34

Paula was in her car outside Bill and Daphne’s flat – a little further up the street where she’d found a parking space. It was a typical Glasgow sandstone tenement building: large windows, golden-brown sandstone cladding, and one door that gave onto the communal ‘close’ or passageway, which then led to the landings, each with two flats.

This was just a few streets away from the boys’ modest start in King’s Park Road – and it was every bit as modest.

Paula felt a churn in her gut.

She hadn’t spoken to Bill since the incident a few nights before. Had he told Daphne? She had to get past that. This needed to be done: she had to find out what Ballogie Holdings meant to him.

A man was standing at Bill and Daphne’s entrance. Bald, black suit, shoulders almost as wide as the doorway, he looked like he should be standing outside a nightclub. The door opened. Another man came out. Slim, with floppy hair and designer stubble, he was wearing a leather jacket that could have come from Milan. He walked past bouncer guy as if he didn’t exist, but he got into step behind the slim man and followed him up the short path, along the street and into a black SUV.

Paula climbed out of her car and walked up the street, her heels clacking on the pavement, like a drumbeat accompanying her discomfort. Reaching the entrance, she noted that the security system had been updated since she’d last visited. Was there a crime spree in this part of the city she wasn’t aware of?

Bill and Daphne were on the first floor. The panel of buttons didn’t have names only numbers. 1B. That was the button she needed. She paused; finger inches from the buzzer, stomach churning at the thought of the conversation she was about to instigate. Steeling herself, she pushed down. She had to face poor Daphne sooner or later.

Just as she reached out to press the button the door opened. A young man in a black denim jacket stepped outside.

‘Sorry, missus,’ he said and held the door open for her. Then he paused when he looked into her face, recognition clear in his eyes. He stepped back and out of the doorway, onto the path.

Paula was back in that restaurant watching Thomas shouting at a waiter; a young man – this young man.

‘You knew my husband,’ she said, moving forwards, bristling, an accusation in her tone. ‘How?’

The young man took a step back from her. ‘Just met him the once, missus.’ He rubbed at the back of his head. ‘Was asked to tell him something.’

‘He was furious,’ said Paula, intent now on getting the truth. ‘Who are you? What did you tell him?’

‘Jesus, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast and you expect me to remember that?’ He turned from her with a forced smile and walked away.

‘Hey,’ she shouted after him.

‘Got to go, missus.’ He gave her a wave and jogged to a small red Ford.

This was too odd, she thought. What was he…?

A door banged shut somewhere higher up in the building. The noise drew her from her thoughts and another, more pressing issue pushed itself into the forefront of her mind. The reason she was here: Bill and Ballogie Holdings. And Daphne. She had to try and find out if she knew anything of what happened the other night.

Walking to the back of the hallway, towards the staircase, she couldn’t help but notice how clean the area was. Glasgow women had always taken pride in making sure their close was spick and span, she thought. Some things didn’t change.

The stairs were clean too, and Bill and Daphne’s doorway was pristine. Solid wood stained dark brown. On the frame at about shoulder height was the doorbell. A white button, sticking out from a brass ring that, just like the letterbox in the middle of the door, was almost bright enough to contain its own sun. To the side sat a little table with gold feet bearing a basket-weave plant pot with a large-leafed plant thriving inside it.

As she pressed the doorbell Paula considered the last time she was here. It was just after Christopher died. Until then they’d been regular visitors, but then the business took over and Thomas had much less time for socialising. And whatever family time they did have, was spent at their place. Thomas liked to show off his big posh house.

With the thought that she could have done better as a sister-in-law, Paula stepped back from the door as she heard a heavy footstep approaching it from inside.

The door opened and Daphne stood there wearing a black long-sleeved top bearing a large, gold-coloured Calvin Klein symbol, grey sweatpants and, if she wasn’t mistaken, slippers with a heel.

‘Paula?’ she said with evident surprise. She smoothed down her hair and then the front of her top with a sub-conscious movement.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I was…’

Daphne stood there. Hand on the door as if barring entrance.

