Dark Waters

For Archie

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Also by Cathy MacPhail

Chapter One

Was his mother going to be mad, or what! He’d forgotten to tape her favourite soap. Again. Col flopped back on the sofa, not too worried. Och well, the daft old bat shouldn’t trust him to remember things like that. Not when there was football on the other side. Mind you, he thought, he’d better never call her a daft old bat to her face. His mam thought she was quite a foxy lady with her blonde hair and her trim figure, and she was still in her forties … just.

‘If you were that foxy,’ he would tell her, ‘you’d be out getting another man, not spending all your nights at bingo.’

And she would always reply, ‘I’ve had one man. The best. Don’t want another. The only man I’m interested in now is the one who calls out the numbers at the bingo.’

That
one
man had been his dad, the original McCann. Col could hardly remember him. He was only six when his father was killed – driving a getaway car in a robbery, crashing it during the police chase. What Col could remember was a big, broad bull of a man who scared everyone in the town, except Col. He had always seemed to make Col laugh.

Maybe, Col thought hopefully, his mam would win at bingo tonight. Then her soap would be forgotten. And he wouldn’t be in her bad books.

The sky outside suddenly lit up and sheets of icy rain crashed against the window. ‘I hope she gets a taxi home,’ he thought. ‘Or a lift.’ He didn’t like the idea of his mother walking home, or even waiting for a bus on a night like this.

Not that she’d be in any real danger, he considered. She was a McCann, and no one in this town would dare touch her. They’d know what to expect in return. His brother Mungo would see to them.

But still, when Col was older the first thing he was going to do was buy a car, then he’d take his mam to bingo and pick her up again.

He couldn’t wait till he was old enough to have a car. He could already drive. Mungo had taught him, letting
him race about in one of his dodgy cars on the old derelict industrial estate nearby. Revving up the engine, screeching round corners. Col loved it. It made him feel alive.

‘You can drive my getaway car any day,’ Mungo would say.

But never when Mam could hear him. She knew Mungo saw his dad as some kind of hero and was following in his footsteps. She was terrified Col would end up the same way.

A crack of thunder right above the house made him jump. He wished his brother would come home, too. He’d hoped Mungo would have stayed in tonight so they could have watched the football together.

‘Not the night, wee man, there’s something that’s got to be handled.’ And he had tapped his nose in that secret way he did when what was to be handled was too secret even for Col.

Trouble. Mungo was either going to cause it, or be in it.

One day, Col would be right there with his brother. Knowing all there was to know. He’d be with Mungo. Just like Mungo. A McCann. Putting the fear of death into people. Col couldn’t wait.

Right at that second, Mungo burst in through the
front door bringing the storm with him. Col jumped to his feet.

‘Mungo! What’s wrong?’

His brother looked scared, almost panic-stricken. He was soaked through, covered in mud, and his face was bleeding and swollen.

‘You been in a fight?’

Stupid question. Of course he had.

Mungo slammed the door hard behind him. ‘Cops are after me, Col.’ He glanced towards the street as if he could almost see them. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’

And already, in the distance, Col could hear the faint sound of a siren wailing closer.

‘Where can I hide, Col?’

Col was thinking fast. ‘You don’t need somewhere to hide, bruv. You need an alibi.’

Mungo managed a swollen, lopsided smile. ‘Aye, but I can’t exactly say I’ve been sitting by the fire all night looking like this, can I?’

The police car was turning into their street, homing in on his brother.

Suddenly, Col grabbed Mungo by the shoulders. ‘Come on!’ he shouted, and began to drag him towards the back door.

‘What’s your game?’

Col pulled harder. ‘I’m giving you an alibi.’

He yanked open the back door and the storm raged into the kitchen. With a violent push Col threw Mungo out into the back garden. Mungo landed with a splash and a howl of anger on the sodden, muddy grass.

‘What the—’ he started to yell angrily, but before he could get to his feet Col threw himself on top of him, sending him even deeper into the mud.

He grabbed Mungo by the jacket. ‘We’ve been in the house all night. Just you and me. Right? We’ve argued about the game. Our team lost 2–1. They were rubbish. But you don’t think so. You think they were robbed. We don’t fight in the house, Mam won’t allow it, so … here we are …’

All the time he was speaking Col was pulling Mungo round so they were rolling together on the long wet grass while the rain belted down on them.

Mungo yelled with delight, grabbed a handful of mud and rubbed it over Col’s head. ‘You’re brilliant, Col.’ Now, he was on top of Col, pulling at his shirt, grinding his face into the mud.

They both stopped for a second as the front door was pounded. Another flash of lightning lit up Mungo’s
face, eerie in the strange, white light.

‘They’re here,’ Mungo said, breathlessly.

‘You’ve got to punch me, Mungo. Make it look real. Punch me hard.’

Mungo shook his head. ‘Naw, no’ you, Col. I couldn’t hit my brother.’

The pounding grew fiercer.

‘You’ve not got a choice,’ he said, closing his eyes as his brother raised his fist. Mungo, the hardest man in the town, renowned for his fighting skills yet he’d never laid a finger on Col.

Mungo closed his eyes too. ‘Sorry, bruv.’

The blow took Col by surprise. He felt as if he’d been hit by a sledgehammer. He gasped. His nose immediately began to bleed and when he opened his eyes he saw strange, starlike dots in front of him and two visions of Mungo not quite merging into one.

Mungo hauled him to his feet. ‘Come on. We’d better answer that door before they break it down.’

