I sank back into my camp chair. Folded my arms. So?
Shes got the house up for sale. Big sign in the front garden. Moving down south to be with her sister.
Yeah. Well she was a grown woman. Not as if we were married any more, was it? Could do what she liked. Didnt have to tell me. There a point to this?
Just thought youd I dont know. He stared down at the bottle in his hands. Andrew threw me out. Apparently its not him, its me. Says Im suffocating him. Those fat fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, squeezing until their joints were pale as bone. Ill bloody suffocate him
Alice appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying three generic wine glasses. Whos getting suffocated?
Shiftys boyfriends chucked him out.
His bottom lip popped out an inch, then he shook his head.
Oh, David, Im so sorry. She patted one of the camping chairs. Here, you have a sit down and tell me all about it.
Oh God, here we go.
Maybe later. He twisted the cork in one meaty paw, pulled and it poomed out from the bottle bringing a coil of pale gas with it. He filled two of the glasses, then dipped back into his plastic bag and handed me a can of Irn-Bru.
Fair enough. I clicked off the tab and filled my glass with fluorescent-orange fizzy juice.
Shifty raised his. A toast to Ash, to friends, and to freedom.
To revenge
We clinked glasses.
He knocked back a mouthful. Sucked in air through his teeth. Gave a little shudder. Then sank into the chair. Slumped. Sodding Andrew. Two years. Two sodding years. I came out for him.
No No, thisll thisll be ffff be fine. Shifty blinked one eye at a time, then wobbled down into a squat, falling forward so he was on his hands and knees. Arse up. Wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein pants. He wobbled a bit more, then half lowered himself, half collapsed onto his side. It was just a sheet laid out on top of the new rug, but it was going to have to do. At least he had a pillow. Throw in a couple of bath sheets for blankets, and
Well, it wasnt great, but after all the booze the pair of them had put away, he wasnt likely to notice.
The sound of retching echoed out of the bathroom, amplified by the toilet bowl.
Shifty twitched a couple of times, then let out a long, low groan. Followed by a pause. A snuffle.
I draped another towel over him then picked up the two empty champagne bottles and what was left of the supermarket whisky. Took them through to the kitchen and ditched them next to the kettle. Grabbed the washing-up bowl from the sink.
By the time I got back to the living room he was flat on his back, snoring hard enough to make the air vibrate. His towel-blankets were all rucked up on one side, exposing a hairy expanse of pale belly. The rumbling drone stopped for a couple of beats Then he grunted something that sounded like a name, and went back to snoring again.
Silly sod. I tugged the towels into place. Try not to choke on your own vomit in the middle of the night, OK? I turned out the light. Closed the door. Left him to it.
The toilet flushed. Then gargling. Spitting. And finally Alice lurched out into the hall.
Shed done her tartan pyjamas up wrong, the left side one button out of synch with the right. Hair sticking out in a tangled mess. Urgh
Come on: bed.
She clasped a hand to one side of her face. Dont feel so good
Well, whose fault is that?
Her bedroom door opened on a small room with a single bed, a flat-packed wardrobe, and a small bedside table. A Monet poster dominated the room, all greens and blues and purples.
She clambered into bed, hauled the duvet up around her chin. Urrgh
Did you drink a pint of water? I put the washing-up bowl on the floor by her head. With any luck there wouldnt be sick all over the floor in the morning.
Ash She smacked her mouth a couple of times, like she was tasting something bitter. Tell me a story.
Youre kidding, right?
I want a story.
Youre a grown woman, I am not reading-
Pleeeeeease?
Seriously?
She blinked up at me, grey bags under her bloodshot eyes.
Sigh. Fine. I settled onto the edge of the bed, taking the weight off my right foot. Once upon a time, there was a serial killer called the Inside Man, and he liked to stitch dolls into nurses stomachs. But what he didnt know was that a brave policeman was after him.
She smiled. Was the policemans name, Ash? It was, wasnt it?
Whos telling this story, you or me?
Eight Years Ago
I hit the door hard, battering it open. Dodged a crowd of old fogies in their dressing gowns and slippers, surrounded by their own personal fog-bank of cigarette smoke.
Where the hell did he
There on the other side of the low wall that separated Castle Hill Infirmary from the car park. A pregnant woman screaming abuse, banging on the window of an ancient-looking Ford Fiesta as it roared away from the kerb.
More swearing erupted behind me as PC ONeil staggered through the OAP smokers, his face flushed, sweat glistening on his cheeks. Did you get him?
Do I bloody look like I got him? Get the car. NOW!
Oh God He lumbered over the low wall making for our rusty Vauxhall, parked on the double yellows.
