Cara loved this feeling. Strength in her thighs, breath light in her lungs, her cushioned feet drumming on concrete. She felt at this pace she could run forever. Or until her feet bled, whichever came first.
The music that came through the pods tucked in to her ears changed to ‘Love is a Losing Game’. Sorry, Amy, she thought, this ain’t running music. Reaching across with her right hand, she flicked at the screen of her iPod, which was strapped to her upper left arm.
A van drove by. The driver beeped his horn and the passenger shouted something out of the window. Wind whipped his laughter past her, truncated it to a burst of noise. She made the universal sign for wanker and dismissed the incident as unworthy of any more of her attention.
She was on the Great Western Road. A crossing was drawing near. She looked around and judged her pace to see if she could get to the other side without adjusting. There were too many cars, so she slowed, dodging an old woman and her tartan shopping trolley. Then she swerved to miss a bald man and his yellow Lab, its tail high.
A car slowed as if keeping pace with her. A long, dark-blue Ford. Mondeo? She turned to the side to see who it was, but all she could make out was the lower half of a male face. Wait. Could that be?
No. She was imagining things.
The car sped up and moved on. She shot him the finger. For a second she had thought it might have been the guy who had been in the back of Farrell’s car. She gave herself a mental shake. She hadn’t seen enough of him on either occasion to make a solid judgement.
She came to the crossing, thought about stopping to stretch out the niggle in her left calf, but ran on the spot instead. She only had a couple of hundred yards till she reached the entrance to her flat, so she might as well wait. Keep her heart and lungs working till the very last moment.
Minutes later, she was almost home, approaching the shop where she was going to buy her breakfast – today was cheat day, so she could eat whatever she wanted. Then, up ahead, leaning against the wall ten yards before the secure entrance to her flat she saw a tall, lean, hooded figure, a small wiry dog on a leash at his feet. She slowed to a walk as she neared him and bent her head forwards as she tried to see his face.
‘Danny?’ she asked. Her brother Sean’s friend. ‘What the hell are you doing here? How did you know…?’
‘You want me to speak to Tosh Gadd’s missus, aye?’ His features were sharp under the hood – hollowed cheeks under cheekbones like blades. She caught the sight of his crumbling yellowed teeth as he spoke.
‘Yeah,’ she said with a small thrill of achievement. ‘How we going to make that happen? I can never get a hold of you.’
He gave a small shake of the head in acknowledgement and looked beyond her as if checking out the cars that were parked along the road. Satisfied that whatever he was looking for wasn’t there, he turned back to her.
‘In the next couple of days. Has to be, cos then I’m out of here. Got some money coming to me, you know? Get word to my ma. Time and place. City centre, aye?’
‘You okay, Danny?’ she asked and then turned to track the movement of his head, to see what he was looking for. Then she looked down at the small dog, whose limpid eyes were fixed adoringly on her owner. Cara got down on one knee, unable to resist saying hello to the small creature.
‘Cara meet Sandy,’ said Danny with a note of pride in his voice.
The little dog wagged her tail and closed her eyes a little as she enjoyed Cara’s touch. ‘She’d talk to Old Nick this wan. Totally useless as a guard dog, ken? Loves everybody.’
Cara got back to her feet and looked into Danny’s face, searching for a trace of the small boy who was never more than a shadow’s length away from her brother. She found little of him. What a waste of human potential. Danny wasn’t a bad lad. He’d made the wrong choices – from the very limited menu that were handed to people from their class. His decisions had all but ruined him.
Whatever this deal he had going on she really hoped it worked out for him. And then he could get to know his child, and learn how to become a good dad.
‘You sure you’re alright, Danny?’ she asked.
‘Aye. Golden, darling. I’m golden.’ He looked into her eyes and she saw a haunted man. A hunted man. The light in his eyes indistinct with need.
‘When was the last time you ate, Danny?’ She heard him in her mind saying that he had money coming to him and read it as the lie it surely was. An addict’s attempt to pretend that everything was on the turn for the better.
‘Disnae matter, Cara. Just arrange it, will ye?’
She fished in the small pouch just inside the hip of her running tights and pulled out the tenner that was going to pay for her cheat-day food. She pressed it into his hand. ‘Here, away and get something warm in you, eh?’
A look of shame, warring with gratitude and relief, was her thanks. Then he looked over to his right and saw something he didn’t like. ‘Got to go.’ And head low, hands in his pockets, he rushed away from her.
Cara was tempted to follow him. Instead she looked up and down the street at the parked cars. What had spooked him? A blue Mondeo sat three cars up from where she was standing. Could that be the same car?
She moved towards it, but the indicator light flashed and before she could reach him the car took off.