And the Land Lay Still (86 page)

She parked outside the gates and peered in, wondering if she
should risk it. She didn’t know what kind of dog Denny had, but she’d bet it wasn’t a chihuahua. As she sat there summoning up courage, the front door opened and a familiar figure stepped on to the porch. She got out of the car and went to the gate.

‘Denny!’

He stood a moment longer, then started towards her.

‘Remember me?’ she said. ‘It’s Ellen Imlach.’

Squat and muscular, a bit paunchy, Denny didn’t alter pace. The cropped head jutted forward as he walked. He was wearing trainers and sports gear and close up she saw that his skin was coarse from too much sun or too many sunbeds. He had a bullish, mean look about him, the look of a man you didn’t make eye contact with unless you had something to say.

‘Ellen,’ he said. ‘What are you daein here? I saw the car parked ootside and I didna recognise it. Wasna expecting onybody.’

‘Do I need to make an appointment?’

‘No you, Ellen. Ye coming in?’

‘If it’s safe.’

‘Ah, the dug’s locked up. In ye come. Just leave the motor ootside.’

He took a gadget from his pocket and clicked it at the gates, which unlocked and swung open. She stepped in and he pressed the gadget and the gates closed gently behind her. There was a moment when she thought he was going to kiss her, then it was gone. The smile seemed friendly enough.

‘Sure I’m not disturbing you?’ she said.

‘Aye, nae bother, ye’re aw right. There’s naebody else here. Marie’s oot wi the lassies. Ye’ve no met Marie, have ye? They’ll be back later.’

She followed him across the gravel. There was a wide lawn and a statue of an angel or a wood nymph in the middle of it, hideous, and a pair of concrete lions at the front door. Denny ushered her in. ‘First left,’ he said, and followed her into a room full of black leather furniture and with a black marble fireplace with a gas fire in it. The house was roasting hot, presumably from the central heating, but Denny had the gas up high anyway. She resisted the urge to hurry to the bay window and let in some fresh air.

‘Ye wanting something? A drink or something?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she said.

‘I’ll get ye something. I was just fixing masel a soda and lime. Bit early for alcohol for me but ye can hae onything ye like.’

‘Soda and lime would be fine,’ she said.

‘Back in a minute,’ he said.

She took her coat off and laid it on an arm of one of the two sofas. The room was comfortless. The sofas sat on an oatmeal wall-to-wall carpet on either side of a square, low glass-topped table. An armchair with an extendable footrest was on one side of the fire, facing a large television. There were two huge paintings, one over the fireplace and the other on the opposite wall, Highland landscapes done in a splashy, bright, semi-abstract style that at first glance seemed challenging, at second lazy. Apart from the TV and an enormous sound system and a shelving unit full of CDs and videos, there was nothing to suggest any life went on in the room. Even the heavy curtains tied back with brocade ropes on each side of the bay window looked like they were never drawn. There were no lamps or sidelights, just a candelabra suspended from the middle of the ceiling. No magazines or books lying around, no glasses or coasters, no candles, no ornaments above the fire. A utilitarian space for home entertainment, was how it seemed to Ellen. She hated it.

Denny came back carrying a round metal tray with two tumblers full of fizzy greenish water. He’d put straws in them. He put the tray on the glass table and gestured at her to help herself.

‘Take a seat,’ he said, and lowered himself on to one of the sofas. She sat down opposite him on the far side of the table. A brief, awkward silence followed. Denny picked up his drink and sucked a couple of inches out of it.

‘So what are ye daein here?’ he asked again.

‘I’m writing something,’ she said. ‘Twelve years on from the strike. Death of a community, that kind of thing.’

‘For a paper?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re no deid yet,’ he said. ‘So, is this you coming tae interview the local bigwig or what?’

‘No, Denny, I’m not here to interview you. I just thought I’d come and see you. It’s time.’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘How long since we’ve seen each other, then?’

‘Twenty years,’ she said.

‘A lot o water under the bridge since then,’ Denny said. ‘But ye’re looking good, Ellen. We’re nane o us getting ony younger, but ye’re looking good.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘My mother doesn’t think so. She says when a woman gets to my age, she does one of two things. She either widens or she wizens. She told me that and then she looked me up and down and said, “And Ellen, ye’re no gonnae wizen.” ’

Denny stared at her. He didn’t get it. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘How is she onywey? I never see her.’

‘She’s just the same as ever. What about
your
ma? Is she still alive?’

