‘What do you mean?’
‘Has he actually done or said anything that gave you cause for concern?’
Rowena took a sip of her drink, considering Solly’s words. ‘No. It’s just that Dad seems to be with him all the time as if he’s worried to let Sam out of his sight. Like he’ll take him into town or they’ll both go up the hill with Sula. They even watch T.V. together. I mean, Dad never watches T. V He’d rather sit with his nose in a book.’
‘Me, too,’ Solly said and smiled as Rowena made a face at him.
Lorimer regarded the girl. She was restless on this island, a city girl who had been brought up here because of her parents’ work. ‘How long have you been living at Failte?’
‘Three years next August. I started at the Nicholson just after we came up.’
‘And have you any plans of your own for the future?’
‘Depends on my exam results, doesn’t it? Dad wants me to go to university but I’d rather get a job.’
‘In Glasgow?’
‘No way. I’m off to London first chance I get,’ she scoffed. ‘As far away from Lewis as I can manage.’
‘You’re not happy here, then?’ Solly inquired.
‘Oh, I’m happy enough. Mum and Dad are fine, you know. But I miss my friends from down South. Wish I could cadge a lift with you two or get a flight with Angelica tomorrow.’
Lorimer raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s leaving? Sister Angelica’s leaving the island tomorrow?’
‘Uhhuh. She told Dad she was going back to Glasgow just after you had left. Why?’ the girl looked from one man to the other sensing the impact of her revelation.
‘No reason,’ fibbed Lorimer though his mind was racing with all sorts of possibilities.
‘Oh, here’s my pal Heather,’ Rowena stood up suddenly, waving to a dark-haired girl who was standing looking around the bar. ‘Thanks for the drink. Be seeing you.’ She gave the two men a quick smile as she left, her mind already on her friend and the evening ahead.
‘So,’ Lorimer said, cradling the malt whisky in his hands. ‘Sister Angelica has had enough of the quiet life already.’
‘I wonder,’ returned Solly. ‘Is she regretting telling us about Leigh Quinn?’
‘Or is there some other reason that’s taking her back to Glasgow?’ Lorimer frowned. The sooner they were on that boat back to the mainland, the better. This trip to Lewis and Harris had left him with more questions than answers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was the tune on the radio that brought everything back. Just a simple thing like that, Tom marvelled, and he was once more sitting by Nan’s bed, her face turned to his, tired as always, slightly puzzled as if she still hadn’t worked out why this disease had chosen her body for its host. Even when its final strains died away and the presenter began announcing something entirely different, the memories lingered like the scent of a woman’s perfume, subtle yet all-pervasive.
Tom had battled with all his psychologist’s expertise against the demons that had threatened to submerge him until he’d finally taken his own advice and sought professional help. But sometimes there would be a trigger, like that song, and he’d be swept into a series of pictures in his mind that refused to be dislodged.
Yet today it was not scenes of utter desolation and sickness that came to mind but the better days when he’d taken Nan for drives down the coast. She’d been light enough to carry out to the car, her wasted limbs slack beneath the rug, her arms not twined about his neck but hanging useless as he placed her gently in the passenger seat. He’d always played the car radio on those journeys rather than trying to make one-sided conversations. Nan’s voice had reached that piping stage when it was impossible to make her out over the car engine.
Once they’d sung along to the radio, he remembered, when they’d been first married. Journeys into work had been happy, he suddenly realised, despite the daily gridlock. Wasn’t it always thus? To find a memory of pleasure that had seemed so mundane at the time? That’s what everyone had told him at the funeral. Hang on to the good memories. And he’d tried. God knows how he’d tried.
Another picture: Nan on her exercise bike, her feet strapped into the pedals in an attempt to strengthen her ankles. She’d not been able to walk but Kirsty had insisted that it was of benefit anyway. The routine had been well established by then. Mornings when he’d washed and dressed his wife, leaving for work only when the Community nurse and her assistant arrived.
The full-time carer came after that and was gone by the time he’d returned, his morning note embellished with words of her own. Often his classes were over in time for Tom to be there when Kirsty arrived for her third visit of the day. He’d watched her tend to his wife, her lilting voice utterly normal, never condescending like some of them. Nan had hated the ones who had treated her like some imbecile child. Thankfully they’d usually had Kirsty up until the end.
‘You’ll be wanting Countdown then?’ she’d ask Nan. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Never could do anagrams myself,’ she’d say with a self-deprecating laugh. She’d known somehow that Nan’s mind was still quick even if her fingers couldn’t hold a pencil any more. That was what he’d admired about the young nurse, her ability to see beneath the illness to the whole person inside. Not many people had realised what an asset the girl had been to them. And how many people would miss her now?
The radio presenter’s voice brought Tom back to the present as he handed over the programme to the newscaster. Another bomb had exploded in the Middle East.
He listened as the facts presented themselves to his brain, Nan’s face still floating before him, still smiling up at Kirsty as she made to turn on the television. Now last night’s FA Cup results were being analysed. Her face became hazy, indistinct. A different voice told Tom that a band of rain would be sweeping across the country. He tried to hold onto the image dissolving in front of him, to keep the smile at least, but all he could see was that empty pillow.
Lorimer switched off the car radio. The weather forecast told him only some of what he needed to know. If only there could be a crime forecast, he thought wryly. A band of robberies will sweep across England and Wales today, followed by a combined forces occluded front. A high of serial killings will be present over Scotland leaving floods of victims in its wake. Outlook: grim. His mind toyed with more comparisons, their flippancy a relief from the thought that had been haunting him all morning. Mhairi MacLeod was all alone now, the last of her family now that Kirsty was gone. Just what thoughts she had hidden away under that wise exterior, he couldn’t say. Did she ever wonder about the possible link between a Glasgow prostitute and her own darling girl? Nobody in the investigation had even begun to tar the nurse with the same brush as poor Deirdre McCann. Even the press had shown some sympathy. Their take on things was that the killer was some nutter and Kirsty his random victim. But was she?
Victims were not restricted to the dead women in the mortuary, either. The old lady herself was a victim just like the McCann family. And the ripples spread outwards to all whose lives had been touched. The Grange had its own victims, too. How many poor souls were still shaken by their loss?
Lorimer glanced across at Solly who seemed absorbed in the landscape, miles away from thoughts of death and its consequences. Behind him on the back seat his mobile began its insistent ringing, making him look ahead for the nearest place to stop. Despite these fairytale mountains sweeping above, Glasgow could still reach out with its persistent demands.
Phyllis didn’t really care if the new nursing assistant was an improvement or not.
‘What d’you think of her, then, dearie?’ Brenda had asked for her opinion and was watching Phyllis’s face closely for a sign. The woman in the bed gave none, simply stared back into space as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Muttering to herself, Brenda swept her hand over the creaseless counterpane and waddled from the room. Behind her a pair of bright eyes followed her progress and a small sigh escaped into the air. Phyllis fixed her eyes on the door that was always kept ajar. Beyond it there was another world. But here, for a time, was her territory. She let her gaze focus on a fly that was crawling steadily up the grey paintwork. Its erratic progress might let it reach the
