Tom pieced the thought.
‘Oh fuckin great. I go off for one minute and you fuckin thought that I was away getting off with some fat old bird.’ Toms raised voice was heard by the couple who had emerged from the shadows and they whispered to each other in disgruntled disparagement as they strolled down the slope.
‘I’m away all fuckin week, I come home and you are thinking I’m away off with someone when I’ve only been away for 2 minutes. You have a problem Emma. A serious fuckin problem.’ Tom stormed off.
‘Where are you going? Tom, answer me.’
‘The fuck away from you.’ He disappeared into the shadows.
“I’m sorry. Tom. Did you hear me?’
Emma wept in the car for a while. So many thoughts ran through her mind. Should she wait here for him? It didn’t look like he was going to come back. But maybe he would and she could show him how much she loved him. Embrace and warm him up from the cold night in the car or somewhere else. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to feel alone. She sat alone.
---
The journey had been a long one for Bob. Gripping the inside of the door for dear life as Spiv turned more and more aggressive towards him - like he was with all the other commuters.
'Fucksake' Spiv bellowed again, undertaking another car as the road shrank back to one lane, wheel trim clipping the kerb, speedometer reading over 80, and this was heading into Kincardine.
'What’s the hurry?'
'Fuckin amateurs, man, I'm tellin ye.' Spiv had not been happy when they had found out that it was almost a certainty Ian Ingram had been sending the letters to Aid. His car flew past another one, which flashed it’s headlights at him. Spiv still had time to direct an extended middle finger in the direction of the far side traveller, who had to brake to reduce the risk of collision.
'How long has Aid been getting these letters for?'
'Why are you so bothered?'
'I'm not, it's just shit getting this all dragged up again'
'I think Aid just wants Ingram to know we have nowt to do with this.'
Spiv slowed the car slightly on approaching another roundabout, Bob grabbed the passenger door again, this time with his right hand too.
'Fuckin hell man!'
'I just want to get back. Sorry. Listen, Bob, this just gies me the willies. It makes you think that maybe we dinnae ken everything eh? I mean we were given the full monty when it came to questioning I think, but maybe one of us hasn't been entirely honest. Maybe there is something else.'
Bob sat nodding. Spiv was quiet again. They were both thinking to themselves. Bob’s thoughts were split between speaking to Marie on the subject of his sacking and about who had killed his friend Dev Coulding but mainly about holding on tight to the door handle and praying he would get home in one piece.
4
The fridge was full of fine foodstuffs. Appetizers and snacks adorned the shelves and there were 30 odd cans of lager and cider under the table. ‘What else do we need?’ Marie thought. The party was now only a couple of days away, after all, and she needed to get everything right. Bob was at work, so she took a half day to tidy the place up. The carpets had been laid earlier in the day (her mum had been over to let the fitters in) and now, after sharing some small talk about Auntie Bessy's piles (why her mother had to share such stories was beyond her) over a latte frappe, she was now able to dad on with the housework. Polishing knobs and mantles, washing handles of doors, and frames. It was always in her mind that someone would rub a finger over the frame and wipe a fingerful of dust down with a grimace in her direction. She would be mortified, so she would not let it happen. Now it was time to get the hoovering done, but no sooner had she switched it on than the phone erupted into life. The house phone. Probably an International call centre, with a 'Meesees Smeeth, you haf won a purize.... ' She turned the hoover off and lifted the receiver.
'Hello'
'Hello, is Bob Reilly there?'
'No, no he's not. He's at work.'
The caller stalled 'OK, can you tell me when he'll be back?'
'About 5.30 usually. Can I ask who's calling?'
'It's Murray Johnson from Johnston Willis Steelworks. Bob used to work for us. We just need him to give us a call.'
'Used to... You telling me he's not working with you anymore?'
'I'm sorry Mrs Reilly.'
'It's Smith. Miss Smith. When did he finish up?’
'Just a couple of days ago'.
Marie ended the call. She had more questions, but not for Murray Johnson. Where was Bob and what the hell was going on?
Bob turned the key in the lock and walked in. The carpet looked lovely. All that moaning about the cost for nothing...
'Ahem' a small cough brought him to life.
'Oh hiya'.
'Shouldn't you be somewhere?' It was a knowing question.
'Aye. I need to speak to you...' A cushion was thrown across the room.
