Terms of Restitution Page 2

  As he closed the back door he heard a shout echoing down the street. It was a particular name that bounced from the high buildings, repeating as though he was in the mountains. Or maybe he just imagined that. It was, though, a name he wanted to forget.

  ‘Zander! Hang on, big man.’ A tall, heavy-set figure was making his way towards the ambulance at what could best be described as half-jogging, half-walking pace. By the time he reached the rear of the vehicle, his face was as red as his hair had once been. That hair had now faded, flecked with grey, as was his drooping moustache.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve a defibrillator on board, Malky.’

  Struggling to get his breath back, Malky grinned. ‘Two years and that’s all you’ve got to say to me?’

  ‘No, I want to know how the fuck you found me?’

  ‘Come on, big man. I’ve known where you’ve been for over a year.’

  Zander looked his best friend Malky Maloney straight in the eye with an expression that was, at first, hard to judge. Then a broad smile spread across his face and he embraced the man he’d known since he was three years old.

  ‘Listen, we need to talk, Zander.’

  ‘I need to get Mrs Quinn to the day centre or she’ll miss her roast beef. We can talk when I’ve dropped her off.’

  ‘What will I do – stand here like a numpty?’

  ‘You can come with us. Get moving!’

  As Zander Finn watched his friend struggle into the front passenger seat of the ambulance, he could tell that what he wanted to talk about could only be trouble. He wasn’t surprised that Maloney knew where to find him. After all, they’d been tracking down people they wanted to ‘speak’ to for years together. What troubled him more was why Maloney had chosen now to make contact.

  As Finn turned the key in the ignition he wished he’d gone to France, not London, to escape his past. But he was shit at languages and it had never been a real possibility. What would be would be, as his mother always said.

  His mother; something else he’d tried not to think about for a long time.

  ‘How are you doing, darling?’ said Maloney.

  ‘Oh, another Scotchman, how nice.’ Her smile was brief. ‘I think we’ll have to make it quick, Sandy. Me bag’s just about full.’

  As the noisy diesel engine burst into life, Maloney leaned into his friend, now at the wheel. ‘Her bag?’

  ‘Stoma – colostomy bag, you know.’

  Maloney took a few moments to process this information. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Zander.’

  ‘She can’t help it. Hey, who knows how we’ll end up?’

  ‘It’s not just that. I mean. Sandy, come on. Could you not have used more imagination?’

  In the back of the ambulance, Mrs Quinn let rip with a loud belch. ‘I am sorry, boys. Had some beans for tea last night. Leaves me like fucking Windy Miller.’

  *

  Maloney watched as Finn delivered his charge into the day centre. It looked like an old school, but now instead of children starting their lives, those nearing its end walked through the gates. ‘Walked’ wasn’t even the right description: some in wheelchairs, others on sticks, crutches, walking frames, disability scooters. Only a few unaided.

  He shuddered as Finn arrived back. He’d lost weight, that was obvious, not that he’d ever been fat. But it was clear to Malky Maloney that his old mate no longer did an hour a day in the gym. The grey streak in his otherwise dark hair that had appeared in his twenties was now even more pronounced.

  ‘Can I have a fag in here?’ asked Maloney.

  ‘If you must. I’ll drive for the next patient with the windows open.’

  ‘Good man.’ Maloney produced a cigarette and lit it with a gold lighter.

  ‘Right, enough of the fucking about. Why are you here?’

  ‘I’ll come straight out with it, Zander.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘You need to come back.’

  Finn looked at Maloney for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Aye, I am.’

  ‘You think I can just come back, business as usual, after what happened to Danny?’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. You know that.’

  ‘I should have protected him!’

  ‘He pissed people off everywhere he went, Zan.’

  Silence for a few moments, then Finn spoke. ‘Never say that to me again, Malky.’ His green eyes were brimming with hatred and hurt.

  ‘Okay, we’ll not talk about that. Keep calm, eh?’

  ‘So, tell me. Why would I come back?’

  ‘To save the people you have left, that’s why.’

  ‘Gillian?’

