“You did,” I said. “Last night, remember?”
“Right,” said Gus. “Did I? He’s a bit of a… ”
“Black sheep?” I said.
He smiled, easy again. “I was going to say wild card,” he said.
“Baa-baa back seep,” said Dillon.
“Anyway, he’s in Bangkok.”
“Sounds pretty wild, right enough,” I said. “Is this the kind that’s sweet already, or will I put some sugar in?”
“Tugar in!” said Dillon.
“Sugar in mine too!” Ruby was back. Her face was still tear-stained, but she was dressed. Leggings, a velvet dress, and a sparkly shrug. She had her hairbrush in her hand and a bobble with tinsel ribbons hanging from it.
“Can you do my hair?” she said to me. “Dad’s rubbish. Do it nice for when Mummy gets home and sees me.”
I sat down without a word, and she backed herself in between my knees. Gus got up and went to the cooker. I don’t know why, but I stretched out one of my bare feet and touched his leg. I was right. He was frozen and, at my touch, goose bumps sprang up on his skin, so that the red hair stood out like soft focus, or radioactive. He stopped with the milk pan poised above the cups.
“Thanks,” he said.
“How will I get the car back to you?” I asked, but he gave me a look that was so hurt, so totally miserable that I didn’t say any more. I was taking her to school and it looked like I was bringing her home again.
Very gently, starting with the ends, minding out for knots, I brushed Ruby’s hair. But no matter how depressed Becky had been, she hadn’t neglected her children: it was hardly tuggy at all and it smelled of Johnson’s Baby. It shone like sheets of copper when the brush pulled it straight and then bounced back into coils when I let it go. If it was right enough that Gus had no family, then the kids would end up with a babysitter anyway while he got himself sorted. If they were going to have to put up with a stranger, I reasoned, it might as well be me. And nothing would happen. Probably. We’d all be okay.
He offered me a loan of clean clothes. He couldn’t have been thinking clearly. I managed to turn him down without letting on how creepy it was that he’d even imagined I’d wear them. I’d bend a rule and take something from work, for once. The underwear’s always new; we use the money we get from selling the brand name stuff on eBay and hit Primark for them. One of my favourite bits of the job, as it goes, shopping with somebody else’s money. Shame I’m always buying men’s socks and kids’ undies.
For now, I dressed in yesterday’s and soon we were ready to go. I was standing at the coat rack when he opened the front door and I turned to the light.
“Wow,” I said. Ruby ran out, Dillon toddling after her in his pyjamas. It was a perfect autumn day, clear blue sky, crisp white clouds. And the tide was almost in, the bay sparkling, the beach ruffled with waves. I walked down the path and out across the turf. The dry sand was white and a breeze sent it sheeting across the darker strip down where it was wet still. It was a stiff enough breeze to be shifting the shells too, sprays of tiny blue, pink, and gold ones at the high tide line, and it shivered the little plants tucked into the cracks in the rocks. Big rough grey rocks splotched with green and orange.
“What are those stains?” I asked, pointing.
“Lichen,” he said.
“It’s beautiful. Is that chives?” I pointed at the rippling little plants.
He laughed. “It’s called thrift.”
“It’s lovely,” I said.
“You’re easily pleased.”
I turned. “Don’t you think so?” He was gazing far out across the water. “I’d think… for an artist-”
His face clouded. I was getting used to the way it did that and I waited, but this time it didn’t clear. He didn’t smile, didn’t look at me.
“I don’t do nice wee pictures of the seaside,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” I said, feeling myself colouring. How many times had I blushed since I’d met him yesterday? And how long had it been before that? I’m not a blusher. He was standing with his eyes closed and his face turned up as if the sun would warm it, but the sun was behind him.
“Becky wanted me to churn stuff out and tout it round the craft shops,” he said, eventually, still with his eyes closed. “Present from Galloway. Said what was the point of living out here if I didn’t paint it. Boats in the harbour, roses round the door.” At last, he opened his eyes. “Jesus, I’m the biggest bastard that ever lived to be moaning about her.” He threw the dregs of his coffee away, making a dark splash that spoiled the green and orange on the nearest rock. None of it splashed on me, though.
Then he cupped his hand to his mouth. “Roobs, come on, darling! And Dillyboy, get out of the water with your socks on, you numpty. Come on.”
“Yeah, you’re a total bastard, right enough,” I said. “I’ll pick her up at four then. Steve won’t mind if I leave early. See you getting on for five. Text me a shopping list if you need anything.”
“You’re saving my life, Jess,” he said.
“Jessie,” I told him. He blinked. “Now, that’s a bastard,” I said. “Picking nits at a time like this.”
“Jessie,” he said. “A time like this, yeah.” He gave me a look. If he had just been a guy, and we’d just been standing on a beach somewhere, I’d have known what kind of look it was, no question. But with his kids there, not to mention his wife in the morgue, it couldn’t have been. Sick of me even to think so.
I dropped Ruby off at the nursery wing of Townhead Primary and stopped at the door to have a word with the famous Miss Colquhoun, a nice girl with a worried face and holes all over her lips and nose where she must wear rings when she wasn’t working.
“I’m picking Ruby up this afternoon,” I told her. “Her dad told me the password. And I think I should give you my number in case she needs to leave early.”
“Trouble?” she asked.
“He hasn’t called you yet?” I turned and watched Ruby in the playground. She had put her backpack down and was tearing in to some game with three other girls who all looked like they knew what they were doing.
“Big trouble,” I said. “Becky-Mrs. King-was in a car crash yesterday.” Miss Colquhoun’s hands flew up to her face. I could see the very edges of her full-sleeve tattoos peeking out from her cuffs.
“Is she okay?” she said. “Is she in the hospital?”
“She’s not okay,” I told her. “She didn’t survive.” I watched her chew on that and translate it into the bald fact I didn’t want to say.
“She died?”
I nodded. “She died.”
Miss Colquhoun swung round to look at the girls playing. “Does Ruby know?”
“Well,” I said, “Gus told her.”
“Gus?” said Miss Colquhoun. “That’s her dad? We do Mister and Missus here with the parents.”
“But I’m not sure it went in,” I added.
She nodded, but she looked pained. “I’ll need to tell the head teacher,” she said. “I’m not sure Ruby should be here.”
“There’s going to be cops and all that today,” I said. “Gus reckoned Ruby’d be better off not at the house.”
“Police?” said Miss Colquhoun. “Like, was it a hit-and-run? Drunk driver? Why police?”
“I… no. Just-She drove off that bad road to Wanlockhead. It was an accident. Tragedy, really.” I wasn’t going to say the word.
“Oh my God,” said Miss Colquhoun. There were tears shining in her eyes. “I heard that on West Sound last night. That was Becky King? They said it might have been suicide, though. Two in one day, they said. Made a big special feature of it.”
“Two? Oh yeah, those divers.”
“Evil bastards, making up stories. Oh my God!”
The bell rang, blocking out all sounds, sending the kids wheeling back to their schoolbags and then jostling to the door.