On the TV screen in the corner of Helena’s room, Andy Ibrahim was returning from Pakistan to bigger cheers than those that had greeted Rogan O’Neill.
Helena smiled, looking much more like her old self. ‘So, how’s my young friend?’ she asked. ‘Is he well?’
Colin Anderson smiled, a wide relaxed happy smile. ‘He’s just over the road in the Children’s Hospital, still being kept in to be on the safe side. He has a bit of a temperature and a penetrating wound.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Helena.
‘He had a skelf, that’s all. But with Claire having had the throat thing… well, they’re being cautious. He’ll be out in time for Santa, which is all he cares about.’
‘You have no idea how happy I am.’ Her eyes closed in relief.
‘Oh, I think I have,’ he laughed.
‘But why did he come to me? Why did he not tell anybody?’
Colin pulled up a seat and sat down. ‘Because we weren’t paying him any attention; we didn’t even watch his performance. The only one who paid any attention to him was you. You’d offered to draw dragons with him. You’d taken his goldfish home. And you stood up and clapped and told him he was the best. So, he went to find you. How many times have I shown him where you live? He worked it all out for himself – when I think about it, my blood runs cold. He was so nearly following the paths Luca would have taken, a whole maze of little side roads and back alleys, adventurous places for little boys. And he found himself on Great Western Road. He went up to your house, knocked on your door and got no answer. So, he found his way down to the basement, and found the door unlocked. He just went to sleep in the warmth of the boiler, then the door got stuck.’
‘Alan was always going to fix that door.’ Helena smoothed an absent crease from the bedsheet. ‘One of those things he was always going to do.’
‘I’ll fix it before you get out of here.’ He stopped the movement of her hand with his. ‘Peter was so lucky.’
‘He’s a clever wee boy, finding his way there. God, I feel guilty.’
‘Not as guilty as we feel.’
‘But he was under the house when I was in it. I thought the place was cold but I never thought to check that basement door.’ Helena shook her head.
‘Don’t blame yourself. You weren’t home when he arrived, and by the time he could hear your footsteps he would be frozen, tired, hungry and scared. Then remember, he is only five. He’s only a wee boy. ’
‘But I should have checked, Colin. I remember feeling cold, but I thought it was me. I just went straight up to my studio, up on the third floor. It’s where I go when I feel shaky. You know, I spent so much time up there when Alan –’
‘Yes, I know. But the wee guy is fine.’ Anderson touched her shoulder, and felt it cold and bony under his hand.
A break in the weather means that the first lot of aid is getting through, a spokesperson for Andy’s Appeal was saying. And the truckload of food and clothing donated by the people of Glasgow is on its way.
‘Thank God for that. A little cheer on the news for once.’ Helena tried to pull herself up in the bed and he noticed her other arm, twice its normal size, the skin deep red, dull and furry like velvet. It looked like a big swollen, malignant sausage, overcooked and ready to burst. As she moved he could see the dressing and wadding round her chest, round her shoulder, up to her neck. He tried to stop himself from looking.
‘I brought you a couple of books from the shop downstairs – Proulx’s short stories and a Margaret Atwood.’
‘Cheers. I’m getting fed up with bloody women’s magazines. Twenty Ways To Make Friends With Your Cellulite.’
He settled back in his chair, ready for it now. ‘So, how are things?’
She shrugged, rasping her thumb across the pages of the book. ‘We have to wait. Tests, tests and…’
He didn’t know what to say. His eyes scanned the mixture of Christmas and Get Well cards hanging from a string above the bed, appearing interested in who had sent what.
‘… more bloody tests. I feel as if I don’t have any blood left.’ She laid her head back on the pillow. She turned to look at him, an expression in her dark-green eyes that he could not read. ‘I can’t get any sleep in here either. I don’t drop off till half four and they wake me up at six thirty with something that’s supposed to be tea. I think I see every hour of that clock.’
