I sit down at the kitchen table and Vic sits opposite me. She sips on her coffee and stares down at her mug, watching the steam swirl around. I don’t have to wonder what she is thinking, I know it’ll be Greg. I shake my head and push the newspaper towards her from my side of the table.
‘Here, read something about Brexit, that should take your mind off things for a bit,’ I say.
‘Very funny,’ Vic says and she opens it. I watch her as she reads what is happening and I drink my own coffee. I hear her flick through the pages as my mind wanders, thinking of Beth and what I said to her about Greg, to ask him who he really is. I’ve planted a seed of doubt in her mind and if I’m fortunate enough, I’ll get to watch it grow.
I drain my coffee and stand up and, when I do, Vic looks up at me. ‘Have you seen this?’
‘What?’ I ask. ‘The prime minister resigned yet?’
‘No, they found the body of a woman in the Botanic Gardens yesterday. It says she was found on a bench, choked on her own vomit.’
I look down at the page and scan over it. The image of Lucie is staring back at me. A memory of how she was in the restaurant a few nights previously flashes in front of me and I have to refrain from smiling.
‘The body of a woman, known locally as Lucie Fullerton, has been found in the Botanic Gardens in the West End of Glasgow. It is thought that she died after falling asleep on one of the benches in the gardens after separating from friends on a night out,’ Vic reads aloud. ‘Police have asked for anyone who may have seen or come into contact with Lucie on Saturday evening to come forward with information, so they can piece together how she came to be in the park on her own.’
I raise a brow, trying to convey shock and sympathy. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘Poor girl. Her poor family,’ Vic replies before turning the page and becoming distracted by something else.
‘I’m headed out for a while. Let me know if you need anything and when Greg gets in, don’t want to be around when he is,’ I say and Vic nods.
I head out and down the street, thinking about the death of Lucie Fullerton. She wasn’t dead when I left her, she was still breathing so I cannot be implicated. Choking on your own vomit on a park bench like a homeless drunk. What a shame. Couldn’t have happened to a nastier bitch.
I smile and keep walking.