‘We’ll be baaaa-aaaack,’ goes Travis.
The kitchen’s like something out a museum. The sink’s one of they old china ones and there’s no even any proper units, there’s shite like my grannie had, one of they cabinets with a front you pull down for a shoogly wee worktop, and cupboards and that that dinnae go, all chipped and stained. There’s a nice big dresser but, like something off of Antiques Roadshow, and bonnie cups and plates on it.
Table’s massive, with chairs round it that are no even the same, some wood and some painted sweetie colours like sherbet lemon and candyfloss. Ryan pushes the man at one of them and goes, ‘Anyone fancy a wee bit breakfast?’ and he’s opening cupboards.
The lassie suddenly turns round and runches her teeth down on Travis, and he goes ‘Ah ye bass!’ and she’s legging it out the door and Jed’s ‘Fuck’ and going after her, and Ryan’s got the bint against the cupboard and she’s yelling, ‘Emma, Emma!’
Then Jed’s dragging the bairn back in by the hair and she’s greeting and he’s shoving her at the bint and going ‘Keep that fucking wee animal under control, aye? Fucking went and tried to get the fucking phone,’ and he throws the phone at the dresser and some of the cups and that smash, and the bint’s going ‘Oh God!’ and she’s backing into the corner between the Aga and the cupboard coorying her bairn and going ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone!’ and hubby’s just sitting there with a big glaikit face on him.
‘Fucking wee bitch,’ goes Travis. He’s running the tap on his hand. With the other hand he points at the bairn. ‘Needs a fucking muzzle on her.’
Ryan’s pissing himself.
‘Please don’t hurt her,’ the bint’s going, and Jed’s in the wee lassie’s face going, ‘Any more shite from you and you’re getting more than a wee nip and a slap, aye?’
God’s sakes. The fucking prick. He’s got that radge look in his eyes like he’d get when he used to go for me. He’s loving this so he is.
‘Get away from her!’ goes the bint, and she’s pulling the bairn round into the corner, she’s got her back turned to Jed, and the wee lassie’s got her face pushed in her maw’s chebs.
I go, ‘What’s the wee lassie’s name – is it Emma, aye?’
Bint doesnae say nothing. She doesnae turn round.
‘You come here to me, Emma-hen. I’ll no let they buggers touch you, eh? Come here to me. My name’s Lorraine.’
Wee lassie huds on to her maw. Jed grabs the bint and Travis pulls the bairn off of her and round the table, and the bint’s going ‘Do as they say, darling, just do as they say’ and then I’ve got my arm round the bairn and I’m going ‘It’s okay hen, it’s okay wee Emma,’ and Jed’s got the bint’s arm up her back.
Emma’s standing staring at her maw and Jed. I pull her closer and I go, ‘Come and sit on my knee, hen,’ and I sit down on a chair and pull the bairn down on top of me and smooth her hair. She’s got awful bonnie hair. Dark and shiny.
The bint’s still going, ‘Do as they say, darling, do as they say,’ and Jed gives her arm a yowk for no reason, the mentalist, and she’s ‘Oh God oh God please.’
Hubby’s no said a fucking thing.
I goes, ‘This’s your bairn, by the way? That’s your bint? You gonnae just sit there giving it Whatever? You. Are. A fucking disgrace.’
He goes, ‘What do you want?’
Wee Emma’s shaking. I give her a coorie. ‘Dinnae you worry, hen, dinnae you worry. Maybe your da’s a gutless fucking wonder, but no one’s gonnae touch you. Ryan son, take a seat, aye? Travis, get us some coffees.’
‘Please –’ goes the bint. ‘Please let her come to me.’
‘Och, she’s fine where she is, eh, wee Emma? What’s your name, doll?’
‘Pam.’
‘Take a seat, Pammie. We’ll be out your hair soon enough. Soon as you’ve telt us all about your pals the Morrisons. Let’s us start with where they work at and where they’re from, eh?’
‘Do yous take milk and sugar?’ goes Travis.
‘And get the lassie a juice, son.’
Emma goes, ‘I don’t want any juice!’ She’s sitting on my lap with her wee toes pressed against the chair next us and her legs lifted up off of me, balancing on her wee arse like she’s no wanting any more of herself touching me than she has to.
‘A nice wee glass of milk, then.’ I chuckle. ‘Bairns, eh?’
‘It’s all right, darling,’ goes Pammie, sitting down across the table. ‘Just sit and be good and they’ll soon be gone.’
The man goes, ‘Alec is a scientist. A botanist. He works in the Botany Department at Glasgow University. Ruth is just a housewife.’
‘Aye? Where did she work at before?’
‘I think she was a nurse?’ He turns to Pammie.
Pammie’s hudding her sair arm and smiling at her bairn. ‘She was a paediatric nurse at Glasgow Royal Infirmary.’
Ryan’s got his phone out and he’s keying it all in. Like he’s taking the minutes at a fucking board meeting.
‘And where are the fuckers from?’
‘Alec’s from Perth,’ goes Pammie. ‘That’s where he grew up.’
‘What bit?’
‘What?’
‘What bit of Perth?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It was near the big park,’ goes hubby, ‘I don’t know what it’s called – he used to talk about how his house was near it and these boys used to hide and ambush him – he used to joke about it, he said it was like Inspector Clouseau…’
‘He got family there still?’
‘His parents are dead,’ goes Pammie.
‘But I think he has some cousins might still live there.’ Hubby’s the class fucking swot. ‘His sister Pippa is working in India, I think… He had family on the west coast as well. Torridon.’ Travis puts a mug on the table in front of him and he goes, ‘Thank you.’
Twat.
‘Whereabouts in Torridon?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s not exactly a populous area, and I’d imagine it’s a close community – I wouldn’t have thought it’d be hard to find the family…’
‘And what about Ruth?’
The bint goes, ‘She’s Australian, originally. After her dad died, she and her mum came to live here. When she was small.’
‘Aye, and?’
‘And what?’ She’s giving me evils.
‘Where did they live when they came to this country?’
‘St Andrews.’
‘And whereabouts in Australia is she from?’
‘I don’t know. Sydney, I think. She never talked about her childhood.’
‘Aye right. Yous were best pals, and she never telt you about her childhood?’
‘No, really, she didn’t. I always thought it was odd that she didn’t. I said to you, James, didn’t I?’ She turns to hubby and he gives her a wee smile. ‘We assumed Ruth must have had an unhappy childhood and that was why she never talked about it.’
‘Ruth was weird,’ goes hubby. ‘I always thought there was something weird about Ruth.’ Mr Brown Nose is that far up my arse he could lick my fucking tonsils.
‘In what way?’
‘Ruth wasn’t “weird”,’ says Pammie, and she’s eyeballing him like she’s thinking Who is this gutless fuck?
‘Okay Pammie. Let’s just see what hubby here has to say about your pal Ruth, and then when he’s done we’ll hear from you, aye?’
Hubby’s right in there. ‘She used to overreact to things.’ He turns to Pammie. ‘Like when Emma tied a scarf round Bekki’s wrists when they were playing prisoners? It wasn’t even tight. Ruth screamed blue murder at Emma. Remember?’
Pammie nods but she’s no saying nothing.