‘So, when do you get home?’ It was out before he thought, the one thing he had meant to avoid, pointing out the obvious – that there was no one to go home to. Helena turned back to the window, biting her top lip.
‘They won’t let me out while there’s no one to look after me.’ She blinked, her eyes fixed on some point of freedom outside the window. Tears were not far away.
The woman in the opposite bed looked over at her, then at him, accusingly. He wished the bell would go, then he could leave. But time seemed to be stretching.
‘At least you can go home now and enjoy a rest, enjoy a really nice Christmas.’
‘Maybe. But we’ve let a poisoner slip through our fingers. Sarah McGuire is getting better with every day that passes but that’s no thanks to us. We all feel terrible about that – unfinished business, shouldn’t happen in our job.’
Helena nodded, and Anderson smiled. She was a cop’s wife, who understood without being told.
‘But you have to look forward to a family Christmas now. It’ll be extra special after all you’ve been through.’
‘I doubt it. I can’t talk to Brenda, and there’s more than a few things need to be said.’
Helena squeezed his hand slightly. ‘Being married to a cop worked for me. But it doesn’t work for all. I have – had – my own life, my own profession, my own friends. Alan worked all the hours God sent. I went to India for six months to tour and paint and draw and he didn’t bat an eyelid. It worked both ways. You and Brenda have kids, you’re bound together. Alan and I just collided every now and again, but we were happy. Different kind of relationship. You nearly lost Peter; don’t lose anything else.’
Her hand tightened over his again, and he gripped it back, surprising himself when the tears started to fall.
Peter was lying in a hospital bed, snug as a bug in a rug, just a contented little boy who’d been on an adventure and was now back, safe and warm. They’d run a few tests, and he was on a drip to get some fluids into him. He had his arm round his favourite dragon, his thumb bound in a yellow bandage. He was smiling in his sleep. His dad envied him.
‘We need to talk, Bren,’ said Anderson.
‘Don’t we just!’
Colin took his wife by the elbow, over to the window of the small children’s ward. He was about to start but she got in first.
‘You coming home for Christmas Day? I mean, will you actually be there, at the table?’ Brenda spoke softly. Anderson could hardly hear.
He looked out the window of Yorkhill Hospital For Children, over to the Western where Helena was. Brenda was looking in the same direction. Neither of them seemed capable of facing the other.
‘Sure, I’ll be there,’ he said.
‘And what about the rest of it?’
‘The rest of what?’
‘Last year we talked, and I agreed that I wouldn’t go back to work. Before that, the agreement always was that I would.’
‘Yes, I know. But you changed your mind. You wanted to stay at home.’
‘No. You got the chance to work in Edinburgh, a well-paid nine-to-five desk job and weekends off. Like a normal person. Long hours, I know, but we had a family life. I couldn’t go back to work because of the commute you had every day. But then,’ Brenda’s voice became harsh with anger, ‘DCI Alan McAlpine snaps his fingers and without even asking me, you came right back here, to the Murder Squad. Without even asking me,’ she repeated.
‘The Crucifixion Killer was the biggest murder case in our history, and I was to ask your permission to go and work on it?’
‘It has to do with being a husband, a father.’ Brenda looked back to make sure Peter was still asleep. ‘Never home for the kids’ tea, not even home for Christmas Day. You didn’t pick up Peter’s dragon suit. You even volunteered your own flesh and blood for a dangerous reconstruction, and look what happened. You spend more time with Costello and Mulholland than you ever do with us. Wouldn’t be like that if you were a bloody milkman, would it? You never even switch your phone off.’
‘I have responsibility…’
‘You have a responsibility to us.’ Brenda was well into her stride and wasn’t about to be stopped. ‘And that is the problem. You’re more married to your job than you ever will be to me. Don’t deny it; I know you too well. But you have to decide what is more important. The hurtful thing is, I don’t think you’ll find that easy. And it should be.’
Colin smiled at her reassuringly and pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing Off. He showed her the blue display as it swirled and died.