‘Christ, aye. Alive and kicking. She spends maist o her time in Spain. She’s got an apartment oot there. Loves it. Beats Borlanslogie in the winter, that’s for sure.’

‘But you’re still here.’

‘Well, it’s different in a hoose like this, eh? And the lassies are aye at the school. Once they’re away, maybe Marie and me’ll spend mair time oot there tae. It’s a good life. Sun, swimming pool, cheap food. And nae hassle. Nae bastards chasing ye for tax or getting jobs done. Aye, I can see us oot there six months o the year.’

‘What are your lassies called?’

‘Tracy and Shelley. Tracy’s sixteen and Shelley’s fourteen. Right wee madams they are. Cost me a fortune but that’s daughters for ye, eh? What aboot your Kirsty? She must be grown up by noo, is she?’

‘How do you know about Kirsty?’

‘Word gets aroond, Ellen. Ye can leave a place like this but ye dinna ever really leave it, dae ye? Ye dinna speak the way ye used tae but ye’re aye yersel. Folk in Borlanslogie aye ken aboot the folk that left. So she’ll be, what, nineteen or thereaboots noo?’

‘You’re well informed, Denny. She’ll be twenty in a few weeks.’

‘I’ve aye kept my ears open for news aboot you, Ellen. We go way back. I was glad tae hear ye were daein aw right. Ye had a book published, didn’t ye?’

‘Two.’

‘Two? Ye must be loaded.’

‘It doesn’t work that way with books. I’d say, looking at this place, you’ve done better. Money-wise.’

‘Money-wise but no style-wise, ye mean? Ach, ye were ayewis a
wee snob, Ellen, in spite of whaur ye grew up. I’m no criticising. I liked that in ye, ye ken. It showed ye were gonnae go places. No like me.’

She glanced round the room. ‘You’ve done fine. Good money in the taxi business, is there?’

‘See, there ye go again. Aye, the cabs are okay. Used tae drive one masel. No noo. Get other buggers tae dae aw that. Had tae clean up some drunk bird’s puke once ower aften. Plenty o boys oot there that like the hours but no me ony mair. Same in your line o work, is it no? Back shifts, night shifts, double shifts. Ye get tae a bit where ye wonder what the bloody point is, don’t ye?’

‘I don’t work like that any more.’

‘That’s what I mean. Ye’ve sorted it.’

They were circling round the subject, the big presence in the room. She thought he looked uneasy, as if he wished she’d drink up and leave, as if he’d keep her at arm’s length as long as he had to. But just as she thought that he said, ‘So why are ye here, Ellen? Ye want tae tell me aboot Charlie?’

‘That was going to be
my
next question,’ she said.

‘What dae ye want tae ken?’

Her mouth was dry. She picked up the soda and drank from it through the straw. Denny sucked on his, making the ice rattle. They could have been two bairns again.

‘He’s deid,’ he said.

For a few seconds nothing moved anywhere in the world. She put her drink back on the tray.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Aye. One of my drivers heard aboot it. He was in the army. He was killt in an accident on a training exercise. That’s what I was tellt.’

‘I heard he joined up,’ she said.

‘How did ye hear that?’

‘Friend of a friend. A policeman. Apparently things got too hot for him in Drumkirk. Is that right?’

‘Aye, that would be aboot the score.’

‘Were you involved?’

‘No me. I steered clear of Charlie back then. I was bad news but he was really bad news. So I steered clear. There was a lot of heavy
stuff gaun doon in Drumkirk but I wasna a Drumkirk boy. I was better oot o it. I got in again later. Efter Charlie was awa.’

‘But you introduced me to him.’

‘Aye, I did. That was before.’

‘You must have known what he was like.’

‘I had an idea. But I thought you could look efter yersel.’

‘So did I.’

He put his empty tumbler back on the tray. ‘He battered ye, didn’t he?’

‘Aye. No just battered, Denny.’

He saw in her face what she meant. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It wasn’t your responsibility. Was it?’

‘I heard he was violent wi a couple o other lassies. But I didna hear that till later.’

‘You don’t have to make excuses. Or apologise.’

‘I’m no apologising. It was a lang time ago. Twenty year.’

She nodded.

‘And then ye had Kirsty?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And she’s his?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘And did he ever ken aboot her?’

‘Not unless you told him.’

