13

So much for the Connolly girl’s attempt to get her to speak to Danny, Paula thought ruefully as she drove with Joe along the M8 on her way to Wemyss Bay for the ferry to Bute. It had been a complete waste of her time. Whoever Danny was, and whatever Connolly hoped he was going to say, he hadn’t even bothered to show up. Hopefully that was the last of the girl’s nonsense. But she sensed that was a vain hope. Each day seemed to bring some new mystery – her whole body felt tensed for the next shock.

She took the turning into Gourock. She’d pocketed the docket for the locksmith on her way out of the house that morning. She was keen to have this one last connection with Thomas – and she also wanted to know what the docket might be for. She knew she could take a short detour and pop into the shop on the way to the ferry. Surely if she had found the docket, that meant Thomas never got around to collecting whatever it was for?

‘Why are we stopping here?’ Joe asked from the passenger seat, craning his neck to look at the row of small shops beyond the parking space she’d just driven into.

‘Just need to pick something up,’ she answered, injecting a neutral tone into her voice, hoping Joe wouldn’t read anything from it, wouldn’t pick up on her concerns today.

He leaned back into his seat with a worn sigh. ‘We don’t have long, or we’ll miss this boat.’

‘Won’t be more than a minute.’ She reached across and patted the back of his hand. ‘And then we can get on with this.’

This was the small thing of the disposal of her husband’s ashes. Gathering up all her strength, she’d picked them up the day before, on the way home from Cara’s office. She was gratified to find out that, even in her haze, she had in fact notified the mortuary office that she did intend to claim them, and there they were, on the backseat of the car. She’d almost belted them in, giving Joe a small smile as she made as if to perform the action.

‘Nutter,’ he muttered, but he managed a smile back, and Paula counted that as a small victory – she was out of the house. It felt like she was off the floor at least, not about to burst into tears every other second.

But, bracing herself as she left the car and walked towards the shop, she felt trepidation and a sense of remoteness. As if someone else was operating her mind and body. Why was she scared? This was just for a key or something. She forced a slow breath. Whatever Kevin had been overreacting to, she wasn’t going to take it on.

Inside the shop, in front of a wall of hanging key templates, shoelaces and door signs stood a young, bearded man in a mauve uniform. He looked up from his phone, pocketed it and asked, ‘Can I help you?’

‘I need to pick this up, please.’ Paula answered and heard the quaver in her voice. If the shop assistant noticed, he gave no sign. He simply took the small piece of paper from her, read it and stepped to the right. He opened a drawer, thumbed through a number of items, and picked out a small brown envelope about two inches square.

‘Here you go,’ he said and dropped it into her hand. She stood there, momentarily frozen. This was real. Thomas had performed this little action not long before he died. Was it significant? She opened the envelope and peered inside to see two small house keys. Why would Thomas be getting a key cut? She normally took care of such tasks.

‘Can I get you something else?’ The assistant had his hand back in his pocket as if desperate to get back to whatever was on his phone screen.

‘Sorry,’ Paula replied, worried that she must look odd. She offered him a smile. ‘I can’t remember who I got this done for…’ Now she must be looking deranged. ‘I run errands for some old people. Sheltered housing kinda place,’ she improvised. ‘Did I leave any instructions with this?’

The young man looked like he was keen to get her out of his shop. ‘You just gave us the key, missus. We cut from the original. Job done,’ he said with a shrug.

‘Of course,’ she replied and made a face of self-mockery. ‘I’ll just need to go on my rounds and ask.’

Discomfited by her awkwardness, the young man retreated to the world of his phone, signalling he couldn’t do anything else to help her and hoping she would just go away before her behaviour got any weirder.

On the ferry, Joe brought her attention back to the present.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘Ready for this?’

She didn’t answer. Leaning against the railings, from the houses that clustered on the hill behind the ferry building and down to Skelmorlie, she turned to face open water. Down to the right she could just make out the stretch of houses that made up Innellen, before the ferry pulled alongside the point at Toward. Wind whipped hair in front of her eyes and she pulled it back and tucked it behind her ear before pulling her jacket tight against the cold and crossing her arms.

