Every time Cara came to this part of the city, it gave her pause. Possilburn had a bit of a reputation – much of it exaggerated, some of it justified. It was said that it had become one of the most deprived areas of the city and that had led to all sorts of social problems.
And she acknowledged that having a third of the population classed as underprivileged couldn’t be the healthiest of environments in any sense. When you have wholesale neglect of people by those in authority the results were inevitable in her opinion.
She thought about a young woman she’d had sitting across from her desk that very morning. The poor woman was in her late twenties, had psychological issues and the mental age of a twelve-year-old. In an effort to show willing she’d signed up for a week of work experience in a charity shop. When she got there the charity shop staff said they didn’t need her. The Department of Social Security sanctioned her to the tune of four months of her benefit, as if her subsequent no-shows were her own fault. The poor woman could barely stop crying long enough to explain her situation to Cara.
‘How am I going to eat? How can I…’ In her distress she pulled at her dirty blonde hair with fingers whose nails were bitten down to the quick. ‘I can’t even pay the bus fare to go see my mum.’ Her mother was in a local hospice in the terminal stages of a long illness.
Consciously callous, that’s what the system was, and the people who set it up had a chunk of concrete where their hearts should be, thought Cara. She’d love to get a politician down into one of these areas and get them to live under this system and see how they felt then.
Enough, she thought. Normally she was able to close off that part of her mind when she wasn’t in work, but something about that poor woman really got to her.
She drew up at Danny’s mother’s house and noted that a group of young men had collected at the end of the path. The only one not in a baseball cap was wearing a hoodie. She got out of the car and walked towards them, informing her posture with confidence, knowing they would respond to that with respect. The law of this jungle: show fear and become a victim.
As she drew nearer she realised her assessment of the group had been harsh. They were a mix of ages, from late teens to late twenties. There was even one man who looked like he could have been in his forties. He was the one in the hoodie.
One of them looked over at her as she approached. She offered him a small smile. He nodded and said. ‘You here for Danny’s thing?’
‘Aye,’ she replied.
‘You’ve just to go in,’ another boy said. ‘You’ve no’ to bother knockin’.’
‘Right,’ she said and went to move past them as they opened up a space for her.
‘Tragic, innit?’ The youth said to her. ‘Danny was a good cunt. Didnae deserve that.’
The rest of them nodded and gave a low rumble of agreement.
She felt a hand on her shoulder just as she stepped into the middle of them and thought, Here we go.
‘You Sean’s sister?’ The young man asked.
‘Yeah,’ she replied, searching his face to see if she recognised him.
‘Stan,’ he replied holding his hand out. He was slim, sharp-eyed, clean-shaven and smiling.
‘Nice to meet you, Stan. How did you know our Sean?’ she asked, after she shook his hand, and moved her own to protect her handbag. He pretended not to notice her movement.
‘He was a couple of years above me at school. A good footballer.’ Grin. ‘No’ as good looking as his sister, right enough.’
The rest of his mates hooted in laughter.
‘Mate, your patter’s pure rubbish,’ one said.
Cara walked up the path to the house as they all began to compare their best efforts at chatting up girls.
Just as she reached the door she heard one of them say, ‘Wait, wait, here’s mine. Was your body made at McDonalds, hen? Cos I’m lovin’ it.’
This received more hoots of derision.
Another said. ‘Here’s one to use at a wedding. Know what this kilt is made of, darlin’? Boyfriend material.’
That was Glasgow typified in one short conversation. Observe the reality of the situation, and then go right back to ripping the pish out of each other. She smiled.
Reaching the door she forced the boys’ banter from her mind. It really wouldn’t do to walk into this house with a smile on her face.
She could hear chatter through the door, as she stood on the doorstep, fist up, poised to signal her arrival. With a twist low in her gut she asked herself whether she really wanted to be here.
She knocked and waited. It didn’t feel right to just walk in.
The door opened and a young woman with long blonde hair stood there. She had on a pair of dark jeans and a pale-blue V-neck sweater.
‘Ah told those wasters to tell folk just to come in,’ she said to Cara. ‘Men, eh?’ She stepped back to allow Cara to enter. ‘Just go through,’ she added. ‘Everyone’s in the living room.’
Everyone was indeed in the living room. All of the seats were filled and there was little standing room. Danny’s mother was sitting in an armchair, with a young woman on each arm and one crouched at her feet. They were all focussed on her, offering support with a gentle touch and low words.
Cara looked around the room, sensing the community here. They were all women. All concerned about the death of yet another young man. She doubted that there would be one of them who hadn’t been touched by a similar tragedy – either in their close family or in the circle of their friends. Suicide, drugs or violence – they were all marked by these things.
Cara noted a small display that had been set up on the mantelpiece. The centrepiece was an A4 image of Danny in a dark wooden frame. In front of it was a single candle.
She looked at the photo. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing the red tie and sweatshirt of his secondary school – the same one she and Sean had worn. She smiled at his gap-toothed grin. A memory came to her – Danny and Sean sharing a bike with no seat. He’d stolen it from the railings at a nearby train station, the owner thinking that if he took the seat away with him on the train it would deter thieves. No such luck with Sean and Danny. It became more of a challenge. They wanted to see if they could both ride it without. Of course, disaster struck. Danny sat on the handlebars, and Sean was peddling but couldn’t see past Danny when he took a right turn. He hit a kerb and Danny fell and smashed his face on the ground. His face healed but the tooth was missing for a few years until he could afford to get a decent falsie.
Cara felt a hand on her arm.
‘Look at him with that daft, big grin.’ She turned to see Danny’s mother at her side. ‘He refused to get a cheapo from the NHS. Wanted one that looked good, you know?’ She gave Cara a hug. ‘How you doing, darling? Thanks for coming.’
‘Wouldn’t have missed it, Heather.’
‘C’mon over, hen,’ Heather took her by the hand. ‘Meet the girls.’
Heather pulled her across the room to her chair and, while still on her feet, announced to the assembly, ‘This is Cara. She was a good sort to our Danny. Helped him out of a tricky situation with that cow of an ex-wife of his when nobody else gave a shit.’
A chorus of ‘Hi Cara’ rang through the room.
‘Can I get you a wee cuppa?’ asked Heather, looking at one of the other women. ‘Get Cara a cuppa will you, honey?’ Then she turned to Cara again. ‘Or would you prefer something stronger?’
‘Coffee with just milk will be lovely, thanks,’ Cara said.
They sat, with Heather in the chair and Cara on the arm, holding each other’s hand. And Cara could see that Heather was straining to hold the emotion back. The black hound was straining at its leash. She could see that she took some warmth from the presence of all the people in the room, while simultaneously wanting to scream at them all to leave.
Heather gripped Cara’s hand tight, closing her eyes as if against whatever thought and emotion warred in her mind. She weakened her grip and then tightened it again as if she’d come to a decision.
Finally, looking up at Cara, her eyes showing a struggle for the peace she thought would forever evade her, she asked, ‘You were the person who found our Danny, weren’t you? You need to tell me everything. Everything, doll, and don’t hold back. I can take it.’