Col staggered upright. He thought he was going to be sick. It was the blood. He could taste it.

They had only just made it back into the kitchen when the front door flew open and his mother hurried in with two policemen looming behind her. A sudden
gust rushed through the house, sending curtains flying and dishes rattling, before the back door suddenly hurled itself shut.

‘What is going on here!’ Grace McCann shouted angrily. ‘I come back to find two polis nearly breakin’ my house down. What is going on!’

She threw her bag on the kitchen table and ran to Col. She grabbed him just in time as his knees buckled under him. She lowered him gently on to the chair and glared at her elder son. ‘What have you done?’

‘He was slaggin’ off our team. Taught him a lesson.’

Col tried to talk through a mouthful of blood. ‘They were rubbish. I taught
you
the lesson.’

That made their mother even madder. ‘I can’t believe you two were fighting over a daft game of football.’

‘No. Neither can we.’ The taller of the two policemen stared straight at Mungo. ‘You’re trying to tell us you’ve been in all night? That your wee brother did that?’ He pointed to Mungo’s swollen face, his cut lip.

Mungo grinned. ‘Sure did. He’s a great wee fighter. But then, he’s a McCann.’

Their mother jumped to her son’s defence. ‘Right. What’s Mungo getting the blame for now?’

The other policeman’s voice was calm. ‘Been a lot of
trouble on the edge of the town tonight. Some kind of battle.’

‘Oh, of course, and if there’s some kind of battle Mungo McCann must be to blame.’

‘He was seen running away, Mrs McCann.’

Grace McCann put her hands on her hips defiantly. ‘Who saw him? You?’

His pause told her the answer. ‘No. Not you! Someone else saw him … or says they did. When in doubt blame a McCann. I’ll go and see our lawyer the morrow.’

The big policeman nodded. ‘You probably will, Mrs McCann. You know so much more about the law than we do.’

‘Just as well,’ she snapped. ‘Now, as you can see my two boys have been in all night. So you go and find somebody else to harass.’

‘We’re going. I dare say we’ll be back. We usually are.’ His gaze at Mungo was full of contempt.

Mungo drew himself up arrogantly and stared right back at him.

‘How could you do that to your own brother?’ the policeman said bitterly. ‘He’s only a boy. You really are a McCann, aren’t you?’

He turned to leave and as he did so Mungo was almost after him. His body was ready to spring. Col held him back, shook his head. Mungo relaxed but he was angry.

‘I shouldn’t have hit you, Col,’ he said as soon as the door had closed behind the police.

‘No, indeed you shouldn’t!’ Their mam exploded now with rage. ‘I will not have you turning on your brother, for any reason. Family’s the most important thing in the world. You never turn against your family. Do you hear me, Mungo?’

Mungo shrank back when his mother railed at him. ‘But you don’t understand, Mam—’

She didn’t let him finish. ‘I understand enough to know you don’t ever turn on your brother.’

Mungo stepped back, bent his head, and said nothing more. Neither did Col. They both knew it was better to keep quiet when Grace McCann lost her temper. She was a tiger when she got started. And, anyway, the less their mother knew about this the better.

‘I’m going to run you a bath, Col. And as for you …’ She glared at her elder son. ‘I’ll have more to say to you later.’

Col limped up the stairs behind his mother. The
fight, the night, had taken more out of him than he’d thought.

‘Col,’ Mungo called up to him as he was halfway up the stairs. ‘I’ll make this up to you, bruv. I’ll get you a really special present.’

Col looked down at his brother. Mungo was still muddy and bleeding but even now there was a cockiness about him that scared people, but attracted them too. Mungo was everything Col ever wanted to be. Feared and admired and despised. He was the best big brother anyone could ever have.

He’d never do anything to hurt him.

He’d die before he’d ever turn against him.

Chapter Two

‘That’s some keeker you’ve got, McCann.’

Thelma Blaikie shouted to him across the playground. Her spiky hair was as black as his eye had become over the weekend. She sauntered over to him, chewing her gum, trying to look cool.

She fancied herself as his girlfriend. She wished. Thelma Blaikie was as hard as nails, always in trouble at school – when she was there. She seemed to think that mapped her out as a suitable bird for a McCann. No way. Though, even Col could see she had the potential to be a stunner … in spite of the Gothic white face and the black eyes. But as soon as Blaikie opened her mouth she spoiled everything. Blaikie’s voice could grate cheese. She was too loud, too brash, always it seemed to Col trying to impress him.

Like now. She stopped in front of him and blew a
bubble right in his face. He was tempted to flatten it all over her ghost-white cheeks.

It burst with a bang and she sucked it back into her mouth. She laughed. ‘Big fight at the weekend? Heard there was trouble up your way.’

Col shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with us. Me and Mungo were in all night. This …’ he pointed to his eye, ‘was an accident.’

‘Some accident. Want me to kiss it better?’

Col curled his lip in disgust. ‘I’d rather be eaten by tarantulas.’ He walked away from her while she stood watching him, still trying to look cool.

His mate, Denny, ran up behind him. ‘You’re well in there, Col.’ As Col turned to face him, Denny’s eyes lit up. ‘Wow! What bus hit you?’

He told Denny the same story he told Blaikie. Mates they might have been. Bosom buddies they were not. The lie would be all he would ever tell anyone. The truth would be between him and his brother.

Every teacher that morning asked him the same question, and was given the same answer.