‘Mind if I come in?’ Paula asked examining Daphne’s face, to see if she could read any knowledge of her and Bill’s infidelity there.

‘Sorry. Of course, Paula. You just took me by surprise.’

Paula stepped inside and they hugged – but with as little contact as possible.

‘C’mon through into the living room,’ Daphne said as she moved out of the way. ‘But I haven’t had a chance to get my cleaning done the day…’

Paula walked along the short hallway and into the living room. She took a seat on what looked like a fairly new leather, cream sofa, which was eerily similar to her own.

Daphne came in, looked down at her as she sat. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll put the kettle on.’ She turned and walked away. As she did so she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘Bill’s not in. You’re lucky you got me, I was just about to go out as well.’

‘Don’t let me keep you then,’ Paula shouted back as she got to her feet. That was a relief. It gave her an excuse to cut short this awkward encounter. Then it occurred to her that the ‘about to go out as well’ line was probably a white lie – Daphne was keen to keep the visit short too.

‘Oh, I never pass on the excuse to have a wee cuppa,’ Daphne called. ‘Give me a minute.’

Paula sat on the edge of the sofa, knees tight together, and looked around the room. Despite Daphne’s protests it was spotless. It was also frighteningly similar to her lounge. The large floor space had been stripped down to the boards, which had been sanded down, stained a light tan and then covered with an antique rug with the same red-and-gold pattern hers had. The walls were covered in the same white-flecked paper. The windows were framed in the same deep-red curtains, and very similar red knick-knacks – like the red photo frame – dotted the space to bring that colour into the rest of the room. The same fireplace and mirror.

The only difference was the gigantic TV in the corner.

What the hell was going on here? Should she be flattered that Daphne had mimicked her taste? No, definitely not. This was wrong. She shivered and crossed her arms against the sudden chill. Who did this? Did Bill and Daphne assume she’d never see it all?

Her eyes returned to the red photo frame and her heart gave a little lurch when she saw that Christopher was in it. He was wearing his graduation robes. She got to her feet, crossed the room and had a closer look. Without thought, she reached out and touched the glass covering his face. She sagged a little. Then gathered her strength, taking warmth from the large smile on his face.

He was standing between Bill and Daphne. Bill’s arm was over his shoulder and Daphne was holding his hand. In the background the famous hall of arches and pillars in Glasgow University.

Daphne arrived with a small tray bearing two china mugs and a small jug of milk.

‘We love that photo,’ Daphne said. ‘Bill took it really bad when Chris died. Really bad.’

Paula returned to where she had just been sitting.

Daphne put the tray down. ‘Just milk, right?’ she asked.

Paula nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak yet. She watched the other woman as she poured the drinks. Was she now wearing lipstick? Had she taken the chance to put a bit on while waiting for the kettle to boil?

‘This is nice,’ Daphne said. ‘I didn’t expect you.’ She took her mug and sat on the armchair opposite, moving a cushion out of the way as she sat.

Both women sipped at their drinks. They talked about the weather. Paula said how nice the coffee was, and Daphne told her it came in one of these wee tins that say it’s just like a real espresso, but it isn’t.

Paula thought about Daphne’s obvious fondness for Christopher’s photo, and the talk they’d never really had: why she and Bill had never had kids. Thomas had told her the reason years ago – they’d been tested and found the problem was with Bill. His swimmers were a bit on the lazy side. Practically catatonic, Thomas had said. Bill had taken it hard apparently. A blow to his manhood.

Paula had wanted Thomas to tell him that any idiot could pump out active sperm. That it had nothing to do with being a man, or a father. As far as she could remember Thomas tried to say just that, but ended up getting them both drunk in The Pot Still.

She wondered if Daphne knew that she knew.

As these thoughts worked their way through her mind both women were sitting staring at their cups in silence.

