businesses afloat, or that it’s another cost to be borne by the public purse?’
He held his three-week-old son to his barrel chest, and rubbed two fingers, very gently, between his shoulder-blades. ‘Seriously, though, Paulie, I know that grumpy old bastard of yours thinks of it as an example of the nanny state at work, but seen through my eyes at this moment, it’s a great innovation. My wife and I have two weeks in which we need do nothing but welcome wee Louis into the world.’
‘And spoil the hell out of him,’ came a retort from across the room.
‘You can’t spoil a baby, McGuire,’ McIlhenney retorted. ‘All you do is feed them when they yell, burp them . . .’ he paused, ‘right on cue, wee man, well done . . . and change them when they yell some more.’
‘Aw, look,’ exclaimed Paula, standing behind him, ‘he’s smiling at me.’
‘They say,’ Louise McIlhenney told her, ‘that at his age, when he does that it’s just wind. Don’t you believe it: he smiles at us too, and at Lauren and Spence. He has done since the day he was born. Do you want to hold him?’
‘If I do, will I get broody?’
‘There’s been no sign of it yet, has there?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never held one of those before.’
Even Mario looked surprised. ‘What?’ he gasped. ‘You’ve never held a baby? What about your nephews, Ryan and David?’ He glanced at McIlhenney. ‘You’d never guess their dad was a Man U fan, would you?’
No,’ Paula confessed. ‘I never got to play with either of them. My sister hardly ever went out when they were very young, and when she did she always asked Mum to babysit. My nephews and I have never been close: no way was I getting stuck with the maiden-aunt tag.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Neil. ‘Take a chance.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ McGuire muttered.
‘Ah, you be quiet. You can have a turn too if you like.’ The smiling father leaned over and placed the baby gently into Paula’s arms, as she settled herself against the arm of a big, soft sofa, showing her how to hold him and how to support his head.
‘God,’ she whispered, as she looked at the tiny round face. ‘God. Hello there, wee Louis. I’m your auntie Paula. Will you and I be friends?’ The infant blinked up at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched, to form what might or might not have been a smile. ‘Looks like it, eh?’
McIlhenney turned to his friend. ‘Time for your feed as well?’ He walked across to the bar, which stood in a corner of the living room.
‘Well, if you’ve got something open . . .’
‘Since it’s you, I’ve got some nice Valpolicella here.’
‘Perfect.’ He watched as Neil poured two glasses, held one out towards him, then picked up the other. ‘I thought you were off that stuff,’ he said.
‘Not completely. Lou isn’t drinking alcohol while she’s feeding the wee one, and Paula said she’s driving. As for Lauren and Spence upstairs, we do give them a taste occasionally, but very little and never during the school week. So if I don’t give you a hand you’ll finish the bottle all on your own, and probably want to start another.’
‘True,’ Mario muttered. ‘Fuckin’ spoilsport, aren’t you?’
The two men wandered through to the kitchen, where Neil had prepared a bowl of salad, ready to accompany four steaks, which he had seared earlier. He switched on the eye-level gas grill, and sipped his wine as he waited for it to heat. ‘What was that on
‘We aren’t allowed to talk shop,’ Mario reminded him. ‘I’d cross many people, but not your wife, not ever.’
‘She can’t hear us.’
‘I’m not going to take that chance. You just concentrate on those fillets.’
The cook fell silent as he laid the four steaks on the grill tray, and slid it under the flame. ‘Near Gullane, was it?’ he ventured, at last.
McGuire gave up. ‘Just by Muirfield; you know, the golf course where half the Supreme Court judges are members.’
‘Mmm. On the golf course itself?’
‘No, on the other side.’
‘On the bents?’
‘No.’
‘On the beach, then.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Mmm.’ McIlhenney peered into the grill, concentrating on the steaks. ‘Does Paula still like hers well done?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m trying to wean her off burned meat; she’ll have it just shy of medium like the rest of us.’
‘That’s good. I can turn them all at the same time, then.’ As he spoke, a pinging sound began and the microwave indicator display flashed. ‘That’s the spuds baked,’ he said, as he switched it off. ‘Sweet potatoes.’
‘Yummy,’ Mario murmured, deadpan.
Neil wore a concentrated frown as he flipped the four steaks over, then slid them back under the grill. ‘Another few minutes and they’ll be fine. I’ll be doing six, before you know it: it can’t be long before Lauren won’t be put off with early supper and insist on joining us. And that’ll mean Spence too.’
‘You’ll be doing seven soon.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That wee boy through there, mate. He’ll be your height before you know it.’
‘Jesus, man, don’t wish his childhood away.’
‘Sorry. I’m not, really; as a caring godparent, if I could keep him in a time warp of innocence I bloody well would. But life ain’t like that.’ Mario’s face grew dark. ‘I saw an angel today, pal; cut off in her prime.’
‘That’s the job.’
‘Sure. But she had a father too, just like wee Louis.’ He shook his heavy shoulders. ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘You know it always affects me like this when I visit a murder scene.’
‘Good. I’ll start to worry about you the day it doesn’t.’
‘Yeah. Be sure to tell me, too.’
‘In a loud voice.’ Neil peered into the grill once more. ‘Not long now.’ He opened the microwave and used a glove to lift out the baked yams on the revolving glass tray. ‘The dishes are warming in the oven. Do you want to get them out?’ he asked rhetorically, as he carried them across to a work surface.
‘Sure.’
When the plates were laid out, Neil laid a baked potato on each, slit it open and dropped in a spoonful of mustard mayonnaise, then returned to the grill and waited for the steaks to cook to his satisfaction.
‘Did you brief the big man?’ he murmured casually.
‘Bob Skinner? Of course I did,’ McGuire replied. ‘I’m not daft. I looked in on him before I went back to Edinburgh.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He thanked me, and wished us well with the investigation.’
‘Does he expect daily reports?’
‘No. He never asked.’
‘Jesus!’ McIlhenney gasped. ‘How is he?’
‘Haven’t you seen him?’
‘Not since February. That’s the last time he was at our Thursday-night football; I had to go straight home afterwards, so we didn’t have time to talk. He visited Lou in the maternity, of course, the day after the baby was born; brought him a very generous present. But I was in the office so I missed him. How’s he looking?’
McGuire’s eyebrows rose. ‘Fit as hell. To be honest, I haven’t seen him looking better in years.’
‘Did he say what he’s been up to?’
‘He said, and I quote, that he’d been farting about on some study projects he’s been putting off for years. He was in Toronto during the Easter holidays while the kids were with their mother in Connecticut; he didn’t go into detail, but I got the impression that it might have been job-related. I think he’s been writing too.’