‘I never seen him again. Some other guys I kent, they’d had enough o him. He didna ken whaur tae stop. There was a big fight and the next thing he was awa. I dinna ken if they forced him oot or he went aff his ain back, but I kind o think he must hae decided tae dae it.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Maybe he wanted a bigger challenge. Maybe he thought he’d take the army on and see who’d win.’

‘And the army won.’

‘Naw, I dinna think so. It was an accident. I think they baith lost. I bet Charlie ended up being a good sodger. He probably … found himself.’ She could tell he felt embarrassed even saying it. She wondered if Denny had ‘found himself’, here in this barren room in this soulless house with his womenfolk away out and him on his own waiting for them to come back. She wondered if he was a good father and what that meant, ‘a good father’. She wondered if she was a good mother, if she’d ‘found herself’ with Robin. She thought
of Kirsty and how much she loved her and that she would have to tell her that her father was dead.

‘You aw right?’ he said.

‘Aye, I’m fine, thanks. When was he killed, can you mind?’

‘Two, three year ago. Nae mair than that. Ye could easy find oot.’

‘Aye.’ The silence returned. She wanted to know more, she didn’t want to know anything. She was happy, she was sad, she was shocked, she was relieved. She didn’t know what she was.

‘What about you?’ she said.

‘It’s naething tae dae wi me, Ellen. I don’t need tae find onything oot. I’m just telling ye because ye asked. Because ye’re here.’

‘No, I mean, what were you doing all that time?’

He stood up and went to inspect the painting over the fire. ‘This is aff the record, right?’

‘I’m not here as a journalist, Denny.’

‘Ye might hae a wire on ye.’

‘Dinna be daft.’

‘Are you warm enough?’

‘More than.’

‘I’m gonnae turn the fire aff then.’ He bent down to the switch and when he came back to his seat she saw that he had broken out in a sweat. He drained the melted ice from his glass.

‘I done some bad stuff, Ellen. I seen some bad stuff and I heard some bad stuff and I done some o it. Afore the cabs it was drugs, onything really. I’m telling ye, even the cabs are bad these days. It gets so ye’re aye looking ower your shooder tae see wha’s coming. In the cities the Russians and the Albanians and the Chinese are aw muscling in. It’s only a maitter o time afore they reach Drumkirk. I’m wanting oot afore they get here. Quit while ye’re ahead, that’s something I learned a lang time ago. Ye were right earlier on. Look at this place. I canna complain. I’ve got away wi stuff. Ye think it’ll aye be like that, ye’ll aye get away wi it. Then ye think of what ye’ve got tae lose. Marie and the lassies.’ He breathed in and out hard, as if he were pumping himself up for a fight. ‘See if onybody tried tae touch them, I’d kill them. I wouldna stop tae think aboot it, I would just kill them and then I’d think aboot it.’

She believed him. If somebody tried to hurt Kirsty, she’d be the same. For the first time since she’d come into the house she felt a
kinship with Denny, a line going back to their childhoods. He looked across at her and she saw his brute strength and his brute fear together.

She said, ‘Did you ever do that? Kill someone?’

He shook his head. It wasn’t a denial.

‘Off the record, Denny. I’ve always wondered about you. How come you got such a light sentence for that political business? How come they let you out so soon?’

‘Don’t fucking ask,’ he said.

‘How come you got away with a lot of things after that too? You must have sailed so close to the wind. I know you.’

‘Ellen,’ he said, ‘I was a different man then. I was a fucking eejit. I’ve got a wife and bairns noo.’

‘Is that why you have the electric gates and the dog? Is that why you check out the cars that park outside? You think somebody’s coming for you one day?’

‘I’ve made plenty o enemies,’ he said.

‘What happened, Denny? What happened after they let you out?’

‘Some things are better buried.’

‘What things?’

‘Just leave it alane, aw right?’

‘Did somebody buy you?’

‘Ye could say that. Ye could say I paid for it onywey. Paid for being an eejit.’

‘How?’

‘I did a job. Unfinished business. I finished it. That’s aw ye need tae ken.’

‘What did you do, Denny?’

‘Just. Fucking. Leave it.’

Silence again. She thought, there is a world beyond my world that I can hardly imagine any more, let alone touch. I don’t want to touch it. Denny doesn’t want to touch it, but it touches him. It’s in his eyes. He lives with it every minute of the waking day.

She said, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘Onybody else, I wouldna hae let them start. But I aye liked ye, Ellen. Ye’re smart.’