  ‘Aye, and Robbie, too.’

  ‘Robbie’s in Afghanistan.’

  ‘No, he’s not. He’s in a rehab unit in Hertfordshire. He lost a leg, Zander. A landmine.’

  Finn took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. ‘Fuck!’ he swore loudly. ‘He was there as an advisor – non-combatant, that’s what he said!’

  ‘Guess he was unlucky.’

  ‘I’m cursed – all of us are.’

  Maloney caught him by the lapel of his blue uniform. ‘Listen, you’re the only man that can sort this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘These Albanians, they’re getting heavy. I mean heavy, big time.’

  ‘Eh? There’s only about a dozen of them.’

  ‘That was when you left, Zan. There’s a load of them now. We’re all losing business.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about business. I’m happy doing what I’m doing.’

  Maloney watched an old man lean against the railings of the centre to catch his breath, a slick of drool slipping down his grey stubbly chin. ‘It’s no’ just about dosh. They’ve threatened families. Big Joe Mannion’s oldest boy is in the hospital. He might not walk again.’

  ‘My son is dead! Or had you forgotten that?’

  ‘Aye, but Gillian and Robbie aren’t. And don’t forget Sandra.’ He paused. ‘There’s been a direct threat – to them, I mean.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The Albanians want to be the only suppliers. Not just at home, Glasgow too. They’re not for giving up, either.’

  ‘That’s pish.’

  ‘Tell that to Senga.’

  ‘As in my wife Senga?’

  ‘You’ve not slowed down any. Aye, your wife!’

  ‘They’ve threatened her, too?’

  ‘In a roundabout way, aye.’

  ‘Why in a roundabout way?’

  ‘She’s been running things. Well, sort of. Since you left, I mean.’

  ‘Fuck me . . .’

  ‘Listen, she’s gone in with Glasgow. We have to stick together to survive.’

  ‘Ally myself to the bastards who killed my son. You must be out of your mind, Malky.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Mannion didn’t kill Danny.’

  ‘Who did then – Mickey fucking Mouse?’

  ‘It was the Albanians. And if you don’t come back and run things, they’ll do the same with Robbie, Gillian, Sandra – with us all!’ He hesitated for a few moments. ‘Oh, and your mother’s ill – dying, I hear.’

  ‘She’s been dying since 1973. And don’t mention Sandra to me. You know why.’ Zander Finn waved his hand dismissively.

  2

  Paisley

  The old woman stood at the window of her flat in the tower block that overlooked the town she knew so well. Or at least had once known so well. Paisley used to be a thriving community, a mill town famous all over the world. Now, as her eyes took in the skyline, familiar sights were missing while other less appealing edifices had sprung up. She sighed, reflecting on the nature of change and getting old.

  The room was misted with a grey haze of tobacco. She turned when she heard the lounge door slide open over the thick carpet.

  ‘Gillian, I near shat myself!’
>
  ‘I rang the door. You did give me a key, remember?’

  ‘Aye, I suppose. When I’m gone you can just move in. This is a nice wee pad for a young person.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Well, it’s a bastard when you get old. They lifts stink of piss, and there’s all sorts cloaking about. Some shite tried to steal your Auntie Gwen’s purse the last time she came to visit me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s terrible.’

  Maggie Finn shrugged. ‘You know oor Gwen. Just gave him a boot in the balls, so she did.’

  ‘And you want me to live here?’

  ‘You’re as bad as your mother. Always the comments. How is Senga Corleone, by the way?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her for a few days.’

  Maggie turned round to face her granddaughter. Though the girl had her mother’s looks, she had her father’s eyes – her eyes. Gillian was thinner than ever, her face drawn. It looked as though she could have cut glass with her high cheekbones, framed by her honey-blonde hair. This is where ambition got you – a walking skeleton, so desperate to tread the boards she’d go to any lengths at the Conservatoire, Scotland’s premier school for music, dance and theatre.

  Her other granddaughter, Sandra, was so different: robust, wilful and confident. But families were a mystery, and she didn’t want to think about Sandra.

