“Quick?” said the woman, frowning. Then she smoothed her expression. “Can we come inside, Mr. King?”
“Have you found her?”
“So you did know your wife was missing?” said the man.
His partner scowled. “Can we step inside, Mr. King?”
“I phoned Castle Douglas,” said Gus. “How did you get here so fast?”
“If we could just come in.”
“What do you want?” He was holding the door so hard that the hinge creaked. “If you’re not from CD, what are you doing here?”
“Gus?” I said softly. What was wrong with him? Was this denial? From the kitchen, the kids started whining. The woman copper looked past him and caught my eye.
“I’ll just go and see to them,” I said and backed away.
I couldn’t hear anything over the din of sorting out who stole what and who kicked who and where was their dinner, their daddy, their mummy (Oh God), but I felt him fall. Felt it right through my feet and up to my teeth when Gus King heard the news and hit the floor.
Five
The woman copper was looking at me like something stuck to her shoe.
“You should try and find someone else,” I said. “I really don’t know Gus all that well.”
“You know him well enough to call him Gus,” she said, which was weird. Cops might Mr. and Mrs. everyone they meet, but normal people don’t.
“Yeah, the kids don’t know me at all and… ”
She waited.
“I’m not that great with children actually. They need someone who knows what they’re doing tonight of all-”
“We don’t want to be bothering Mr. King about babysitters just now,” she said. “He’s got enough on his plate.” The man copper had gone back outside to use his radio and not frighten the kids, and Gus had gone into the bathroom. The woman and me were sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the living room. I could tell she had her legs braced to stop the cushion scooting out from under her. The kids had got their ice cream and were quiet in the kitchen with a story on the tape recorder.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t answer or smile, but she maybe unfroze a wee tiny bit. “What happened?” I asked. “Are you allowed to tell me?”
“She drove her car off the road this afternoon. The B797, godforsaken spot, halfway between nowhere and nowhere else.”
“Sanquhar and Abington?”
“Exactly.”
I knew it well. Abington services was where Dumfriesshire air-kissed the M74, and every divorced dad who’d left the sticks and moved to Glasgow dropped his kids there or picked them up again at least a few times. Hellish dump it was too. As well as the bored dads and miserable kids, there were always a few dodgy blokes selling cars for cash, and a few even dodgier blokes having meetings without any cars at all to explain the cash. And the road to get there from here was only one banjo backing track from a horror film. The copper was talking.
“A turn and a drop, God knows how many feet down to the water. And the crash barrier might as well be crocheted.”
“I know where you mean,” I told her. I would have sworn her ears pricked up, but they couldn’t have really. It was probably just her eyebrows, those dead dark ones that make the rest of your face look peeled. “Used to meet my dad at Abington,” I explained.
She sat back, and her torn face straightened itself a bit. She nearly smiled. “Aye, me too,” she said. “If you know what she was doing there, you should tell me. Mr. King couldn’t think, state he’s in.”
I didn’t speak. But there’s no fooling a cop. Or there wasn’t this one.
“I’m right,” she said, and she wriggled forward until her knees were nearly touching mine. “You know something.”
The letter was still on the sideboard; I could see it from the corner of my eye. I could hear it humming. I couldn’t help the glance I flicked at it.
“If you know something, you need to tell me,” said the copper, twisting round in her chair. “We’re having a very bad day today, you know. Between this and the river.”
“The river?” I said. “The Nith at Whitesands? What happened there?”
“God knows where it happened,” she said. “Whitesands is just where it bobbed to the surface again.” She shuddered. “So tell me what you know about Mrs. King.” It was odd the way she didn’t ask any actual questions. It worked, though. I nodded at the sideboard and then looked away. Which was when Gus came back.
“Oh Jess,” he said. The copper had risen and picked it up, stood there reading. “It’s not how it seems,” he told her.
“We’d better make a start then, Mr. King,” the copper said.
“Is there really no one else I could call for you?” I asked Gus. The copper made a sound with her teeth like a beer bottle top coming off.
“Try Ros,” he said. “Her number’s on the-Oh God Jesus, what am I-Look.” He came over and held both of my hands in his, looked really hard into my eyes. “Just please stay, eh?”
“Okay then,” said the copper. “Let’s go.” I followed them through to the hall.
“Don’t bother about their teeth for once,” said Gus, “but a bath’ll help them get sleepy. Thanks, eh?”
And they were gone, leaving me standing there on the thin carpet strip that ran up the middle of the hall from the front mat to the bathroom door. An hour ago I’d been headed home to a bottle of wine – who was I kidding with that pomegranate juice?-and a box set, and now here I was all alone in a stranger’s house with sole charge of two little kids. Jesus, I could be anyone. I could be an axe murderer. Lightning could hit the same wee house twice on the same miserable day.
Could, but wouldn’t. I took my coat off-finally-and jammed it onto the hat stand. I took my shoes off too and lined them up at the end of the row. Work boots, trainers, a pair of pretendy Uggs, Ruby’s wellies, Dillon’s wellies, scuffed Start-Rites, old jellies, and now mine. All in a row.
“Do you like bananas?” I asked them, going back into the kitchen again. The ice cream in the bowls hadn’t gone down much. Well, what did I know about toddlers’ portions?
“Uh-huh,” said Ruby.
“And do you like sugar?”
A big yes from the baby.
“Do you like fried bread and butter?” No answer to that one; they were too young to know that fried anything is a winner.
“So how do you fancy fried banana and sugar pieces? You can’t just eat ice cream or you’ll wake up in the middle of the night with your tummies rumbling and your daddy’ll think it’s monsters and be scared.”
Ruby kind of smiled and glanced at Dillon, and I wondered if maybe you shouldn’t speak about monsters to kids when they were all alone with a stranger.
“I’ll make one and cut it in half to see if you like it,” I said.
“Can we watch the telly?” said Ruby.
“Doy Dory Doo!” Dillon put in.
“Can we go and watch Doy Dory Doo?” said Ruby, giggling.
I thought about the red and grey flecked carpet and the vinyl suite, and how much harm could banana do it? So I nodded. Ruby hopped down from the stool and the baby held up his arms and screamed, kept screaming until I worked out how to undo the straps and lifted him down.
And then finally, when they were settled side by side on the couch and Ruby had popped the tape in-Toy Story 2-I just gave in. I put on a cotton apron that was hanging from the window latch by the fridge. I put the radio on to the news and let my daydreams take me where they wanted to, loading up a tray with plates and cups, wiping the ice cream off the high chair tray, trying to make a bit of space to turn round, looking for a pan in the big larder cupboard to fry the sandwiches in. I found a black iron one, thick with what Steve at work calls seasoning and everyone else calls grease, and so heavy I had to lift it with both hands.