The Big Chill Read online

  Jenny knew it was no use, Craig had vanished. His face was in the news, the most wanted man in the country, but that didn’t make a difference. There had been a bunch of sightings which all turned out to be mistaken identity or cranks or just lonely people wanting a blether.

  There were roadblocks around the city but that was only tenable for a day, too much traffic disruption. Better to let a dangerous killer run free than make commuters five minutes late for work. Airports were on high alert but his passport hadn’t been used, and police were watching train stations too. But Craig was smart, he would think of something else. Despite what folk think Edinburgh is a big city, an easy city to get lost in. As they’d found with James Dundas, it was easy to disappear, to slip between the cracks, to live in the shadows. The cops had also gone round homeless hostels and shelters but he wouldn’t be that stupid. Maybe he would take a leaf out of James’s book and steal a car, live in that.

  Maybe he would show up, maybe he wouldn’t. In a way it didn’t matter, he’d already fucked them all up. Did he really plan to kill her and Liam?

  Dorothy made tea for everyone as if that would make a difference.

  Jenny didn’t move. Hannah stared at the whiteboards, her finger in the air as if trying to find connections.

  ‘So what now?’ Jenny said.

  Thomas blew on his tea, shook his head. ‘We keep looking. He’ll turn up.’

  ‘You think so?’

  Thomas gave her a sincere look. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I wish I shared your confidence.’

  Thomas looked around the room. ‘We’ll keep a police presence here as long as you need it.’

  Dorothy nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s not a good look,’ Jenny said. ‘A cop car parked outside a funeral home. Could be bad for business.’

  ‘Jenny,’ Dorothy said.

  Her name on her mother’s lips made Jenny tear up. She fanned her face, tried to swallow it down, made her eyes go wide.

  Hannah’s eyes darted around the PI whiteboard like a cat watching a butterfly. She hadn’t spoken since she came in. Jenny had hugged her so hard in the ambulance that the pain in her chest and face was almost beautiful, delicious. She didn’t ever want to let her daughter go, but the truth was she did that a long time ago, like all mothers.

  ‘Han, are you OK?’ Jenny said.

  Hannah made a motion with her head and Jenny didn’t know if it was a shake or a nod.

  ‘We just need to keep going,’ Dorothy said.

  Jenny looked around the room then out of the window. Dark skies, cowering trees, wet streets.

  ‘People need us,’ Dorothy said. ‘We have funerals to perform. We have to be here.’

  Jenny sighed and wondered who was here for the Skelfs.

  The sight of Liam in the hospital bed made her feel sick. His right eye was bandaged, the rest of his face a mess of purple and black bruising, a long cut across his cheek, a gash on the edge of his mouth sewn up, his other eye swollen so that it only just opened. A tube emerged from his side into a bag of cloudy yellow liquid. The skin around the tube was discoloured. The room was gloomy, grubby windows, the view outside to a delivery entrance where a waste truck was backing up.

  Jenny stood in the doorway and thought about leaving. She touched the edge of the doorframe, looked behind her then back into the room. His breath was a shallow wheeze. He turned and saw her, raised his head. She swallowed and put on a smile, went and stood by his bed.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said.

  He shifted his weight, hand going to the tube taped to his midriff. ‘I’m supposed to say, “you should see the other guy”, but…’

  He trailed off and she took his hand.

  The other guy was gone, vanished like a fucking ghost. And this was left behind, a good man beaten to shit.

  Liam tried to open his eye. ‘How are you?’

  Jenny laughed. ‘I’m fine.’

  Her hand went to her bruises. He saw her touch her ribs and nodded. ‘Hurts like fuck.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  All of it hurt, their bodies, of course, but the rest too.

  Jenny felt tears building inside her, her face redden. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ She tried to take her hand away but he squeezed it and that made the tears come. ‘Look at you.’

  He coughed out a laugh. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  He swallowed, his tongue touching the scab on his lip where the stitches were.

  Jenny shook her head. She’d allowed Craig to control her life for years and he was still doing it, still pulling her strings.

