Free Exile by Denise Mina

fucking rest, Leslie. She’s fucked off. Accept it. She fucked off and left her weans and her poor wee man to pay off her drinking debts.”
    “Her poor wee man? I don’t fucking think so.”
    “I know he didn’t hit her.”
    “Because he seemed ordinary?” said Leslie, pulling rank. It was a basic article of faith at the Place of Safety Shelters that any man was capable of hitting any woman, and for her to suggest that Maureen was dismissing Jimmy because he looked ordinary was as good as calling her an idiot.
    “Right, Leslie. Stop it. This isn’t about PSS theology.”
    “Maureen, two women are murdered every week by their partner or an ex.”
    “Fuck off,” shouted Maureen, losing the place. “I know all that. I know he didn’t hit her because he’s passive and put-upon and he’s got four kids under ten and she’s fucked off and doesn’t give a shit. It’s just possible that she was battered by a loan shark — did that occur to you? Maybe that’s why she wanted the compensation-board photos taken, so she could use them as protection if they came back for her.”
    Maureen was shouting at her in a pub full of people. Leslie didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t walk away from another fight because she’d lost her bottle in Millport, and Maureen would never respect her if she ducked again. She leaned across the table and spoke quietly. “Do you want to fight me?”
    Maureen snorted, and shouted back at her. “Do I want to what?”
    “Let’s go outside and have a fight and sort this out once and for all.”
    “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
    “I’ll fight ye,” said Leslie quietly. “Things haven’t been right between us since Millport.”
    “It’s a pity you weren’t so fucking ripe at the fucking time, isn’t it?” It was wrong of Maureen to say that but there was no going back. The final thread of cautious concern snapped and she went for it. “You’ve completely changed since you started seeing that prick Cammy.”
    Leslie stood up. “How have I changed?”
    Maureen stood up to meet her, slamming her glass down on the table, knocking the ashtray onto the floor. “You’re precious,” she shouted. “And you’re moody.” She jabbed a vicious finger at Leslie’s shoulder. “And why the fuck are you walking about with your tits hanging out?”
    “Ladies!” The barman bolted across the floor of the pub, shouting louder than both of them. “Ladies! Keep it friendly or go home.”
    They swung round in unison, glaring at him, and he knew the fight wasn’t going to end there. He held his hand towards the door. “Good night to both of you,” he said firmly.
    They gathered their jackets and helmets and stormed out of the bar into the rainy night, stopping on the pavement as the pub doors swung shut behind them. They could hear the crowd in the bar chorusing a long, swooping “woow” and laughing at them. Leslie leaned into Maureen’s face. “Give me my fucking helmet back.”
    A pinprick of saliva landed on Maureen’s pupil. “Take it.” Maureen shoved the helmet at her. “Fucking take it, then.”
    Leslie snatched it from her and walked off round the corner, leaving Maureen standing alone in the spitting rain. They should have waited five minutes. They would have been crying and hugging each other within five minutes. They’d go home with a bottle and talk it out. Maureen waited on the pavement, hoping Leslie would come back.
    The pub door opened behind her and a couple stepped onto the pavement. They recognized Maureen and smirked, wrapping their arms around each other and tramping off into the wind. The door swung shut, banging off the frame a couple of times, coming to rest. The street was still. One block away a motorbike fired up and roared away to the west. Leslie wasn’t coming back. Maureen waited. Leslie wasn’t coming back.
    She walked home in the pissing rain, too tired and sad to think. The rain was running down her face, trickling through her hair,