The pregnant woman stood in the middle of the road, sticking two fingers up at the back of the Fiesta as it fishtailed out through the hospital gates and onto Nelson Street. I HOPE YOU CATCH AIDS AND DIE, YOU THIEVING BASTARD!
I staggered to a halt beside her. Did you get a good look at his face?
He stole my bloody car! Did you see that?
Would you recognize him if you saw him again?
My dogs in the boot! She cupped her hands around her mouth. COME BACK HERE, YOU WANKER!
The pool car screeched out from the kerb, coming to a stop in a squeal of brakes on the wrong side of the road, opposite us. ONeil buzzed the window down. Hes getting away.
I pointed the woman at the hospital. You dont go anywhere till someones taken your statement, understand? Then I ran around to the passenger side and clambered in. Slammed the door. Slapped ONeil on the shoulder. Put your foot down!
He did, and the Vauxhall surged forward in a squeal of tyre smoke.
Left onto Nelson Street, just missing a Mini, the driver leaning on his horn, eyes wide, mouth stretched in horror.
ONeil got the slide under control, both hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, teeth biting down on his bottom lip as the car raced up the hill. Newsagents, carpet shops, and hairdressers streaked past the windows.
I scrambled into my seatbelt, then flicked the switch for the blues and twos.
The pool cars siren wailed above the engines bellow, forging a path through the lunchtime traffic.
We screeched up the hill while I pulled out my Airwave handset and called it in. Charlie Hotel Seven to Control, we are in pursuit of the Inside Man. Eastbound on Nelson Street. Get someone out there blocking the road. Hes in a brown Ford Fiesta.
A pause, then a hard Dundee accent came on the line. You been drinking?
Get backup out there now!
The Vauxhall cleared the brow of the hill, flew for at least ten feet, then slammed back down onto the tarmac. ONeil had his shoulders curled forwards, arms locked straight ahead, as if pushing the steering wheel would actually make the car go faster.
There he is! I jabbed a finger at the windscreen.
The Fiesta disappeared into the underpass.
We were there less than thirty seconds later, the dual carriageway rumbling above us as ONeil kept his foot to the floor. The siren echoed back from the concrete. Out into the daylight again. Almost there
Couldnt have been more than four seconds between us now.
The Fiesta jumped the lights where Nelson Road cuts across Canard Street, narrowly missing a woman on a bicycle, and right into the path of a bendy bus. It ploughed straight into the Fiesta, grabbing the front passenger-side and wrenching it three feet into the air, spinning the whole thing around and into a streetlight.
Shite! ONeil stamped on the brakes. Hauled the wheel left, sending the back end squealing out across the cobbles. And everything slipped into slow motion. All the colours and shapes bright and sharp in the thin December light. A woman with a pushchair, mouth hanging open; a man up a ladder outside Waterstones, painting over graffiti; a little girl coming out of Greggs, frozen mid-pasty. A Transit van, the driver leaning on his horn as we slammed into him.
The bang was like a shotgun going off cubes of safety glass exploded across the Vauxhalls interior. The car kicked up on my side, hurling me into the seatbelt as the airbags detonated. Filling the world with white and the stench of fireworks. Then down again, bouncing, safety glass pattering against my skin like rain. Nostrils filled with the smell of dust and spent airbag and petrol.
Everything clicked back to normal speed.
ONeil hung forward against his seatbelt, arms dangling at his sides, blood seeping down his face from the gash in his forehead and broken nose. The Transit vans radiator blocked his window.
I fumbled with the seatbelt, a high-pitched ringing filling my head.
Out I shoved open the door and stumbled into the road, holding onto the pool cars roof to stay upright.
Someone screamed.
The Fiesta was bent around the lamppost, the passenger side all buckled in. The lamppost hadnt fared much better. It was bent and twisted, the glass head dangling from a couple of wires.
Yellow and black dots swirled around me, dimming the street.
I blinked. Shook my head. Cracked my jaw. And the ringing dropped from deafening to just painful. Christ, what a mess
Glass crunched under my shoes as I picked my way across the road.
Whimpering came from the back of the Fiesta a pair of brown eyes stared out at me, wet nose pressed against the cracked hatchback glass. Then the drivers door creaked open and the bastard fell out onto the road: baggy blue tracksuit, trainers, big woolly hat pulled down over his ears. Couldnt see his face, just the back of his head.
You! Youre under arrest!
And that was it. He was up on his feet like he was on springs, not looking back, arms and legs pumping as he sprinted towards the blue-and-white monolithic Travelodge on Greenwood Street.
No you bloody dont.
I lurched after him, dragging my handset out again. I need an ambulance to the junction of Canard, Nelson, and Greenwood. Officer hurt. And get the Fire Brigade too theres a dog trapped in the wreckage.