  ‘Will you open a window, Gran? It’s no wonder you’re not well. This must be more unhealthy than living in Chernobyl.’

  ‘Too late for me to worry about such things.’

  Ignoring her grandmother’s habitual intimations of imminent death, Gillian carried on. ‘I’m going to see Robbie. My friend Kirsty is driving me down. I thought you might like to come with us.’

  Maggie thought of her handsome grandsons: one dead, the other missing a leg. She’d spoken to him on the phone and he’d sounded broken. She dreaded the thought of seeing him face to face. She took a deep breath. ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Tomorrow. There’s plenty room. Her dad’s a doctor. He bought her a big SUV.’

  ‘I get sick in the back.’

  ‘Then you can sit in the front!’

  ‘What kind of driver is this lassie? I know what you young folk are like – speeding, all they heartbreak turns.’

  ‘I thought it was too late for you. What are you worried about?’

  ‘Don’t get cute. I’ll think on it the night.’

  ‘Well, you’ll need to let me know. We’re leaving at six.’

  Maggie took a seat on her long, cream leather sofa. ‘You say that as though I’ve never been up at six o’clock in my life. I’ll have you know, my shifts at the mill used to start at five-thirty when I was your age.’

  ‘At least I’m spared that.’

  ‘You’d look healthier than you do now. You take the weight off your skin and bones and I’ll away and get you something to eat. You know how much you like my egg, beans and chips. Real chips, none of that oven rubbish.’

  ‘I’m a vegan now, Gran. Have been for over a month.’

  ‘Aye, you’re looking great on it.’

  ‘It takes a while to adjust, that’s all.’

  ‘What do you want, then? I can boil an onion,’ said Maggie, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘I should be making you something. You’re the one that’s dying.’

  ‘What if I leave off the egg?’

  ‘What oil do you use – it’s not that lard, is it?’ A brief look of horror crossed Gillian’s face.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. I use vegetable oil – have done ever since the doctor told me about my heart.’

  ‘I guess that sounds good, if you leave off the egg.’ Gillian shrugged, gazing out of the window through the haze of smoke.

  ‘What’s the real problem, here?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’ve got a face like a wet Monday in Greenock.’

  Gillian thought for a few moments. She knew that her grandmother wouldn’t take kindly to the news – well, she thought she wouldn’t. But she also felt as though the family matriarch had the right to know.

  ‘You’re not pregnant, are you? Bugger me, that would fair ruin your acting career.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘So, who is?’ Maggie hesitated. ‘Wait, not that mother of yours. My poor boy, likely a rickle of bones by now, while it’s open house for all and sundry in his home. She’d be better with one of they revolving doors in the bedroom.’

  ‘Gran!’

  ‘Well, it’s the truth.’ Maggie lit another cigarette.

  ‘Don’t say that Dad’s dead. I know he isn’t.’

  ‘You’ve one brother dead, one half dead, and a father that disappeared two years ago. Come on, lassie, what do you think? I’m not into mollycoddling weans, you know that fine.’

  ‘I’m twenty, Gran.’

  ‘That’s still just a wean.’

  ‘No mention of my sister. I’m sick of it!’

  Maggie’s green eyes blazed. ‘I’ll leave you to work out why that is, Gillian. For somebody that goes to a place I can’t pronounce to learn to act, you’re not so smart, eh?’

  ‘Kevin didn’t have anything to do with Danny’s murder. Surely you can see that. And before you start’ – her voice had slowly risen so that she was now shouting at the top of her voice – ‘don’t say that thing about Mickey Mouse.’

  ‘She’s dead to me – to all of us.’

  ‘Has there not been enough death in this family, for fuck’s sake?’

  ‘That’s my last word on the subject. And don’t curse in my house.’

  ‘You do it all the time.’

  ‘I’m old and dying.’

  Gillian shook her head with a long sigh. ‘So you don’t want to see your new great-grandson?’

  Maggie looked at her granddaughter. ‘Is it Kevin Mannion’s baby?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but it’s Sandra’s, too!’

  ‘I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.’ Maggie Finn crossed her arms resolutely, staring Gillian out.

