busy. He’d been at it a couple of minutes when a hush spread through the congregation.
Dean, Adele and Ryan Whitehouse walked down the aisle to the front row. Ryan clutched Adele’s hand and looked intimidated. Adele had on the same large glasses she’d worn the first time Billy saw her. She was in a dark blouse and a figure-hugging black skirt, cut to just above the knee. She looked stunning. He couldn’t see a trace of emotion on her face. Dean walked beside her, eyes cold. Billy imagined being in Dean’s place, walking to the front of the church with this beautiful woman.
After they were settled in the front row, the minister made everyone rise. There were prayers and hymns, short speeches. Billy stared at the back of Adele’s head as she sat through it all, occasionally dipping to whisper in Ryan’s ear. Billy thought about Jeanie outside, about Zoe down in the office. He thought about Charlie in his doctor’s coat, and then pictured himself and Charlie in black ties and what were then their school shoes and uniforms. White shirts and black trousers weren’t the kind of thing you wore every day, so they’d had to return to dressing up like schoolboys for their mother’s funeral. There had been hymns and prayers that day, but Billy couldn’t remember any of it. No one made any speeches. He and Charlie weren’t up to it, neither was anyone else. The minister had spouted some platitudes, then they were out of there, the tiny throng of people who knew their mum, colleagues and shop owners, precious few else. The minister wanted them out in a hurry, he had another funeral in five minutes. And that was it.
Billy realised the memorial was almost over. Dean was re-taking his seat after saying something, Billy had no idea what. They were about to rise again for a final hymn when Billy’s phone went off. Several people turned round and tutted under their breaths. He grabbed it from his pocket. Rose.
‘What?’
‘Get outside, now.’
Billy’s first thought was Jeanie. He bolted out of his seat, the echoing clatter making more heads turn. He ran for the door, vaguely aware of several more phones going off behind him. Dean’s two goons weren’t at the door any more. He ran out and spotted them ten yards ahead, standing over the body of a dog. A collie.
He looked at the handrail where he’d tied Jeanie up. Not there. Photographers and journalists swarmed all around, gathering around the dog’s body, jostling for position, cameras out and mobiles to ears.
He pushed through them to the dog. It was covered in blood from a gaping wound in its neck. He rushed to it and knelt down, pushed his hands into the bloody fur. He was overwhelmed with relief. It wasn’t Jeanie. White patch over one half of the face. Much thicker around the middle. A male, older. He let go of the body.
A voice behind him.
‘Jesus Christ, is that Rebus?’ It was Dean Whitehouse.
‘Looks like it,’ said one of his goons.
‘Is he dead?’
The goon nodded.
‘What the fuck happened?’
‘A car drove up. No plates. Toyota. Two guys in balaclavas threw the dog out of the passenger seat and fucked off.’
‘Holy shit. The fucking Mackies. Cunts. Get it out of here before the kid sees it.’
‘Uncle Dean, is that Rebus?’
Billy’s guts tensed at the sound of Ryan’s voice.
‘No, son,’ Dean said.
The two heavies pushed past Billy and lifted the dog by the legs.
Billy turned. Dozens of people were spilling out of the kirk, Adele and Ryan at the front of the pack.
‘It is.’ Ryan already had tears in his eyes. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Nothing. Don’t look.’
Adele reached for Ryan and jerked his arm, pulling him into her waist. The two heavies took the dog’s body out of sight. The sound of cameras going off filled the air like perverted birdsong.
Dean turned to the snappers. ‘Fuck’s sake, leave us in peace, will you?’
He ushered Adele and Ryan towards a waiting car.
‘Billy.’
It was Rose behind him, on her mobile and dragging Jeanie. She handed him the lead. He petted Jeanie, who was whining softly.
Rose covered the mouthpiece of her mobile. ‘She went mental when they dumped the dog.’ Then into the phone: ‘Yes, that’s correct.’
She turned away. Billy kept stroking Jeanie, pulling her emaciated body to him and sinking his nose into her fur.
‘It’s OK,’ he whispered. ‘Everything’s fine.’
There was a crunch of gravel as the Whitehouse limousine sped out of the churchyard, followed by photographers clicking away.
Rose was back. ‘Just spoke to the Dog and Cat Home, they got a collie in last night. A girl came to pick him up, said she was the owner. By her description it sounds like the same schemie airhead who was with Wayne Mackie at the hospital the other day.’
‘Christ. Who could do that to a dog?’
‘Come on, and bring Lassie with you. We’ve got another story to write.’
22
‘I heard about what happened.’
Billy glanced up and saw Zoe standing over him, looking concerned. He nodded at his screen.
‘Just finished writing it up with Rose now.’
Zoe spotted Jeanie curled up under the desk. ‘You brought her into work?’
Billy stared at Zoe. ‘I didn’t want to leave her at home alone.’
‘Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you got her.’
Billy pictured Adele on her doorstep, refusing to take the dog.
‘Jeanie’s fine, aren’t you, girl?’ He turned to Zoe. ‘It’s only until she gets used to the pills.’
He thought about the blister packs stolen from Charlie in his pocket. He was itching to take something, to feel the dry shape of a capsule in his throat as he swallowed.
‘I need a piss,’ he said.
Zoe tried to reach for him but he was already walking towards the toilets.
‘Meet me for a coffee downstairs?’ she said.
Billy stopped and turned. ‘Sure. Take Jeanie with you.’
He watched as Zoe led the dog to the stairs, then he made for the bogs. Inside he popped two morphines and two methamphetamines. He still hadn’t opened the mood stabilisers. He had Jeanie’s phenobarbital in his pocket too. He stared at the packet, wondered what they would feel like. He put all the blister packs back into his pocket, splashed some water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. His skin felt waxy, as if the water had slid right off it on to the floor. He prodded his cheek, then rubbed at the bump on his temple. Was it hurting? He was having trouble telling. He cricked his neck widely and accidentally smacked his head on the hand dryer.
‘Fuck.’
He stared at the hand dryer, which had gone off, blasting air downwards, noise like an aircraft engine. He banged his head on it again, deliberately this time, and harder.
The sound of a door opening. A suited guy came in, thick around the middle, shirt untucked. Billy put his hands under the dryer and rubbed them together. Pain shot through his head and palms, all the injuries talking to each other.
He yanked at the door and left.
Downstairs in the cafeteria, Zoe was sitting next to the huge glass wall at the back of the room. Outside, a couple of smokers, then across the road the arse end of the Crags, the tail of the Radical Road slashing across the hill. He couldn’t escape it.
