Ripped (117 page)

'Please.'
She
had
closed
the
door.
'
]ust
go
away.
You
can
have
your
money
back.'

And
she
actually
went
over
to
the
dresser
and
came
with
it
held
out.

'You
earned
it,
keep
it.
I
haven't
asked
you
for
anything
back.
You've
got
it
the
wrong
way
round
–
I'm
trying
to
chuck
it
away.
That's
how
nice
I
am.
You're
frightened
–
but
I
was
joking
.
I
won't
say
anything –
not
if
you
can
tell
me
where
he
is.
Who's
to
know?'

'Please,'
she
said
again,
and
added
with
a
desperate
reasonableness,
'I
want
to
get
out
to
the
shops
before
they
shut.'

All
he
could
do
was
keep
looking.
He
tried
to
find
Irene.

At
Mother's,
he
let
himself
in
with
his
key,
but
knew
at
once
it
was
going
to
be
no
good.
Even
the
air
of
the
flat
felt
deserted.
In
the
living
room,
he
stared
around
trying
to
decide
what
was
wrong;
and
then
realised
it
was
because
the
table
was
not
set.
Mother
always
had
the
table
set
for
their
Sunday
lunches.
He
wandered
through
into
the
tiny
kitchen.
Searching
for
a
glass,
he
knocked
a
jug
off
the
shelf.
The
crash
of
its
breaking
startled
him
like
guilt.
-
I
think
you
do
it
deliberately
to
torment
me!
Mother
would
cry,
rushing
in
out
of
his
childhood,
tall
and
young.

When
he
was
in
the
hall,
he
intended
to
go
back
out
of
the
front door.
He
stood
with
the
handle
in
his
hand,
head
bent
as
if
in
thought.
The
handle
warmed
in
his
palm,
and
at
last
he
crossed
and
pushed
the
bedroom
door
gently
open.

'There's
nothing
to
steal.'

The
voice
was
Mother's.

With
a
convulsive
movement,
he
thrust
the
door
wide.
She
was
sitting
up
in
bed.
Under
a
disordered
flying
scantness
of
hair,
her
scalp
shone
white;
the
mouth
without
its
teeth
had
sunk
into
a
shrivelled
hole;
a
claw
hand
gathered
the
gown
across
the
wrinkled
corded
skin
of
her
chest.
He
looked
on
her
in
horror.

'I
thought
it
was
burglars,'
she
whispered.

'I
was
sure
no
one
was
here.
I –'
Why
had
he
come
in
here
then?
'
–
I'm
sorry.'

'I
woke
up
straight
out
of
my
sleep,
something
had
fallen
in
the
kitchen.
And
then
I
heard
steps.
People
moving
about –'

'No,'
Murray
said,
'it
was
just
me.'

She
patted
her
hair
trying
to
flatten
it.
At
another
thought,
she
covered
her
mouth
with
her
hand.
From
behind
it,
she
said,
'Upstairs
was
broken
into.
All
round
here.
Because
of
the
drugs,
they
need
money.
The
couple
in
the
paper
shop,
they
were
tied
up.
I
woke
up
and
heard
the
noise.'

'I've
been
looking
for
Irene.
I
didn't
really
think
she'd
be
here,
but
–
and
so
when
I
walked
in
I
was
sure
there
was
no
one.
I
thought
you
would
be
at
the
hospital.'

She
kept
her
hand
over
her
mouth,
but
she
wasn't
afraid
any
more.
She
frowned
and
said
angrily,
'I'm
going
to
bring
Malcolm
home.'

'Home?'
Murray
tried
to
make
sense
of
the
word.
He
stared round
the
cramped
overcrowded
bedroom.
'He
doesn't
live
here.
What
do
you
mean
–
home?
Even
the
furniture's
new.
You
don't
even
have
any
of
the
old
furniture.'

'Are
you
drunk?'
Mother
asked.
'Like
your
father,
are
you
drunk?'

There
wasn't
much
time.

It
occurred
to
him
that
while
he
was
out
searching
for
her,
Irene
might
be
at
his
flat,
locked
out,
and
waiting
for
him
to
come
back.

As
he
hurried
past,
the
old
paperseller
Barney
caught
at
his
sleeve.
'Hang
on,
I've
something
to
tell
you.'
But
he
would
not
risk
being
overheard
and
so
kept
up
a
monologue
punctuated
by
the
sharp
slap
of
folding
each
paper
before
passing
it
across.
'...
bloody
brother-in-law.
Never
worked
a
day
in
his
life.
You
know
what
a
parasite
is?
A
parasite.
Now
he's
getting
it
posted.
The
form,
I'm
talking
about.
The
form,
the
fucking
form
and
the
giro.
Because
he's
taken
her
out
into
the
country,
he
doesn't
even
have
to
sign
on.
They
post – Wait,
Murray!
That
certain
person –
the
one
you
mentioned
to
me
.
..'
The
change
of
tone
was
abrupt
as they
got
the
pavement
to
themselves.
'He's
got
a
wee
trick
of
dressing
up
like
a
lassie.
I
just
remembered
that.
And
I
hear
he
can
get
away
with
it – even
though
he's
such
an
ugly
cunt.'