The man told her that Siobhain had been watching TV and one of the other clients had walked in, giving her a fright. She began to scream and lost her breath. "She worked herself up into a right old state," he said, holding her hand. "Didn't you, pet?" He gestured to the reception area. "Nearly scared the life out of poor old Gurtie."
Maureen took Siobhain's hand. "Do you want to go home and have a lie-down?"
Siobhain shut her eyes and nodded.
The dark-haired man yanked her into her windcheater. Maureen took her own coat from the suited woman and held Siobhain's arm, leading her out of the day center and into the street.
It could have been a flashback – a rapist would hardly walk into a day center in broad daylight. The staff hadn't seen anyone else in the room except Gurtie. From her own experience of flashbacks Maureen knew how difficult it is to tell them from reality and she knew they were triggered by stress. Maybe this was an after-effect of the interview with Joe McEwan. Maureen looked around the street for pedestrians or occupied cars. The only car in the street was a blue Ford but two people were sitting in it and they were chatting to each other quite casually.
They walked slowly around the corner. "Not Gurtie," whispered Siobhain.
"I know it wasn't Gurtie you saw, hen. Can you say his name to me?"
Siobhain jackknifed stiffly forward, squeezed her eyes tight together, and vomited stringy white lumps of bread and spit onto her shoes.
Maureen tried to help her upright. "I'm sorry, Siobhain, I'm sorry."
Maureen stopped at the edge of the pavement, waiting for a pause in the traffic so that they could cross to the phone box, but Siobhain tugged her sleeve. "I was going to phone Leslie," said Maureen.
"Home," said Siobhain. "Home."
"But I can't stay here all day and I think you should have someone with you."
Siobhain ignored her, tugging her sleeve. "Home," she said, walking on and turning into her close.
A small boy with a wedge haircut and a football was standing in the close. He had a Man United shirt on. He flattened himself against the wall to let them pass, watching Siobhain shuffle up the stairs. When they had passed he began his game again, headering the ball against the inside wall of the close. He was playing keepy-uppy, leaving round muddy marks on the cream wall. He was six or seven, too young to go out on his own.
The smell of heather wasn't as strong as Maureen remembered it: she must be getting used to it. She made Siobhain a cup of tea, listening all the while to the rhythmic thump, thump of the boy's ball game in the close below. She took the tea bag out and stirred three sugars into the cup.
Siobhain drank a mouthful. "Sugar," she said.
"It's good for shock," said Maureen, putting her fingers on the base of the cup and tilting it to Siobhain's mouth.
Siobhain drank quickly as she stared at the carpet, taking big gulps, leaving a brown smile at the corners of her mouth. Maureen took the cup and put it on the floor. "I really think you should go to Leslie's house, Siobhain, you shouldn't be on your own. The only thing is you'll need to go on the motorbike-"
"No," whispered Siobhain, shaking her head slowly. "No."
"Siobhain, I can't stay here all day and I don't think you should be alone just now."
"Stay."
"I really can't, Siobhain, I have to attend to some things."
Siobhain pursed her lips and turned her head, staring Maureen out with hurt, angry eyes. "Stay."
"I can't stay here, Siobhain. Can't I take you to Leslie's house instead?"
Siobhain turned her face away. "Stay."
"Siobhain, I can stay for a couple of hours but I can't stay all day."
Siobhain's fat face turned red and convulsed with impotent fury, her neck tight, her mouth open in a terrified silent scream. She stood up and shuffled forward, pushing and slapping at Maureen's arm and making her stand up. Tugging and pushing and nudging, she hassled Maureen out to the hall and opened the door, shoving her over the step and into the close. She shut the door. Maureen stood still, surprised to find herself in the cold close. She could hear Siobhain breathing heavily on the other side of the door. "Siobhain, at least lock the fucking thing."
Siobhain turned the snib and leaned against the door.
"I'll wait out here, okay?" said Maureen, addressing the door. "Okay?"
Siobhain didn't answer. Maureen could hear her shuffle back down the hall to the living room. Downstairs, the wee boy stopped playing and climbed up the first three stairs. He looked through the banister and caught Maureen's eye. He grinned at her. His front teeth were missing. She smiled back and he went back downstairs and began his game again.
Maureen sat down on the top step and smoked a cigarette to calm herself. She couldn't hear anything inside the flat. She knocked on the door, slowly so as not to scare her, and opened the letter box. "Siobhain, are ye there?"
The dark hall was still. The pool of light cast onto the carpet from the living room was steady. She wasn't moving.
"Are ye there?"
The wee boy stopped playing and came back up to look at her through the banisters again. He grinned at her. Maureen nodded. "Right, son?" He held up his football for her to look at.
"That's smashing, son. Away you downstairs now and play for a wee bit."
The boy disappeared again. She pushed the letter box open again. "Siobhain?"
She could hear Siobhain saying something, speaking very quietly in the living room, whispering almost. She had to concentrate hard to hear it, pressing her ear to the letter box. Siobhain was reciting the Saturday TV schedule to herself.
She phoned Leslie at work. "Hen," she said, "s me. Big fuck-off emergency, Siobhain's scared shitless. She thinks she saw the Northern man. I don't know if it's a flashback or what. I need a lift to Benny's and a body to stay with Siobhain while I go and do some stuff. Can you get away?"
"Where are you?"
"Phone box by Siobhain's house. She might not even let ye into the house, ye might be sitting outside her door. She chucked me out."
"How long'll it take?"
"Days, weeks, a month, I don't know."
Leslie thought about it for a minute. "I'm there," she said, and hung up.
Maureen came out of the phone box. She needed to take Leslie away for twenty minutes and didn't want to leave Siobhain alone, on the off chance that it hadn't been a flashback. She thought about the wee boy. She nipped across the road quickly and looked in the close. He was still there. "Hey," she said. "Wee fella? How long're you going to be here?"
"Till my tea," he said.
"What time's that?"
The wee boy looked blankly at her. He was six or seven, for fuck-sake, he didn't even know how to tell the time.
"Look," she said, "never mind about that." She took a quid note out of her pocket and held it in front of him. "See if a man comes past and goes up to that lady's house and tries to kick her door in. You come outside here and start shouting and get folk up there. Could you do that, wee man?"
"I'm not allowed out the close," said the wee boy, looking at the pound note.
"Can ye stand in the close mouth and shout, just here?" She gestured to the top step.
"Aye," said the wee boy. "I can do that."
"Remember, if a man goes up there and interferes with the door you've to come out here and shout like mad, okay?"
"Aye. How have I to? Is her man gonnae give her a doing?"
"Not if we stop him."
The boy looked at the pound note and back at Maureen, his eyes wide with surprise. "Can ye stop a man giving a mammy a doing?" He looked up at her, his face old and wondering, waiting for the answer.
"Ye can phone the police," she said. He bounced his ball once, shook his head and smiled cynically. "Ye can tell other people about it. That'll embarrass him."
He bounced his ball. "Right," he said, nodding and thinking about it. "Very good."