  ‘I brought this on you,’ she said.

  She felt another squeeze of her hand.

  ‘You can’t think like that,’ he said.

  Jenny had tears on her cheeks, wiped at them with her sleeve, sniffed loudly. ‘What did the doctors say?’

  He let go of her hand, rubbed at his chest. ‘No permanent damage.’ He lifted his fingers to the bandages on his head. ‘The operation went well, should get these off in a couple of days. And the lung is on the mend. The ribs will take time to heal, same with the face.’

  Jenny reached out and touched his cheek. He flinched and lifted his hand up, moved hers away.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jenny said.

  He coughed and winced. ‘Please stop saying you’re sorry.’

  Jenny didn’t know how to explain that she was a dangerous person to be around.

  ‘Listen, Liam…’ She felt another squeeze of her fingers and gently pulled her hand away, gripped the edge of the mattress. She shook her head and looked around the room, waiting for a nurse to save her. ‘I don’t think we can see each other anymore.’

  He breathed, trailing into a cough. ‘Jen, this is a mistake.’

  She gripped the mattress, fingers red, knuckles white. ‘You can’t be around me.’

  ‘He wins if you do this,’ Liam said.

  Jenny let go of the bed and straightened her shoulders. ‘He’s already won.’ She had to look away from his hurt face. ‘You don’t know how hard this is.’

  ‘Then don’t.’

  She rubbed her hands on her thighs as if trying to get rid of an invisible stain. ‘Don’t call.’

  ‘Jen—’

  ‘I hope you feel better soon.’

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, tried to hold it but she pulled free and stepped away. ‘I have to go.’

  He stared at her with his swollen eye. She turned away, tears on her cheeks, fists by her side, pulse pounding in her throat.

  61

  HANNAH

  Hannah and Indy sat in Wendy’s living room staring at the ashes casket on the coffee table. As the funeral director in charge of Hugh’s ceremony it was Indy’s job to deliver them and Hannah had tagged along. Wendy sat in the same chair as before, cocktail glass in hand, twirling the onion on a stick and making ripples in her Gibson. Edward sat in the chair opposite, sipping his drink and pursing his lips.

  ‘So this is him,’ Wendy said, staring at the container.

  It wasn’t like the fancy urns you saw in movies, the ones that get smashed in slapstick comedies, the lead actor getting a relative’s ashes up his nose. It was just a simple, unvarnished wooden box.

  Hannah looked at Indy, neither of them said anything.

  Wendy looked at the giant maps on the wall. ‘We’re going to scatter him in Greenland.’

  Hannah remembered the plan, the two of them.

  Edward nodded. ‘We’re taking a cruise.’

  ‘It’ll be lovely this time of year,’ Wendy said.

  Hannah looked out of the window. Trees were bending in the wind, icy blasts and swirls reminding everyone that summer was still a way off. She was about to speak when Indy touched her knee.

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ Indy said.

  Hannah looked from Wendy to Edward, was this a thing now, the two of them? They had a
n open marriage and now one was gone, maybe they were coming together. But she was being unfair, they both lost someone they loved, why not take a fancy cruise together up the Greenlandic coast in springtime?

  Wendy cleared her throat and looked at Hannah. ‘So, was that him?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Wendy pressed her lips together. ‘The last time I saw you, you were chasing a young man out of my husband’s funeral. Was he my mystery caller?’

  Hannah hadn’t decided how to play this so she just opened her mouth to see what would happen.

  ‘Cammy Wilson,’ she said. ‘He was a friend of Hugh’s.’

  Edward perked up. ‘Friend?’

  Wendy’s hand trembled, ripples across the surface of her cocktail.

  ‘Not like that,’ Hannah said. ‘Is that what you both thought?’

  Wendy swallowed. ‘We didn’t know what to think, that’s why I hired you.’

  ‘But you presumed he had a younger boyfriend.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be the first man in the world to take a young lover.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘He was dying of cancer.’

  She’d thought about Hugh keeping it a secret, Cammy’s worries, but Wendy’s presumptions pissed her off.