She turned back to face Joe who’d been mostly silent since they’d left the city. Leaning into him, she nudged him with an elbow.

‘And you? Are you okay, Padre?’

He grunted. Pulled his eyes from the scenery, blinked and looked down at her.

‘You’ve made this a whole lot easier, you know?’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

She bit her lower lip and whispered, ‘Don’t know if I could have done it without you, Joe.’

‘Aye. Well. I spend all my time helping others. It’s a damn sight harder when it’s…’ His voice tailed off into the wind as he twisted away from her. Then he turned back and looked down at the bundle she was carrying. Adding some energy to his voice, he said, ‘You might have found a better carrier bag than that.’

Paula raised the thin, blue carrier bag in which she was carrying the plain urn that held the remains of her husband. She shrugged. ‘What would you rather I have? One from one of the supermarkets? A bag for life?’

Joe laughed. Made a face at their irreverence.

‘What are the rules for this kind of thing? The etiquette?’ Paula asked.

‘Etiquette might have meant asking Bill and Daphne if they wanted to come,’ Joe said with raised eyebrows. Paula read the admonishment in his voice and replied by averting her eyes.

‘Pair o’ fannies,’ she said, and gave a weak laugh. ‘That’s what Thomas called them.’

‘You’re incorrigible, Paula Gadd,’ Joe said, and hunkered into the heavy wool of his navy pea coat.

She let loose a heavy sigh. ‘I really have tried, Joe. I’m sorry but I can’t be doing be with Bill and Daphne. They barely bothered with me while Thomas was still alive. Besides, they’re probably busy balancing their tea bags. Making sure they’ve got enough to do them if the weather turns and that massive snowfall the Mail predicts every year is actually going to happen this winter.’

Joe snorted. ‘You saying my oldest brother and his wife are boring?’

‘So, where do we do it then?’ Paula asked. ‘And can we hurry up and make a decision? I’m cold.’

‘We could drop a ladleful here, a ladleful in the bay…’

‘Away and don’t talk nonsense, Joe.’ She chuckled, sending a silent thank-you to him; there were times when she thought she’d never be able to laugh again. Then she felt guilty for laughing and sobered. ‘Does that make us bad people? Laughing at a time like this?’

‘My guess is that Tommy’s looking down and having a chuckle himself.’

‘That’s a nice thought.’ She thought for a moment and came to a decision. ‘I think when it comes to disposal, one big empty is called for.’

Paula scanned the people around them and felt a stab of envy that they were just going on with their lives while she was … She stopped that thought. Would they think it strange if she leaned over the railing of the ship and tipped the ashes out into the wind and sea? She caught the eye of someone. A man, tall with red hair. She held his gaze until he turned away. It may just have been her imagination, but she read his final look as if he was telling her he was giving in. This time.

She wrapped her arms tighter around the urn as if protecting it. She was used to men looking, assessing, before the braver ones would move closer and deliver some weak chat-up line. But this guy’s interest wasn’t sexual. His eyes held none of that hunger. It was more like he was measuring her for a coffin.

Paula shuddered, turned away, leaned against the railing and looked down into the grey-blue depths. She was being silly. Allowing Kevin’s fear to affect her.

‘See the tall guy with the red hair?’ she asked Joe out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Does he strike you as a bit odd?’

‘What tall guy?’

Paula looked up. He was gone. She turned her head into the wind so her hair would be blown back off her face. ‘Och, just ignore me. Getting strange notions in my old age.’ Ever since that evening when she’d found Kevin in her house she’d been imagining all kinds of nasty things.

‘Want to go below and get a coffee or something?’ Joe asked.

She looked out into the Firth, judged the distance to the landing at Rothesay ferry terminal. ‘Yes. That sounds like a good idea. I’m freezing up here.’

