief, a malicious grin appearing on his unshaven face.
‘Clarice? That wee skanky blonde thing fae the Springburn that’s always got love bites aw o’er her neck?’
Marky reddened, his cheeks marked by a furious blush that defied the cold.
‘Naw,’ he protested. ‘It’s no her.’
‘It fuckin is, innit? Ya dirty wee bastard. She’s hinging, man.’
‘She’s awrite. She puts oot; that’s good enough for me.’
‘Fucksake, man, she puts oot for half of Glasgow. Just as well we’re making top dollar oot here ’cos you’ll be needin it for clap cream.’
‘Piss off.’
Pedro could barely contain himself, a huge smirk stretching across his lean features as he wallowed in Marky’s discomfort.
‘Tellin you, Marky man,’ he laughed, ‘You keep shaggin her and ye’ll no need to worry about the cold damagin your tadger. Anyway, shut it. Someone’s coming.’
‘Sweet,’ Marky muttered, glad of the diversion.
The dark figure coming towards them was on the side of the street sheltered from the streetlamp’s neon glow, seemingly taking advantage of its gloomy shadow. It was a young guy, fairly tall and broad, casting regular glances over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. Marky let out a little nervous laugh, glad to see the predictable nervousness on the part of the prospective buyer.