  Wendy flinched. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Indy gave Hannah a look.

  Hannah spoke to Wendy. ‘He had stage four rectal cancer, Cammy met him at a support group, they were friends.’

  ‘He was dying?’ She glanced at Edward. ‘Did you know?’

  Edward shook his head, stared at his drink.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he tell us?’ Wendy said, voice wavering.

  Hannah thought about saying something, maybe these two didn’t know him, maybe they weren’t all soul mates, maybe we never really know anyone.

  ‘He was protecting you,’ she said. ‘He didn’t want you going through it with him. That’s why he killed himself, to protect you both from the worst.’

  Wendy’s shaking hand went to her mouth. Her breathing got louder then she coughed out sobs, tears in her eyes, the first time Hannah had seen anything in her. The cocktail glass fell from her hand, smashed on the floor, the onion rolling under her chair, clear liquid running into the gaps between floorboards.

  ‘My God,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’

  She looked around for an answer, just Indy and Hannah on a sofa, Edward looking concerned in his seat, the clock on the mantelpiece ticking loudly. She shook her head, tried to compose herself.

  ‘How could he talk to complete strangers about it, but not us?’ She looked at Edward, confusion and something else, a flicker of self-loathing maybe. ‘Sixty years I was with that man. Sixty years.’

  Hannah imagined talking about Indy’s death sixty years from now. It was unfathomable. She would tear her hair out, scream from the rooftops, rip her clothes in fury. Indy looked at her like she was a tripwire. She wanted to grab Hugh’s ashes and sprint out of the room.

  Edward addressed Hannah. ‘Why did he run? From the funeral.’

  Hannah pictured Cammy at work, carefully measuring beakers of liquids, squeezing pipettes, mixing bottles of solutions. She had no idea if any of that was realistic, but it’s how she imagined him. She pictured a cloud of guilt following him for the rest of his life, a twinge in his heart every time he made up an order of hydrocyanic acid.

  ‘He was just upset,’ Hannah said. ‘When I went for him, he panicked and ran.’

  Hannah chewed her tongue.

  Wendy composed herself, stared at the smashed glass on the floor but didn’t move. ‘Is he dying too?’

  Hannah breathed in and out. ‘He’s in remission.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  Edward stood up. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Wendy seemed surprised by this. She stared at Edward as if she didn’t recognise him. Hannah saw the grief in her eyes for the first time, that bewildered look when someone is gone and you don’t know what to do next. Hannah was relieved to see it, made her feel better for Hugh.

  ‘Yes,’ Wendy said, hand at her neck. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  So this was it. Hugh was dead, cremated, gone. He’d taken control of his own death, a luxury we don’t all get. There was no conspiracy here, no murder or subterfuge, just an old man choosing how to die.

  Indy got up and Hannah did likewise. She couldn’t take her eyes from Hugh’s casket. Edward walked the two of them to the front door. She followed Indy with her hands in her pockets, where she felt the ziplock bag holding the small amount of Hugh’s ashes she’d siphoned off for herself. She rubbed at it like a lucky charm and thought about her own death.

  Rita’s face was a picture. Hannah laughed, shocking herself with the sound of it. She’d spent half an hour talking about what happened since the last counselling session.

  ‘You’ve been through a lot,’ Rita said eventually.

  ‘No shit.’

  Hannah got up and looked out of the window. Wet, squally showers swept across the Meadows, sleet and snow, ice particles slapping against the window and sliding down. It was supposed to be springtime, new life budding in the world.

  ‘But talking about it can still help,’ Rita said.

  This was way above her pay grade, but annoyingly she was right. Saying out loud what had happened made Hannah feel lighter, somehow. She and Indy were a little better too, now the whole Hugh thing was done. But her dad was still out there, a shadow over everything. She stared at the weather, trees dancing in the wind, sleet swirling around their branches, and wondered where he was. Scotland wasn’t an easy place to be homeless in these conditions. She turned back to Rita, sitting with her notebook on her lap. She almost looked scared of Hannah, now she knew what Hannah was carrying.