Down in the café with a cup of coffee in her hands, Paula scanned the other passengers to see if she could see the tall redhead.

‘You alright?’ Joe asked.

‘It’s hard to believe we’re here to scatter my husband’s ashes.’

‘Too soon. Way too soon,’ said Joe, falling into platitudes as his eyes sparked with tears.

Paula studied his face. Grieving brother aside, she wondered if there was something else playing on his mind.

She raised her eyebrows at him and leaned back in her seat. ‘Why aren’t you wearing your dog collar today?’

Joe’s eyes clouded briefly. ‘Today I’m Joseph Gadd, brother of Tommy. Father Joe can have some time off.’ He held his cup to his mouth and blew over the top of it before taking a drink. ‘Where are we going to do this, then?’

Paula looked to her right, out of the window, saw the buildings being pulled in by the journey of the ship and felt a twist in her stomach at the thought of saying goodbye to Thomas. And then she pictured the road out to her favourite spot on her favourite island.

‘Ettrick Bay?’ She felt a twinge of pain at the memories threatening to break the surface. Her chest ached, as if a band was squeezing at her ribs, but for once, she went with it; perhaps this was the price for thinking of happier, simpler times.

‘I remember going out there once with you guys,’ Joe said then made a dismissive sound. ‘It rained nonstop for three days.’

‘We had some amazing times. Do you remember the old fishing boat beached there? At high tide there would be kids climbing all over it. The thing was a death trap, but we didn’t think anything of it back then. The kids were having so much fun.’

There was a small bowl on the table filled with thin fingers of paper-wrapped sugar. Paula reached out and began to divide them into brown and white. A deep breath took her unawares. She saw Christopher climbing up on the boat, shouting, Dad, watch me, keen for Thomas to see how brave he was, how clever. He was so lean in this memory. Ten, maybe eleven? Wearing nothing but a pair of blue sports shorts; hard muscle under fresh skin showing how active he was. She blinked back a tear. Breathed out. Saw Christopher jump from the deck and sail through the air into his father’s arms. The force of his movement enough to knock Tommy onto his backside.

‘For goodness sake, Christopher,’ she’d remonstrated with him, but both boys, for that was what they both were in that moment, laughed at the sheer joy and release of it. That was where they stated their love for each other. In the boisterous … in the abandonment that pure fun allowed. While she stood clucking over them like their private health and safety officer, seeing nothing but the potential for broken bones and torn flesh. Imagining squeals of delight turning into cries of pain. Worrying over the two most important people in her life.

She smiled at her younger self, as a tightening crept into her jaw. She exhaled hard as if that might release the emotion.

‘There was this wee ruined cottage, just up the road. We used to fantasise about renovating it and spending the whole summer there. Thomas could commute to the city every day. Chris and I could wander the beach…’ She shook her head. ‘Where did we go wrong, Joe?’

‘We’re human. We go wrong. Then we pick ourselves up and start again.’

She looked out at the sand and sea and sky, thinking about what Joe just said. She and Thomas were definitely flawed, definitely human. After Christopher died they had each withdrawn, unable to handle the grief of the other as well as their own.

‘The surprise was,’ she thought aloud, ‘having someone to share the grief with was kind of a blessing and a curse. The blessing is that you have someone who really understands how much it hurts. But a curse because on so many days it’s all you can do to help yourself survive let alone someone else. Shutting down and shutting each other out became like a defence, you know?’

Joe reached across the table to her, and the warmth from the palm of his hand on the back of hers said everything that needed to be said in that moment.

Paula tested her coffee, and realised that the heat had mostly leached from it. She took a big gulp then asked. ‘Were you always so sagacious?’

‘Ooh, get you with the big words.’ There was lightness in his tone, but again Paula could see Joe wasn’t quite himself, distant.

‘What’s up, Joe?’ Paula asked.

He studied her. ‘Aside from the fact that we’re about to scatter my brother’s earthly remains?’ His voice was edging into aggression.

