‘Long time, Senga.’
‘Aye, Des. Bob wis still livin’ last time, eh?’ It was a bitter comment, aimed to hurt her brother, who hadn’t even spoken to her on the day of her husband’s – and his colleague’s – funeral.
‘Look, Senga, ah’m no’ efter a fight, right. Too much water under the bridge for aw that noo.’
‘So whit ye here for then? Jist helpin’ me oot tae the motor wi’ ma messages? Got a new job as a supermarket trolley attendant, is it? Lean fuckin’ times wi’ the Fatman?’
‘Gie it up, eh, Senga? Ah’m concerned aboot Grant,’ said Des.
‘Grant?’ said Senga. ‘Grant’s doin’ jist fine away fae aw the pish that happens aroond here.’
‘Fat Franny kens ye took his money aw they months ago,’ said Des.
‘Eh?’ Senga was suddenly flustered. She tried but couldn’t hide it. ‘Dinnae ken whit yer talkin’ aboot, sunshine.’
‘Ye cannae kid a kidder, Seng,’ said Des. ‘If he disnae ken for certain yet, he’s got real suspicions it wis you.’ Senga pulled her shoulders back. She now knew her brother knew.
‘How?’ she said.
‘Yer wee trip tae Venice wi’ the boy … for Hogmanay, an’ that. That didnae go unnoticed.’
‘How did ye ken aboot that? An’ it wis Vienna, no’ Venice, by the way.’
‘Same fuckin’ difference. Point is, it wisnae Ayr Butlins, wis it?’
‘Big bloody deal, Des. Ah could’ve been savin’ up for that for years. Bob coulda been insured for thousands!’
‘Aye,’ said Des. ‘But ye wurnae … an’ he wisnae. An’ Grant’s oan the Broo for Christ’s sake, but he’s buyin’ guitars like they’re goin’ ootae fashion … an’ a fuckin’ Campervan!’
‘Hey, it belongs tae his girlfriend. That’s no’ his. Jesus Christ, Des, ye widnae be much cop as a bloody detective.’ Senga was fuming but trying hard to hide it. They had reached her car. She struggled to unlock it with all the bags she was holding. She dropped her purse. It opened as it fell. Des could see the thickness of notes in there and that there weren’t many green ones. Their eyes locked together but he said nothing.
‘How’s the weans? An’ Effie?’ she asked him, breaking the silence.
‘The weans are fine, but no’ weans anymore,’ he replied curtly. ‘Senga, ah’m no’ here for the small talk. It’s way too late for that noo. But ah don’t want Grant gettin’ drawn intae aw the bullshit. He made the right decision last summer … in ma opinion, any road. But things are goin’ south wi’ Franny. He’s suspicious ae everybody, an’ noo he’s realisin’ jist how much Bob protected him. His maw’s oan her last legs but he cannae accept it. He says that money wis hers. An’ he cannae let that go. He’s weaker withoot Bob, but still dangerous.’ Des sighed. ‘Look, tell Grant tae watch hisself. And you tae.’
‘So, why are you still wi’ him, then? Why dae ye no’ jist bugger off an’ dae somethin’ else … somethin’ straight?’ she asked him.
‘Disnae matter. Ah jist don’t want…’ He tailed off. ‘…the blood’s thicker than the water when it aw comes doon tae it, right?’
Senga looked straight at her younger brother. He was trembling. He seemed to be holding something back and, as a consequence, he looked vulnerable. She suddenly felt sorry for him, although she didn’t really know why.
‘Effie’s got cancer,’ he finally said. ‘They’ve gie’d her six months … a year tops.’
‘Aw Des, ah’m sorry.’ She felt she should hug him, but it had been too long. It would have felt like false emotion, and neither of them needed that.
‘Ah’m havin’ to draw back oan the work, dae less, ken. But Franny’s looked efter us. He’s no’ as bad as folk think. Honestly, we’d be fucked withoot him.’
‘Aye. Well, Des … ah better get goin’. Grant’ll be hame for his tea soon.’ Senga touched her brother’s forearm. ‘Tell Effie ah’m thinkin’ aboot her, eh?’
‘Ah will, an’ mind Senga … get Grant tae knock the daft spendin’ oan the heid okay? Keep under the radar for a while. Folk might think he’s an arsehole maist ae the time, but there’s nae benefit in rubbin’ Fat Franny’s nose in it.’ Des turned to walk away.
‘Des.’ He turned round. ‘Who telt ye aboot us bein’ away for the New Year?’ Senga asked.
‘Disnae matter,’ he said.
‘It does tae me.’
Des sighed deeply. Having given her the warning, he felt she deserved to know why. ‘One ae they Quinn boys fae Galston telt the Painter. He telt me,’ said Des. He had hoped to leave it at that, but dots still needed to be joined. ‘Grant’s lassie … the half-caste yin … she went oot wi’ Rocco Quinn. Bad break-up last year, an’ aw kind ae shite went oan. Apparently she wis braggin’ aboot the money Grant had.’
Senga looked furious.
‘Look, speak tae him. Jist tell him tae lie low, eh? Ah’ll see ye, Senga. Take care ae yerself.’ And with that, he was gone.
She stayed and watched him walk the length of the car park back down to Glasgow Road, and away back in to the heart of Onthank. She wasn’t quite sure what else to do.