  ‘Do you know, you’re all the same – the lot of you! As soon as I graduate, I’m out of here.’ Gillian picked up her large handbag and headed out of the room.

  ‘I’ll come tomorrow – aye, and what about your chips?’

  The slamming of the door was the only response.

  3

  Though Maggie Finn hadn’t heard from her granddaughter, she was as good as her word. A large silver SUV drew up outside the tower block under the sodium lights just after six. Maggie had packed an overnight bag, even though she had no idea if they would be staying.

  She stubbed out a cigarette with the toe of her leopard-print high heels before Gillian had the chance to jump out of the passenger seat.

  ‘What on earth are you wearing, Gran?’

  ‘Eh? Do you think I’m going to go down and see your poor mutilated brother like some tinker? No way!’ She looked Gillian up and down. ‘You could have made an effort, too.’

  ‘Gran, you look like a geriatric prostitute.’

  ‘Right, that’s it. I don’t want to embarrass you.’ Maggie turned on her high heel, hefted her bag and took a few steps towards the entrance to the flats.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, come on. If that’s what you want to wear, good luck to you.’

  ‘At least I’m no’ the weight o’ tissue paper, or one o’ they poor folk from Biafra.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Never mind. They were poor folk that didn’t get much to eat – before your time.’

  Gillian smiled sweetly, despite the barb. ‘This is Kirsty. The friend I told you about.’

  Maggie clambered into the front seat of the car and held out her hand to the pretty black girl behind the wheel. ‘Maggie Finn, her grandmother, though there’s no much similarity, as you’ll have noticed.’

  ‘Oh gosh, you’re just as funny as Gillian said.’

  Maggie turned to her granddaughter, now in the back seat. ‘So, what did you say?’
/>
  ‘We don’t have time for this. It’s a good five hours to Stanford Hall,’ said Gillian.

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Stanford Hall – where Robbie’s being treated. It’s a brand new, state-of-the-art facility. At least he’s in good hands.’

  ‘His hands are fine; it’s only having one foot that’s the problem. Anyway, you’re never in good hands with the medical profession.’ Maggie turned to Kirsty. ‘I’ll spare you the horror of what they did with my piles, dear.’

  ‘I am sorry . . . Mrs Finn?’

  ‘Just call me Maggie, darling. Suffice it to say, they made a right arse of the whole thing.’

  ‘Oh!’ Kirsty looked startled, as Gillian snorted with laughter in the back seat.

  They made their way down through the dark streets of Paisley, heading for the motorway.

  ‘Are you warm enough, Maggie?’ said Kirsty.

  ‘Aye, I’m fine. You young folk always have everywhere too hot these days.’

  ‘What she means is, aren’t you getting a draught with having hardly any skirt on, Gran.’

  ‘I’ll ignore that. I can still show off my legs. Yours are likely matchsticks, though I don’t ever see them under they awful pantaloons you insist on wearing.’

  ‘They’re jeans, Gran.’

  ‘I’ll put on some music,’ said Kirsty, sensing the tension.

  ‘Good idea, but I’d be grateful if you refrained from any of that thumping stuff. It’s the bane of my life. Every night these cars going past with all that thudding. It’s bad enough on the seventeenth storey, I hate to think what the fuck it must be like in the car!’

  ‘Excuse my grandmother’s language, Kirsty.’

  ‘I think it’s kind of cool. The nearest my nana gets to swearing is the odd Damn it!’

  ‘I am what I am, Kirsty. Not to everyone’s taste, I daresay. But you should always be yourself, not try to be someone else.’

  ‘That’s kind of unfortunate, as we’re both studying drama, Gran,’ retorted Gillian.

  ‘You’ve always got an answer, eh? Just like your bloody mother.’

  Kirsty pressed a button on the steering wheel. ‘How’s this, Mrs Finn – I mean, Maggie.’

  ‘The Beatles! Now you’re talking. At least someone has taste.’

  Dawn was just breaking above the rooftops as they made their way along the M8 towards Glasgow and beyond to the strains of ‘Old Brown Shoe’.