Where were all her words when she needed them? What had she been thinking coming over here? She should have called ahead. She had thought: Sunday afternoon – Bill was bound to be in. She picked up her cup and had a sip. Should she mention Ballogie Holdings and ask if it meant anything to Daphne? Paula dismissed that as quickly as the notion rose in her mind. If she asked her, she’d have to tell her everything else.

‘Well,’ Paula began at last, ‘I was just feeling out of sorts. Needed some company, you know?’

‘I know, hen,’ Daphne said, her expression imparting sympathy. ‘Can’t be easy.’

‘And that time we spoke, I wasn’t too nice to you, so I wanted to say sorry.’

Daphne gave a little nod. ‘That’s fine, honey. You were at your husband’s wake, so high feelings can be excused. And I wasn’t too nice myself.’ At this a genuine look of contrition appeared on her face. ‘So … pals?’

‘Pals,’ Paula agreed. She took another drink. Looked around the room. ‘I like what you’ve done with the place. Looks great.’

Daphne’s gaze travelled the room, as if congratulating herself. ‘You don’t think it’s too similar to yours? Bill thinks it’s too similar to yours.’

‘Not at all.’ Paula dismissed her faux concern. ‘I can see where you took your theme from…’ She tried to hide how much all of this disturbed her. ‘…But you’ve done your own thing.’ She laughed. ‘You’ve made it your own.’ She tried to make her smile as genuine as possible, but felt it ache a little at the edges. ‘It’s lovely. Must have cost a pretty penny.’ And if she had gone to the same stores she had, it would have cost a lot of money.

‘Good taste isn’t cheap,’ Daphne answered. ‘As you well know. Bill had one of them endowment policies pay up. It did surprisingly well, so we splashed out.’

‘Really? Endowment policies work? That’s great,’ Paula said, trying to cover up her surprise. Whenever Bill spoke about money in the past it was to eschew any prudent behaviour in favour of spending-now.

‘There must be some life assurance coming your way. Have you checked out all Tommy’s policies?’ Daphne’s eyes glinted. Paula thought she saw greed there, and envy.

Paula considered the documents Thomas kept in the filing cabinet at home. There would indeed be a handsome sum of money coming her way. Thomas had taken out joint first-death insurance to cover the mortgage. And way back when he was a struggling businessman, while Christopher was still alive, there was one for a quarter of a million. She’d argued this was a crazy amount of money, but the salesman had been persuasive, talking about a multiple of earnings and asking how she and Christopher would manage if Thomas died.

For all she cared, the insurance policy could lie in that cabinet, unclaimed. She had no interest in cashing in on her husband’s death. For all she cared she could cash it in and hand the proceeds to Bill and Daphne. Why shouldn’t they be compensated for Thomas’s death?

‘How’s Bill?’ Paula asked.

Daphne crossed her legs and shifted on her chair. She looked at the floor at Paula’s feet, then her eyes raised to her face. And in that moment there was a strange light in her eyes, enough that Paula was certain she knew, but then it was gone and Daphne gave a sigh.

‘He’s taken it hard, poor lamb. Really chewed up over it, you know? But don’t you worry about Bill. I’ll look after him just fine.’

Paula’s stomach gave a twist at that. One second it was like Daphne knew, the next, she was blissfully ignorant. For all she’d been in this woman’s company countless times, she struggled to follow her thoughts.

‘I meant what I said at the hotel after Thomas’s funeral, Daphne. I’d like it if we were better friends. Being among all these Gadd men isn’t the easiest.’

‘It’s had its compensations.’ Daphne’s smile was faint in reply. And Paula wondered who this woman she’d known for years really was. Her personality had always been dwarfed by Bill’s. Was she really happy to stand quietly in his shadow?

Paula drained her cup and stood to leave. Making her excuses, Paula had one last look at Christopher in that photograph. At the shine of his skin. The bright-eyed anticipation that life had only good in store for him. And it occurred to her with a pang that, standing there, framed by his Uncle Bill and Aunt Daphne, a stranger might look at the image and assume he was their son.