‘It was a dark and stormy night,’ he said, his voice booming. ‘A fateful night, when the world’s greatest superhero, Bean Girl, was born, a force for good battling the dark, evil powers of Niddrieville.’
Bean smiled as he went on, staring up at him from where she sat on his lap. She was getting too big for this now, the weight of her uncomfortable, but as long as she still wanted her bedtime story, he would do it. She cuddled into him and he felt her relax. Her head became heavy on his chest, and he could sense that her eyes were closing. He kept talking about goodies triumphing over baddies, villains getting their comeuppance, heroes striding off into the night after protecting ordinary people once more.
It was a clear and crisp night and they needed the blanket over them up here on the roof. A few stars were spattered across the sky, but the lights from the city obscured millions more. All that energy out there, stars and supernovae and black holes tearing the fabric of space apart, and him and his little sister down here getting drowsy and sharing a story.
He stopped talking and Bean didn’t stir. She was asleep, otherwise she would definitely tell him to keep telling the story. She was more outgoing and confident than he’d ever been at that age and he hoped that continued as she got older, that she didn’t get bogged down in anxiety about her looks, boys, all the crap of teenage life. But my God, what a place to start from, with everything she’d been through. Not just over the last few days but the years of seeing appalling behaviour normalised around her. Tyler had tried to protect her but it never felt like enough. But he would continue to look out for her as long as he could.
From here he could see the lights of the hospital grounds glowing amongst the wasteland of Niddrie and Greendykes. The gloomy shadow of Craigmillar Castle on the hill, the spread of newer houses to the right, everyone tucked up inside watching television or on their phones, eating and drinking and laughing with each other. Ordinary lives. He thought about the Holts doing the same over in their house, about all their neighbours doing the same, rich people trying to get by, the same as everyone else. He thought about all the girls and boys at Inveresk, missing their parents maybe, sad and isolated, or maybe loving it, the freedom and friendship and sanctuary of that campus.
Cities had a pulse and he felt Edinburgh’s life beneath him through the fifteen floors of concrete and steel that was his home.
He heard a noise behind him, the metal door from the ladder up to the roof.
He turned and saw Flick walking towards him holding two steaming mugs. She handed one to him and he caught the whiff of hot chocolate. She sat down on the seat next to him and blew across the top of her mug. She looked at Bean’s face and smiled.
‘You were right, it’s amazing up here.’ Her voice was low.
‘You don’t have to whisper,’ Tyler said. ‘Once she’s out, you can’t wake her.’
They stared at the blackness for a long time. Eventually Tyler felt her hand rest on his.
‘How was Mum?’ he said.
‘She’s OK.’
Tyler had talked to Angela about Barry earlier. He hadn’t known what to expect but she seemed to be taking it calmly, didn’t seem in shock. She knew what Barry was like, had no doubt suspected he might not live a long and happy life, but that didn’t make it any easier. And having to identify his burnt body, Jesus. He was her son, despite everything. And now she’d lost two children in the space of a couple of days. Tyler had expected her to go straight out and score after the news of Kelly then Barry, but so far he’d been surprised. As far as he could tell she hadn’t injected since the overdose, although she was back to drinking, saying she needed it while she detoxed. But even now she wasn’t crashed-out drunk, just bleary-eyed and sad. Maybe in a weird way Barry’s death had freed her somehow, freed her from the hold that part of the family had over her. She wasn’t sober but she was trying and that would do for now. Tyler wondered about help or support, if there was even anything like that for people like them.
He thought about Monica lying on the floor of her hall, blood seeping out of her. About her persuading Deke to let them go. About Ryan, his own age, ready to step into Deke’s world. About the house they had, the cars, the holidays and the rest.
He thought about the feel of the gun going off in his hand, the explosion of blood from Barry’s chest. The connection between the two, a thread linking Tyler’s life to Barry’s death forever. And the dogs, Christ, the dogs.
‘I can’t stay long,’ Flick said.
‘I’m just glad you’re here.’
‘Me too.’
He’d been surprised when she turned up an hour ago. That she wanted anything to do with him after everything that had happened. As he’d ushered Bean away from Inveresk earlier, she kept asking questions about Flick, when they would she see her again, and if she could go to a school like Inveresk. The answer to the last one was easy – not in a million lifetimes. But for the other question he fudged his answer.
Then a few hours later Flick was on the other end of the buzzer asking to come up.
‘The view from here is incredible,’ Flick said, gazing up at the sky.
Tyler was looking at her. ‘It is.’
When she turned and saw him watching her, realised what he meant, she rolled her eyes and nudged him, almost spilling his hot chocolate.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Shut up.’
He did what he was told.