Eye for an Eye

stay over last night?’
    ‘None of your damned business.’
    ‘Any of your friends have a house key?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Just asking.’
    ‘I know you’re just asking. But why?’
    ‘I’m curious.’
    ‘You can say that again. You’re becoming curiouser and curiouser.’
    ‘I take it that’s a yes.’
    ‘That’s a mind your own bloody business, is what it is.’
    He placed his mug of tea on the work surface. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I seem to have upset you.’
    ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that.’
    ‘How far would you go, then?’
    ‘My private life is just that. Private.’ She replaced the cloth over the tap and turned to face him. ‘Look, I’ve got some work to get on with.’
    ‘Thought you weren’t a morning person.’
    ‘Exercise, then. Is that better?’
    Gilchrist poured out what was left of his tea, rinsed his mug and placed it on the drip-tray. Then he picked up the last of the digestive biscuits and took a bite, but dropped a piece onto the floor.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said, and picked it up. He flipped open the metallic bin, dropped the crumbs into it, and closed the lid. But not before he noticed an empty packet of Camel lying in the rubbish.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said to Garvie, and patted his stomach. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’
    At the front door, he paused. ‘You could make my job a lot easier by just telling me which of your friends stayed over last night.’
    ‘It’s none of your business.’
    ‘It could be.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘That I could have you come down to the Office.’
    ‘Don’t you have to be un-suspended to do that?’
    ‘You knew I was suspended,’ he said. ‘Who told you?’
    Sunlight toyed with the blue specks in her eyes.
    ‘It’s not common knowledge,’ he added.
    She pressed a hand to his back. ‘As I said, my private life is private. Please don’t come back. Suspended or otherwise.’ And with that, she closed the door.
    He thought it odd how hard some people fight to keep certain parts of their lives to themselves. Which was the wrong thing to do where he was concerned.
    He cut along South Castle Street onto Market Street, avoiding the Police Station. Beth often had breakfast in the Victoria Café. If he was quick, he might just catch her.
    He reached the café as a cloudburst raked the street with liquid bullets. By the time he took a seat by the window, the worst of the storm had passed. He ordered coffee and a bacon sandwich. No garnish, bacon not too crisp, and bring the pepper.
    The room was empty and he wondered if he had missed Beth, or if she had forgone breakfast and headed straight to her shop. Before his own breakfast was served, he decided to call Maureen and stared out the window while he waited for her to pick up.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Maureen?’
    ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘How about Hello Dad.’
    ‘Dad? Is that you?’
    ‘The one and only,’ he said, his gaze drawn to a scruffy man shambling along the pavement on the other side of the road. New trainers, and filthy jeans tattered at the heel, looked out of place.
    ‘This is a surprise, Dad.’
    ‘Pleasant one, I hope.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘It’s been a while.’ The young man stepped into the traffic, forcing cars to swerve out of his way. He looked pale, almost drugged. But something seemed oddly familiar about him. ‘How are things?’ Gilchrist asked.
    ‘Mum said you visited her.’
    Gilchrist turned from the window. Maureen had this annoying habit of evading questions. ‘I said, how are things?’
    A pause, as if she was trying to calculate the depth of his annoyance. Then, ‘Sorry, Dad. I’ve been busy. You know how it is. Exams and stuff. And then with Mum not keeping well. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Sorry.’
    And an equally annoying habit of making him feel a fool after he’d made his point. The waiter came with his order, and Gilchrist nodded for him to place it on the side.
    ‘How’s she keeping?’ he asked.
    ‘Same as yesterday. Terrible pain. Just waiting to die.’
    He shifted the phone to his other ear. Of his two children, Maureen was closer to their mother and possessed an uncanny ability to rile him with nothing more than a flick of her tongue. The way Gail used to.
    ‘Jack told me she was on medication.’
    ‘Yeah, well, you know what Mum’s like.’
    No, he wanted to say. No, I don’t know what Mum’s like any more. She’s changed. She won’t let me near her. And you won’t tell me what’s going on. He took a deep