‘It’s just that…’ Paula said. Then began again. ‘It strikes me there’s something other than the final farewell that’s bothering you today. But if you don’t want to talk…’

‘Sorry, Paula. I’m an old grump.’ Joe wiped a hand across his forehead. ‘Ignore me. I’ll be fine.’

‘It’s like that old Streisand song: “Who sings for songbird?” Who does the listener go to when he needs to be heard?’ Paula chose her words carefully. She was annoyed that Joe had responded to her previous question with some bite, but now was not the time to delve, or confront. Whatever was eating at him she would get to the bottom of, but not yet. If he was in the anger part of his grief cycle she wasn’t going to respond in kind. They’d just end up falling out, and now, more than ever, they needed to be friends.

‘Were you always so sagacious, Paula?’ Joe asked, his energy levels popping back to where she would expect them. ‘We have our confessors, you know.’ His eyes grew distant. ‘Tommy and I used to tell each other everything. He knew more about me than anyone alive.’

The stress Joe placed on the words used to gave Paula a moment’s pause.

‘When did that stop?’ Paula asked. She tried to hide her need to know with what she hoped was an indifferent expression. Her husband had changed in the last few years. He was always an ambitious man, but he became a workaholic almost overnight. And of course that time away from her heightened the degree of separateness, and gave them less chance to reconnect.

That night they argued in the restaurant; the Thomas Gadd she knew and loved would never have spoken to a waiter in that manner. She’d never seen such anger in his eyes. But did he look like he was capable of terrible violence? Shivering, she refused to consider that.

Her mind returned to what Cara had said.

Did he change enough to torture and murder someone?

A horn sounded and a voice on the tannoy requested all drivers and their passengers make their way to the car deck.

People around them were gathering their belongings. Joe stood.

‘Better go back to the car, eh?’ he asked.

Relieved that she was saved from entering dark territory, Paula put her cup to her mouth, tipped her head back and drank the rest of her coffee while also feeling a little regret that Joe hadn’t answered her question. When did Thomas stop talking to Joe? Was it around the same time?

They walked over to the stairs that took them down to the car deck, Joe stepping back to allow Paula to walk down the narrow stairway first. As she made her way down Paula thought about their conversation. Why was the answer to her last question to Joe so important? Just as the words left her mouth she realised she was all but holding her breath while waiting on the answer.

She thought back to what Cara had told her and her subsequent response and how she veered between flat-out denying the possibility that anything Cara said was remotely true, and hearing the belief in Cara’s voice. She certainly believed it.

Did she need to know?

Did she want to know?

Who was her husband really?

Thomas was dead, so what did it matter now?

A series of faces in her mind: Cara. Kevin. That man with the red hair. Joe. Thomas. Always back to Thomas. She shook herself, muttering, ‘Oh for God’s sake.’ She needed to get out of her own head.

‘What’s that?’ Joe asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said over her shoulder and took the last step onto the car deck. She turned to the right, remembering where her car was lined up in the queue, then edged through the space between a Ford and a Peugeot, noting as she did so that her knee hit the bumper of the Ford and there would be a big dirty smudge on her jeans. Just a few weeks ago that would have had her charging over to her car, searching for wet wipes in the glove compartment and assiduously wiping her clothes clean. Today, she couldn’t be bothered. Her right knee was dirty … had she changed that much?

As she neared her car she began to rummage in her coat pocket for her keys and remembered again that this was purely a reflex action. The Rover came with keyless entry, she told herself and she reached for the handle. But then something stopped her. Something in her peripheral vision.

She turned her head.

The man with the red hair was climbing into a blue car two vehicles behind them. She felt his eyes on her like a burning.

‘Who…’ Paula felt a cold surge of fear in her gut. She climbed inside. Closed the door and when Joe got in she pressed the door lock, relaxing slightly when she heard the click.

‘What’s wrong?’ Joe asked looking over at her. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘It’s nothing, Joe,’ she answered with a fake smile, while fighting to curb a shiver. ‘Nothing at all.’