glass rain down on me, scattering across the floor like diamonds spilled by a careless hand.
I crouched there, hearing nothing but the repeat of the blast exploding over and over in my ears. After what seemed like a long time Dix touched my shoulder.
'Here,' his voice was gentle. 'Swallow, you’ll feel better.'
I kept my eyes on the ground unable to run towards the red blur at the edge of my vision and asked, 'Did I kill her?'
'Shhhh.'
Dix prised open my mouth and slipped a pill beneath my tongue. I swallowed then hunched back on the floor, letting darkness claim me. He was right, oblivion was better than the knowledge of what I’d done.
Consciousness brought the sharp tang of disinfectant. My first thought was that they weren’t making hospital beds any softer. But when I forced open my eyes I lay curled in a square of sunlight beneath the warehouse’s skylight. The shadows of pigeons roosting in the roof above crawled across me. One touched my face; I winced and raised a hand to bat it away though it was nothing.
I thought of Sylvie. The vision of her ruined body dropping to the floor flashed into my mind in bloody Technicolor. There was a sudden pain in my gut and I twisted into it, heaving deep dry sobs whose echoes were my only replies. Above me the birds launched into the air, their wings beating out a fractured rhythm; I thought of the sound a pistol makes and groaned.
I’m not sure how much time passed before I managed to raise my head, but I know it was a long interval between that first move and struggling to my feet. Someone had covered me with my raincoat. I pulled it on and stumbled like a three-day drunk to the spot where Sylvie had fallen. The warehouse was huge and empty, a transitory space where things were stored then moved on, where women were shot then disappeared and shattered conjurers stood and wondered what to do next.
Someone had done a good job. There was no sign left of my crime, except for a patch on the floorboards that was cleaner than the rest, where traces of blood and tooth would still be stored, if you knew how to look. I got down on my knees and traced my fingertips across it. The boards were rough and unpolished, their surface still vaguely damp.
My hand went into my pocket feeling for the gun, but instead of hard metal my fingers closed around a stiff paper package. I drew it out and looked at a large bundle of euros, more cash than I’d ever seen. I stared blankly at the money then put it back in my pocket, fastened my coat and stepped out into the open air, walking a long way until I felt straight enough to hail a cab. The door to Sylvie and Dix’s flat was open, the place abandoned. I’m not sure how long I stayed there, sitting on Dix’s chair, pulling at the gaffer-taped tear in its arm, wondering what had happened and what to do, waiting for the police to arrive. But some time after it had become clear that no one was going to come for me, I found myself on a flight home to Glasgow.
London
IT FELT GOOD to be back in London. A friend of Eilidh and John’s had a studio apartment he’d wanted to let in a hurry. Johnny had given me a reference that dispensed with the deposit and I’d managed to cobble together a month’s rent. After dumping my few things in the flat my next stop was Rich’s office.
I braced myself for Mrs Pierce’s disapproval but there was a young woman at the desk.
Slim and dark, with short black hair framing a pixie-like face.
She called Rich on the intercom and he buzzed me straight through.
'Bloody hell, I thought you were dead or in jail.'
'Neither.' I sat on the visitors’ chair. 'What happened to Mrs Pierce?'
'Retired, said she had no desire to work past sixty.' Rich looked disgusted. 'I don’t know what’s happening, William, used to be you got loyalty, now what do you get? Women who work for you for forty years then suddenly want to spend time with their grandchildren. I ask you.' He looked at me. 'Oh I get it, what you mean is, who’s the sweet young thing sitting out front?'
'My womanising days are over.'
Rich smiled like he’d heard it all before.
'That says a lot about why you’ve been off the map. I’ll tell you what my old dad, God rest his soul, told me. He said, Don’t go for the good-looking ones Richie, they’ll only give you grief. He was right. My mother was an ugly woman, God rest her, and Mrs Banks…
have you met my wife?'
I shook my head. 'No.'
'Well, Mrs Banks is what they used to call homely, but she’s a wonderful woman, William, a good mother, good cook and… well… Take my advice, find a woman who thinks she’s lucky to have you and she’ll treat you like a king.'
'I’ll give that serious thought. In the meantime I was wondering if you’ve got anything in my line.'
Rich blew through his lips.
'Nada. Summer season starts in a couple of weeks and I’ll more than likely manage to scrape something up for you then if you’re still looking but right now trade’s as dry as Mrs Pierce without her HRT.'
I raised my eyebrows and he said, 'Crude, I know, but that woman left me in the lurch.
Been threatening to go for years, then suddenly she’s off. Unbelievable.'
He took a cigar out of his desk and started to unwrap it.
'Is that the best you can do?'
Rich shrugged.
'I told you, it’s quiet. You know the drill. Work up something good and come and see me in time for the Summer