  ‘Remember last time, I talked about cosmic rays,’ Hannah said.

  Rita flicked through her notebook. ‘Neutrinos, right? Passing through us.’

  Hannah wondered if she would ever go back to uni, if she could handle it. ‘There’s so much about the universe we don’t understand, so many mysteries.’

  Hannah looked at a picture on Rita’s desk, two young boys with melting ice creams in their fists.

  ‘Do you know how all this will end?’ she said, waving her hand.

  Rita frowned. ‘All what?’

  ‘Life, the universe and everything.’

  Rita shook her head. She didn’t get it.

  ‘A quadrillion years from now, in what they call the degenerate era, stars will stop forming, the sun will wink out, the solar system will collapse. Then in the black-hole era galaxies disband, all proton matter decays, supermassive black holes swallow everything, then they’ll evaporate too, all the energy and matter in the cosmos gone. In ten to the power of a hundred years the universe will just be cold, empty nothingness. It’s the end of the dark era. It’s called the big chill.’

  ‘That’s all a long way in the future, Hannah.’

  Hannah rapped a knuckle on the desk. ‘Sounds like a nice way to go, doesn’t it?’

  62

  DOROTHY

  She was never sure why we dress the dead up for their final appearance. How often do we wear suits in everyday life? For most people it feels ill fitting, unfamiliar. Why make your dearly beloved uncomfortable as they go into the afterlife?

  James Dundas looked smart. His mother had brought in a suit, shirt and tie, polished black shoes. She had a picture of him from his school days wearing the same outfit, some formal dance. But now, lying in the casket in the viewing room it seemed like it wasn’t really him at all. That was crazy, Dorothy never met him, didn’t know a damn thing about him. But she pictured his clothes on the day he died, his unkempt hair, scraggly beard. The blood coming from his ear, the cut on his forehead, the stare of his eyes.

  What must it be like for Mary? It snagged at Dorothy’s heart. She imagined Jenny lying here instead, a brief flash of gut-sinking heartbreak. Mourning your child was unthinkable yet she saw it all the time, the confusion
and anger, the pain, impotent fury at the universe.

  She reached in and lifted the lapel of his suit jacket, brushed a piece of lint from his trousers, rubbed at a fingerprint smudge on one of his shoes.

  Dorothy had wanted answers, who he was, what kind of person he was. She’d found out the first but really had no idea about the second. Did anyone? His mum and Rachel were probably the people who knew him best, and they didn’t know much. Did he ever fall in love or have his heart broken? Was he ambitious, angry, depressed? Drugs sometimes hide pain, maybe that was the case with James. His father’s rejection, his own rejection of the life his parents chose for him. But really, who knows any of it? James didn’t have any answers now. She realised part of this was her own grief for Jim, the need for resolution. But grief doesn’t have answers, there is no resolution, it just goes on until it doesn’t.

  She touched James’s face, felt intrusive. She didn’t have permission, no right to invade his personal space. The back of her hand ran down his shaved cheek. He was a handsome man, a catch for someone. Archie had done a good job as usual, he looked peaceful.

  The door to the viewing room opened and Thomas came in, stood across the coffin from her.

  ‘Thought I might find you here,’ he said.

  Dorothy was supposed to be on the front desk but had slipped through to commune with James. She reached out a hand and Thomas took it. The light in here was like twilight, thin gauze curtains and uplights making it feel like a dream.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Thomas said.

  Dorothy squeezed his hand. ‘For what?’

  ‘Not being more help. With Craig, and everything else.’

  ‘You’ve done everything you can,’ Dorothy said. ‘I know it’s not easy, having to come running every time a Skelf woman calls.’

  He smiled and took his hand away, rested his fingers on the edge of the casket.

  ‘I don’t do that.’

  She returned his smile. ‘You do and I appreciate it.’

  Thomas looked down at James and sighed. Dorothy stared at him, greying hair, kind eyes, his gentle way. Such a calm presence since Jim died. She needed stability back then but Jim wasn’t coming back and she was lonely. She wanted to feel like a woman again.