I gave Bernie my hand and helped him back on his feet. His knees were soaking wet and his face deathly pale. For several minutes he stood there, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed to the ground. Then he started walking, slowly and rhythmically putting one foot in front of another. I followed him.

Bernie didn’t seem to have any idea where he was going. At first he staggered from side to side across the pavement, but as he began to sober up, his footprints in the snow got straighter.

Street after street, hour after hour, we walked side by side through the city. Bernie and I must have walked many miles that night.

The falling snow eventually eased off. Under the dull light of the gas lamps, one or two buses and cars crawled through the sludge on the streets. The pavements were almost deserted.

I tried to store away the twists and turns we took so that we wouldn’t get lost, but without the sun or the stars to help I soon 297lost my sense of direction. At one point I caught a glimpse of the masts and cranes on the riverside, but Bernie immediately turned into a street leading the opposite way. He didn’t want to go down to the river.

As we walked, Tommy Tarantello’s warning rang in my ears time after time: “Get out of this town as quickly as you can! Because there is soon going to be a war.”

It would be so easy for me to follow the gangster’s advice. All I needed to do was take a different street to Bernie at the next crossroads. I would have vanished before he had any idea what was happening. I’d no doubt that Li Jing would take me in and let me live at her house until the Chief got back to Glasgow.

It was a tempting thought.

Our aimless wanderings eventually took us to a park surrounded by a tall cast-iron fence. The gate was open and we walked in. The snow lay deep on the ground, the trees were bare and stood out dark against the white. It was beautiful. We walked slowly along paths edged with a low fence and snow-covered park benches. We crossed an open area and came down by a river where the branches of a willow tree hung out over the water. 298

My legs were weary and I sat down on one of the benches. Bernie carried on walking until he noticed I was no longer at his side. He turned and came back and sat beside me on the bench.

The noise of the city was far away and there wasn’t another human being in sight. We sat there in a long silence until Bernie said, “It really wasn’t my hat, you know.”

I looked at Bernie—his eyes were full of worry.

“My head was spinning,” he said. “That toddy was strong… and I don’t like strong drinks.”

He bit his lip and took several deep breaths before going on.

“So I don’t know if I said anything stupid in that car. About the burglary, I mean. Moira said we weren’t to tell anyone about it.”

He turned to me.

“Did I?” he said. “Did I say anything stupid?”

I should have been prepared for the question, but I wasn’t. What could I say? Should I be honest and just nod? That would probably make Bernie even more desperate. Or would it be better for Bernie if I shook my head and lied to him?

Too many seconds ticked by before I made up my mind. And that was enough of an answer for Bernie.

He understood.

He leant forward and, wailing and sobbing, buried his face in his big, calloused hands. His shoulders began to shake. 299

“Now I’ve done it… now I’ve really done it,” I heard him mumble between the sobs.

It was some time before Bernie sat up straight and turned away as he wiped his tears on the sleeve of his coat. Then he turned back to me. He looked ashamed. And frightened. Very frightened.

He said, “Moira’s going to be so angry. Do I really have to tell her about this?”

I was about to shrug my shoulders to show that I didn’t have an answer, but I met Bernie’s eyes and I could see that a shrug was not going to be enough. After all, I was the only one Bernie could turn to for advice.

I felt a knot in my stomach at the thought and suddenly I knew that I couldn’t run away from the gang. Not now anyway, not while Bernie was in a jam.

“Shall I tell Moira?” Bernie asked again.

I thought for a moment and then shook my head.

“No?…” Bernie said.

I shook my head again. If Bernie told Moira what had happened, she wouldn’t thank him for his honesty. No, she would hurt him badly. Really hurt him. But if he didn’t tell her, there was just a chance that Moira would never get to hear about it.

Bernie looked relieved.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.” 300

I got to my feet. It was time we were getting back to the house on Oswald Street. We’d been out for a long time, but with luck no one would have missed us. In the distance we could hear the sounds of the waking city. A new day was dawning.

What would it bring us?

It’s not likely to be anything good, I thought.