37

Leonard follows the youth out of the bookshop. He takes a right and a right again before walking up Union Street. His pace is leisurely, which suits Leonard. Makes it less likely that he’s going to lose him.

Davis reaches the crossing outside a coffee shop. Waits for permission, like a good boy, and then when the traffic has paused before him, he walks across and up the stairs at the entrance to Central Station.

Before he does so, he stops, engages the Big Issue seller standing there and buys a copy of the mag. Leonard wants to drag him off and end it there and then. This boy is too decent for his own good, he thinks.

Kind deed done for the day, the boy speeds up the stairs like he has been energised by his own thoughtfulness. His speed has increased so much, it takes him through a family clustered at the top. They accept his waved apology with the good humour of the newly arrived tourist. Glasgow has some renown as a friendly city, and these guys want to match that.

‘No problem, buddy,’ the patriarch of the group hollers at Davis’s back.

Their crossing of the concourse is uneventful after that as Davis has slowed down somewhat. Although he does take the occasional slide along the marble floor. Just because he can. And each time he does it, Leonard’s contempt for him increases. Fingering the knife in his pocket, it occurs to him that he would take him here under this famous vaulted roof if he could get away with it. Perhaps it if was just a little bit busier, he thinks as he avoids an elderly couple supporting each other along to their platform. Their suitcase being pulled behind them like a warning. Ambulant but slow. A crowd can be every bit as effective as the darkest of alleyways. A quick thrust with a knife and he’d be away through the crowd before anyone could react.

The thought gives him such a thrill, his eyes narrow and his senses close to a narrow note of pleasure. With reluctance, he opens his eyes, takes in the hubbub. The shuffle and stamp of feet, the huff of breathing, the high and happy chatter. Sounds that blend and echo at the same time. An orchestra of travel.

It’s too much for Leonard, and he stops to take stock. Then he realises he’s lost the boy.

He rushes forward, almost tripping over a stocky, bald man and his rolling suitcase. Cursing the man’s laziness, he dodges to the left and searches the bobbing heads around him.

There. Just in time. Davis is heading to the far end and the low level trains.

Acknowledging his forethought in buying a ZoneCard, the rest of the journey is much easier. Leonard even takes a seat on the train right behind the boy. Staring at the pale skin on the back of his neck.

He wants to reach out and touch it, it looks so fresh. There’s a mole there. A bump of imperfection that adds to the overall. Just above it, the hairline begins. Freshly cropped. Tight to the skull. And from there it layers slightly longer, following the curve and swell of the boy’s head.

The boy stands. The train slows to a stop. Thankfully a number of people get off at the same time, and they continue their journey out of the train station, up the ramp, through the ticket barrier and out to the street beyond.

They’re in an area of the city that Leonard doesn’t know, but that doesn’t matter. It will be easy enough to get back to his digs from here.

They walk for only a few more minutes before the boy’s pace slows and he enters the pathway leading to a small house.

Home for the Davis family.

Leonard walks past, crosses the road and sees a low wall under an overhanging tree. He sits on it and waits.

And is rewarded.